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communicationthroughlyrics · 5 months ago

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I Can't Hide The Way I'm Feelin' Pt. 1

You have a propensity for tardiness, and your new interim professor will have none of it.

Reader is Intersex- Smut to 'cum'

A/N: Thanks to @gswha for this request- it's kinda grown a bit so it'll be a two-part affair! We're basing this Nat interaction off of Natalie Rushman, since she was pretty 'professorly' XD

Word Count: 6.4k

"Shit," you mumble to yourself, hopping around your dorm room, trying to get yourself dressed as quickly as you could. Your leg got stuck in the material of your jeans, causing you to fall to the ground with a loud thud as you stared up at the ceiling. "Fuck." You had overslept. Again. But this time, you were late for your Slavic Studies class, and you knew you had a fill-in teacher today. They would be a long-term substitute, something about your primary teacher having a family emergency back in Europe. With luck, you would get a substitute that didn't care- but you knew you weren't that lucky.

As you rushed out of your building, the cold wind slapped you in the face, reminding you that you had forgotten your jacket. You quicken your pace, the chill of autumn making you shiver as you make your way to the lecture hall. The door was open a crack, and you could hear the muffled sounds of the class already in session. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable scolding that awaited you.

You pushed open the door, trying not to make it creak as you attempted to sneak into class. Your eyes darted around, finding your best friend, Steve, already in class. He normally looked disinterested, as this was his least favorite class in his schedule this semester, but he seemed to have a newfound excitement surrounding the class. You wondered what had changed, but that question was soon answered when your eyes landed on the figure at the front of the room.

Before the class was a toned figure, her curves accentuated by the black dress she was wearing. Her burnished copper hair was done in waves, cascading down her back, and moving like there was a gentle breeze through the lecture hall. Her eyes, a piercing shade of green, snapped to you as the door creaked shut. She was the new teacher, Dr. Natasha Romanoff. You had heard whispers about her, rumors of her sharp wit and strict demeanor, but you weren't prepared for the reality of her presence.

The room fell silent, all eyes on you as you stumbled over your own feet trying to get to your seat. Dr. Romanoff's gaze didn't waver, and you felt the weight of her stare like a hand pressing into your chest. She tapped her foot impatiently, the sound echoing through the room like a metronome counting down to your doom.

"Well, don't just stand there," she said, her Russian accent thick and commanding. "Take a seat and don't interrupt my lecture again." You heard a few snickers, and quickly made your way to sit next to Steve, the look on his face a mixture of amusement and cockiness.

Dr. Romanoff went back to her lesson, her voice firm and knowledgeable as she discussed the historical significance of the Cyrillic alphabet. You tried to focus, but your mind kept wandering as you watched the woman down below. Steve leaned over and whispered, "You really know how to make an impression." You shot him a glare, but his smirk only grew wider.

You smacked his forearm, a dull thud echoing throughout the silent hall. "Shut up, Steve," you whisper-yell at him, the thud again drawing the attention of your new temporary professor.

"Is my lecture disrupting you two?" Dr. Romanoff's sharp gaze swiveled from Steve to you. The room was so quiet you could almost hear the pages of the textbooks rustling with the tension.

"No, ma'am," Steve said quickly, his smirk replaced by a look of contrition. You nodded in agreement, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"No, Professor Romanoff." you echo, looking down at your books.

"Good," she turned back to the board, scribbling a few more things. "Oh, and Ms..." she turned around, her attention directed right at you.

"Y/N. My name is Y/N."

"Right, Ms. Y/N. I know you missed the beginning of class," she began, walking to the end of the riser that she was on down below. "But I go by Dr. Romanoff." She leaned against the podium, folding her arms across her chest. "I expect punctuality from all my students. This is not a high school hallway, this is a place of higher learning. I'm sure you can appreciate the difference, yes?"

You nodded, swallowing down the embarrassment. Steve was shaking with suppressed laughter next to you, and you shot him another glare.

"If you can't respect the rules of the classroom," Dr. Romanoff continued, her eyes boring into yours, "then maybe you don't belong in this class."

The sniggers echoed across the classroom, as your peers stifled thier laughter. The heat in your cheeks grew into a full-blown blush, spreading down to your neck. You knew Dr. Romanoff's words were a warning shot, and you weren't going to let it get to you. If she was going to call you out, you would make her regret taking this class on.

But as the day rolled into night, you found yourself back in your usual routine. Your friends dragged you out to the local college bar, the smell of stale beer and sweat already wafting through the door. You knew you should keep it light tonight since you had an early class tomorrow, which was your Slavic Studies course. But one drink turned into two, and before you knew it, you were three sheets to the wind. You woke up with a snoring, drooling mess of a woman naked on your chest.

Her hair was a tangled mess of blond, and she had the name of the bar inked on her lower back. You couldn't even remember her name. She was beautiful in the drunken haze of the night before, but in the harsh light of day, she looked like a college freshman who had gone wild on spring break. You gently peeled her off, noticing the time on the clock that read 9 AM.

"Fuck," you whispered, jumping out of bed and shoving your feet into your shoes. You had five minutes to get to class, and your head felt like it was going to implode. The room spun as you stumbled around, trying to grab your bag and jacket. The girl stirred, rubbing her eyes and looking around, bewildered.

"You're leaving?" she slurred, her voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah," you said, trying to sound nonchalant as you threw on your shirt. "I've got class."

The blond girl frowned, sitting up and crossing her arms. "Can't you just skip it?"

"Not if I want to pass," you replied, zipping up your jeans. "Besides, it's Slavic Studies with Dr. Romanoff. She's not the type to let you slide."

"Oh, the hottie professor," the girl said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Can't miss that."

You rolled your eyes, pulling on your shoes. "It's not like that," you mumbled, grabbing your keys and phone from the nightstand. "It's just that she's really strict. You can see yourself out, right...." you waited, not remembering the girl's name.

She rolled her eyes, standing up in her bare glory in the middle of your room. "I should have known you wouldn't remember a thing," she said, snatching her dress from the floor. "Figures you'd be that one."

Ignoring her, you dashed out of the room, the cool air outside a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed you had just vacated. You had never been so late for a class before, and the thought of facing Dr. Romanoff's wrath made your stomach twist into knots. Your feet pounded against the pavement as you sprinted towards the lecture hall, your heart racing in your chest. You weren't sure if you wanted to push her buttons, but yet, here you are doing just that.

You burst through the doors of the lecture hall, sweat beading on your forehead and your breath coming in gasps. The room was eerily quiet, the students all staring at you, and in the front, Dr. Romanoff had her arms crossed over her chest, her expression a storm of annoyance and anger.

"I see punctuality is not a concept you are familiar with, Ms. Y/N," she said, her voice as sharp as a knife. The class tittered again, and you felt your cheeks burn as she called you out. You took your seat, trying to ignore the snickers and smirks of your classmates. Steve was even stifling his laughter.

The lecture continued, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn't focus on the intricate history of Eastern European linguistics when all you could think about was the woman in front of you. She was a force to be reckoned with, and you had never been one to back down from a challenge. You felt a strange thrill at the thought of pushing her buttons, of seeing how far you could take this game of cat and mouse.

