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vettelsvee · 4 months ago

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GOODBYES ARE BITTERSWEET | Sebastian Vettel ✩₊˚.⋆ PART 2: LOVING HIM WAS RED [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

goodbyes are bittersweet masterlist f1 masterlist | ao3 | requests or let's talk!

ferrari sebastian vettel x ex gf!female reader

word count: 3972

summary: seb, after not knowing about her for almost five years, finds out that y/n just went viral on youtube after posting a song that might be written about him

warnings: settled on april 2018 and narrated on seb's pov. curse words, mentions of sex and one night stands. apart from that, just a little bit of background story from seb and reader's relationship

taglist: [@saltycomicsanimalssalad @hc-dutch @mycenterfold @simplyamberj @spitesfvl-blog @jaydaaasworld @lottalove4evelyn @zoeyjadetice2010 @nhfls @jehun @ferralari @cosmoscoffeee @mcmuppet @myescapefromthislife ]

a/n: i know i'm supposed to be posting oscar fics but migraine is killing me today (been quite stressed for the past few days i believe). in the meantime, as i already had it written, here you have part 2 of goodbyes are bittersweet! hope you liked it as much as you liked part 1 (even if it's a bit different). part 3 coming tomorrow if you want so? PLEASE let me know your thoughts and opinions in comments! feedback is appreciated, as well as reblogs <3

2018 April 27th Baku, Azerbaijan

Sebastian

I woke up as soon as I felt the sun’s rays hitting me in the face, and at the same moment I noticed a surprisingly strange warmth next to me, in bed.

I looked at my phone and saw that it was already half-past seven in the morning. Not only had I realized that my alarm hadn’t gone off and I had overslept by an hour and a half, but it was also Y/N’s birthday.

Like every year, there was no response from her to the email I had scheduled to be sent at midnight.

After almost five years of knowing the bare minimum about her and having seen her a couple of times from afar in Heppenheim, I knew why, deep down, I kept doing it. I still loved her as much as the first day, or even more. I hoped for a reunion where we could tell each other about our lives and start a simple friendship as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t chosen to leave my life and act like she didn’t know me.

I decided to turn over to see what was getting closer and closer to me, almost pushing me off the bed. It wasn’t hard to find myself face to face with blue eyes that were not the green ones I had dreamed of that night.

Suddenly, memories from just a few hours ago started to form in my mind. A few beers I shouldn’t have had at a local pub just because I wanted to escape the blurry memory of Y/N were responsible for me meeting this charming young woman with a wonderful smile.

My head couldn’t piece together how we ended up here, but I suppose her insistence, my invitation for her to accompany me to the hotel, and possibly a taxi ride I paid for were the final results of the goal to escape reality.

This had been my routine since I realized my ex-girlfriend wasn’t coming back into my life. I didn’t like being this way, and although I had tried to find a stable partner, kindness, fun and a temporary refuge had been the best way to try to forget Y/N Y/L/N, who always found a way to slip into my thoughts at the least expected moment.

I quickly got out of bed and, almost without thinking and without needing to undress, jumped into the shower and did my best to let the warm water make me forget everything I had allowed to happen the night before. I closed my eyes and let myself go as much as I could. I tried to organize my thoughts and find the easiest possible way out of the problem I had gotten myself into, but it was impossible to find one that worked.

I got out of there faster than I would have liked. When I returned to the room, with just the towel wrapped around my waist, leaving my entire torso exposed, I found the person I had been avoiding at all costs.

The brunette was already stretching in bed, dawdling and, surely, not wanting to leave.

“Would you mind leaving?”

My rhetorical question made her just look at me in surprise, her eyes still sleepy.

“Why, Seb? Can’t we spend the day together? I could go with you to the paddock and repeat what we did last night in your room or whatever you call it,” she suggested with a playful smile. “You know as well as I do that it would be fun.”

I felt a knot forming in my stomach at her suggestion. It wasn’t that I hadn’t enjoyed her company or was forbidden to do so, but the simple fact of knowing who was turning thirty today, and that this exact proposal was something I used to do with her...

“I don’t think it’s a good idea...”

Damn, I didn’t remember her name.

“Alessia.”

“That’s it, Alessia,” I confirmed. “You know how these things are and what it could mean for us to be seen together. We could meet another day as... friends.”

Neither my response nor hers were what the other expected. After hearing her name, I remembered the brief introduction she gave me: a musician just starting out and a member of a highly successful Italian orchestra.

An Italian version of Y/N and, unfortunately for me and possibly the blonde, a successful one.

“The way you moaned my name last night so many times is not something friends usually do. You made me feel special last night. A lot, in fact.”

“I’m sorry, Alessia, that wasn’t what I meant,” I clarified, my cheeks blushing slightly at her statement. “I hope you enjoyed what we did last night, but it’s time for you to get dressed and go back to your hotel or wherever you’re staying. I have to go to work,” I added, trying not to succumb to her obvious charms.

After several more attempts to convince me, the girl finally resigned herself and reluctantly accepted my suggestion. I felt uncomfortable when she threw off the sheets and began to gather her clothes, completely naked. I felt even worse as I watched her slow and deliberate movements, as if she were prolonging the inevitable farewell and trying to arouse me.

I bit my lip and refrained from doing or saying anything when she asked for help zipping up her dress. I could have said no, but I didn’t want to seem rude, especially considering that the time I spent with her had made me feel just as I had with my ex-girlfriend.

Once we were finished, the Italian approached me with determination. Before I could react, her lips sought mine with clear intention. I instinctively turned my face, causing the kiss to land on my cheek instead of my lips.

“Alessia…”

What could I say in a situation like this? Did she deserve the hurt I was going to cause her even though we had only had a night of wild sex, like so many others I had had with other girls?

“I’m sorry,” she murmured hastily, looking away. “I thought… you know, that we could have something more than just a one-night stand.”

My heart sank at her words, and as I had already foreseen, because it always happened in these cases, guilt overwhelmed me.

I knew I had been unfair to her by allowing this to happen, by letting her believe there could be something more between us, and that the problem was hers when the only one to blame was me, who hadn’t gotten over the love of my life after four years, now closer to five, of no contact.

“Alessia, you’re an incredible person,” I began to say, trying to find the right words and not hurt her more, “but right now, all I want to focus on is my work and working on myself. It wouldn’t be fair for you to be part of all this and end up getting hurt.”

“I understand,” she said softly, nodding with a sadness that, although expected, still surprised me. “Thank you for letting me spend this night with you, Sebastian.”

I felt overwhelmed and at the same time a great mixture of relief and remorse as I watched her leave without even looking back.

When enough time had passed to be sure I wouldn’t run into her, I went down to the hotel lobby still feeling that heaviness invading me. I tried to shake off all of them, but as soon as I saw Britta standing in front of the entrance, arms crossed and with an angry look fixed on me, I knew it was going to be difficult.

“Sebastian, again?” she asked, full of frustration.

“Yes, and I’m not going to apologize for something I don’t regret,” I replied sincerely, knowing there was no way to avoid the upcoming conversation.

“Are you going to keep playing this game much longer?” she reproached as she quickened her pace, trying not to cause too much of a scene or draw attention. “You’ve gone longer than I’d like to say without settling down.”

“I will when I get tired of sleeping with girls I don’t know, I suppose. Having sex is good for health, you know? Be thankful I don’t cause you many problems after these nights.”

Britta sighed, and I knew my response was making her lose the little patience she had left.

“I know you didn’t ask for my opinion, but I think what would make you tired of sleeping with strangers almost every Grand Prix week would be to have some kind of interaction with Y/N.”

The mention of the blonde’s name made the wave of emotions I had tried to bury for years resurface, hitting me suddenly.

“You know I can’t do that. It’s impossible. I’ve tried, but she doesn’t want to cooperate.”

“You should at least try once again, at least. I know there’s nothing, nor anyone, who can change her mind,” and it was true. Y/N was the most stubborn person, for better or worse, that I had ever met in my life. “But I also know that if you keep avoiding facing your feelings and trying to forgive yourself for what happened, you’ll never find the peace you’re not only wishing for but also deserving of.”

“I know, Britta, but…”

“But what, Sebastian? It’s just that…”

“Have you ever heard of the invisible string theory?”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the change of subject and possibly for not letting her finish. She slowed her pace, and for the first time in the short time we had been together that day, I felt calm and even understood.

“Yes, I’ve heard something about that,” she said after a few seconds that felt eternal. “What does that have to do with getting over your ex-girlfriend?”

“Well, everything, really,” I declared. “Y/N and I dated, if you can even call it that, for ten days during Christmas of ’99. She was 11, and I was 12, and I was a bit stupid because I ended up breaking up with her when I fell for a classmate who had just moved to Heppenheim and who eventually started dating my cousin.”

“But…”

“Then Y/N and I became friends again,” I continued, trying not to let her interrupt my impromptu speech, “and it took six years until she told me she loved me. I didn’t want to admit my feelings and decided that not talking to her for four months was the best, not even to offer my condolences after her grandmother’s death… And look, in the end, I asked her to go out with me!”

My PR sighed, possibly tired of hearing that story once again, a story I never got tired of telling because sometimes reality was weirder than fiction.

“I’m going to tell you what I’ve always told you since Y/N left, and I don’t care if you don’t want to hear it: you’re still clinging to the hope that everything will go back to how it was, even though you know it’s not possible,” she said without a hint of doubt. “Even if you ran into her and had a deep conversation, your lives have changed. At least yours has, and I’m sure hers has too.”

“I mentioned the invisible string theory because I feel like there’s something else. I feel, besides there being something unknown that ties us together for some reason, that the third time's the final one,” I finally confessed.

My confession seemed to have caught her off guard. Now, she slowed, and she was passing her accreditation to enter the paddock much more slowly than she usually did.

Maybe she was right, that I was holding on too tightly to the hope that everything would go back to how it was before, but I had been dreaming about Y/N again for many nights after months without doing so. It had never happened before, but the last few days had felt like she had never left my life and had always been there, just apart.

The last time I had that feeling it ended with me seeing her from a distance playing with a little girl she was probably babysitting to earn some extra money.

Obviously, I didn’t dare to approach her because she seemed... happy. Quite happy, actually.

“I’d like to keep talking about this, but I want you to stop thinking about Y/N, at least for a few hours, and focus on today,” my PR’s change in tone let me know she was serious. “We have a lot to do.”

“Then enlighten me, master.”

“First, you have a meeting with the team to discuss possible strategies for practice and what might work for tomorrow’s qualifying,” the blonde began to explain, taking out her planner and going over the day’s schedule. “Then I think you have an interview with SkySports with Nico Rosberg, and maybe a talk for a collaboration with a brand, but I have to check that again.”

“What time am I supposed to meet with the engineers?”

“Around nine-thirty, but...”

I yawned, not bothering to cover my mouth as my PR continued talking. The heaviness in my eyelids was getting worse, and I felt the exhaustion from the previous night starting to take its toll. I looked at my phone and saw that, unfortunately, it was only eight-fifteen.

Was the day going by that slowly?

“Understood,” I replied, pretending I had been paying attention to everything Britta had said. “By the way, do you mind if I go to my driver’s room to have some rest?”

“Sebastian...”

“I had a fantastic night,” I admitted, causing her to cross her arms and once again look at me with a stern expression, “but I didn’t sleep at all, and if I want to perform well, I need to sleep at least for a bit.”

“You have forty-five minutes at most,” the blonde snapped. “Don’t you dare be late, or we’ll have problems. Set your alarm and make sure your phone is on in case someone calls you.”

It won’t be Y/N, that’s for sure.

“I will, don’t worry.”

I left Britta after exchanging a few more words with her and hurried as much as I could. With every step I took, I felt more tired. I knew I should have slept at least six hours, but I succumbed to the temptation last night to, why not say it, have a good time and, as was more than obvious and had become routine since 2014, try to succeed in the mission of forgetting Y/N on her birthday.

Another year, it had been impossible.

I didn’t know if it was due to lack of sleep or lack of attention, but the voices around me seemed increasingly distant. The only thing I could hear as I walked through the pit lane was a growing murmur where the words “viral” and “song” seemed to be the main topics, especially from the mouths of Max, Daniel, and I’d swear Charles.

“Have you heard this song?” I heard Verstappen say. I stopped when the first piano chords began to play. “It’s like a pandemic; it’s everywhere.”

“I don’t know who the girl singing is, but she’s incredibly talented,” Ricciardo continued. “Do we know who...?”

“You don’t know if it’s a girl!” Leclerc reproached, hitting the Australian on the arm. “What if it’s a guy with a high voice?”

I laughed at the younger guys' antics, wondering if my former teammates saw me that way when I was their age.

Losing him was blue like i’d never known Missing him was dark gray all alone Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met Cos’ loving him was red

If my eyes were almost closing automatically, after hearing the chorus, or whatever it was called, it felt like I had taken an energy drink that had woken me up.

The moment that voice, both raspy and sweet at the same time, penetrated my ear, my hair stood on end. Its familiarity was incredible… but no, it couldn't be her. It was impossible.

"God damn, who can play the piano while singing?"

"I have two questions," Daniel blurted out, ignoring Charles' words. "The first one is who the fuck it could be, and the second is how the hell they've gotten so much attention out of nowhere."

It's Y/N, who else could it be, I thought.

I tried to control all kinds of thoughts that were running through my head. I knew my ex-girlfriend's voice perfectly, and the one coming from the Dutchman's phone was quite similar to hers.

"Maybe it's a marketing strategy. At least that's what Fernando thinks," Max always had the Spaniard's name in his mouth. "What if it's a marketing strategy by some record label? It could be a plan to generate interest in an artist or a song."

"I highly doubt it. If they wanted to do that, the YouTube account wouldn't be named 151206010614."

Lewis appeared next to me out of nowhere. Quickly taking off his headphones, he also unplugged them from his phone, letting the song play at full volume.

"Seb, are you okay?" insisted the Brit.

"Yes, yes. I was just a bit distracted," I hurried to say.

He didn't seem very satisfied with my answer, but I didn't care. The only thing I was thinking about at that moment was how much I wanted to get to the hospitality area, and how much I wanted to take a micro-nap at this point.

"Are you also distracted thinking about that anonymous person?"

"I can't be distracted by someone I know nothing about other than what I've heard from them," I replied, pointing to the three drivers who were still engrossed in the conversation about the topic.

"I've managed to hear a bit, yes," replied the dark-haired one. "I think I understand music a little more than they do. I'm almost sure it has nothing to do with a record label, and that someone simply uploaded it without any expectations. And look how it went from them."

I looked at him intrigued, understanding little to nothing of what he was saying.

"Since you look confused, I'll explain a bit," Hamilton continued, realizing that I didn't seem to understand much. "It seems they uploaded this song, which happens to be called Red, to YouTube," he hit play and put it on again, now from the beginning, "It seems to be about a failed relationship, but no one knows who sings it or what the real story behind it is."

"Does no one really know anything?" I insisted, finding the situation very strange.

Why was the voice only familiar to me? Could it be because today was Y/N's birthday, and everything reminded me of her much more than usual?

"The only thing we know is that the song is wonderful. Really, I don't know who’s behind this, but if they discover that girl, if it is a girl, and give her a chance, I’m almost sure she can achieve great things."

We decided to move a bit further down the pit lane, exchanging a few words with those we met. Lewis kept talking about the song. I couldn't stop thinking and analyzing the melody, the lyrics, the voice, and especially the user. I knew there was something hidden behind that combination of numbers, and now the priority of sleeping a bit before the first free practice session had taken a back seat.

I tried all possible combinations. Numbers from front to back, in pairs, trios, and even quartets, but nothing seemed to convince me. While the melody of Red continued to resonate from the Mercedes driver's iPhone, my mind kept trying to get the information because something inside me, which was nothing like the feeling I had every April 27th, knew it was Y/N.

I managed to come up with the supposed answer shortly after, recalling some of the important dates for us. If I divided the username into three different sections, with two pairs of numbers each, the first one corresponded to June 15th, 2006.

That was the day I asked Y/N to be my girlfriend.

If that was right, the second pair of numbers corresponded to January 12th, 2014. I was no longer dating Y/N at that time, but I knew her perfectly, and not to brag, but I was convinced that date must be extremely important to her if it was alongside our anniversary.

I wish I could know what it is that about.

“Are you listening to me?”

Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes

Tell myself it's time now, gotta let go

But moving on from him is impossible

When I still see it all in my head

In burning red

I ignored Lewis after hearing, for the first time paying extremely attention, that bridge.

Somehow, the song described my feelings perfectly, and I didn’t know why I felt that way. I couldn’t let go of Y/N, not when she had been, and still was, the love of my life.

I entered WhatsApp almost automatically and went into Y/N's profile. She had no profile picture, but I knew perfectly well that it was her because her contact was still saved with the same name. I quickly wrote to her that I knew it was her hiding behind the song and that somehow, I knew she was talking about me.

I saw Britta approaching us quickly. She was also engrossed in her phone, her fingers constantly moving over it. I didn’t pay much attention to her because once I showed my desperation to Y/N, I moved on to conveying it to Hanna, trying to convince her to reveal that it was her best friend.

“Seb, we need to talk,” Roeske hurried to say, almost out of breath. Her gaze was still fixed on her device.

“Britta, I can’t right now, I’m sending…”

“Sebastian Vettel, this is serious.”

When she yanked the phone from my hands and I made eye contact with her, I assumed things didn’t seem to be going very well. The moment she turned her gaze to Lewis and he walked away, patting me on the shoulder, I knew.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, quite angry. “Why are you acting like a neurotic who seems to have lost a million euros on a ridiculous bet?”

“I don’t want you to answer anything related to that song that went viral, Red. I’m telling you, Sebastian, don’t you dare answer anything about that damn song.”

And again, this was another sign that happened to make me feel like I hadn’t gone crazy.

“Sebastian, trust me,” Britta remained firm in her expression, crossing her arms. “I don’t want you to get into trouble because the song was uploaded by…”

“Y/N.”

I saw the answer in her eyes. I knew her and knew she longed to answer me and at the same time, she didn’t.

Britta knew that, but I also had the feeling she seemed to want to hide something.

“It’s her the one singing, right?” I insisted, but she didn’t answer. “Britta, please: tell me.”

I was desperate, and it was more than obvious. A sigh and a few seconds filled with uncertainty preceded her response:

“If you already know, why do you ask me? You know the sunshine of your life, as you still call her, much better than I do. Of course it’s Y/N,” she revealed, lifting a great weight off my shoulders and, above all, making me believe I could have faith in the future.

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lilywastaken · 2 years ago

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⇝ together .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART THREE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: A month after his return, you start warming up to Simon, only for him to ruin it.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Fluff for once, Angst, mild nsfw, mentions of child abuse and abuse in general, canon typical violence, choking (not in a sexy way).

A/N: Finally finished!! I'm so sorry I haven't been able to get this out sooner, these past weeks have just been chocked full of assignments I had to finish 😭 I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations!!! Please don't forget to reblog and leave a comment, it helps a lot!!

WORD COUNT: 9.2k

MASTERLIST.

If you want to be tagged on future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account! — @lilynottaken !

Also on Ao3!

"'m blaming this on you."

You grumbled to Simon as you watched your son clap his hands against his father's, happy coos and gurgles leaving him.

"What?" He turned away from Tommy to look at you with a confused look, well, you assumed it was confused by the way his eyes were squinted. "How is this my fault?"

"He's copying you." You yawned, curling into the foetal position and pulling up the blanket over your body, head almost rolling off the sofa as you continued to pay attention to your son and his father's every movement. "You don't sleep so he doesn't."

"Not sure that's how his brain works yet." You could hear the amusement in his words, rolling your eyes as you switched your gaze from them up to the telly, that was playing some football game Simon had put on a few hours ago. "Think he's just not tired."

You know you should've expected this, Tommy's doctor had warned you at the last appointment when he'd gotten his first shots that he might experience some type of sleep regression, which meant more hours of staying awake while watching your son. And maybe it would've been worse for you if Simon wasn't there experiencing the same stress as you were. Weirdly, it felt nice to have another person in the same boat as you, even if he didn't really seem that keen on needing to sleep like you did.

Tommy seemed to had taken a liking to his father ever since the first day they'd both met, but that was kind of a given after Simon had spent the whole month after that coming over almost every single day (except for the days where he'd warned you before time that he'd be gone for work) and spending it all with his son.

You kind of hoped that Tommy had started to recognise him as a father like he did with you as a mother, since he was at the age where he was able to recognise caregivers; but even if he didn't, he did still cling onto Simon's hand every time it was time for him to leave like he did to you, tears bordering at his glassy eyes when you stood at the door with him in your arms waving goodbye to Simon.

You almost started crying every time he'd start making grabby hands at Simon, who'd rest his face against his son's tummy and let his chubby hands pull at the cloth of his balaclava, sometimes even pulling it up over his lips so he could press a quick kiss to his cheek, hiding his face immediately once you came in, unknowing that you'd been watching them before.

It wasn't like the bad blood that you had with Simon had magically been solved, you were still sometimes on edge or a bit snappy at him when it came to Tommy or your "relationship" with him, but you weren't as furious with him as you were when he first showed up.

"Not interestin' enough for you, am I?" Simon grunted as Tommy's attention drifted from the clapping to the telly above him, eyes wide as the presenter talked about some red card.

"You've bored him." You snickered, outstretching an arm to click your fingers, the sound immediately catching your son's attention. "Hi, duck!"

"He's not a bloody cat." Simon grumbled, picking up Tommy carefully from his spot on the blanket you'd draped on the floor for him to lie on, moving him onto your chest so he could cuddle into you.

You were about to snap back when Tommy interrupted you both with a wide yawn, chubby hands clinging onto your sleep shirt and eyes threatening to droop closed, although they were still stuck to the image of the footballers running across the field on the TV.

Both of you froze, Simon having been mid way to getting a toy he'd dropped not so long ago so he was stuck in that position, eyes wide and staring at his suddenly sleepy son.

You placed a soft hand on his back, pressing him further into your chest so the sound of your heartbeat would lull him to sleep easier.

But as luck would have it, a goal was scored right at the moment where his eyes finally fully closed, the commentators shouting out excitement and forcing your son back awake with a cry.

Simon and you groaned in unison, the man finally picking up the toy and collapsing on the ground, lying on his back right next to the sofa and glaring up at the ceiling, listening to you try and calm your son down from his abrupt awakening.

"Who scored?" You grumbled, masking your annoyance with interest.

"Not Manchester." Simon grunted back, raising a hand to take Tommy's, his fingers brushing against your chest in the process. "Haven't had a bloody win in a while."

"Sorry." You mumbled, remembering the disappointment that had shone in his eyes when you'd told him about some of the losses of the teams he liked he'd asked you to take a note of while he was away for work.

He'd done well at keeping his promise, sending you messages every time he had to leave, no longer disappearing without a trace, even if it was just a single day of paperwork or a check up at base. He sometimes also sent you pictures, whether it was him in his car showing you that he was close to your flat in case you weren't prepared for him or the takeaway menu at your favourite fast food place, asking for your order. They were always dark and a bit out of focus, but you couldn't deny that you hadn't let out a laugh when you'd seen the failed attempt of him trying to get out of frame, his skulled balaclava peeking out from a corner of the picture.

He'd been gone for a week this time, which explained why he was being so clingy towards Tommy ever since he'd arrived, takeout in hand and arms itching to wrap around his son, and had spent the whole last hour catching up with the both of you.

"Are you sleeping here tonight?" You yawned, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to ignore the squirming boy on your chest, his hands digging uncomfortably into your clavicle.

"Yeah. Though I probably won't be doing much sleepin'." He rumbled, letting Tommy wrap one of his chubby hands around one of Simon's big fingers. "Y'know I can just take over. Go get some rest."

You bit the inside of your cheek at that, looking away despite still having your eyes partly closed, your grip unintentionally tightening around Tommy's small body.

You were still put on edge whenever you left Tommy alone with Simon, even though he'd shown no ill towards you in any way, you just couldn't help it, the thought that something might happen to your sweet boy when he wasn't under your supervision was enough to strike an unexplainable fear into you. You knew that he'd noticed how your face turned sour whenever it was mentioned, but he hadn't ceased asking completely, knowing that sooner or later you'd have to entrust him with your son like you'd both agreed.

"Is that okay…?" You whispered, your voice barely audible over the cheers and cries of excitement from the telly, but by the way he turned his head towards you and squeezed Tommy's hand, you knew he heard you.

"Yeah. Don' worry. You need some rest."

You both stayed put for a few seconds, your hands slowly falling from their place on your son's back and scooping him up carefully before pushing yourself off the sofa, forcing Tommy's hand out of Simon's in the process.

You watched carefully as he shifted off the floor to sit next to you on the sofa, his built arms moving to cradle his son in their crook, rocking him slowly as you got up, anxiously fidgeting with your fingers as you stood and watched them both for a moment, almost terrified of taking a step out of their vicinity.

"Go." Simon commanded, getting comfy on the sofa as he turned his attention back to the game playing on the telly, the assertive tone that his voice took enough to send shivers running down your spine, nodding your head out of instinct before scurrying away like one of the rookies Simon was oh-so used to ordering around back at base.

After having a well deserved shower and pulling on some of your cosiest pyjamas, you let your body collapse onto your bed, curling into the middle where the mattress dipped and covering yourself up with your countless amount of blankets due to the chill that had overcome the country after a few rare weeks of warmth.

You smiled as you remembered how happy Tommy had looked when you'd taken him out in his stroller and let him bask in the sunlight for a bit while sitting next to him at the park, trying your best to focus on his giggles and not on the shadowy figure of his father standing behind you, more like a bodyguard waiting to take out any threats to you both instead of the father he claimed to want to be.

You let out a huff at the memory of how cautious Simon had been at first around you both, almost like a stray cat getting used to their new family: always standing around you but never too close, bringing you small gifts (i.e. takeout or groceries he thought you'd need or Tommy's new favourite teddy bear he now slept with instead of his duck), slowly making your home his own unconsciously by leaving some of his clothes packed away in a small corner of your wardrobe or packing the fridge with some of how own personal food items.

You'd noticed, of course. How could you not?

At first, when you'd found some of his clothes in the midst of the batch of laundry you were tending to, you were struck with fear. Fear that everything you'd worked hard to build was going to be invaded by this barely known presence you were just starting to get used to, but as time went on, you realised there was nothing scary about it.

It was oddly comforting, in a way. It made you feel less alone when you spotted the extra toothbrush he'd plopped in the glass next to yours, the mug he'd brought over after he'd exclaimed his concern that all of yours were fit for coffee and not for tea or the hoodies he left lying around that Tommy loved curling into whether Simon was wearing it or not.

You pulled a pillow into your arms, simulating the feeling of your son in your arms you'd gotten so used to in order to fall asleep, closing your eyes and letting the muffled sounds of the football game still playing on the TV and your son's faint giggles lull you slowly to your first proper sleep in a while.

You were pulled awake by the sound of your phone going off, your whole body jerking up and rushing to grab it out of instinct, the bright screen illuminating your room and forcing a groan out of you at the disturbance, letting your eyes focus until you were able to properly read the notification.

A frustrated sound left your lips at the message from one of the dating apps you'd forgotten you had informing you that you'd matched with someone, angered that it had been something so stupid that had woken you up from one of the best sleeps you'd had in a long time and not something important.

You fell back down onto the mattress, planning on closing your eyes and curling back into the pillow you'd been spooning moments before, but as your body slowly calmed down from the initial shock that had filled it, you were met with nothing but silence.

Your eyes had adjusted enough at this point that you were able to turn your head over to your door, frowning at the lack of light that normally came from under the door when the living room was lit, raising your head from the pillow slightly in an attempt to catch out any sounds that might be originating from anywhere in your flat.

But once again, silence continued to rule over your home.

You could've just closed your eyes and willed yourself to fall back asleep, but the creeping feeling that it was too quiet for how it normally was, that something might have happened in the few hours you'd let yourself rest was slowly burrowing itself in your mind.

And fuck, what if Simon had done something? What I'd you'd misjudged him? What if he'd taken advantage of your tired state and just fucked off with your son in his arms, leaving you broken and abandoned once again?

The fear that struck your body at that train of thought was enough to wake you up properly, allowing your body to act like it had just consumed countless amounts of caffeine and rush over to the partly open door, slowly pushing it open before looking around frantically, eyes landing on the back of the sofa and on the turned off TV in front of it.

Your hand landed on the headrest, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on Simon's sleeping body, his arms protectively wrapped around Tommy, who was resting on his chest like he'd been with you before you'd gone to rest.

You made it fully around until you were standing in front of the sofa, one of your hands coming up to grab at your thin sleep shirt right over the place your heart was currently hammering against out of relief.

Fuck…

Of course he hadn't left.

You were just being paranoid.

Simon had shown you no ill will the whole time he'd been here, but you were still on edge, assuming the worst from him…

A staggered breath left your lips, your hands coming up to cover your face as you willed your body to calm down, your legs trembling as the adrenaline that had rushed through you momentarily started to fade, leaving you confused and exhausted.

One of your legs threatened to give out, and as soon as you were getting ready to collapse, a warm hand grabbed at your thigh, a silent scream threatening to leave you until you realised who it belonged to, staring down with wide eyes at your son's father, one of the hands that had been cradling Tommy now holding your leg with the same care.

"What happened?!"

You could see the panic in his eyes despite the darkness that enveloped the room, his thumb slowly rubbing up and down your skin, his best attempt at soothing whatever pain you were harbouring that he had no idea about.

He called your name, pulling you closer to the sofa so you were kneeling on the free space of the plush sofa, staring down at Simon's chest and raising one of your hands up to your son's little head, running through his thin hair.

"What happened?" He repeated, more assertive this time rather than the panicked tone he had taken before, his hand moving from the back of your thigh up to your waist, almost like it was natural to do so.

"Nothing…" you finally let out, blinking away some of the tears you hadn't realised that had formed at your waterline. "Just… Uhm…"

"...Nightmare?" He offered an easier excuse than the real reason you'd pulled yourself out of bed at such an hour, slowly nodding your head in agreement and causing him to let out a sigh. "Do you-"

"I'm okay. Just… shaken up." By the way you were anxiously running your fingers through Tommy's hair as if to assure yourself that he was real, that he was indeed lying there asleep (something you hadn't realised up until that moment, Simon had somehow actually gotten Tommy to take a nap.), he assumed that whatever nightmare you'd had was related to him. "Needed to check that he was okay."

Yeah, that cemented it.

Simon would be lying if he said he hadn't a few nightmares of his own about Tommy ever since he'd met him properly, whether it was him forcibly being taken away from you by one of the many enemies he'd made across his life or a freak accident ending any hopes he'd had of all of you being a family.

And maybe they were a bit out of pocket, he'd made it very hard for anyone to trace you or Tommy back to him by always parking his car a few blocks away, making sure that Tommy had your last name instead of his and that the military had no idea about his offspring.

He couldn't have any records that would link you two to him, he couldn't even risk taking that chance, he knew that as soon as two of his weaknesses were revealed, it would only be a matter of time for them to be exploited by his enemies.

So, he understood. He understood the fear that came with a nightmare about your son, the need to see him and reinforce the fact that he was okay in your head.

"He is. Tired 'imself out a few hours ago." He moved towards the back of the sofa, allowing you space to sit next to them both, his hand still continuing to rest on your warm skin and pulling you along carefully, ready to pull away the moment you showed any signs of uncomfort.

"How come he sleeps for you?" You mumbled, more of a thought to yourself rather than something you wanted to share, but it caused Simon to smile beneath his mask nonetheless, raising his other hand up to Tommy's head to run a finger down his little nose, ignoring the way his heart rate spiked when it brushed against yours.

He thought about making a joke about being his favourite, hoping that it would brighten the mood a bit, but then remembered the look of dismay that would come over his teammates' faces whenever he made one about anything, and on second thought, maybe he'd have to wait a bit until you were both comfortable enough to enjoy his stupid jokes.

"Guess he's bored of me. You're much more entertainin' to be awake around." He rumbled, a soft chuckle leaving your lips at what you assumed was an attempt to lift your spirits.

"Yeah…" you smiled, leaning your body on the arm that was propping you up, your hand ceasing its brushing of Tommy's hair and simply resting on his small head, your heart growing bigger as he let out a little coo, snuggling further into Simon's hoodie.

You hadn't even been thinking about the hand cupping your waist, too focused on your son's sleeping figure and the warmth that it brought you, unconsciously wriggling a bit further into the touch, but you froze once Simon's hand immediately snapped back from you, as if he'd taken that as an immediate sign that he had broken a few boundaries by getting too close.

"Sorry."

You bit on your tongue, not wanting to full admit how much reassurance his touch had brought you and how much you'd give to have it back (you blamed the neediness on how exhausted your body was and the delirium that came with the lack of sleep you'd been subject to recently), not making any move to answer and instead focusing fully on your son.

"You want to take him?" Simon offered, leaning further up the sofa so he was kind of sitting, kind of lying on the arm rest. "Don' kids sleep better with their mams?"

"I… I think that may be a myth." You breathed out a chuckle, shaking your head as he made a move to hand Tommy over to you. "No, it's okay. I move a lot at night, I don't - I don't want to hurt him, you know?"

Simon turned down to the fragile little human he was holding, remembering the exact moment he'd realised that you were both in charge of taking care of him, of keeping him out of danger and stopping anyone and anything from shattering the little being that seemed to be made of glass.