Your mind drifted to picturing that red hair in a flaming halo around her head as she lay sprawled out on your bed, or what her raspy, thick accent would sound like moaning in your ear as you pounded into her. You felt a twitch in your pants and quickly shifted in your seat, hoping no one had noticed. Steve's elbow dug into your side, and you snapped your head towards him, only to find him grinning like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"Earth to Y/N," Steve whispered, jolting you out of your trance. "You okay over there?"

You shot him a glare, trying to keep your face from giving away the embarrassing direction of your thoughts. "I'm fine," you hissed, turning back to the front of the class. Dr. Romanoff was still speaking, her eyes scanning the room as if daring someone to interrupt her again.

For the next few weeks, you managed to show up to class on time twice, but the rest of the days were a blur of oversleeping, forgetting your homework, and stumbling in late with a hangover. Each time, Dr. Romanoff's displeasure grew more palpable, her eyes narrowing at your disheveled state. You found yourself drawn to her, the challenge of getting under her skin becoming a thrilling game that you couldn't resist. The tension in the room was thick, a silent battle of wills that had the rest of the class either avoiding eye contact or eagerly awaiting the next confrontation.

One rainy afternoon, you sauntered into class, drenched from head to toe, your hair sticking to your face. You had been at the bar the night before, trying to dull the pain of your latest failed relationship. Dr. Romanoff's gaze followed you like a spotlight as you shuffled to your seat, the sound of your soggy shoes leaving wet prints on the floor.

"Is there a reason you feel the need to make such a grand entrance every day, Ms. Y/N?" she called out, her tone icy.

"I do it just to get your attention, Professor Romanoff," you emphasize the 'professor', saying it just to dig at her a little bit more.

Her eyebrow quirks up at your remark, but she doesn't respond. Instead, she turns back to the board, her hand gracefully writing out the day's lecture notes. The class shifts uncomfortably, the energy in the room charged with the unspoken tension between you two. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at getting a reaction out of her, even if it was just a minor one.

Days turned into weeks, and your little game of rebellion became the norm. You would show up late, sometimes smelling faintly of the bar, your eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, and she would give you that look—a mix of annoyance and something else you couldn't quite place. You knew you were pushing her buttons, and it was thrilling. Each time she called on you, you would give a half-hearted answer, just enough to get by, watching the frustration build in her eyes.

But as the days grew shorter and the leaves turned a fiery hue, Dr. Romanoff's patience grew thinner. One particularly dreary afternoon, you stumbled in, your breath reeking of last night's tequila, your eyes glued to your phone as you took your seat. The room was silent except for the steady patter of rain outside.

"Ms. Y/N, may I have your attention, please?" she said, her voice slicing through the air like a knife. You looked up, noticing the rest of the class had already settled in, their eyes on you. You felt a flash of annoyance, but also something else—desire. You had never been the rebellious type, but Dr. Romanoff brought it out in you.

You set your phone down with a clatter, smirking. "Sorry, Professor. Did I miss anything important?”

Her eyes narrowed, and you could see the muscles in her jaw tense. "Only your own dignity," she quipped, her Russian accent rolling off the words like a purr. The class snickered again, and you felt your cheeks burn with humiliation. But you weren't about to let her win.

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Dr. Romanoff?" you asked, playing coy. You knew you were playing with fire, but you couldn't help yourself. The thrill of the chase was too exhilarating to resist. Steve elbowed you in the side, making you let out a small grunt.

Her eyes narrowed even further, the storm clouds in her gaze hinting at the tempest brewing beneath her calm exterior. "No, Ms. Y/N, but I believe it's time we had a little chat after class."

The words hung in the air, electric with promise. You felt a mix of dread and anticipation, your heart racing in your chest. You had pushed her to her limits, and now you were about to face the consequences. The lecture dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity as you waited for the moment you'd be alone with her.

Finally, the bell rang, and the room emptied out, leaving only the faint echoes of retreating footsteps and the soft patter of rain outside. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation to come. Dr. Romanoff was still at the podium, her eyes never leaving yours as she packed up her things.

"Ms. Y/N," she called out, her voice as sharp as the click of her heels against the floor as she approached. "I've had enough of your disrespectful behavior. It's time you learned the importance of punctuality and respect."

You met her gaze, your heart racing as you felt a strange thrill at the promise of retribution. "What are you going to do, Professor?" you challenged, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget," she said, her voice low and dangerous. She gestured towards the door at the end of the classroom. "Follow me."

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of fear and excitement as you followed her into the empty hallway. The door to her office was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open, revealing a small, neatly organized space filled with the scent of old books and something faintly metallic. The rain outside had picked up, drumming against the windows like a serenade to your impending doom.

"Take a seat," she ordered, pointing to the chair in front of her desk. You obeyed, your legs feeling like jelly as you sat down. She closed the door with a firm click, and the room seemed to shrink around you. She moved around the desk, heels clicking as her hips swayed in a way that was both mesmerizing and intimidating.

"You've been testing my patience," she began her voice a soft caress that belied the sternness in her eyes. "It seems like you are a bit..." She paused, her gaze drilling into yours. "Distracted."

Your heart raced as you sat there, trying to come up with a witty comeback, but your mouth was as dry as the Sahara. You had never felt so...exposed in front of a teacher before. But there was something about the way she was looking at you that made you feel like she saw right through your bravado.

"I know college is a time for fun," Dr. Romanoff continued, her voice taking on a softer, almost...understanding tone. "But it is also a time for growth and learning. And your behavior suggests to me that you are not taking any of this seriously."

You opened your mouth to protest, but she held up a hand, silencing you. "Don't bother with excuses. I've heard them all before. Instead, I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself."

Her gaze was unyielding, and you felt a strange sense of anticipation. "I'm listening," you said, leaning back in the chair, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Good," she said, walking over to the bookshelf and pulling out a thick, leather-bound tome. "You will be staying after your last class every day this week to help me organize the library. And," she added, turning back to face you with the book in hand, "you will be completing all assignments due in the next two weeks by the end of the week. Along with showing up 10 minutes early to class."

Your jaw dropped at the severity of her punishment. "But-"

"No buts," she cut you off, her eyes flashing with a fiery determination. "You want to act like a child, I'll treat you like one. Now, get to work." She settled a stack of books into your lap, leaning back against her desk.

You took the books she handed you, feeling the weight of thier pages and the gravity of her expectations. The smell of leather and dust filled your nose as you looked down at the title of the first book: 'The Historical Significance of Slavic Mythology'. This was going to be a long week.

"But what if I don't finish in time?" You asked, the challenge in your voice clear.

Dr. Romanoff's smile was a sharp line. "Then you'll learn the value of time management," she said, her eyes sparkling with a hint of something that looked suspiciously like amusement. "But I suspect you'll rise to the occasion, Ms. Y/N. After all, I've seen the potential in you."

You scoffed internally at the idea of potential. You were just trying to get through the semester with decent grades and not too many awkward run-ins with your ex. But something in her tone made you want to prove her wrong. Or maybe it was the way she said your name, the way her accent rolled over the syllables that made your stomach flip.