"That's fine."

Silence fell over the both of you, an awkward atmosphere forming as you didn't move, feeling as time went on that you were invading the little personal space he was allowed to have in your flat.

"D'you want to stay?"

What?

Your brain short-circuited, blinking at him owlishly, as if he'd just spoken in an unknown language, the words still processing in your mind.

"Stay?" You managed out, looking down at the space between you both, a space where you could easily fit into if you were to snuggle into his side and let him hold you.

But surely, he wasn't suggesting that.

Memories of how he'd held you that fateful night flooded your mind, his warm calloused hands sprawled out against the bare skin of your waist, the sound of his heartbeat drumming against his ribcage lulling you to sleep…

"Yeah, stay."

…It made you want to accept.

Made you want to melt into his side and wrap an arm around his wide chest, tangle your fingers in your son's soft hair and lie there with them both, making sure that no harm could come to Tommy thanks to the protective shadow that was Simon Riley.

But you couldn't. You knew that.

The walls you'd built while carrying Tommy in hopes that you'd never be hurt or abandoned again, the walls that had kept you relatively safe within the expanse of your mind refused to crumble, refused to make way for the man that had come barreling back into your life and threatened to destroy them.

You couldn't risk it.

So, you didn't.

You pulled your hand away from your son as if he burned, cradling it against your chest and looking away from Simon's imposing stare, the look in his eyes making you want to squirm and cry and adhere to anything he wanted.

"No." If you'd still been looking at him, you would have noticed the way his shoulders slumped, the way the dim light in his eyes proceeded to disappear at the single word that left your mouth. "Thanks."

It seemed every little step of progress you'd both taken together the whole month immediately dissipated away thanks to his idiotic question.

Of course you'd fucking refuse his stupid invitation, what was he thinking? That you were both a happy couple who didn't pass on any chance to hold each other in your arms? That he was your husband, the proper father of your son who you loved and cared for, who you enjoyed having pressed right against you? He was a fucking idiot. He couldn't contain himself for once in his life and he'd gone and ruined everything.

"Okay." Despite the inner turmoil that raged inside of him, that simple word of affirmation was all he could get out, and he hoped to whatever god was up there (that apparently loved torturing him) that you'd both wake up the next day without a single recollection of what had happened last night.

"Good night." You whispered, pushing yourself off the sofa and wrapping your arms around your chest, immediately regretting every single one of your actions that night as you gazed upon how truly comfy and warm Simon and your son looked snuggled together, wishing that you had the emotional capability to let your resentment go and indulge in Simon's touch.

"'Night."

You willed yourself to take the first step back, tearing your gaze away from them and heading back to your bedroom, your face erupting into warmth out of a mixture of embarrassment and sadness, a clear sign that your body wanted nothing more than to just burst into tears and let Simon wrap you up in his arms and soothe you down like you knew he could.

You buried your face into your pillow as soon as you made it back into your now-cold mess of sheets, tugging one of the pillows back into your arms and doing your best to imagine that it was someone else, someone else who was as willing as you'd imagined Simon had been before to have you in their arms, to stroke your hair and calm you down because they loved you, because they cared about you and wanted nothing more than to see you as happy as you'd been a mere few hours ago.

You passed out soon enough, a few tears running down your cheeks as you subconsciously wrapped yourself around the pillow like a koala, the tear stains quickly disappearing during the night and lacking any evidence that they were once there when Simon walked through your door in the early morning, standing at the side of your bed for a few moments before he leaned over, pulling up the covers and tucking them around your sleeping body.

The sound of the shower coming alive and the pipes groaning was the thing that pulled you awake, struggling a few moments to rid yourself of the covers that pushed onto you, wondering to yourself when and how you'd tucked yourself in so aggressively, turning your head towards your bathroom and listening to the clinking of shampoo bottles and the water as it hit the tiled walls.

Your bathroom was unfortunately directly connected to your bedroom, so in order to get into the shower, Simon would have had to pass by your bed and… tuck you in? Did he really tuck you in?

You pulled languidly at the covers, looking down at your nightwear and growing warm as you saw how transparent your shirt looked in the morning light, leaving almost nothing to the imagination of whoever were to look down at your chest.

Simon had seen you like that.

You squeezed your eyes closed out of embarrassment, as if he was right there judging you with his stupid thousand yard stare, lifting yourself off the mattress and looking around your wardrobe for a shirt, restoring to a band one you'd stolen from one of your ex boyfriends you'd never had the heart to throw out.

You were mid straightening it out, your previous night shirt now pooling at your feet, when the door to the bathroom opened, your immediate response being to wrap your arms around your chest and let out a cry of warning, turning around so he was facing your back.

"Fuckin'-"

"Go back in!" You cried out, wanting nothing more than for the earth to burst open and swallow you whole, feeling too tired to be dealing with this kind of embarrassment at such an early hour of the morning.

You cracked an eye open as the door closed, letting the grip you'd had on the shirt go as you faintly heard Simon curse, trying to erase the memory of what had happened out of your brain.

As you pulled on the shirt, you willed yourself to think about anything other than the glimpse of flesh you'd seen before turning around, the wide chest that had been littered with the scars he'd once let you trace over, the towel around his waist that had barely cov-

Stop!

Unknown to you, Simon was having a similar dispute with himself from inside the bathroom, resting his flushed face on the cool tiles of the wall as he listened to you shuffle around your room, cursing himself out for being so goddamn stupid and exiting the bathroom without even checking if you were awake or not.

That wasn't the only reason he should've checked, he thought you'd still be asleep, so stupidly, he'd gone out with barely any coverings, including the one on his face, so he was pretty sure you would've seen the way his eyes almost immediately darted down towards your chest if you hadn't been busy enough with covering yourself and ogling at his chest.

"Fuck…" he breathed out, running his fingers through his hair and looking at himself in the foggy mirror, the tired, broken stare of a being he could barely consider a man staring back at him.

After a few more moments of staring at himself he couldn't bear it anymore, grabbing his discarded balaclava and pulling it over his what he considered broken face, his other clothes continuing as he did his best to cover every single patch of skin he could, hand landing on the doorknob once he was finished and asking for confirmation.

You'd about finished putting on the shirt when he'd piped up from inside, letting out a small "you can." before he opened the door again, face now covered and eyes darting down at the oversized shirt you'd pulled over your bottoms, closing it behind him.

"Didn't know you'd be changin'." He grumbled, his way of apologising without saying the exact words, eyes scanning the band on your shirt. "Y'like Joy Division?"

"Huh?" You looked down at the shirt, straightening it out to properly look at the band you'd forgotten was plastered on the front, shrugging slightly. "Yeah, they're good. I'm, uh, not the biggest fan. This was my boyfriend's."

"Boyfriend?" He spat out, almost with malice.

"Ex." You clarified, pulling at the ends of your shirt out of nerves, the way he was staring down at you reminiscent of how you'd assume higher ups looked down at their soldiers when they were in the wrong.

"Right." He grunted, looking away from you and training his stare at the bedroom door, nodding towards it. "'M gonna go check on Tom."

He brushed past you, leaving you standing in the middle of your bedroom twiddling your thumbs, confused and embarrassed due to the interaction you'd just shared.

You walked into the kitchen, stopping in your tracks when you noted that the dishes you'd left last night after Simon had brought take away had been cleaned right up, the plastic bowls from the curry thrown away in the recycling along with the other trash you'd used when making Tommy formula (you resorted to using that instead of pumping or breastfeeding when Simon was over).

God, now you felt even worse for what had happened last night.

You rubbed your hands all over your face, digging your nails into your scalp as you ran them through your hair, snapping your head up as your heard your son giggle, going back a few steps to look through the crack of the door, your chest tightening as you watched Simon feed Tommy, murmuring a string of words you were too far away to understand.

Fuck, you really felt awful.

You pulled out a few ingredients, acting almost on autopilot as you fried the sausages and toasted the bread, making his tea subconsciously the way you know he liked it (he'd never forced you to make tea, you'd seen the sticker on a takeaway cup he'd left on the counter), and pouring it into the cup he always used.

"You didn't have to." Simon mumbled as he walked out of the nursery, holding the empty bottle of milk in one hand and a plastic bag with a dirty nappy in the other, looking down at the plate of food you'd made him.

"I wanted to." You mumbled, taking a bite out of your own buttered toast as you watched him walk around the kitchen, throwing away the bag and cleaning out the bottle before starting on his breakfast, standing at the island instead of sitting like you were. "As thanks. For, uhm, cleaning up."

"It was nothin' deserving of this." He mumbled underneath his breath, shoving a spoonful of the baked beans into his mouth, now visible thanks to him pulling up his balaclava, the taste of the normal breakfast he'd have at whatever café he normally went to complete shit compared to yours.

"It's fine. I went a little overboard, it's been a while since I've cooked for someone."

He let out an amused huff, nodding his head. "Yeah, babies don' really need a full brekkie."

You both went silent after that, your eyes looking around at everything but at him, secretly hoping that he was enjoying the food, wishing you would've put on the radio or the news so you weren't sitting in complete silence.

The tapping of his fingers against the counter finally pulled your gaze towards him, watching him carefully as you continued to eat.

"Laswell called."

Laswell?

The face you made must've made him realise you had no idea who he was talking about, his hand coming up to grab the mug of tea and take a long sip before speaking again.

"Station Chief Laswell." You nodded along, hoping that he'd believe that you actually knew what he was saying. "She's got a mission f'us."

Oh.

"When?" You spoke out, a bit choked up as you tried your best to focus on the food instead, you always got unexplainably nervous when he left for a mission, despite the fact that he always came back.

"Gotta be there by 1."

You turned to look at the time on the microwave, the 09:00 displayed there striking unexplainable fear in you.

"You should get going, then."

"I should."

Neither one of you moved.

"Did you say goodbye to Tommy?"

"I did." He took a final sip of his tea, placing the cup down and turning to look at the nursery, the strangling pain he felt every time he left you coming back to haunt him. "Changed his nappy too. Like y'taught me."

You smiled at the memory. A few days after he'd first shown up you'd tried your best to teach him how to change Tommy and you'd gone through almost 10 nappies by the time he'd been able to put one decent enough (you'd quickly changed it yourself after he'd turned around, you didn't want the nappy to cut off your baby's circulation), so you hoped that he'd actually done it properly this time.

"Thank you…" You offered him a small smile, looking down at your own cuppa, wrapping your arms around the now lukewarm mug. "Go get ready. I'll clean up."

Simon really didn't want to, he wanted to continue standing there talking to you, gazing at your tired face and how cute you looked taking small bites out of the food you'd made that you'd undoubtedly wouldn't finish and would slide over to him like you'd done all those times before.

But he couldn't. He was a soldier. One that was trained to kill and follow orders no matter what and no matter the circumstance, one that would be laughed at if he called in saying he wanted to stay with- well, whatever you were to him.

He was about to zip up the duffle bag he'd left in your room during his small stay when he caught a glimpse of something he'd forgotten about.

The gun was relatively light in his hand, one that was smaller than the ones he was used to carrying out in the field, but could quickly figure out how to use in the span of a millisecond.

He called out your name, rapping his knuckles against the counter to catch your attention, raising his arms in surrender as fear filled your face, dropping the plate into the sink and taking a step back as soon as you caught sight of the gun.

"Simon! What the fu-"

"It's not loaded." His other hand waved around the magazine, placing them both down on the island in front of you both. "I'm not going to use it."

"I would fucking hope so!" You cried out, wiping off the soap suds on a towel and pressing your back into the counter, gripping the edge of it as if he was really threatening you with the gun.

"Do you know how to shoot one?"

You shook your head. You'd never even seen one this close apart from the rare policemen that carried one, let alone held one.

"Come." He picked them two items up, walking back into your room and waiting for you at the door to follow, worried about what he was planning on doing. "Where would you keep a gun?"

You turned to him with a raised eyebrow, once again expressing your confusion with a single stare before turning to the bedside table closest to the side you normally slept in, pulling the drawer out and immediately growing warm as you gazed down at the string of condoms along with some other items.

"Here, I suppose…" You watched him sit down on the bed, the mattress immediately sinking beneath his weight as he raised the gun and magazine up into your line of view.

"Take it."

You shakily did as he said, the gun feeling heavy in your palms in contrast to how easy it had felt for Simon, turning it around a few times as he continued to speak, pointing out every single detail and part of what he had soon let you know was a Glock.

"It's the one most policemen carry. Not very heavy, but still capable of takin' down a man." He murmured, almost letting out a chuckle as he took the gun and cocked it, making you jump at the sudden sound.

"Why would I want to take down a man?" You asked tentatively, taking it back from him and trying to fit in the magazine like he'd instructed you to.

A warm hand came up to cover yours, stopping you in your tracks and allowing him to get up and take the firearm from you, pulling out the magazine and placing them both in the drawer, trying his best to ignore the other items that were scattered around.

"Listen to me." He turned his head as he slammed the drawer shut, staring directly into your eyes to make sure that you were paying attention. "I cannot ensure your safety while I'm gone. There's tons of fucked up people who'd take whatever change to tear me down and would not think twice about using you or Tommy to do so. This is just in case. You only use this if you or Tommy are in imminent danger. If there is someone threatening any of you, you do not hesitate, you take the gun and use it."

Use it.

Use it!?

His hand came up to cup at your cheek, pulling you out of your swarming thoughts so he could be sure you were listening.

"I- Simon, I can't- I'll go to jail if I use it, I can't-"

"You won't." He interrupted, shaking his head. "I won't let them. You're under my protection, this is just in case of emergency when I'm not around."

You nodded, not knowing what else to do, the gun that had been in your hands mere moments ago feeling like a burden despite it being locked away.

"Oi. Lovie, look at me."

That immediately caught your attention.

"Tell me you understand."

Your mouth had gone dry, the combination of the shock behind his little surprise and the nickname that had slipped out of his mouth proving to be too much to handle.

"Tell me. You understand."

You took a deep breath, nodding your head. "I understand, Simon."

Even after he'd left, you couldn't shake yourself off that foreboding feeling, terrified that the moment where you'd have to use the gun would arrive sometime soon, the thought of you or Tommy coming into danger while Simon wasn't around enough to make you want to crumble into tiny pieces.

You'd stood by the door like you always did, although this time Tommy was fast asleep in his crib and your arms were empty, leaving you to say goodbye to Simon (although looking up into his eyes, you knew he wasn't Simon anymore) all by yourself.

"When d'you think you'll be back?" You whispered as he opened the door, not wanting to disturb any of the neighbours that might be loitering around (despite knowing that news about the terrifying man that resided in your apartment had travelled quick after he'd threatened your neighbour), handing him his jacket.

"A week, tops. I'll send you a text as soon as I know." He grunted, shoving on his jacket before pulling up his duffle bag, swinging it over his shoulder. "You need anythin', you call base, okay? They'll relay the message if it's necessary."

He'd given you the number to his base a few weeks ago, but you knew you'd never have the heart to call it, too embarrassed that the little problem you were currently having was nothing compared to what Simon was going through, and you didn't want to disturb any of his work if it really wasn't that important.

"Sent you money this morning. You got enough for a month." He went through his mental list of everything he should say to you before going, leaning against the door frame and looking down at you through heavy eyelids. "Get some takeout, don't strain yourself any more than you already are. Doctor said you should take it easy."

You dismissed the urge to roll your eyes, cursing yourself out for even allowing him to take you to the doctor in the first place and listen in.

"I know. I'll be fine, Simon. You just worry about yourself."

"Always do." He said, nodding his head as a form of goodbye before pushing himself off the doorframe, heading towards the elevator and leaving you standing there, only closing the door when you heard the front door close from all the way downstairs.

— I think he misses you.

— Won't let go of the teddy bear even though it's all dirty :(.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

God, if Simon wasn't wearing his mask he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to contain his smile, zooming into the picture you'd sent him of your small boy lying in your bed fast asleep cuddling the little plushie he'd gifted him.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

— More.

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

He hoped you understood what you meant by that, and by the way a few more pictures loaded in within seconds, he was glad you did.

He had to print some of those.

He'd once made a joke about one of the soldiers who wore a picture of their beloved in a small locket to Soap, commenting how it reminded him of the soldiers in WWI, when they were really just on their way to disarm a bomb.

But now he felt the need to have some type picture of you both or trinket that you'd given him right in the pocket over his heart, one that he could easily pull out in the middle of a mission to remind himself of why he was doing this, of why he couldn't let himself get caught by the enemy, of why he always had to come back to you.

He couldn't even bear the thought of his dog tags arriving at your doorstep instead of him one fateful day.

"Your nephew?"

Ghost snapped his head up, meeting the curious gaze of his captain and the bright orange tip of his cigar. "What?"

"Your nephew." Price gestured towards his lieutenant's phone, where the picture of Tommy drooling around one of his toys was still displayed. "You told me about him once at that bar in Vienna. What's his name?"

"Joseph." Ghost answered, shaking his head. "No, he's… Not a baby anymore. Must be a bloody teenager by now."

Price hummed, taking another puff from his cigar before looking away, squinting his eyes from the sun, wishing he'd been as smart as Ghost by bringing a pair of sunglasses.

"So."

"So?"

"Who's he, then?" Once again, the captain looked down at the dimly lit picture, where he could barely make out the features of the little boy, but by the onesie and plushie, he was able to decipher the not so difficult puzzle.

"He's…" Ghost trailed off, taking one last look at the picture before turning off his phone, sliding it into one of his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. "No-one."

"No-one?" Price huffed out, amused. "So you just have pictures of random babies on your phone, is that it, Lieutenant?"

Ghost flared up at his captain, the frown obscured by the sunglasses he'd put on after the clouds had dispersed, but by the way his body had tensed, Price could only assume he'd pissed him off.

"Name's Tommy. That's all you're getting." He grunted out, looking away from the older man like a child admitting to something embarrassing.

"Like your brother?" Price commented, letting out a groan before sitting down on the wall next to Ghost. "Isn't that a coincidence?"

"No, she didn' know when she named-" Ghost stopped himself from saying anything further, the slip of the tongue already having revealed the existence of a 'she', and he did not want to say any more.

"'She'?" Price grinned, blowing out some of the smoke before bringing his cigar up to his lips. "Come on, Simon. We're not on duty, are we? Not your captain right now."

He'd promised himself to keep quiet. He couldn't have anyone find out about you or Tommy, he couldn't risk having that information out in the open, his weakness out there for everyone to know.

But Price… Well, Price was different. He'd saved him multiple times across the span of time he'd spent working for the army, he'd been the one to pull him out of the deepest of holes, the one to trust him enough to allow him to join the 141.

They trusted each other.

"She's… I don't know." He let his head cock back, looking up at the forming clouds. "I knocked her up."

"Fuckin' hell, Simon." Price breathed out along with some smoke, turning to look at him with a sort of horrified and disappointed stare. "You're a dad?"

"Yeah."

"Christ, you're makin' me feel fucking old." He grumbled, taking the phone from Ghost as he handed it over, squinting at the dimly lit screen. "Cute little bugger, isn't he?"

Ghost smiled beneath his mask, watching Price scroll through the countless pictures you'd sent him across the month he'd been back, resisting the embarrassing urge to point out small details of every picture like an art major in a museum, instead keeping quiet and itching slowly to grab his phone back.

"Think you're a good dad?" Price asked, taking Ghost back a bit as he slid his phone back into the confines of his pocket, shrugging his shoulders as he squinted at two figures in the distance.

"Not the worst. Don't think he's got the mental capability to recognise if I'm good or bad to 'im. Least he doesn't cry every time he sees me." He breathed out a chuckle, snapping his mouth shut as he saw Soap and Gaz approach, the conversation sizzling away as they plopped down next to them both.

As the others started talking about another topic, Ghost thought about the question he'd been asked before more in-depth.

He wasn't a bad father, right?

He wasn't like… that.

Simon would be caught dead before even thinking of inflicting onto Tommy the same pain his own father had inflicted onto his family.

Imagining his small boy going through the same trauma, the same horror, the same fear he'd felt during his childhood was enough to tear his cold heart apart.

And he'd never treat you like his father had treated his mother, he'd never subdue you to the same pain she went through every day, he wouldn't let himself fall into the circle of abuse that had started way before his own father.

And Simon wasn't perfect. He knew that.

But he wouldn't stoop as low as his father had during the beginning of his life, where instead of the love and care a child was supposed to receive from his parents, he received the abuse and pain that no one deserved.

Just like him.

He closed his eyes as he remembered the burning shouts as his father berated him, always comparing the both of them and forcing Simon into tears, the mere thought of ending up as horrible as his father reducing him to sobs.

Even now, he still felt sick when he'd stare at the pictures of his father his mother still kept around her room in the nursing home, horrified whenever she'd point out their similar eyes and same blond hair.

But he wouldn't end like that. Despite whatever physical similarity he shared with his father, they had nothing in common personality wise.

Simon wasn't a monster.

He wouldn't hurt you or Tommy.

He wouldn't let anyone hurt you or Tommy.

He was a protector, a soldier trained to serve his country and the civilians who resided within it.

And he would protect. No matter what.

"S'alright, lovie… Jus' me."

"Simon…" You breathed out, letting your eyes flutter closed as his hands roamed the exposed skin of your chest, broken lips pressing kisses the whole way up to your jaw.

"That's it… Such a good girl f'me… Pretty, pretty girl." His warm hands cupped at your chest, pulling another whine out of you as he toyed with your breasts. "My good girl, right?"

"Mhm…" You mumbled, letting your head loll back onto Simon's shoulder and look up at him through tear covered eyelashes, your brain not functioning properly to process the blurred mass of what you assumed was a man's face staring down at you with those beautiful eyes, his breath hitting your lips as he leaned down to press the kiss you'd been longing for for so goddamn long—

Your body jolted awake, an uncomfortable ache between your legs quickly making itself known as you tossed around in your messy bed, brows furrowed as your brain tried to catch up with your suddenly awakened body.

What had you even been dreaming about?

You rubbed at your eyes with your wrists, digging them deep enough so you saw a few blinding colours, letting go and resorting to staring up at the ceiling.

You didn't even bother checking your phone, already knowing that the only notifications you would have received in the few hours you'd spent asleep were the ones from the dating apps you still didn't have the energy to delete.

None from Simon, of course. He'd been gone for over two weeks by now, which wasn't surprising, since he had let you know that this mission would be a long one and had warned you in advance.

Considering the last mission he'd gone on was almost a month ago (and had only lasted a few days, you think he finished as soon as he could to be back with Tommy, by the way he'd barreled through the house to get to the nursery) and that you and Tommy had gotten him all to yourself for about two weeks straight, you'd expected him to be called sooner or later.

You weren't really looking forward to him coming back, since you'd have to break the news to him that he'd missed Tommy's first attempts to sit up without support and the success that came after.

Luckily, you'd filmed most of it, although you did end up throwing the phone on the sofa to congratulate your son personally, pressing kisses to his chubby rolls and listening to him giggle before accidentally helping him fall back onto your bed, causing him to burst out crying.

Okay, well, maybe you could just edit the final part out.

You were pulling the covers over yourself, snuggling back into the warmth of your mattress before attempting to close your eyes and fall back asleep (hopefully to return to whatever dream you'd been having before), when the sound of the creek of your floorboards snapped you out of it.

Your heart stopped, listening out for any further sounds, breath hitching in your throat as what you feared you'd heard continued, recognising the footsteps going from the living room into the kitchen.

You leaned over to your phone, hoping to God that Simon had finished the mission early and had sent you a quick message telling you he'd be coming back soon, but as you unlocked the phone…

Nothing.

So whoever was walking around your house was not Simon.

You heard muffled whispers, too quiet for you to understand but loud enough to send a cold shiver down your spine.

It terrified you. That cemented the fact that there was actually someone in your home, walking around like it was nothing.

But there was more than one voice. Two. Or was it more?

You assumed the sound that had woken you up had been the door opening, which inflicted even more fear into you at the thought that they must have had a key instead of knocking your door down since the sound hadn't been enough to stick with you after pulling you awake.

Your eyes instinctively darted over to the bedside table, where Simon's gun still laid untouched every since he'd "gifted" it to you, staying frozen until one pair of feet got a bit too close to your door, mind racing and adrenaline pumping through your veins as you scrambled to open the drawer as quietly as possible and pull out the gun and mag with shaky hands, carefully pushing it in before cocking it, hissing at the loud sound it made.

You stepped out of bed, body shaking as you neared the door with the heavy gun in your hand, listening out carefully for what they could be saying.

"—ce gaf. Didn' expect this from ya."

"You're a classy one aren't — your sofa?"

The voices were broken and muffled, leaving your brain to try its best to complete them.

God, this was terrifying. You could feel your whole body shaking, waiting for the moment where it could give out.

It's okay. Deep breaths.

You can do this.

The doorknob rattled, the moment it twisted seemingly happening in slow motion, your heart skipping a beat before you raised your gun up to the attacker, finger grabbing at the trigger just in case they made a dangerous move on you, your frantic eyes meeting the surprised ones of the man you were currently pointing a gun at (which you'd never used before, mind you).

"Steamin' fuckin'-"

You didn't even have time to react before his arm instinctively raised towards you, hand grasping at your throat in an instant, like the only thing he'd been taught to do was to kill.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

You heard a familiar voice roar as the hand tightened around your throat, the gun now abandoned at your feet as your hands scratched and tugged at your attacker's hand.

The last thing you saw before your eyes clouded over was the large shadow coming up from behind your assailant, their face one that despite the tears that blurred your vision you could tell was ready to rip apart someone.

You didn't even have time to think if it was going to be you or his partner.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker @simpingforleoandnico @simonsslvt @embers-of-alluring @uriahs-sketchings @alexisv15 @alexkellersleg @jordanwalkersworld @tabalugax @diekoniginvonfernet @thatoneautor0123 @technicallyvirtualmilkshake @littlezarp @crazyfandomist @hypernovaxx @am-3-thyst @madamemelancholysstuff @lylesx @anxietydrogz @jaymum @coacaiyne @emmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa @ghostsfavhoe @maviee @pedropascalswhore @d4z01 @beakami (if your name is in white, it means I couldn't tag you!)

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x female reader #cod mwii #call of duty #ghost x you #ghost fanfiction #ghost x fem!reader #ghost fic #cod mwii x reader #ghost ansgt #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #cw pregnancy #— ménage

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jointherebellion215 · 8 months ago

Text

Worth

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: You're swept off your feet by one Major John C. Egan, and you love every second of it. Sequel to Birdie.

Word Count: 3.0k

Tags: female!reader, mechanic!reader, women™, period typical sexism & misogyny, fun date night, dude w/ a small dick gets rightfully called out, mostly just fun date stuff, tons of fluff

A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for the kind words on Birdie. I really appreciate everyone's comments, they warm my heart right up. I almost didn't write this, but the thought of having these two smooch it up was too good to pass up. I also completely headcanon that Bucky has the biggest sweet tooth, oops. As always, I'd be most gracious if you were to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog :)

Read the OC Version of this story on AO3!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, please don't copy, repost, or translate my writing without explicit prior permission. Don't even think about it, AI!

A knock at the door brings butterflies to your stomach.

“Oh, he’s here!” Irene shouts, which is immediately met with your shushing, as well as Teresa’s.

You nervously pat your hair and check over your outfit for the evening. You’re spending your second day’s leave on a date with Bucky Egan. He had approached you last night at the pub, asking if you wanted to grab dinner. Alone.

You, of course, said yes.

Teresa and Irene go to answer the door while you gather your purse, stuffing it with your essentials. Your friends greet him at the same time, sounding like twins.

“Good evening, Major!”

You hear his deep voice reply, only a small bit of surprise leaking into his voice.

“Good evening, ladies. Is Birdie around? We have dinner plans.”

“I’m here! Hi.” You step around the wall that hides you from the front door, taking a look at the man you’d been crushing on for months. He stands tall and confident in his neatly pressed uniform, hat covering most of his dark curls. His mouth gapes, giving you a once over and attempting to speak up.

“I- You-…Uh, wow. Y-you look…” But any sweet words he attempts to say are interrupted by Irene, who comes in hot with a manic smile.

“Did you know that my daddy taught me how to shoot when I was just a little girl? I’m real good at it. They call me Oakley, back home, cause of how great a marksman I am. Y’know, like Annie Oakley?” She stepped forward, puffing up her chest and giving a frightening grin to Major Egan. You and Teresa exchanged confused looks, not knowing quite where she was going with this.

“I’m not allowed a sidearm or a rifle over here, but I’m sure I could easily borrow one from any of the fellas on base should you break my best friend’s hea—”

“OKAY! We don’t wanna be late, all the tables might be taken soon. Gotta go. Love you. Bye!” You quickly shove past the blonde, stepping over the threshold. You take Bucky’s hand and practically drag his tall form down the hallway, away from your best friend’s attempt at a shovel talk.

You faintly hear Teresa’s well wishes to you amid the aggressively whispered conversation she has with Irene. The last words you hear before the elevator door closes in front of you are a heavily accented protest from Irene.

“What? I was just trying to..!”

The pair of you stand in the elevator in silence. A slight rocking indicates the starting motion of it, which snaps you back to reality. Looking down, you realize that you’re still holding hands with Bucky. You quickly separate your hand from his, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Your friends seem nice.”

Your head snaps to glance at Bucky, who is already looking at you. A sincere smile graces his face, not a hint of mocking in his eyes.

“I’m glad you have them looking out for you.”

You feel your face start to cool down, making you comfortable enough to respond.

“They drive me nuts sometimes. But they’re the best friends I could ever ask for.” You mean every word.

You see John nod, so you turn back to look to the elevator doors in front of you. An awkward pause.

“You look beautiful.”

Another pause. “What?”

“It’s what I meant to say earlier. That you look beautiful. Because you do.”

Heat quickly returns to your cheeks, spreading throughout your whole upper body. You give a bashful smile, peeking up at him through your lashes. You gaze into his eyes for a moment.

“Thank you, Johnny. You look quite handsome yourself.” The Major adjusts his hat, covering just the tips of his ears. He returns your gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous grin. The floor gives a slight rattle, elevator door and gate opening to reveal the lobby.

John straightens up, holding out his arm for you to take. You tentatively weave your hand within the crook of his elbow. He gently presses his arm in, bringing your body closer to his.

You meet your other hand in its position and let Bucky lead you out of the hotel and into the evening air.

✨

“That was so delicious! I never knew that a roast could be so tender…”

The pair of you were walking arm-in-arm down a cobblestone street, just having finished dinner. It was a wonderful time. Bucky had been the perfect gentleman, but made his interest in you clear without being sleezy.

He was entirely focused on you the whole time. He asked questions and was genuinely invested in your answers. Conversation came to the two of you like a duck to water. After a shared glass of wine, his hand had slowly inched towards yours. Soon he had cradled it in his, like you were a precious commodity, until your meals arrived. You could hardly keep your eyes off of each other long enough to even promptly acknowledge the wait staff, which you were sure annoyed some and amused others.

Safe to say, John Egan was doing his best to sweep you off your feet.

You hadn’t discussed any other plans for after dinner, but the walk you’re on now is nice enough to give you reason to stick close together.

Bucky nods along, “And that fruit tart? Incredible.”

You laugh, leaning into your date, “I knew that would be your favorite part. You’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

Bucky holds his hands up with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Hey, I plead the fifth.”

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone so adamant on having some coffee with his sugar.” You continue to tease him. He nudges you playfully, giving a smooth grin in return.

“Hey, we’re in a war! If you see something sweet,” Bucky surprises you by picking you up and twirling you around, getting a full belly laugh from you as he sets you back on the ground.

“You gotta snatch it up and enjoy it while you can.”

You have a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about food.

By that point, you’re leaning against his front, hands on both of his shoulders. The moment has shifted into something else. Something different. His eyes roam your face, eventually stopping on your lips. Just as he starts to lean in, the moment is shattered by the sound of instruments starting up nearby. Bucky flinches, cursing the ill-timed disruption.

Oblivious to his turmoil, you gasp in delight and look around for the source of the music.

“Do you hear that? I think there’s a band playing!”

You spot a few people walk into what looks like a club. It barely a stone’s throw from where you’re both currently standing.

Bucky quickly recovers, “Should we grab a drink? Have a dance or two?”

You beam at him, and his heart stutters in his chest once more. After you give a nod, you place your hand in his arm and let him lead you into the club.

The two of you step into the establishment, and the energy is almost electric. There are mills of people walking about, drinking, talking, laughing. There’s a great score more on the dance floor, hopping and jiving along to the band you now knew you’d heard earlier. There weren’t a lot of uniforms present, but the ones that were were RAF.

Bucky guides you to the bar, hand on your back until you're both sat on a pair of stools. Your drinks are quickly ordered and served, so your night continues. You both allow yourselves to talk shop for a moment, so your conversation turns towards what you were working on before your leave. As you get to discussing the more intricate parts of your project, you hear a scoff from behind you.

John quickly looks over your shoulder, spotting the culprit.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”

You turn around to find a uniformed man taking a sip of his whiskey, RAF logo plastered on the lapel. He mockingly shakes his head, placing the glass down on the bar.

“No, no problem at all.”

Bucky, ever the confrontationist, persists. “It seems like there’s a problem here.”

You gesture towards the man, silently indicating that he was welcome to speak his mind.

“It’s not enough that you Yanks come over to our country, destroy our pubs and disrespect our women with your recklessness. But you can’t even keep your own women in check! She should be at home, away from the war, for God’s sake. Taking care of the house and the children. You know, doing feminine duties.”