You took the books and trudged out of the classroom, feeling the weight of her gaze on your back. The rain had picked up, soaking your clothes and making you shiver. As you walked to the library, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of anger and excitement. You had never had a teacher who had affected you like this before. She was like a force of nature, and you had no idea how to navigate the storm she had just thrown you into.

The library was a quiet sanctuary, the only sounds were the occasional rustle of pages and the dull murmur of the rain outside. You found a secluded corner and began to organize the books, your mind racing with thoughts of Dr. Romanoff. Her stern demeanor was a stark contrast to the way she had looked at you, something in her eyes hinting at a deeper curiosity, a challenge that you hadn't quite figured out yet.

As you began to slot the leather-bound textbooks back into thier locations, the stark click of heels soon followed you into the library. Dr. Romanoff had slipped into a long black trench coat, shaking off an umbrella as she walked around to the back of the librarian's counter. She leaned against it, watching you with a curious expression, the material of her dress hugging her figure in a way that made you swallow hard.

"Ms. Y/N," she called out, her voice echoing through the vast, silent room. "You're going to need to focus if you want to get all of this done in time."

You glared at her over the stack of books, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Working on it," you muttered, trying not to let your annoyance show.

"Good," she said, her eyes scanning the rows of books. "Remember, Ms. Y/N, this isn't just busywork. It's an opportunity for you to show me that you're capable of taking responsibility for your actions."

You bit your tongue, resisting the urge to snap back. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, meticulously placing each book in its rightful spot. Hours passed, and the library grew darker as the rain outside turned into a full-blown storm. The only light was the dim glow of the pendant lamps that hung from the high ceiling, casting eerie shadows across the bookshelves.

"Is this really necessary?" you complained, your voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "I'm going to be here all night."

"Well, if you're here all night, I guess you can't be whoring yourself around at the campus bars." Dr. Romanoff's voice was as sharp as the crack of thunder outside. You whipped your head around, glaring at her.

"Excuse me?"

Dr. Romanoff didn't flinch at your outrage. She leaned over the counter, her elbows resting on the cool wood as she studied you. "I know your type, Ms. Y/N. You think you're above this all, that you can just skate by without any real effort." She paused, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "But I see through your facade."

Her words stung, and you felt a surge of anger at her accusation. "You don't know me," you snapped, slamming a book down on the counter. "You're just a teacher, not my mother."

Dr. Romanoff's smile grew wider, as if she enjoyed your defiance. "And yet, I see more of you than you think," she said, her voice dropping to a murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. "I see the potential, the intelligence, buried beneath your carelessness. Maybe you should quit acting like a child, and I wouldn't have to watch you like your mother."

You felt your cheeks burn with indignation. "I don't need a babysitter," you spat out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"No, you don't," she agreed, her eyes still piercing into yours. "But what you do need is discipline."

You rolled your eyes, but something in her tone made you pause. There was a command there, one that resonated deep within you, stirring a part of you that you had buried under layers of carefree college debauchery.

"Is that what you think you're doing?" you asked, trying to keep the anger out of your voice. "Disciplining me?" You set the books down, stalking over to the counter she was leaning against.

Her eyes never left yours as she straightened up. "Maybe that's what you need," she said, her voice low and measured. "Someone to push you to be better than you are. Someone to show you that you can't just glide through life without consequences."

You scoff at her implication. "Yeah, right, Romanoff. That'll show me."

Her expression turns serious. "It's Dr. Romanoff to you, and I mean every word."

You leaned forward, inching your face closer to hers. You were taken aback slightly by the appearance of slight freckles on her face, and how deep her eyes truly were. "You think you can just tell me what to do and I'll listen?" You challenged, your voice low and steady.

Her gaze never wavered. "If you want to pass my class, yes," she said firmly. "But I suspect it's more than that. You crave structure and guidance. Perhaps even...punishment."

"Well, Dr. Romanoff, I would like to see you try." You said, your voice was full of bravado. You were tired of her judgments and her constant needling. You were an adult, capable of making your own choices. You pretended to not notice her breath hitching slightly, and her pupils dilating at your challenge.

"Very well," she said, straightening up. "If you wish to push this, I will give you a taste of what you're asking for." She stepped around the counter, and for a moment, you felt a twinge of fear. But then she opened the drawer and pulled out a stack of index cards. "These are the dates and times of all the assignments due in the next two weeks. You will write them down, and I will check in on your progress every day after class."

You took the cards with trembling hands, the weight of her expectations suddenly feeling very real. "Is this really necessary?" you asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of your voice.

"You want to see me try, then this is what you asked for, Y/N. And if you still feel the need to spend the night in between someone's legs while blitzed out of your mind, and show up late to class, you will really, truly feel the weight of the consequences of your actions." Her eyes bore into yours, and you felt the challenge in her words.

You turned, walking towards the exit as she called back to you. "Ms. Y/N?" she called out over the books on the counter. You stopped your hand on the doorknob. "Don't forget, I expect to see you promptly in the morning. And don't forget, all those assignments will be double credit whether you do them or not."

Her words hung in the air as you stormed out, the rain now coming down in sheets. Did you feel a strange mix of anger and...excitement? The thought of her waiting for you, watching your every move, was surprisingly thrilling. You didn't know if you were more annoyed at her for making you feel this way or at yourself for letting her get to you. But, if you complete all these assignments with a decent enough grade, you may not have to step foot in her class the rest of the semester.

The next day, you show up to class early, a miracle in itself. After the night you had, drinking yourself into a stupor, and banging some random in the bar bathroom. You groan as you sit in the same seat, feeling the dread of Dr. Romanoffs arrival like a tight coil in your stomach. When she walks in, she doesn't even look at you, but you know she's aware of your presence. You're determined to prove her wrong, to show her that you can handle the work, that you don't need her to babysit you.

The week passes in a blur of early mornings and late nights, your eyes glued to textbooks and your hand cramped from writing notes. You're surprised to find that you're actually learning something, that the Slavic myths and histories are more interesting than you had ever given them credit for. But every time you start to feel a sense of pride in your work, you remember her words—how you're just doing this to avoid her wrath.

On Friday afternoon, you drag yourself into the library, the anticipation of the weekend a distant mirage. Dr. Romanoff is already there, her office light shining like a beacon in the otherwise empty room. She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable.

"Did you complete the assignments?" she asks, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

"No, I've been running myself ragged for my own entertainment," you reply, sarcasm thick in your voice as you dump the completed assignments on her desk. She takes them without a word, flipping through each page with a critical eye. The tension in the room is palpable, making it difficult to breathe. You can't tell if she's impressed or if she's just biding her time before delivering the next round of punishment.

Her eyes finally meet yours, and you see a flicker of something else. "You've done well," she says, her voice devoid of any warmth, her eyes running up and down your frame. "But this isn't over. I will grade these tonight. But, your behavior in class needs to improve."

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You felt a strange sense of accomplishment, but also a weird anticipation for what she had in store for you next. "What do you want from me?" you ask, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

"Nothing," she says, her voice cold as ice. "Except for you to start acting like an adult. Your education is not a game to be played with. Have a good weekend, Y/N."