You had heard all of this before, so it was no skin off your back to hear it again. You roll your eyes and decided to just ignore him. Then the man started to laugh, as if he was in on a private joke.

“I mean, a female mechanic? Between that and your daytime missions, it’s no wonder you’re all dropping like flies.”

You let out an exhale, letting the air stream out through your nose. In your periphery, you see Bucky start to stand— to, no doubt, escalate the situation. You stop him with a hand on his chest. He sits back down, looking between you and the man who had just insulted you. You set your glass down, hopping off the stool and giving a slow clap.

“I’m so glad to know that some people still live in the Stone Age, where apparently all a woman is good for is cooking and giving birth! Thank you so much for showing us exactly what a lack of education and individual thought looks like! See where we are—over in modern times— women can do whatever the hell they want. That includes fixing your planes and jeeps, operating your radios, driving your trucks, and even training your allies to use machine artillery!”

The RAF soldier realizes what he’s gotten himself into but is backed into a corner of the bar as you pace forward with each scathing word that leaves your mouth.

“Never mind all the bullshit you just spouted about what a woman is fit to do. I think that women can decide for ourselves exactly what we can and cannot do. As for my countrymen, I’m proud to serve alongside them. They go up every day willing to sacrifice themselves so that the rest of us don’t have to. They’re gonna be remembered for their bravery and grit. They’re not cowardly enough to hem and haw and stick up their noses at the thought of a woman doing something other than popping out a kid and ironing their pleats.”

The music has dulled down, but you don’t have the complete attention of the club. That gives you the courage to say your final piece.

“Never you mind. I'm confident that the men I serve with, including the man I have with me tonight, aren’t anything like you. Thank God for that! They're not so…” You take an exaggerated glance towards the man’s crotch, scrunching up your nose. “…small-minded.”

Leaving the gaping man behind, you turn to Bucky and ask if he wants to go get some air. He picks his jaw up off the floor quick enough to nod and lead you back outside into the street.

Hey, hanging around Irene pays off sometimes.

As you step out into the night air, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel John step up behind you, voice carefully asking,

“Hey, are you okay? Birdie?”

You continue to stand with your eyes closed. You just needed a moment.

“I’ve come too far to let anyone’s opinion of me, or my career choices, effect me.”

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at your date. He gives an understanding nod, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. You lean back into him, closing your eyes once more, letting him comfort you for the time being.

“Sorry if I ruined the night.”

You can feel a rumble from Bucky’s chest as he chuckles. “Oh, this night’s far from ruined. In fact, that was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

One of your eyes pops open. You crane your neck to peek at him, “Even better than the time you told me about Curt knocking out an RAF officer in one punch?”

“Yep.”

“Winning that bet to get your bicycle?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Better than your fruit tart from dinner?”

His smile widens, “Okay, let’s not get crazy here. Maybe it was top ten.”

“Top ten?!” You playfully gasp, turning around to face him again. You rest your hands on your hips, “What’s a girl gotta do to rank above a fruit tart around here?”

“Well…” You scoff and shove Bucky at the cheeky smirk he gives you. You’re quickly distracted by the sound of the band inside starting up again. This time with a familiar tune.

“Oh, your song’s on, Johnny!”

Bucky tosses his hat to the side, steps back and gives a very unserious bow. He then sneers with a hyper-nasal impression of the RAF officer you’d just affronted.

“My lady.”

You roll your eyes and give a joking curtsy in return, taking his offered hand. He pulls you into a proper stance for a waltz, which is a complete offset to the jive song that reaches your ears. You both jokingly hop along in the awkward squared formation for a moment, giggling to yourselves.

He gently pushes on your hip while outstretching his hand, so you take the cue and twirl until you’re both standing at each other’s fingertips. A quick grasp of your hand and a pull twirls you right back into his arms, bumping into his chest. The moment made you burst into laughter, leaning into your dance partner until the song ends.

The next song is a much slower tune, giving Bucky the chance to pull you in close. You hum along to the band playing, sidling up to the Major’s chest. He places a hand in yours and loops the other around your waist. Your free arm gently drapes under his and over his shoulder, encouraging a lean into his firm body. You both give a slow sway, leading each other back and forth in the quiet echoes of the street. Closer than before.

“You know, I’ve been plucking up the courage to ask you to dinner for a while now.”

You lay your head on the knuckles of your hand that rest on his shoulder, responding lowly.

“Really?”

You continue to sway.

“Yeah.”

You’re curious, so you ask, “What made you finally do it?”

He thinks on the answer for a moment, almost chewing on his thoughts. John is not the kind of person to typically contemplate over an answer, so you gift him all the time in the world to respond. You recognize how important that is to him.

“I… I think that it was a lot of little things.” He pulls you in closer. “Your smile, your eyes, the way you talk about the things you love. Birdie, you are so personable with everyone you come into contact with and it’s so magnetic.”

The flow of compliments shocks you, not expecting this barrage of details to come from the man in front of you. But you dance on anyways.

“But I really think what did me in was yesterday, at the pub. When you looked at me during your song.”

You remember. You know exactly what he was talking about. Whatever he must have felt, you know that you felt it too.

He continues to speak in an intimate tone as you sway along in the street.

“I felt my entire life click into place. It was like everything suddenly made sense. I didn’t have to wonder about what my life was going to be like in five, ten, fifteen years. Because I knew.”

He pulls back to look you in the eye, and the amount of vulnerability in his eyes floors you.

“I’ll be honest, it scared the shit outta me. It terrified me.”

You understand what he meant. This is all new to him, as it is to you. You pull his forehead to touch yours, noses gently brushing one another, as you offer your best words of comfort in that moment.

“Sometimes, you have to do what scares you the most to find out what’s worth doing.”

He cups your face, letting his lips ghost against yours. He made his intentions clear, but it was up to you to decide how you move forward.

So, you close your eyes and take the leap.

Your lips press into his, hands stroking the arms that were framing your face. He immediately responds in kind, lips moving in tandem with yours. You melt into him at the reciprocated motion. His arms soon move to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms reach around his neck, hands resting at the nape of his neck. As he deepens the kiss, you run your hands up, down, and through the dark curls on the back of his head, earning a groan from your partner.

A burst of warmth sparks from within your very being, traveling further and further through your body until you’re consumed by flames. Half of your mind is scrambling to make sense of reality, and the other half is completely consumed by passion.

After a moment, you reluctantly separate from one another, panting to catch your breath. It’s as if the world stopped spinning when you connected, and then started up again when you parted.

Giving a nervous look to the man you just kissed, you’re elated when he gives you an ear-to-ear grin. He grasps one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. His other hand comes up to cup your face again, thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.

You stay silent for the time being, letting the moment marinate. He brings up your joined hands to kiss the back of your palm. Your heart jumps with joy at the sight.

Bucky gives an exhale before breaking the silence.

“You are most definitely worth it.”

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missmonsters2 · 1 year ago

Text

—Just Last Lifetime | Two

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wednesday is determined to recreate the special moments of your relationship to revive your memories—to revive your feelings. But it becomes apparent that the same memories cannot be created twice.

Warnings: Heavy Angst. Heartbroken!Wednesday. DestinedToBeAlone!Wednesday. Amnesia. Flashbacks. Violent emotional outbursts.

PART ONE

Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: so this is it! The end...haha unless...👀 lol jk...unless ☝️

Count: 4.9k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"We're going somewhere for our studies today."

You look curiously at Wednesday, clutching the straps of your backpack a little tighter at the sudden spring of information.

Wednesday pretends to not notice your anxiousness, turning to walk off and expecting you to follow. She pays attention to the footsteps behind her, satisfied that you trail along despite clearly being reluctant.

It's been easier to spend time with you lately, with Yoko being incredibly busy with her club activities, and Enid has been keeping herself busy on purpose to leave you with no choice but to spend time with Wednesday.

Wednesday doesn't think you particularly hate spending time with her. You're always cordial and friendly. You've thanked her multiple times for taking the time to help you catch up on your studies and assistance with your current assignments.

Just a few days ago, you gifted her 99% dark chocolate for all the help. Wednesday had been intrigued, thinking you recalled how she preferred the bitter taste. But the intrigue swiftly died when you informed her Enid let you know as you wanted to do something for her.

It didn't matter. It was the fact alone that you went out of your way to give Wednesday something she'd like that mattered.

"Where are we going?" You ask, your voice tinged with curiosity and wariness the further you walk past the school entrance, clearly leaving. "Are we actually studying?"

Wednesday's eyes peer to the corner of her eyes to look at you.

"You study too much."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Then.

"You spend too much time investigating, Wednesday."

Wednesday didn't even look up at you as she continued to pack her backpack for the day.

"I thought you were interested in coming along to find answers?" Wednesday's voice was dispassionate. There was a part of her that was tinged with annoyance that you constantly invited yourself along to her trips if you were just going to get sick of tagging along now.

"I very much am, but we've clearly hit a wall and I'm not particularly looking forward to walking around in circles in the forest today," you pursed your lip but then smiled. "Why don't we take a little bit of a break today? If you really want to, we can continue investigating tonight instead."

"You're willing to sneak out?" Wednesday raised her brow at you. She thought you were ridiculous for trying to bargain with her. The investigation was important, and Wednesday had no desire to lose any time.

She would investigate, and you were free to come along or not.

"I'll break any rule for you, Wednesday."

You said it in such a natural way, and Wednesday found that she was unable to reply right away. She looked back down at the ground for a moment, blinking before she looked back up at you.

"Where are we going?"

Wednesday had several ideas of where you might take her. There was the music hall, the planetarium, or even the garden. But what she hadn't expected was that you'd take her to the carnival.

"You didn't get to enjoy it, right?" You asked as you stepped out of the taxi, paying the driver cash. Wednesday didn't answer, but you knew the answer. "I mean, probably hard to enjoy since you were chasing the Hyde and almost died after Rowan did."

That was another one of the reasons why Wednesday didn't mind that you came along with her investigations. You were the only person who believed her when she said Rowan was dead, despite also being of the people who saw him in the aftermath.

When Wednesday asked why you believed her, you simply said she didn't come across as someone who would lie about it. So, if he was dead, he was dead.

"I suppose," Wednesday looked at the carnival before her. It was moderately busy for a weekend, and she wasn't particularly interested in doing any of these mundane activities.

"Alright," you clapped your hands, bringing Wednesday's attention to you. "We're on a mission today. I come here every year the carnival opens up to win the biggest prize, but my tickets were short since the carnival got cut short last time with the entire…situation."

"What are you trying to win?" Wednesday asked.

You grin at her, pointing far down the carnival with a specific booth. "That mini motorcycle."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"This is rigged," Wednesday seethed, glaring at the booth worker who was nervously sweating ever since she approached.

You laughed, grabbing Wednesday's attention and the relief of the worker. "I know, right? We're totally just losing money at this point."

It was a simple game. A gun with 9 rubber bullets and 10 balloons to pop, and you had to win 5 times in a row with no supernatural abilities to get enough tickets to win the motorcycle.

It was not impossible, Wednesday knew that, but the balloons were not close enough where she could get away with hitting two with one rubber bullet.

They've both spent $100 at this point and while Wednesday would get 9 of 10 balloons every time, you would hit one balloon before you missed every other shot, hitting the corner of the wooden target.

As often as you refilled, it was starting to wear a dent.

"You're terrible at this," Wednesday bluntly said, but you merely smiled and shrugged.

A bit of wind was picking up, making the balloons circle around in their spot. Wednesday spotted her opportunity and chance when two balloons circled close enough towards each other, barely grazing.

Wednesday timed it perfectly and shot her 9 bullets, using her last one to wait as they circled towards each other before shooting and getting them both.

"Oh," you grinned. "That was really impressive."

Wednesday didn't react to your praise, waiting for the worker to rotate the next round of balloons and repeating her actions while the wind continued.

So far, Wednesday has won 4 times in a row. She had to pause as the wind died down, but it was sure to come back in a few moments.

"What do you want if we both win?" You asked. "There's only one motorcycle, so you may have to settle for something else."

Wednesday snorted. "I'm not sure I should get my hopes up on getting anything." It was a dig at the fact you've been absolutely terrible with your shots.

"C'mon, Wednesday," you grinned. "Dream a little."

"I don't dream."

"Nightmare it up a little," you quickly rebuttal.

Wednesday sighed, looking at the prizes that hung and framed the booth. Outside of random useless knick knacks, there were just stuffed animals—which were also useless.

But Wednesday's eye caught on a large scorpion stuffed animal. She wasn't one for being sentimental, but this was as good as it would get.

"That," Wednesday pointed at the scorpion stuffed animal.

You looked at it, grinning as you knew the story behind it. "Sure thing."

The wind picked up again, and Wednesday took the opportunity to win the 5th time in a row. The booth worker, whom Wednesday also assumed was the owner, looked relieved and reluctant to hand over the mini-motorcycle.

"I don't want to stand here for hours," Wednesday deadpanned, having already spent 2 and a half hours winning this prize for you. You would be here for 2 and a half days at the rate you were going.

"We're just about finished," you told Wednesday, and she raises her brow, thinking you'd given up.

But you slap down another $20 bill, smirking. Wednesday looked to your side of the targets and noticed the small dent you've managed to create with the rubber bullets. She narrowed her eyes, wondering if that was your plan all along.

Wednesday gets her answer within minutes. Suddenly, you've turned into a master marksman, shooting every balloon precisely until you were down the last two side by side. You tilted your gun, aiming it at the target, where you created a dent in the side. When you shot the bullet, it shot inside the hole and bounced against the wood, flying out with just enough force to hit the two balloons from the side.

Wednesday furrowed her brows in disbelief.

It continued like that until you won 5 times in a row without pausing. The owner looked like he wanted to say something but merely rolled his eyes with a certain kind of fondness Wednesday was sure you earned over the years coming here.

"The tickets get you two of these," the owner said, handing you two large scorpion stuffed animals.

"Did you have fun?" you grinned at Wednesday.

"It was passable," Wednesday admits, unable to fully say that even mundane activities like carnival games were interesting if she was with you.

As you left the booth, you handed Wednesday the stuffed scorpions to hold while taking the mini motorcycle.

"Look," you said. "Now your scorpion has a little friend to keep them company, or a little girlfriend," you wriggled your brows at her while Wednesday sighed, not commenting back.

She looks at the motorcycle and then at you. "Do you even know how to operate this?"

You smiled at Wednesday. "Not at all."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Now.

The biggest prize of the carnival is still the mini motorcycle, as they don't change the award until next year. It seems they've stocked up since the last time the two of you were here.

Wednesday knows you already have one, but it wouldn't hurt to have another one.

You seem spirited to be at the carnival playing games, as it's obviously familiar to you.

They walk up to the same booth with the same owner, who clearly recognizes them.

"Oh, not again," he sighs. "You're going to run me out of business. Any chance I can talk you out of winning again?"

You look confused, but when you see the motorcycle as the prize, a moment of recognition dawns on your face from the one in the corner of your room. "I've already won this," you slowly say as a confirmation but not as a memory.

"Close," Wednesday drawls. "I won it."

You look confused as to why Wednesday would win the big prize for you, but before you question it, Wednesday speaks again. "It's time to repay the favor and win me one too."

You smile weakly as if the pressure is on, but you pick up the gun, studying the targets. The dent you created on the target was gone as the owner replaced it. You play a couple of rounds to get a feel of the game, while Wednesday puts little effort into her own game. It's unlikely there'd be wind again this time around. Even if Wednesday now knew the other method, it was something Wednesday hoped you would get on your own.

As time goes on, you're starting to get the idea of how to win. It's rather satisfying to watch you get to the same conclusion.

Wednesday takes her time achieving the same method as you. You're focused on your own game, not checking how Wednesday's faring.

You both created a dent relatively around the same time before shooting in sync, winning 5 times in a row.

The owner sighs, shaking his head and muttering about changing the rules about damaging the targets to win. Still, he hands you the motorcycle before asking what else you want.

"Uh," you hesitate, looking at the various prizes before you. Your eyes spot two stuffed animals that make you grin. "The bat and the wolf, please."

With the prizes in tow, the two of you leave the booth.

"What are you going to do with the mini motorcycle?" You ask.

"Teach you how to ride," Wednesday bluntly tells you.

You look surprised. "Oh," you chuckled weakly. "Right, I guess I probably told you I wouldn't know how to ride one."

Wednesday doesn't know what to say about your comment, so she veers off topic. "What are you going to do with the stuffed animals?" Wednesday internally sighs at the ridiculousness of the question. There are very limited things you can do with stuffed animals.

"I'm going to give them to Yoko and Enid," you smile.

"Right," Wednesday mutters, feeling something bitter rise in her throat but unable to identify it. Despite coming here and doing it correspondingly, none of this feels the same. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

You shrug your shoulders before nodding. "It's not bad to take a break from studying."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The second time Wednesday takes you somewhere, you give her a confused smile.

"I'm pretty behind on my classes still," you gently point out, hinting that you're not up for another day of playing hooky, and Wednesday concedes with a nod.

"I'm aware. We aren't taking a break today," Wednesday clarifies, "we're merely studying in a different scenery."

The walk is silent as you follow Wednesday's lead. She takes you further down the river to an area you haven't explored before until you eventually reach a tall wisteria tree, probably the only one in Vermont, preserved with magic.

"Wow," you breathe in awe, "I didn't know we had one so near campus."

The gothic girl is lost in her thoughts as she settles near the base of the tree, grabbing the books from her backpack on autopilot.

You used to trail beside her, and now you always walk one step behind.

It's something Wednesday noticed as she took you around various parts of the school during your study sessions in an attempt to recreate the memories. She knows you're starting to find her odd, but Wednesday can't afford to tell you what she's really trying to do.

Wednesday's goal wasn't necessarily to make you remember everything by taking you to these places that hold special memories. If you never remember, that's okay. What Wednesday wants is to recreate the memories in hopes they'll lead the two of you down the same path it did the first time.

But instead of growing closer like you did the first time, it feels like you're pulling further away.

Even so, Wednesday can't stop trying.

"Um," you mumble as you search through your notebooks. "I was hoping we could pick up where we left off on ancient languages?"

Wednesday nods, and the two of you delve into the usual strict business of studying.

Everything is fine, and Wednesday is grading one of your practice sheets while you work on another. It's fine until she notices your trembling fingers. It's subtle as you were obviously trying to hide it, tightening your hands into fists and keeping them at your sides as you attentively look at the worksheet.

"I can't seem to understand the syntax—" you start to say but abruptly stop when Wednesday suddenly stands up, reaches up, and rips off a wisteria flower stock from the tree. She sits back down, reaching over and grabbing your wrist. The gentle squeezing of her hold prompts you to open your hand up, and Wednesday places wisteria stock into your hand.

The shaking stops, and Wednesday begins explaining the syntax to you without skipping a beat while you stare at her, stunned.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Then.

"Let's go to the wisteria tree," you were holding Wednesday's hand as you dragged her along. "Today is such a beautiful day, and your skin is way too fair—I mean pale—I mean pallor—to be out in the sun."

Wednesday merely gave you an unimpressed look.

"Once again, you're disrupting my investigations. At this rate, it will take me a lifetime to solve the murders going on here," Wednesday's tone was disgruntled. "It would tarnish not only my reputation but also my ego, and I will make sure you die a miserable death for doing so."

"Ignoring the fact that everyone on campus would totally be dead," you turned around and grinned, "We'd have spent a lifetime together—before you killed me, of course."

You didn't add anything else to your words, but Wednesday could catch the insinuations between the lines.

A lifetime together.

A lifetime with you.

The idea didn't displease Wednesday at all; if anything, the fact that it didn't was more disgruntling.

A large wisteria tree appeared, and the two of you easily settled in. Wednesday was grateful that she had an inkling she should bring a book today in her bag.

"I love this place," you sighed with happiness. "I can't believe you found this place, and I've never noticed it in the years I've been going here."

"It's colorful," Wednesday drawled in response. The flowers that grew were vibrant violet and lavender, something she thought was entirely putrid, but she knew you would love it.

Wednesday was about to say something else when she noticed your fingers were shaking.

"What's wrong with your hands?" Wednesday asked with narrowed eyes.

You looked down, finding you were shaking, before clenching your hands into fists. "It's nothing, it just happens sometimes."

"It's not nothing," Wednesday seethed, angered that you would dare lie to her face. "Why is it shaking? What's wrong?"

You looked like you were debating something for a long moment before you asked her. "Can you grab me one of the wisteria flower stocks?"

Wednesday narrows her eyes at your avoidance, but she gets up, pulls a flower stock off from one of the branches, and passes it to you as she sits down.

"Why does it shake like that?" Wednesday demanded again.

"It's my power," you answer softly, wrapping your fingers around the flower. Wednesday watched as the flower in your handle steadily withered and died. You were smiling at her, but your eyes had a distinct melancholy look.

"This happens when I don't use my powers enough or use them too much. Air is generally made up of a lot of different gases but too little or too much of one causes disruptions in my body because the equilibrium between the air outside and the air inside my body isn't stabilized," you shrugged, holding the withered wisteria flowers in your hands that no longer shook. "I try not to if I can, but plants are a cheat way for me to expel and absorb air to find the equilibrium."

"Why not? It's obviously the most efficient way to stop the shaking," Wednesday frowned.

You shrugged. "I don't think it's a good idea for people to realize there are drawbacks to my powers and how to fix them. It may start with plants, but people will eventually start fearing I can use people the same way."

"Can you?"

You quirked your lip in response, and Wednesday knew the answer.

"Besides," you sighed, dropping the dead wisteria stock with a regretful frown. "Some plants are really beautiful. It's a shame to kill them."

Wednesday looked up at the hanging flowers and scrunched her nose in disgust. "I encourage you to kill this offensively colorful tree."

"When it makes you so miserable? I can't deprive you of that."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Now.

The silence drags on too long, and your lack of response prompts Wednesday to look at you.

You're staring at her before Wednesday watches peer down at your hand, intensely in thought. There's a mix of disbelief and curiosity in your eyes, and Wednesday doesn't understand why.

This was normal.

"Wednesday," you call her name softly, making Wednesday's eyes nearly flutter at the sound. But the next words make her freeze. "Was I in love with you?"

It's something in the way you say it, curious and accepting. Something rushes into Wednesday's chest like a stampede, and she realizes it's hope.

Your tone doesn't suggest you remember anything, but Wednesday rationalizes that it's fine. While it would be ideal that you remember everything, it's not a condition Wednesday holds.

You’re biting your bottom lip, looking reluctant. The silence falls again and lingers until you speak up again, trying to be firm.

"Wednesday, I don't know you—at least not anymore. I don't know what I felt about you before the accident...but that's gone. I'm not going to feel it just because you bring me to places that mattered to us. I don't remember it and I don’t understand it."

Stop talking.

Wednesday wants you to stop talking. She closes her eyes, turning her head away as if that would stop her from hearing your words.

You don't take the hint.

"I don't feel that way about you anymore."

⊶⊷��⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was fine—it was.

Wednesday spends the rest of her week doing various things. She writes, then she goes to the library; she briefly goes to the bee club until she can't stand Eugene's chattering and leaves. She goes on walks with Enid, who smartly avoids talking about you, and sometimes subjects herself to Xavier's monologuing and brooding in his art studio.

Wednesday fills the days with various activities while simultaneously avoiding areas you'd be in. It's not that she's afraid of seeing you, but simply that she doesn't want to.

This is fine.

The day has come to an end, and the sun has long gone from the sky. Wednesday decides to return to her room and play the cello before bed.

This is for the best.

Wednesday focuses her thoughts on her cello and what she'll play, and perhaps Thing will be there to turn the pages for her.

It is meant to be this way.

The room is dark when she enters, and Wednesday knows Enid is not around. There's a small feeling of relief that she doesn't need to face her roommate right now.

The silence in the room feels jilting in a way Wednesday's not used to. She used to be content in the quiet...until you. Then she grew used to your presence and soft chatter around this hour.

Wednesday clenches her fists.

Good riddance.

You were a mistake, and you did her a favor by cutting ties. This was something Wednesday should've done herself a long time ago.

Thing greets her on her bed, and she acknowledges him with a nod. She shreds off her backpack and changes out of her uniform before grabbing her cello and heading out onto the balcony.

The scuttling footsteps behind Wednesday tell her that Thing is quickly following.

"Bring me the new music sheet to play," Wednesday directs. She needs to play something different that would require her focus instead of her usual repertoire, which would allow her mind to drift.

Wednesday starts playing immediately, eyes focusing on the notes she's playing while Thing diligently flips the pages for her.

This is good.

This keeps her mind focused and sharp. Wednesday doesn't have time to think about anything else when she has to focus on what note she'll be playing next.

Despite the new piece, though, Wednesday's mind begins to drift. She has to make a conscious effort to keep her focus on the music sheet in front of her, but you pop up in her mind interspersedly.

"Wednesday, I don't know you—at least not anymore."

Her fingers falter, her cello emitting a jagged sound from her mistake. It's so unbelievably frustrating. She hasn't ever made a mistake while playing her cello since she first started learning it as a child. Years and years have gone by without a single mistake, and it was all ruined because of you.

You plague her like a disease that festers under her skin. Wednesday's done her best to ignore you for days now. She's been ignoring the sight of you, the talks of you, and everything down to the thought of you.

Yet, you were still there, underneath everything. You simmer like a slow boiling kettle until you can't be ignored anymore.

Wednesday closes her eyes frustratingly, willing you to leave her mind. She threatens her brain to erase the thought of you. It'd clearly be so much easier to forget you. After all, look how simply you live now without a memory of Wednesday.

But you don't go away. The memories remain with Wednesday, torturing her for what will likely be the rest of her life.

This was not a form of torture Wednesday ever thought she'd have to endure.

Wednesday opens her eyes and stands abruptly as she walks back inside. She didn't bother turning on the lights, and the only thing illuminating the room was the moonlight shining through the balcony.

"I don't feel that way about you anymore."

Wednesday clenches her jaw and tightens her grip on her cello.

How entirely damning.

Suddenly, a white-hot ball of rage forms in Wednesday's chest; everything she's been trying to push down for the last few days spills over. Emotions run a rampage inside her, unable to be controlled and ignored any longer.

Wednesday lifts her cello before violently smashing it into the floor, the body of it breaking in an uneven half, wood splitting into multiple pieces. The tailpiece cracks, and the strings snap, one of them into Wednesday's hand and cutting it.

The rage and adrenaline in her body don't allow the pain to register, even if she can see the blood.

How could you forget?

Wednesday begins destroying other parts of her side of the room—her bed, her clothes, her books. She pushes her wardrobe over and knocks over the chair at her desk, the loud banging ringing in her ears but not loud enough to cover the pain in her chest.

Thing scuttles back and forth in worry, but he cannot do anything to help his friend. He immediately leaves out the door with a mission.

How could you not want to fall in love with her again?

Wednesday pushes her typewriter off her desk—she thrashes everything off her desk. Her beloved typewriter crashes into the floor, the carriage breaking off along with other various parts. Keys pop off, making a ruckus on the floor as they hit it, but it doesn't bring any relief.

None of this is.

Wednesday pulls open the drawer, grabs out her manuscript, and looks at the last few pages she's written. Viper falls in love with someone who helps her with her investigations, and Wednesday has written up to the part where Viper begrudgingly accepts that fact she has feelings for this person and accepts their confession.

Wednesday has never gotten rid of any parts of her work all these years. Sure, she's done revisions and draft editing, but every scene down to its core idea has never been removed. Wednesday is a stern believer that every scene is meant to happen, and she cannot change the course of her writing when she looks back.

But Wednesday begins to shred multiple pages. She shreds page after page but doesn't know when to stop. Should she stop before Viper gets involved with this person?

Along with the anger settles in hollowness.

It's the realization that even if Wednesday destroys these pages, she can't really undo the fact that Viper has met someone and fallen in love with them.

How could you leave Wednesday to remember everything alone?

Wednesday hears the door open, but she doesn't turn around.

"Wednesday?" Enid's voice is soft and unsure, full of concern.

Wednesday doesn't answer.

Enid steps further into the room, shutting the door behind her as she looks around. The room is a mess with so many broken items on the floor, but her side remains untouched, nearly down to the tape they removed ages ago.

Enid is careful as she makes her way to Wednesday, the girl's shoulder tense with obvious rage. But even so, Enid knows her roommate would never hurt her. So, she places a hand on her roommate's shoulder when she's next to Wednesday.

"Wednesday—"

Wednesday is quick to whip around and look at Enid with violently accusing eyes. "This is your fault," Wednesday spits out. "I wouldn't be feeling this—this loneliness if you haven't been spurring lies to me about love." The tone is filled with disgust at the last word.

Wednesday has never expressed any ounce of emotion that would allow her to scream at someone, but she wants to scream at Enid and can't. Even if she wanted to, her throat feels so raw with something Wednesday can only detect is the urge to cry.

But even if Wednesday threatens her body to refrain from crying, the salty water spills from her eyes without permission. The spill and spill, even if Wednesday doesn't make a single sound.

Enid doesn't care if Wednesday punches, stabs, or even kills her—she pulls Wednesday into a bone-crushing hug. Her roommate resists at first, pushing against Enid, but it's useless against her werewolf strength. Enid holds on, even as Wednesday's pushing turns into desperate clinging.

Wednesday's tears are hot, and Enid knows logically tears are always hot, but she finds herself surprised they are. It's just another sign her roommate is all too human too.

"It's okay, Wednesday, I swear," Enid whispers, rubbing Wednesday's back in soothing circles, even caressing her messy braids.

There's no heaving or loud sobbing, as that would be too much for the somber girl. Even so, Enid can feel the tears soak her neck and dampen her shoulder.

"It's not," Wednesday's voice is so raw, as if the girl had been violently sobbing. She clutches at Enid's back, her eyes blankly staring at the mess she's made of her room. Everything is out of place or broken.

It shouldn't be Enid here, but the person Wednesday wants will never show up.

"I don't have anyone anymore."

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x ofc #wednesday x ofc #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #mm: my fics

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matcha-milkies · 2 months ago

Text

WELL, YOU DID ASK

Summary: Aboard the Stan-O’-War II, Stan finds out and confronts Ford about his past relationship with Bill.

Alternatively: “Ford, why did Bill call you babygirl?”

Relationships: Sea Grunkles, Bill Cipher/Ford Pines (Mentioned)

Content Warnings: Implied/Referenced Sex

Tags: Humor, Light Angst, Banter

Inspired By: This Meme and This Comic

Word Count: 2,489

Link to AO3: Here

A/N: Yeah it’s been a HOT MINUTE five years since I watched Gravity Falls, and I’m still waiting on my copy of Book of Bill, so I’m sorry if there are any inconsistencies with canon in this. I was riffing hard off of secondhand material lol

Stan stares up at the top bunk as the room gently sways from side to side, a cabin cradled in the bosom of the ocean. He’s lying face up on his cot, hands on his abdomen, and he’s contemplating something very deeply. It’s unnerving, this thing. He almost wishes he could forget all about it. Almost.

He bites his bottom lip and deliberates over what to do about this. He could just leave it alone. Things have been good lately. Why rock the boat, so to speak? They could go about their day, have their coffee, cast their lines into the sea, fry that leftover kraken meat for dinner. Blegh, he’s so sick of kraken meat. He’s going to have to find a way to season that thing to spice it up a bit or else he’s gonna go crazy. Why do krakens have to be so enormous anyway?

Yeah, he could do that. He could be normal.

After all, if the answer is no, then there’s nothing to worry about in the first place. And if the answer is yes… does he really want to know about it? What is he going to do, where is he going to go from there? Ask for details? He’s racked by a fullbody shudder. As if.

But deep down, he knows he’s kidding himself. If he doesn’t confront his brother, then this is going to linger in the back of Stan’s mind for all of eternity. He won’t be able to look at his twin without pondering all the ‘why’s. Why him? Why didn’t you tell me?

Stan hauls himself to a sitting position and swings his legs over the side of his bunk. He stares at the wall for a little bit, mouth quirked to the side. The Stan-O’-War II creaks, as if it’s also pondering to itself. He can hear his brother rustling papers a ways away in the other room. It’s a small boat. Of course it is. There’s only two of them to man it.

Stan starts to walk into the other room, then turns around and changes course at the last second, heading above deck instead. Hopefully his twin was too preoccupied with his work to notice. Stan walks over to the port side and leans his arms against the railing with a sigh. It’s a nice day out, at least. The sun is shining high in the sky with only a few clouds drifting overhead. They’re somewhere off the coast of Canada.

Somewhere further south but still along the same coast are his great niece and nephew, going to school again. He wonders how they’re doing. He wishes he could call them. He misses them, but he also wants to take his mind off of this. He hears footsteps pacing below deck, probably to grab a book off a shelf or something, because they soon pace right back to where the desk would be.

Stan lowers his head until his forehead is against the railing and sighs. He’s probably going to have to ask. The thing he’s dreading is knowing that it’s not gonna go over well. He gives it maybe another ten minutes to psyche himself up, then turns and tramps back down the stairs.

Ford is situated at his desk (it’s not anyone’s desk but really it’s Ford’s desk), sifting through some old creased pages that look like they’re about to disintegrate at the slightest breeze. On his right-hand side is a cold, half-finished cup of joe. Occasionally, he mutters something to himself and pens something in his new journal. He’s entirely absorbed. He doesn’t even seem to notice when Stan appears in the doorway and leans his elbow against it.