You leave the library feeling both relieved and disappointed. You hadn't realized how much you had been looking forward to the confrontation, the way her sternness made you feel...alive. As you walk back to your dorm, the rain has stopped, leaving the world feeling fresh and clean. You decide to take the long way home, needing the time to clear your head. The less-than-holy thoughts that had been running through your mind about the woman had been all-consuming, and lately, they had begun to affect your... performance with others.

Your Friday night comes and goes, a blur of partying and regret, but you can't shake the feeling that Dr. Romanoff's punishment has changed something within you. You find yourself craving the structure she had imposed, the way she had made you feel...seen.

Saturday was more of the same, you woke up around midday, and your head was a pounding reminder of how you spent your Friday night. The silence of your room was broken by the incessant buzzing of your phone. It was Steve, asking if you were going to make it to the party tonight. You groaned, wondering if your body could take another night like last night.

You rolled out of bed and stumbled to the shower, you couldn't help but think about Dr. Romanoff. Her eyes had been haunting what little dreams you had been having the last week, a mix of curiosity and desire swirling in your subconscious. You felt a strange sense of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again, of feeling her gaze on you in class. You shake your head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. Your efforts were futile, however, and your thoughts soon trailed down a dark and dirty path.

You couldn't help the arousal that coursed through your veins at the thought of your professor begging for her punishment, instead of being the one to dish it out. The water cascading over your body did little to cool the heat that had built up within you. As your shower continued, you began to stroke your length, imagining what it would feel like to sheath yourself inside her. The way she would grip the edge of the desk, her knuckles turning white as she took your punishment with every thrust.

You groaned, the water now turning cold, as you reached your climax. The image of her, begging for more, was burned into your mind as you stepped out of the shower. You had to get dressed and get out of there before you did something stupid, like go to her office and bend her over the desk she so often chastised you behind.

You had never had a teacher affect you so deeply, and it was driving you crazy. You tried to shake the thoughts as you got dressed, but they lingered like the scent of her perfume in the library. The party was in full swing by the time you arrived, the bass thumping through the walls and the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and sweat. Steve was already there, his arm around some girl you didn't recognize.

"Hey, you made it!" he shouted over the music, a grin on his face. You nodded, trying to push aside the thoughts of Dr. Romanoff. You grabbed a beer and let yourself be pulled into the sea of bodies, dancing and shouting. The party was the same as every other one, but you felt...different. More aware, more alive. The way you had felt in the library, under her watchful gaze. You continued to drown your thoughts, trying to wash them out of your mind completely.

Losing count of how many drinks and shots you had, you stumbled past the various half-clothed couples making out, the drunken antics, and party games as you made your way out the door of the house you were at. The cold night air slapped you in the face, an attempt by Mother Nature to sober you up a bit as you walked back towards your dorm. You couldn't get the image of Dr. Romanoff out of your head, even amidst the chaos. Deciding that you didn't want to face your dorm just yet, you meandered your way to an off-campus bar up the road.

Inside, the warmth of the bar was a stark contrast to the cold outside, and the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke was oddly comforting. You found a quiet corner and slumped into a chair, ordering a whiskey neat. The bartender, a burly man with a thick beard, gave you a knowing look but said nothing as he slid the drink over to you. You took a sip, the burn of the liquor doing little to numb the arousal you felt about your teacher.

As you sat there, the whiskey warming your belly, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched. You glanced over your shoulder, expecting to see Dr. Romanoff standing there with a disapproving look, but it was just the usual college crowd, too absorbed in their own drama to notice you. But the feeling remained as if her eyes were on you even when they weren't. You continued to drink, your eyes darting around the room until you finished.

"Well, I wish I could say I'm surprised to see you here," a familiar, smoky voice came from behind you. You whipped around, and there she was, Dr. Natasha Romanoff, in a pair of tight black jeans and a leather jacket that hugged her body in all the right places. She took a seat next to you, her eyes never leaving yours.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, trying to keep the shock out of your voice.

"I might ask you the same question, Ms. Y/N," she replied, her voice filled with a hint of amusement. "This is hardly the place for someone who's supposed to be studying."

You felt your cheeks heat up at the rebuke, but she wasn't wrong. You took another sip of your whiskey, the liquid burning a path down your throat. "I needed to try and erase some thoughts," you mumbled, not quite meeting her gaze.

Dr. Romanoff leaned in closer, her eyes searching yours. "Thoughts about what?" she asked, her voice dropping to a murmur that seemed to resonate through your entire body. She slowly slid in next to you, her glass sliding on the table before you.

You swallowed hard, the alcohol doing little to ease the sudden dryness in your throat. "Just...about someone I'm trying to forget," you lied, hoping the dim light of the bar would hide your blush. "They're a bit...intense, and out of my league."

Dr. Romanoff's smile was knowing. "Intense, huh?" she said, her voice low and teasing. "Sounds like a challenge you're not quite ready to handle." She leaned closer, her floral perfume slowly overtaking your senses. "But I suspect you enjoy the thrill of the chase."

"Yeah, I do, at times." You replied, the whiskey loosening your tongue. "But sometimes the chase isn't worth it." You took another sip, trying to keep your cool. Her proximity was unnerving, and the way she leaned into you made it difficult to think straight.

"Is that so?" She leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving yours. "And what makes you think you're not capable of handling something intense? From what I have overheard, it sounds like you're...very, capable." The way she said "capable" had your heart racing, and you knew she wasn't just talking about schoolwork anymore.

You tried to play it cool, shrugging nonchalantly. "I can handle myself," you said, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. You couldn't help but feel a thrill at her interest, her curiosity about you. "But sometimes, I just want to cool my jets, you know?"

Her gaze was piercing, as if she could see right through your bravado. "I know all about wanting to cool off," she said, her voice taking on a seductive tone that sent a shiver down your spine. "But sometimes, the heat is what makes us grow."

You didn't know how to respond to that, so you took another gulp of your whiskey, the liquid burning a path down your throat. She leaned in even closer, her breath hot against your ear. "But if you truly want to escape your troubles, I can offer you something that might help."

Her hand reached out and brushed against yours, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. You felt your pulse quicken, your heart hammering in your chest. "What are you talking about?" you managed to ask, your voice hoarse.

"Well, Y/N," she began, her voice low, not helping your brain try to forget what she may sound like in bed. "I will miss seeing you in the library, helping me out." She took a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe if you can show up on time, I can help you out."

Your thoughts raced. Did she just offer you a deal? Did she just flirt with you? "What do you mean?" You asked, trying to play it cool, even though your heart was racing.

"Well, Y/N, you'll just have to wait and find out." Dr. Romanoff's smile was enigmatic, her eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. She leaned back in her chair, the leather squeaking slightly as she put some distance between you. "I'll see you on Monday, Y/N." she winked before she got up, leaving you sitting there, dumbfounded.

The weekend dragged on, filled with a mix of anticipation and dread. Monday couldn't come soon enough, yet you wished it would never arrive. You found yourself both terrified and thrilled by the prospect of what she had in store for you. You tried to distract yourself with friends and more partying, but the thoughts of her kept creeping back in, unbidden and unwelcome.