“Uh, hey, Sixer, how’s it goin’ in here?”

Ford starts. The pen drops from his hand and rolls around on the swaying floor. “Stanley, how many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up like that?”

“I didn’t sneak up on you. I’m notoriously loud. You’re the one with your nose glued to that journal.”

“I–” Ford’s breath catches in his throat before he lets it out in a sigh. “I suppose you have a point. I’m sorry, Stanley. I’m just frustrated at how little progress I’ve made with this. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“You know you say that, like, every time we find some weird thing, right?”

“I didn’t think we would encounter this many paranormal phenomena outside of Gravity Falls.”

“Maybe you’re the weirdness magnet.”

“Perhaps both of us are. After all, you were the one living in my shack for all those years pretending to be me.”

“Ha, yeah…” Stan musses his own hair. “Must run in the family.”

“Anyway–” after stooping to pick up the pen, Ford seats himself at the desk again– “you know I always appreciate your company, Stan, but I’d like to make some real headway before dinner if at all possible.”

“Uh, well, actually,” Stan says, and Ford glances up with a raised brow.

“What is it? Don’t tell me you accidentally dropped something overboard,” replies Ford, testing the temperature of his coffee. He looks displeased at the result but nevertheless continues to sip it anyway.

“Relax, relax, it’s nothing like that. Sheesh, are you ever gonna let me live that down?”

“It happened yesterday.”

“Ancient history!” Eh, might as well spit it out, right? “Hey, speaking of ancient history, what was going on with you and Bill?”

Ford makes some sort of choking sound and dribbles coffee back into his cup. He casts about for a napkin or a towel. “What do you mean by that?”

“Were you like, just a fling, boyfriend-boyfriend, married? What was going on there?”

Ford sputters, gives up and rolls up his sleeve to wipe his mouth on his bare arm. His voice cracks a little as he speaks. “What- What do you- What do- Why would you–”

“Look, don’t play dumb with me, IQ. When he was in my head, he said some things. And I didn’t think much of it at the time, but see, now I got nothing but time out here on this tin can, and I…”

His twin finally manages to school himself back into neutrality, although they’re both well aware it’s too late. He’s already shown his hand. All he can do is pretend, deny, for whatever that gets him. He spares Stan a glance over his spectacles, and it seems to last an eternity, before the man finally returns his gaze to his notes. “Now is not the time to talk about this.” Oh. Okay. So not even a denial then.

“Uh, right. Sure. And when exactly is the right time gonna be?”

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs with a kind of bone-deep exhaustion. “I don’t know, Stanley, any time I’m not trying to decipher the code that we found etched onto the side of that washed up precolonial artifact last week?”

“Well, I don’t know why it needs to be a whole song and dance, Einstein, it’s a simple question.”

“Yes, we were… romantically involved. Obviously. Now please leave me in peace.” Not that he had expected that answer to buy him anything, but he still finds himself chagrined when Stan stubbornly continues his line of questioning.

“Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

“I didn’t think it pertinent.” Ford closes the book on his left-hand side, resigning himself to the unfortunate reality that this conversation is happening, and there is no walking away from it. Where would he even escape to? They’re stuck on a boat together until they land at the next port.

“You didn’t think I’d wanna know you were getting… close with the literal demon that tried to kill us?”

“He wasn’t trying to kill us when I was getting to know him. Again, this should be obvious, Stanley. I don’t know why you’re making me spell it all out for you.” He strangles the air, vibrating with more frustration than he can dissipate. “Unless it’s just to torture me, which I wouldn’t put past you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? After all the things I’ve done for you, all I’m asking for here is a little honesty.”

Ford very graciously decides not to dwell on the “all the things I’ve done for you” bit and reopen that particular wound. Instead, he doffs his glasses, the better to massage his forehead.

“Oh, for the love of… We’re in our 60s, Stan.” He unfurls his arms on the table, palms upward. “What did you want me to do, honestly? You wanted me to sit you down and tell you about my crush like we’re still in high school?”

There’s something in the sincerity of his tone that throws Stan off kilter, disarms him.

“I’m not sayin’ that! I just— You’re makin’ it sound more unreasonable than it is! I’m still your twin and I thought you trusted me with this kinda thing.”

Ford pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He stares at a point just past Stan’s shoulder, mouth flattened into a line. “Oh, god,” he laments, as it dawns on him that the emotionally mature thing to do is to be vulnerable. He sighs, busying his hands by straightening all the papers on his desk. “It’s embarrassing. It was already embarrassing, don’t you see? And this just makes it so much worse.”

“What?” Stan pulls up a chair and sits across from his twin. “Sixer, come on. You think I came in here and brought this up just to laugh at you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it is objectively very funny, hilarious even—” he grins in the face of Ford’s glare— “but the last thing I’m gonna do is judge you. Between you and me, I think your relationship with that freaky triangle was more stable than anything I’ve ever had with any human.”

“Stable is not the word I would use to describe anything that went on in that shack in the 1980s.”

“Yeah, that just goes to show how low the bar is. Anyway, my point is, while I’m not gonna laugh at you, I definitely will still laugh.”

The scientist raises an unamused brow. “With me, you mean?”

“No, I’m just gonna laugh. Ha! Ha-ha!” Stan reaches across the desk to nudge Ford with his elbow. “Come on, it’s funny! You had a relationship with a triangle! Oh, the kids are gonna be so traumatized!”

“Wh- D- Stan, don’t tell them!”

“Why not? Dipper worships the ground you walk on. This won’t change anything for him. And Mabel… well, Mabel will laugh too actually. Very hard.” He brings a hand to his chin and narrows his eyes. “Or worse, she’ll start shipping you.”

“What does that even mean? She’s going to ship me? Where? How?”

“Uh, not important, and for all intents and purposes, I do not know what that word means either. Look, I’m just pulling your leg, Poindexter. I won’t tell them if you don’t want me to. It’s your business.”

“You honestly mean that?”

Stan sweeps an arm through the air with finality. “It’s your own business and nobody else’s. Look, I’m—” He finds himself rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for pushing you about this. It’s not something you’d wanna look back on, I get it.”

“Oh.” Ford doesn’t really know what to do with that so he resumes straightening papers even though they’ve been straight for the past three minutes. “I’m not used to fights ending like this.”

“Yeah, me neither. It’s weird. It’s like we emotionally matured or something.”

“Something like that,” Ford agrees.

They lapse into awkward silence. That should've been the end of it, and yet.

“I guess I just don’t get it,” Stan admits.

“What don’t you understand, Stanley?”

“He’s a— Well, he’s a little two-dimensional, don’t you think?”

“It was an extremely intellectual affair, Stan. Physicality had very little to do with it.” Well, that isn’t entirely true but his brother doesn’t need to know about any of that.

“You know what, I’d believe that. I’m just having trouble envisioning what it… what it was like.”

“Why are you trying to envision that?”

“Because it’s weird, Ford! It’s weird and morbidly fascinating. It’s like a train wreck, I can’t look away.”

“Do you have any more questions? So that I can answer them and we can be done talking about this forever?”

“So you… you never… y'know…”

“No,” Ford says about five seconds too late. There’s heat rising to his cheeks and he smothers his face with his hands as Stan sits slack-jawed in abject horror.

“What? Wait, seriously? How did that even work?”

“Ask me something else.”

“Okay. For scientific purposes, hypothetically, in a hypothetical situation, how would a human with glasses and a triangular demon go about—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Stan!”

“God had nothin’ to do with it, I know that much.” Stan leans back in his chair, then eyes Ford suspiciously. “Wait. He didn’t possess someone else, did he?”

“No!” Ford sounds genuinely horrified. “How depraved do you think I am? That would be tantamount to— I wouldn’t do that. Do you really think so lowly of me?”

“I mean, they could’ve consented beforehand anyway, right? That’s all I’m saying. Although, Sixer, I cannot stress this enough: You locked yourself in a cabin in the middle of Nowhere, Oregon and started drawing freaky symbols on the floor and communing with a literal demon. I think I’m allowed to be a little concerned.”

“Well– Sure, when you put it like that, it sounds more occult than scientific, but I can assure you my methodology was very sound.”

“Oh, okay, good. I’m glad your methodology was sound. That was the main thing I was worried about.”

“May I return to my cipher now?”

“Your Cipher, huh?”

Ford stares pointedly at his twin, trying to telepathically communicate how exhausting this conversation is.

“I just need to know how you did it. It’s gonna keep me up at night.”

“I fail to see how that’s my issue.”

“And then I’ll keep you up at night.”

“And then I’ll throw you overboard so that you can find that notebook you lost!”

“And then I’ll haunt you from the watery grave, you know I will. Besides, it’s laughable you think you could throw me overboard, Poindexter.”

“You really want to know?”

“For my own peace of mind, please.”

Ford sighs deeply, eyes shifting from wall to wall, as though afraid someone’s eavesdropping. Maybe he’s paranoid that a mermaid is listening in from outside. He gestures for Stan to lean in closer, cups his hands to his ear and whispers for a few seconds. Stan’s expression becomes unreadable.

“Oh. Wow. Creative. Okay. Welp. That answers that.” He claps his hands together as if to dispel dirt. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have another one of those memory-wiping guns?”

#gravity falls #sea grunks #billford #ford pines #stan pines #stan o war ii #bill cipher x ford pines #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #stanford pines #stanley pines #bill x ford #bill/ford #stan and ford #image description in alt #cross posted on ao3 #matcha-milkies ♡♡

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thebestandworstdayofjune · 4 months ago

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everybody’s goin’ off the deep end (s.h. x reader)

A/N: Long time no see! I wrote this in the midst of Steve Harrington brain rot, I hope you enjoy! If you prefer, you can find it here on Ao3!

Summary: Your life has always been simple. Not necessarily easy, but simple. You know your way around the world you live in. You love your dad, your friends and your exceedingly nerdy babysitting charges. When you’re assigned to be Steve Harrington’s tutor because he is one step away from being kicked off the basketball team, you can feel things beginning to shift in your small town. And that’s just the beginning.

Friday, November 4, 1983

“I think it’s time we admit that this is hopeless.” Steve Harrington looked positively morose, hunched over his Hawkins High School issued copy of Macbeth for the third Friday in a row.

You did your best not to laugh, but he just looked so ridiculous leaning back in his chair far enough that the front legs rise off the ground, shoulders slumped and pencil tapping against the table rapidly. “It’s been ten minutes, and we’ve only made it through two pages.” If you hadn’t been anticipating the slam of the front two chair legs on the floor, you would have jumped out of your seat. You had several times in the past few weeks, even.

But by now, you had the routine down. For the first fifteen minutes, Steve would joke and grumble, hoping that you would offer to cut your session short. Had he been assigned any other mandatory tutor during the meeting with Ms. Chen, the school counselor, and two out of three of his basketball coaches, he would have had a shot. But you’d had one too many reluctant students stuck in front of you at a library table in your time to give in to his whining.

“Exactly!” He tapped his pen against the copy of Macbeth in front of him on the desk, accentuating his point. “Two pages in ten minutes is a horrible track record!” His eyebrows drew together, as they always did when he was particularly pouty. “Besides, Mrs. Brown already spoiled the whole thing.” You raised your eyebrow, continuing to make notes in your already extensively annotated copy. “Calling it a tragedy in class kind of ruins the ending, you know?” You missed the way Steve’s eyes sparkled as you threw your head back in laughter.

“That’s just the type of play, Steve. There’s comedies, tragedies, like Macbeth, and histories.” You glanced over to see Steve slumped over the table, his cheek resting on his hand. “It might be helpful to write that down.” He blinked, seemingly confused for a moment. “For the test?”

“There’s going to be a test?” Steve looked mournful.

“I know that Mrs. Brown went over the syllabus on the first day of class. And there have definitely been tests over the other two books so far. What do you mean what test?” You looked up from your folder, where you had been shuffling through past syllabi to find a lopsided smirk on Steve’s face. “You can’t do that, Steve!”

“I’m offended you bought that! You know I’m taking this seriously.” He looked slightly sheepish at the realization you might not believe him. You took a moment to consider. You’d started studying together a few months ago, and Steve had been remarkably punctual, and had yet to cancel a session. He’d only forgotten to bring his work once and remained apologetic the whole session, even when you’d reassured him that it was fine. You’d spent the hour hunched over your notes with him beside you, you providing insight into the short story from class while Steve did his best to make you laugh.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Steve’s eyes grew wide, mock astonishment clear on his face. “An apology?”

“Oh my god, shut up, Harrington.” You playfully roll your eyes, before sliding your own copy of Macbeth towards him. “Trade me.”

Steve glanced down at your copy, grinning. “Do they know you’re defacing school property, Ms. Clarke? I’m not sure that your father would approve.”

“My dad spends all day trying to convince middle schoolers to retain information about layers of the Earth’s crust. He’d just be glad I am taking an interest in an academic pursuit.”

“Even if it’s English?”

You smile to yourself, remembering the year you had to admit to your dad that your Science grade was not what it should be. You’d built being that daughter of Scott Clarke, science enthusiast and Earth and Biology Teacher extraordinaire of Hawkins Middle, up in your mind to be a heavy burden to bear. You’d been so afraid to hand your report card over, but he’d diligently ignored your C- and instead waxed poetic about your perfect English score. “Finally, someone to round out the knowledge base in this house!” He’d beamed and loaded you into the car for ice cream with an urgency unbecoming of the situation.

“Especially if it’s English.” You leaned over the table, quickly finding where you and Steve had left off in your copy and pointing it out to Steve. “Start there, let’s try again.” You made it through the next two scenes, with only minor detours, usually when Steve found one of your annotations particularly amusing.

The door to the library squeaked open, breaking your focus. Nancy and Barb hurried over to your table, crowding around your study materials. “Macbeth cannot possibly be so interesting that you forgot we had plans.” Nancy joked, Steve’s arm settled over the back of the chair. Nancy insisted it ‘wasn’t anything serious’ but you caught them making moon eyes at each other the last few times that your tutoring sessions ran over, and you could have sworn that last week he slipped his number into her notebook when he thought no one was looking.

You glanced up at the clock, cringing internally when you realized you were, in fact, fifteen minutes late to meeting your best friends in the parking lot. Across the table, Steve let out a heavy sigh. “We were a little too into the ghost of Banquo in here.”

Barb gave Steve a weird look. You were almost sure that she was going to say something, her eyebrow was quirking up in the way it usually does when she is about to be snarky, but the moment passed, somewhat awkwardly, but passed all the same. “I’ll see you next week, Steve.” You stood up from your chair, Nancy and Barb following your lead. Steve started to slide your copy of Macbeth back to you across the table. “Keep it, maybe you can get through a few chapters on your own before I see you again.”

“You firing me, Clarke?”

“I don’t think I have the power to fire you from mandatory tutoring, Harrington.”

Steve gifted you a rarity, one of his genuine smiles that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly before standing up and heading for the library doors. “See you on Monday, Ladies!” He offered the three of you a joking salute and a wink before heading for the parking lot.

“Doesn’t he know we are all going the same way?” Barb said, breaking the silence of the library. The three of you dissolved into giggles, and you took your time packing your book bag, not not in the hopes that you would avoid running into Steve again in the parking lot. As much as you loved Nancy, it was almost painful for you and Barb to watch her try to keep whatever is going on with her and Steve from the two of you.

______________________________________________________________

“What about this?” Nancy held up a pink blouse off the rack, eyebrows raised.

“It’s nice, Nance, but I just can’t understand the urgency.” You laughed. The three of you’d had plans to head to Benny’s for milkshakes, as you did every Friday, but on the way Nancy had begged to stop at Pam’s, the clothing store downtown. Reluctantly, you’d parked your dad’s car out front and let her drag the two of you inside. Nancy ducked her head, blush taking over her cheeks as she put the shirt back. Her dismissive muttering could barely be heard over the store’s speakers, blaring the new Cyndi Lauper single.

“Oh come on, Nance.” Barb rolled her eyes, snatching the blouse off the rack again. Nancy’s eyes were wide as her head snapped up to meet Barb’s gaze. “You are horrible at this. Just tell us what’s going on with Steve!”

Nancy grabbed for the shirt, but Barb was holding it over her head while you did your best to hold in your laughter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Nancy grabbed for the shirt, looking back at you over her shoulder clearly asking for help. All you could do was shrug.

“We saw him put his number in your notebook, and the last two times I called your line was busy! It’s never busy!” Nancy’s blush was creeping down her neck. She gave up the fight for the blouse, looking at you accusatorially. Another shrug, and a nod had her looking like she was going to stomp her foot.

“I just-“ she paused, taking a deep breath “I need to make sure that Steve Harrington isn’t going to steal both of my friends.”

“Barb what are you talking about?” On some level, you could understand why she was worried about Nancy. It wasn’t typical for the three of you to have secrets. But you’d tutored countless people, or joined different after school activities, and she’d never worried about the state of your friendship before.