#communicatethrulyrics #wlw fanfic #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #lesbian nsft #natalie rushman #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut #natalia romanova #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x you

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anotherblinder · 1 year ago

Text

Talk

Previous Parts || Betrayal P1|| Reunion P2 || He Wanted His POV||

Summary || After finding Alfie, you go talk with Thomas

Word Count || 1.1k

Pairing || Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings || Alfie s4 spoilers, mentions of being shot, swears

Notes || Yes this series is still going! There will either be one or 2 main parts after this one and one side one like He Wanted. I hope you all enjoy! And since this is my story Reader and Alfie still have Cyril. special shout out to @runnning-outof-time for helping me sort a few things out for this chapter. please go read her her she's amazing!

Rage, fear, pain. All those things you felt as you look at your husband. Lying in bed, nearly dead from a gunshot to the head. You’ve barely slept as you’ve tended to him. Alfie hasn’t woken up yet, it’s given you plenty of time to figure out what to say when he does. God, he thought the best way out was by having him killed. How selfish could he be? The deal was in sickness and in health. Did Alfie really think you’d turn away from him because of his skin cancer? Using the betrayal to Thomas as a way to get a quick death. Or maybe you were being selfish excepting him to fight through it.

Damn Thomas Shelby for doing as he asked. He could have just walked away, he should have. You knew he was a man of his word though. It was something you admired about him. Even now. Sighing, you stood from your seat and lightly placed your hand on Alfie’s cheek as you leaned over him and placed a kiss on his head. Scratching Cyril’s head as he lay next to Alfie, you left the room. You had a destination in mind, you needed to talk to Thomas.

A wave of nostalgia hit you as you walked through the door of the Garrison. You haven’t been here since that night. Could never bring yourself to come in because he owned it. Thomas would always be there and you never wanted to see him again. Now you wanted to shoot him in the head yourself. But since he’s been working with Alfie you’ve felt yourself slightly soften on him. Slightly.

“I never thought I’d see the day when you walked through those doors again.”

Turning your head to the familiar voice, a smile came to your face. One of apology and greeting. Polly gave you a smile, as she always did, as she walked up to you.

“Neither did I, but I have to speak with,” You hesitated almost calling him a more familiar name, “Thomas.”

“He’s home right now. But I have something for you.” Polly said

Curiosity took over as you watched her walk away to the back office. What could she possibly want to give to you? Moments later Polly came back holding a letter. Now you were really curious. The smile she gave you held something you couldn’t really tell. She handed it over and you saw your name scribbled on top of it with his writing. There was a hesitation in taking it. You never fully forgave Thomas, so you weren’t sure if you wanted to take the letter, she was giving you. Sighing, after a moment you took it from her and stared at the paper in your hand.

“Tommy always talked about giving it to you. Just never got the balls to do it. You need to talk with him.”

“About more than one thing it seems.” You muttered

You opened the letter and read over it. A feeling came over you, one you couldn’t place. It was obvious he wrote it after the fight years ago. You were tired, you missed him. Over the years you grew over your anger. The only one that stood right now is he shot your husband. Folding up the letter, you said goodbye to Polly and left the Garrison. The drive to Arrow house wasn’t bad as your mind was too preoccupied with what you were going to say. You wanted to keep a level head as much as possible. The car stopped and you stepped out. Not bothering to wait for your door to be opened. Walking up to the door you knocked and patiently waited for an answer. Not long after the door was opened, and you came face to face with a woman. From her outfit she is a maid in the house. You gave her a smile and fought the urge to just turn around and drive back home. Having some regret in coming to talk.

“May I help you ma'am?” She politely asked

“Yes, I’m here to talk to Mr. Shelby.”

“I’m sorry he’s not taking people at the moment.”

You held back a sigh as you looked at the woman. You knew she was just doing her job, but this was slightly getting on your already worked up nerves. Discreetly you let out a sigh and gave her a nod. Maybe you should just turn around and go home. This could be a sign to just say fuck it and never come back again. Then you saw the image of Alfie lying there in bed and couldn’t bring yourself to leave. You had to talk to Tommy, it was years overdue.

“Tell him Mrs. Solomons needs to speak with him, please.”

The maid paused at the door, and you could tell she was just as annoyed as you were. It was obvious most people just walked away hearing that. Only you weren’t leaving and if he said no, you were going to storm into his office yourself. Going home without a talk wasn’t an option. After a moment she opened the door wider and directed you to step inside.

“Please wait here as I talk to Mr. Shelby.” She informed you

“Thank you,” you replied as she walked away.

It was a nice home; you were glad Thomas was finally getting the life he deserved. Well, some of it at least. You’d be lying if you said you never imagined this being your home with Thomas by your side. It seemed the future had very different plans for you. You saw the picture of Grace and still couldn’t help the pit of hatred you felt for her. Had she never gotten into his life, you’d still be in it. But she sabotaged your relationship with him. For that you’ll never forgive Grace. What you could feel happiness for, was the joy and happiness she brought to Thomas in the time they were together. For that you will be forever grateful to her. Heels clicking against the floor brought your attention to the maid coming back over to you. Seemingly annoyed but doing a good job masking it. Only you could see right through it.

“Mr. Shelby will see you in his office. If you’ll follow me, please.” She spoke

“No need, I can get there myself. Thank you.”

You walked past her and walked over to his office door. There was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath, you entered the room. This wasn’t the first time you’ve been here. No, you’ve been a few times when Alfie had to deal with business and wanted you by his side. This was the first time you’re here alone. Thomas sat at his desk, but his attention turned to the door as you came in. Both of you stared at the other in silence before you fully stepped into the room and closed the door behind you.

“Tommy, we need to talk.”

Tags || @violet-19999 | @dreamy-caramel | @selenaelena | @slytherinambitious | @andreead | @janelongxox | @bdudette |

if you want to be tagged/untagged in this please let me know! if i missed you i apologize!

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine

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sunnyrealist · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 41: Follow Me Into the Next Life

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Previous Chapter Recap/Context: Sebastian and Kate are on an adventurous camping trip in the Scottish Highlands. Their goal is to explore the mysterious Blackfold Castle. Protective wards, set by a queen who took her own life, have kept curious treasure-hunters away for centuries. When the couple first arrives, Sebastian attempts to break the wards with no success. However, Kate is able to stroll past the barrier with no issue and somehow is able to bring Sebastian with her. As they approach, Kate's emotions suddenly transform to ones of fear, grief, and deep sorrow. Soon, it seems that the castle itself is pulling them inside.

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x Kate Mayflower (my OC)

Content warnings: In general, this is rated 18+ - minors should not read or interact with this story. This chapter really doesn't have content warnings, but there are some sad moments related to heartbreak.

Artwork: The illustrated pictures of Kate and Sebastian were commissioned from @giselsann-opencommissions.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback if possible, especially if you like what you read! 🥰

Chapter 41: Follow Me Into the Next Life

When the doors shut behind them, candles suddenly flicker to life, bringing the interior out of the darkness for the first time in over 500 years. Sebastian is surprised to find the air inside the castle fresh, as though someone had been here recently, though in his heart he knows that couldn’t be true. The castle has deemed them special enough to grant access, though he is not sure why.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asks gently.

Kate’s inner turmoil has disappeared - no longer terrified and overwhelmed with melancholia, she feels a sense of relief. Nodding, she replies in amazement, “I’m… completely fine now.”

Sebastian leads the way, moving cautiously inside the huge hall. It’s oddly empty, with plenty of open space. Plaid tapestries line the walls. Stained glass windows allow colored light into the hall. A wooden table lies in the center of the room and, behind it, a huge pensieve. On the table are a piece of parchment, a quill, and a pot of ink. Ornate candlesticks burn brightly on each side of the set of writing tools.

The eerie silence is only broken by their footsteps as they make their way to the table, which is clean, though it would stand to reason it should be quite dusty and dirty after many centuries.

Sebastian and Kate lean over, examining the only words written on the parchment: Ma tha an dithis agaibh an seo, bha sinn soirbheachail.

Kate glances at her boyfriend, furrowing her brow. She shakes her head. “I don’t know what that means…”

Sebastian appears bewildered. “It’s Scottish Gaelic.” He reads the words aloud fluently, then murmurs its translation. “If you are both here… we were successful.”

“You know the language?” Kate asks, surprised.

“Yes,” he replies, still looking unsettled by the message. “My father taught me Latin, Greek, and Scottish Gaelic. And then I studied some more languages on my own - I can understand Ancient Runes, Phoenician, Cyrillic, and Aramaic.”

Kate looks at him in wonder. “That’s incredible. I had no idea.”

“‘If you are both here, we were successful,’” Sebastian repeats, his eyebrows knitting together. “I don’t understand.”

She examines the parchment once more, then the items on the table. “Why leave writing utensils and only that one sentence?”

He takes the quill, dipping it into the pot of ink. “That’s exactly the question. I have a hunch. I’m going to try something.” He scribbles two words on the paper and says them aloud in English. Feasgar math. “Good afternoon.”

Kate gasps as their first exchanged messages disappear, replaced by another. Sebastian narrates and translates. “Tha mi air feitheamh cho fada gus an ruig thu. I have waited so long for you to arrive.”

Who are you? Sebastian queries in Scottish Gaelic.

I am you, the parchment answers cryptically.

Kate and Sebastian glance confusedly at each other.

What is your name?

Eilionoir. And yours?

“Queen Eilionoir of Blackfold Castle,” Kate murmurs. “How…? How is she doing this? It’s impossible. She’s dead…”

“Should we give our names?” Sebastian asks.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “It could be the work of Dark magic… What do you think?”

Sebastian begins scribbling again. What shall you do with our names?

I shall do nothing. I am merely curious to know our names.

Our names?

Yes. Our names. Please. And pray tell, what is the year?

1899. Sebastian glances at Kate, who nods in approval. We are Sebastian Renatus Sallow and Kate Camellia Mayflower.

I see. Much time has passed. I wonder why it took so many centuries. I have never heard such names.

What do you mean by “it?”

You shall understand soon.

Sebastian grows bolder, tired of playing games. Why did you draw Kate into this place? Do you seek to harm us?

It has been so long. I did not wish to risk losing you both. I waited for you specifically. I promise that neither of you shall not be harmed. I want you to understand. Please take note. Should you heed my instructions, you shall be greatly rewarded. You shall leave this place with more knowledge and wealth than you can imagine.

Kate and Sebastian exchange glances, eyebrows raised.

We do not understand, but we await your directions.

If you are Neacal, you surely must know how to use a Pensieve, yes?

Sebastian shakes his head. Perhaps this charmed paper is not as effective or intelligent as he was beginning to believe. My name is Sebastian. I know how to use a Pensieve.

Marvelous. Sebastian, I have left memories for you and Kate to view. You likely enjoy exploring, yes?

Yes.

You shall explore this castle, where I once dwelled. In each room of the southern wing, I left bottled memories. Collect them. If you use them in order, you shall see the story of my life chronologically. Do not disturb any of the items in the rooms - only procure the memories. When your task is complete, I shall reveal more - and provide a reward.

Sebastian is not quite sure what to say, so he ends with: Thank you.

“I’ve never used a Pensieve…” Kate tells him hesitantly.

“It isn’t difficult,” Sebastian assures her.

Kate grasps his hand tightly. “Sebastian, how is any of this possible?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “I’m not entirely certain. It would take powerful magic to link one’s conscious memory to an object, like a piece of parchment. Queen Eilionoir must have had a very important reason to do it - that would take serious determination and skill. I just… I don’t understand why she writes that she has waited for us, specifically. How could she know us?”

“I don’t know, either. But… I do not think we are in danger. Do you?” Kate asks.

“No, I don’t,” he replies. “We should see this through. I’m intrigued by the promise of this reward.”

They set off into the south wing, ready to explore.

An hour later, Kate finishes arranging the memory vials in the order in which they discovered them.

“I wonder how long each of the memories will last,” Kate muses. “There are so many of them… We will likely be here until the evening.”

Sebastian leans over the Pensieve and gazes into the wispy, swirling basin. “Let’s not wait any longer, then. I am ready when you are.”

Kate nods. “So, what do I do?”

“Stand next to the Pensieve. I will retrieve a memory, open the bottle, and empty its contents. Then, both of us shall place our faces into the Pensieve,” he explains, walking to the table and selecting the first memory. “It will feel strange at first. You will feel like you are truly there, and you’ll see what this person experienced. You will not be able to interact with anything in the memory, but you will be able to move about and see a little beyond what the queen could see herself.” He uncaps the glass top of the memory bottle. “Does that make sense? Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” she affirms.

Sebastian lets the silvery memory trickle out of the bottle and into the Pensieve. He and Kate stare at each other, resolved. They place their faces into the basin, and their world fades away, replaced by Queen Eilionoir’s.

At first, Kate feels as though she is falling, but she doesn’t even notice that she lands.

They’re in a large, green field, bordered by a forest. In the distance is a tiny cottage with a pen for livestock.

A little girl runs by, chasing after a lamb. She has long, blonde, very curly hair, green eyes, and freckles - Kate notes that she almost looks like a cherub, despite her clothing - a dark brown dress with a tattered smock, along with a dark cloth wrapped around the top of her head. Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she’s panting, trying to keep up with the runaway animal. She cries out in a language Kate doesn’t understand.

Sebastian, standing next to Kate, murmurs, “She’s telling the lamb to stop and wait. But it doesn’t look like it will. We’ll have to follow her.”

He takes Kate’s hand, and they begin jogging towards the lamb and child.

Up ahead, underneath a tree, there sits a small boy, about the same age, paging through a book. He has dark - almost black - hair and brown eyes, trained on a book. He appears to be talking to himself. His clothes are in much better shape. As the little girl approaches, the boy finally looks up.

She continues shouting at the lamb as it furthers its lead. Finally, she trips somehow, falling down hard with an “Oomph!”

The young lad closes his book, stands, and pulls a wand out of his pocket, pointing it at the lamb. He murmurs something, moving the wand, and, as a result, the creature freezes in place. Then, he dashes over to the little girl, checking to see if she is alright. He helps her stand.

“Merlin,” Sebastian marvels. “He couldn’t be much older than five. How could he do that at that age?”

The children converse with each other.

“She thanked him. Then, they exchanged names. Eilionoir Aitken and Neacal Brody. He has offered to help her to bring the lamb back to its pen,” Sebastian explains to Kate.

Little Neacal picks up the lamb with great effort, and the two begin walking back in the direction from which Eilionoir came.

The memory fades, and Kate and Sebastian find themselves back in their world as they remove their faces from the Pensieve.

Kate touches her face, surprised it isn’t wet. “Neacal… Isn’t that the name the parchment mentioned earlier?”

“Yes,” replies Sebastian. “Let’s view the next memory, if you’re ready.”

Eilionoir cannot be much more than a year older than in the previous memory. The scenery is a one-room home, a very rustic one. Eilionoir’s face is dirty; she is sitting up on a bed stuffed with three younger siblings, fast asleep. Her mother pulls a wooden chair close to the bed. Eilionoir clutches her stomach and appears to complain.

“She’s hungry,” Sebastian translates.

Eilionoir’s mother responds to her, taking a strand of blond curls in her hair.

Sebastian listens to the conversation, then tells Kate what transpired. He’s frowning. “Her mother told her that she should just go to sleep if she’s hungry, for there is no more food. She then taught Eilionoir that someday, she will save the family from poverty by marrying someone wealthy. She told her that it is a woman’s duty to marry and have children for her husband. It is the only thing women are made for, and she tells Eilionoir that she must be so pretty for a reason - that she is sure to attract someone of a higher status.”

Eilionoir smiles innocently, then asks another question. Then, the memory fades.

When Kate and Sebastian return to their world, he translates again. “Eilionoir asked if her husband will have food.”

Kate looks down, troubled by what they saw and heard. “Such poverty… and yet she ended up here, in Blackfold Castle.”

Many years pass throughout the memories inside the third bottle.

Most of the scenes take place after sunset, as it grows dark outside. Kate eventually deduces that they must only be able to meet at night, after the day’s work is complete.

Eilionoir meets Neacal at the same tree from the first memory. He holds his wand out, clearly utilizing Lumos. They laugh, running through a dark forest, side by side. They eventually come to a river, and Neacal finds a fallen tree that might lead them across, but it’s clearly not all that stable or safe. Eilionoir tries to hold him back, but Neacal climbs onto it without any hesitation. Stepping carefully and testing his weight, he makes it across the river. Then, he beckons for her to follow, and she does. The moment she is across, they run further and further into the woods.

The next memory finds Neacal seated at the tree, waiting for Eilionoir again. He reads a book using his illuminated wand. Eilionoir arrives and sits beside him. He recites the words to her.

“A fairy tale?” Kate guesses.

Sebastian laughs, shaking his head. “Far from it.” He steps closer to the two of them, hovering close behind and examining the words on the page. “It’s a book that teaches about magical theory.”

Kate furrows her brow. “They can’t be more than nine years old… Are you sure?”

He chuckles. “Yes, I’m certain. And look, they are both so interested…”

“At nine, I would have been reading tales of princesses and heroes,” Kate muses. “How strange.”

Sebastian smiles. “I would have, too, but I certainly would have read things like this, as well. My parents always encouraged studying serious texts along with enjoying fun stories.”

Kate gazes at Sebastian in amazement and admiration.

The scene changes. Neacal leads Eilionoir to his home, where his parents provide her with a hot meal. Then, Neacal asks his father for something. He returns with three long boxes.

“Wands,” Kate guesses. “Perhaps his parents were wandmakers.”

Eilionoir tries out two of the wands with disastrous results, but the third produces a bright light the moment she touches it. She asks Neacal’s father if it costs money, and he shakes his head, gesturing that it belongs to her now. She beams.

Not much time passes, and Kate and Sebastian again see the two of them by “their” tree.

Neacal takes Eilionoir’s left hand, and wraps a flower around her ring finger, whispering something in her ear. Eilionoir blushes intensely. He chastely kisses her cheek.

“He said he would marry her someday,” Sebastian murmurs with a smile, nudging Kate. “That he would take care of her.”

“All of this is so sweet.” Kate smiles.

More years go by. Most of the scenes are about Neacal reading to or teaching spells to Eilionoir, helping her to practice and hone her magic. They are thrilled with every success, hugging each other and dancing around.

Kate and Sebastian are sent back to their reality.

“This is fascinating,” Kate says, “And I want to keep going, but perhaps we should take a break for luncheon.”

Sebastian chuckles. Without Kate, that never would have crossed his mind - he would normally have been too obsessed and enthralled to stop for even a moment, but now that she’s said it, his stomach growls. He agrees, and Kate quickly prepares a cheese and meat plate with fresh bread and grapes. It’s not much, but it will sustain them for a few more hours.

When Sebastian tips the next silvery memory into the Pensieve, he and Kate dive right in, reinvigorated by their light lunch.

This memory isn’t happy at all.

Eilionoir’s mother lies dead in her bed, a midwife packing up tools. Her father is screaming at the midwife, as if she could have done something more.

Eilionoir (likely twelve years old now) and her five younger siblings cower in bed, sobbing.

That night, Eilionoir sneaks out as soon as everyone is asleep. She dashes to Neacal’s house and taps at the small window she knows to be right above his bed. A few minutes later, he slips outside. The moment Eilionoir lays eyes on him, she bursts into tears. Neacal leads her to their tree, where she can actually let it all out. She sobs loudly, practically unable to breathe. Neacal holds her in an embrace, rubbing her back.

This scene fades, and then one begins, with Eilionoir and her father. He is having a serious discussion with her.

“He says that the family depends on Eilionoir more than ever, with her mother gone. She needs to look after her siblings and mind the house. He actually said to her, ‘Childhood is over,’” Sebastian explains. He listens to more of their conversation, then continues, “Her father is telling her that she is practically a woman now and that he will look for a match for her as soon as possible. Through marriage, Eilionoir could lift the family out of poverty.”

Kate scoffs. “A woman? She doesn’t even look like a teenager.”

Perhaps a year later, Eilionoir’s body has shifted closer to that of a young lady. At night, she and Neacal, who also looks older and more filled out, walk in the woods hand in hand, under the light of the moon. They reach the river where they once used to play as children. Neacal gestures for Eilinoir to sit on a fallen tree, and he settles in next to her, quite close. The stars are reflected in the water, and lacewing flies light up all around them.

Neacal takes her face in his hands, leans in, and kisses Eilionoir softly. When they break apart, he begins to speak and continues for a long while. She smiles at him, and when he finishes, she presses her lips to his once more. Just like when they were children, Neacal wraps a flower around her left ring finger, whispering in her ear.

Sebastian clears his throat. “Neacal says he will marry her. He will provide for her and her family. He will properly speak to her father about a wedding as soon as he finishes his apprenticeship. He says they will always be happy, and he will always cherish her. They’ll be together every day and not have to sneak around at night anymore. He promises he will procure a real ring for her.”

Kate smiles, then frowns, realizing that she eventually becomes a queen - not Neacal’s wife.

A couple more years pass. Eilionoir listens in as Neacal speaks to her father about a marriage. To her surprise, her father agrees but says that Neacal must prove that he can actually provide for Eilionoir and her family. Neacal shakes his hand, promising to do so.

When Kate and Sebastian emerge from the Pensieve, Kate gestures for him to hurry up and pour in the contents of the next bottle.

A year has passed. Eilionoir is smiling, and her siblings are quite excited. There is to be a royal procession through the village. They beg Eilionoir to let them leave their chores for just an hour so that they may see it, and, after some hesitation, she agrees.

They all stroll towards town, joining a large crowd lining the main road. They soon hear horns, signaling the arrival of the procession.

There are musicians on horseback at the front of the procession. Then, there are knights and royal officials, riding on unicorns, no less. Eilionoir’s youngest sibling, no more than seven years old, jumps up and down excitedly, pointing at the rare creatures. Eilionoir grins at the joy this has brought them. Eventually, a carriage pulled by thestrals rolls past, slowly. There is a man, wearing a crown, inside, who waves at all of the villagers. His eyes meet Eilionoir’s and do not leave until the carriage has long passed. The procession continues on, and at the end, there is a performer who uses fire magic to entertain.

When it is over, Eilionoir pushes her siblings to return home. The younger ones skip and sing all the way back.

When Eilionoir opens the door, there is an older man - someone who appears noble - speaking to her father. Eilionoir is taken aback and quickly pulls her siblings back around the house to their livestock pen to get back to their work.

Tiptoeing back around the house, she tries to not arouse suspicion, as she clearly plans to listen in to the conversation, but the nobleman exits, sees her, and slightly bows. Eilionoir appears confused but curtsies. She enters the house to find her father smiling and laughing. He asks her to sit down, unable to speak at first because he is practically cackling with happiness. Then, he begins sharing some news with her. Eilionoir, at first, grins but then turns pale.

Sebastian’s face falls as he listens in. “Her father says that their life of poverty is over. Eilionoir is to be married to the prince of Blackfold Castle, Luthais. He saw her, thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and immediately requested for someone to speak to her father to arrange a marriage agreement. He does not care that her family is poor.”

Eilinoir begins to tear up. She calmly asks a question.

“Eilionoir asks how her father could do this, when she has already been promised to Neacal.”

Her father shakes his head and answers her as though she is being ridiculous.

“He says that their engagement was never official and that Neacal could never offer her what the prince could. Neacal could not lift her family from poverty. Neacal could not give Eilionoir’s father a hefty annual allowance and a title,” Sebastian explains somberly.

Eilinoir argues with him, then begins screaming and crying, to no avail.

In the next scene, Eilionoir tells Neacal the news. They both cry and hold each other, realizing there may be no way out of this situation as they go through potential options. Neacal promises that, despite their dour circumstances, he will still try to find a solution.

Then, the season changes from spring to summer. Eilionoir sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night, meeting with Neacal at their tree. They immediately begin kissing desperately. Tears spill from Eilionoir’s eyes. She whispers to him.

“I do not wish to leave you. I cannot live without you, Neacal,” Sebastian translates.

Neacal presses his lips to her forehead, tearing up. “I love you, Eilionoir. I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will.”

“Please tell me you have found a way for us to be together,” Eilionoir begs.

Neacal looks down, his forehead touching hers. “I did everything I could. There is no solution. Not in this life.”

She is wracked with sobs. They hold each other close, moving to finally sit down.

“Eilionoir, though I cannot make you my wife, I may have devised a way for us to be together. Not in this life, but the next. Do you trust me?” Neacal asks.

She nods, brushing away tears. “With all my heart. I trust you with my life.”

Neacal reaches into a pocket in his cloak. He gets on one knee and holds out a golden ring with a moonstone. “Will you follow me into the next life?”

Eilionoir appears confused.

“I want you to have this ring to remember me by. However, it’s also an assurance we shall find each other someday. I have never studied so much or gone to such lengths in my life. I traveled to meet with an elder to ensure my work was not in vain. I have finally done it, Eilionoir. I have actually created a spell.” From his cloak pocket, he retrieves and unfolds a piece of parchment. “It’s… it’s a spell for reincarnation.” He gives her a serious, earnest look, searching her face for approval.

“Reincarnation? I never believed it possible,” Eilionoir replies, mystified, gazing at him. “But if you say it is possible, then I know it is possible.”

“It will work. I know it will work.” His tone is determined, sure.

Eilionoir kisses his hand, and then he slides the ring onto her finger - a perfect fit.

“We’ll have another chance,” he murmurs, placing a green ring with a moonstone onto his left ring finger. Then, he shows her the parchment. “We must cast this together under the full moon while wearing the rings. Our souls will unite in the next life.”

Eilionoir scans the parchment, then gazes upon Neacal with genuine hope in her eyes.

The two, in unison, look up at the night sky, where a full moon watches over them. Neacal takes his lover’s hand and helps her to stand.

“We must use both of our wands at once, with both of our hands, and create a circle around us to bind us,” Neacal instructs. “Then, we shall recite the enchantment.”

Both of them take out their wands. Neacal places his in Eilionoir’s hand and then his hand joins hers. They turn in a circle, which somehow materializes around them in a wispy white. The moonstones on their rings light up.

“I want to see this spell,” Sebastian insists, strolling right behind them and peeking over their shoulders. As it is a Pensieve memory, Eilionoir and Neacal have no reaction to his close hovering. He reads, “‘Geas a cheangal anaman gu bràth’ - ‘A spell to join souls forever.’”

Eilionoir and Neacal begin to recite the spell - it sounds more like a prayer than anything, Kate thinks. “Gràdh mo bheatha, bheir sinn aghaidh air bàs gun eagal. Tha sinn gu bhith a’ coinneachadh a-rithist fon ghealach làn san ath bheatha. Chan urrainn ar n-anaman a bhith air an dealachadh gu bràth. Tha sinn gu h-iriosal a' guidhe air na diathan sinn a bhi air ar ceangal aon uair eile.”

Sebastian translates as quickly as he can, while they speak. “Love of my life, we shall face death without fear. We are destined to meet again under the full moon in the next life. Our souls can never be parted. We beg the gods humbly for us to be joined once more.”

The circle drawn with their wands lights up brightly, sparkling. It constricts around them until it disappears in a burst. Little stars, like glitter, fall all around them.

“It worked,” Neacal whispers. He turns to face Eilionoir. “It truly did work…”

“I love you,” Eilionoir murmurs, pressing her lips to his. Their kiss quickly becomes desperate, passionate, hungry.

The two fall to their knees, clinging to each other, their hands everywhere, as they kiss.

“Neacal,” Eilionoir pants out. “I will only ever love you. We are truly married now in my heart. Please…” She trails off, unable to finish the words.

“Eilionoir,” Neacal chokes out, his hands in her hair.

“I will not save my innocence for a man I do not love,” she finally breathes out, looking deeply into his eyes. “Please, Neacal… Make love to me… You are my true husband…”

Neacal gazes upon her for a long moment, and then they begin kissing again. Neacal gently lays Eilionoir down, maneuvering himself over her.

The memory fades.

When Sebastian and Kate find themselves back in their reality, they are completely silent for a full minute, both of their minds spinning.

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