Barb hesitated, suddenly looking ashamed. “Nothing, it’s-” she dropped the hanger back on the rack, her hands twisting together nervously. “It’s nothing, swear.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. You and Nancy shared a look, not entirely convinced.

Without a word, the two of you wrapped your arms around Barb sandwiching her between the two of you as you had done since preschool whenever someone was having a hard day. It had been a while since you’d had reason for a best friend sandwich, but when Barb wrapped her arms around the both of you, leaning her head on top of Nancy’s, you knew you’d made the right choice. “You should get the shirt, Nance. I think Steve will really like it.” Your voice came out muffled, and you couldn’t see Nancy’s face because it was smushed into your arm, but you would have sworn that you felt her smile.

______________________________________________________________________________

You pulled into the Hawkins Middle parking lot doing your best to keep your smile from turning into a grimace. Nancy had been stuck debating between two options at Pam’s for a solid twenty minutes, and after Barb’s minor breakdown, you hadn’t felt it was the time to rush anyone. You threw the car into park and barely managed to stop yourself from sprinting as you headed for your dad’s classroom. The tension left your chest when you heard the screaming from down the hall. In any other situation it would have had the opposite effect, but hearing the AV Club chattering away meant that even if you were running late, your dad is running later.

“Like I said boys, it should be here next week but there is just no telling for sure.” Your dad had run the Hawkins Middle AV Club for as long as you could remember, but he had never had such an enthusiastic membership. In years past, you’d stop by a meeting or two after outgrowing the appropriate age for club participation, but you’d babysat for a few of the kids before, and you had a special soft spot for them. The unanimous, synchronized exclamations of “Bea!” as you rounded the corner led you to believe the feelings were mutual.

Bea was a nickname that had pulled double duty since you were little. Bea, as in short for Beatrice, your middle name after your grandmother who had passed long before your arrival, and Bea as in bumble bee. You were a Bea to everyone, but when your dad used the name, you both knew the difference. You gave everyone a warm smile and a small wave, plopping down in a desk close to the door.

“As soon as it comes in, you all will be the first to know.”

“And the only ones to care.” Mike muttered, causing you to hid your smile behind your hand, in an effort not to encourage them. The boys almost instantly began to speak over one another, calling dibs on who got the first go, where they should call first. Your dad gave you a smile that said ‘there’s nothing I can do about this’.

You coughed a few times, gaining the boys’ attention. “You guys do know you are cutting it close if you want to be somewhere with cable, so you can catch the new episode of that Dungeons and Dragons show. It comes out on Fridays, right?” The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, before they started hastily shoving books into backpacks and tearing out of the room. You stuck your head out of the doorway, calling after the boys to remind them you would see them at the Wheeler’s on Sunday. You were planning on studying for your chemistry test with Nancy. You had probably fifty vocab words to make flashcards for, not to mention the equations and elements you needed to know for your test next week. They waved without turning around before sprinting out the doors of the school.

______________________________________________________________________________

Sunday, November 6, 1983

You’d been able to hear the boys screaming in the basement from your spot on Nancy’s bed for the last few hours. You had a rare weekend off from babysitting, as most of your regulars were currently 9 hours deep into a Dungeons and Dragons campaign in the Wheeler’s basement. Weekends without a babysitting gig were more frequent now that the boys were old enough to bike home from school alone. You would watch Lucas’s little sister on occasion, and Holly more regularly, but it was far more common to end up at the Wheeler’s with Nancy for a while and then offer give the boys a ride home. They would take you up on it if the weather is bad but more often than not, they preferred to race home.

You and Nancy had been pretending to study for the same amount of time. You’d arrived with the best of intentions, your bag heavy with notecards and textbooks, but Nancy had a new copy of Tiger Beat, and then she’d launched into an hours-long grievance against Steve having yet to take her on a real date. Apparently, grabbing a milkshake after school didn’t count, “we do that all the time anyways”, and a makeout session in his care was not cutting it either, “besides it was only like, one time”. Ever since Barb had weaseled the confession out of her at Pam’s, it was like the dam was broken. You’d managed to corral her into focusing on studying for all of ten minutes while you secretly contemplated if it was over stepping to bully him into just asking her to go steady if it meant you got your study partner back, when her new blue phone started ringing on her bedside table. She popped up to answer it, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You’d made double the note cards she had and you still had two chapters to go. You’d largely tuned her out until you heard Steve’s name.

Your eyes snapped to Nancy’s, a blush already having taken over a vast majority of her face. You heard some murmuring from your spot across the bed, but nothing that you could make out clearly. Maybe he was finally working up the nerve to invite her on a proper date. Her shoulders deflated, and the blush was quickly receding from her face when she looked at you. Without a word, she held the phone out to you.

You frantically shook your head, she shoved the phone farther across the bed, causing the base to tumble onto the floor, pulling the handset out of her grasp with it. You both scrambled for the phone but Nancy was quicker, snatching it off of the floor and holding it up to your ear. “Hello?” You asked, wincing when your voice came out squeakier than you were used to.

“Hi, I, uh, I called the number you gave me but your dad answered. Said you’d be here.” Steve sounded almost bashful, which was not something you were used to hearing from him.

“Did my dad say something to you?” Nancy leaned her head closer to the receiver, and you adjusted to make more room for her.

“Just that learning is a voracious and exciting river, and you have to give yourself over to the current, or something.” Nancy started to giggle, you gently shoved her back against her pillows.

“Yeah, that sounds like him. Did you,” you pause, struggling to sound less surprised than you were, “need something, Harrington?”

“I just,” he paused, and you could almost see the way his gaze gets stuck on the ceiling while he tries to work up the nerve to say something he is worried will make him sound stupid. “I needed to know what was up with Lady Macbeth’s weird bloodstain monologue. All you had in the margins was that she was ‘wickedly fucked’. Don’t get me wrong, you’re right, I think anyway, but why is she so crazy all of a sudden.”

You sighed. You’d given him your number after he’d canceled a session during lunch after you and your dad had already arranged the car schedule one too many times, and begged him to call if he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it as soon as he could. It wasn’t exactly for study emergencies, not that you had ever really expected Steve Harrington to have one. “She and Macbeth have swapped how they were at the beginning. Remember how you said he was being a bitch and she was a badass for plotting Duncan’s murder?” You could hear his hair rustling against the speaker, and you could picture him nodding through the phone. It didn’t seem like the time to remind him there was no possible way you could see him. “Well, now she is regretting rushing in and being brash, and he has fully accepted what the witches said at the beginning.” “That it’s his destiny to be the king?” “Yep, you’ve got it. The whole thing is about how power and ambition is corrupting.” More rustling. “Steve, are you nearly done with the play?” “I finished it, that one part was bugging me that’s all.”

“You finished it?!” You winced at the surprise that was clear in your voice. Nancy had not looked this confused since the time you told her the boy’s campaign had actually been interesting the last time you watched them as a group after Joyce got called in for a last minute shift, and Jonathan had photography club, rendering him unavailable. You shrugged, not sure how to explain it.

“Your notes were really helpful, and funny. I didn’t mean to but, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I just, you said that reading Macbeth was worse than taking sandpaper to your eyes.” He’d looked like Mike when he was ten and realized that you had tricked him into finishing the steamed broccoli his mother had left for dinner, the picture of theatrical disgust.

“I said your notes made it better, didn’t I?”

You blinked a few times as Nancy scooched back to your side. “Well, I guess we will have a lot to talk about on Monday, then.” “Yeah, yeah. Um, tell Nancy to have a good night.” He went silent for a moment, and you searched for the right words. “And you too.” He added, derailing your train of thought.

“Sure, Steve, goodnight.” You placed the phone back on the base as if it were a live bomb. “What was that?”

“What do you mean what was that? You’re the one he was calling!”

You gasped. “If one of us is more accustomed to receiving phone calls from Steve Harrington, it’s going to be you!”

Nancy rolled her eyes, a signal as clear as ever that she was gearing up for what she liked to call a lively discussion, and you hated to admit was an argument. Before she could, the phone rang again. You held your breath, preparing to hear Steve’s voice through the phone. Thankfully, it was Barb calling to ask if Nancy needed a ride to school tomorrow, she did, and if they had been studying for Kaminsky’s test, sort of. The conversation quickly devolved into talking about Steve after Barb asked if Nancy had heard from him. Nancy was recounting the awkward conversation you’d just finished and you were doing your best not to help when there was a knock on the door frame.

You glance up to see Dustin standing at the threshold of Nancy’s room, holding a pizza box. He shook it enthusiastically. “There’ two slices left if you want ‘em, sausage and pepperoni!”

You are about to nod enthusiastically when Nancy tells Barb to hold on. She leaves the phone on the bed and shuts the door in Dustin’s face. “Nance!” You frown at her, and you’re off the bed and out the door before she can respond. “Dusty, wait up!” You call when you get to the top of the stairs, catching a glimpse of his hat disappearing around the corner. You find him in the kitchen, depositing the pizza box on the counter. “Did you finish the campaign?”

“Nah, we just got to the fight with the-”

“With the demogorgon? Mike was telling me about it when I was here watching Holly last week. He seemed pleased with the planning.” Dustin shrugged, looking unusually gloomy. “Is this about Nancy?” Another shrug. You throw an arm around his shoulders, walking him to the backdoor. “She didn’t mean it, she’s having a weird night.”

“Seems like she’s been having a weird year.” He mumbled, pulling the door and stepping outside. “There’s something wrong with your sister,” he announced, making his way over to his bike, where it sat in the Wheeler’s garage.

“What are you talking about?” Mike huffed, exasperated.

Lucas was quick to chime in. “Yeah, it’s because she’s been dating that douchebag, Steve Harrington.” His gaze shifted to you, looking guilty.

You held your hands up in the air in surrender. “Don’t look at me, I’m just trying to keep him from getting kicked off the basketball team on account of his English grade.” A touch of mirth made it’s way into your eyes. “Didn’t you hear, we might actually have a shot at State this year.” The boys dissolved into giggles, kicking up the stands on their bikes, fully aware that you had never the willpower to know anything about the school’s sports teams.

“The day that you care about the basketball team is the day that Will rolls two nat twenties in a row.” Lucas laughed. Will was a notoriously bad roller.

You ruffled Will’s hair, discreetly checking to make sure all of the boys had their bags and the flashlights on their bikes turned on. You’d been called late at night over forgotten homework one enough that you did your best to confirm they had anything before they got too far down the street. Lucas rolled his eyes. “We have everything mom.” The rest of the boys shook with laughter.

“Let’s see how you feel being woken up at eleven o’clock over missing math homework, and then we can talk. Are you sure you guys wouldn’t rather have a ride home?” The boys shook their heads in unison, rebuffing you when you asked fi they were sure.

They confirmed one more time that you had no updates about the new radio your dad had ordered for the AV club, before beginning to pedal away. “Be safe, boys!” You called, stepping inside, leaving Lucas and Dustin’s unified “We will!” And the sounds of Mike and Will talking softly drifting in from the garage behind you.

You quickly said your goodbyes to Mr. And Mrs. Wheeler, stuck your head in to say goodnight to Nancy and gave Holly a hug before heading out to your car. By the time you got home, your dad was in bed, a note on the fridge reminding you about your early wake up time for tomorrow, so that he could be at Hawkins’ Middle to receive a package. You were thoroughly tired by the time that your head hit the pillow, but somehow, a pit had formed in the bottom of your stomach. It wasn’t often you tossed and turned, but when you did, you were an old pro. You lasted fifteen minutes before crawling out of bed and setting yourself up on the couch, a cup of tea and a worn old copy of A Wrinkle in Time your dad acquired in high school. It was your favorite bedtime story growing up and it usually did the trick even now. You read until your eyes got heavy and your tea grew cold, before dragging yourself back to bed in the hopes of feeling more like a well rested, responsible, functioning human in the morning. If you were being honest, the chances of that were slim.

next chapter

#Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #Steve Harrington #Joe Keery #Joe Keery x reader #Steve Harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things

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justtwotired · 1 year ago

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Whispers of the night-Lloyd Garmadon x F!reader

Hi, this will become a new series, I’ve never done a series on Tumbler, only Wattpad and AO3, but I’ll probably add some of those series on her aswell, not the long ones, though.

I’ll add this series to both those platforms somewhere this month, but I’ll probably change the name cuz I don’t like this one that much.

Summary: y/n is your typical rebelling teen, sneaking out, ignoring her parent requests, stealing snacks from shops, skipping school. People who are like her, people with powers, normally do good, like the ninja, she likes to live a quite, but not so quite life.

Like that, she ignores the power she holds, she holds the power of illusion, she does not keep it a secret form her friends, though doesn’t like to talk about it much with people outside her friend group.

Her power isn’t unknown, so, of course, she did get an invitation to the tournament of elements, but she never attended, having promised herself she would live a quite, normal, teenager life.

That changes when a certain green ninja enters her life.

“Yes! Perfect, Millie!” Y/n clapped as the friend group cheered. The eight of them spent most of their free time in the skate park in Ninjago city.

It only had a pole, bank, pit and a halfpipe (which they where currently sitting on) but it would do, if they needed more like a stair railing, they’d go to other parts of the city.

Amelia landed on Y/n’s right side with a cocky smirk. Next to her sat Anthony while Luna stood behind them.

It was a sunny Wednesday, one of the last sunny days they where expecting, as it was late September.

“Alright, now copy that.” Amelia patted Y/n on the back and the girl got up, “I’ll destroy you, Cooper.” She said with slightly narrowed eyes and a smirk.

She picked up her skateboard, the bottom decorated with small doodles she made herself, but also some made by her friends, names included.

“Want me to film you?” Flora called from the other side of the halfpipe. “Sure!” Y/n called back, getting into position.

When she got the thumbs up from Flora, she shifted her weight and took off, getting cheered on by the others while Amelia jokingly yelled “boo!”

The six Ninja had the afternoon for themselves, having trained in the morning and decided on spending some time in the local park.

They walked past the skatepark and Lloyd looked over to see what the people there where up to. There was a girl with h/c hair soaring on her skateboard while being cheered on.

She was really beautiful.

“What ya looking at?” Kai looked at the direction Lloyd was looking at and smirked. “Watching the pretty skate girls?” He teased making Lloyds cheeks slightly heat up before protesting, making the others laugh.

“Good enough for you?” Y/n cocked a brow at Amelia who grinned. “More then enough.” She said. Flora, Arthur and Charlie, who had been on the other side, climbed onto their side.

“Who’s getting drinks?” Y/n heard Charlie ask, she had registered what he said to late, and when she looked up, everyone had a finger on their nose.

“Fine,” she grumbled, making the others chuckle. She wrote down what everyone wanted and waved before heading to the food and drink stall not far away.

When she arrived there she smiled at the boy with blonde hair that stood there, seeming to wait for his order.

He smiled back and she heard chuckling behind them. He turned around and shot his friends who stood not far away a glare.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” The teenager behind the register asked and Y/n smiled kindly.

“Hello,” she greeted. “Could I please have two cokes, a strawberry shake, one lemonade, one ice-tea, two passion fruit shakes and a ginger beer?” She asked and the girl nodded with a polite smile.

“Was that all?” She questioned. “Yes, that was it.” She answered and pulled out her card. “That would be eighteen fourth five,”

Y/n payed for the drinks and waited next to the boy who was tapping his foot on the ground a bit impatiently.

She couldn’t help but notice how cute he was. Blonde hair that was shining in the sun, light freckles on his face, bright green eyes and she couldn’t help but see he worked out daily.

Feeling he stare, he looked at her and smiled kindly, making her quickly look the other way.

He was then handed his drinks, and walked of after giving her a polite nod.

When she received her drinks aswel, she walked back to her friends who excitedly ran over and all took their own drinks.

Lloyd handed everyone their drinks and they smirked at him. “What?” He asked, taking his own drink in his hands.

“She was totally checking you out man!” Cole said, pushing Lloyds shoulder slightly, and if it wouldn’t have been for his own super strength, he would’ve fallen over.

“Who was?” He asked confused, making the others exchange baffled glances. “That pretty skater girl, obviously.” Kai rolled his eyes.

“No she was not!” Lloyd pointed out and Nya sighed. “Lloyd, I think it’s time we get your eyes checked.” She said disappointedly, making the others laugh.

“But come on dude, you can’t tell me she isn’t pretty, right?” Kai poked Lloyds arm making the green ninja chuckle. “She is, really pretty indeed.” He admitted.

The group had decided to make their way to James’ house as he had a huge backyard. Still sipping on their drinks, they walked to the entrance to the park.

Well, except for Luna, who was standing on her skateboard while holding onto Arthur, casually looking at her phone while being pulled forwards.

“Hey, is that the guy from the stand?” Amelia suddenly pointed to a group of friends who where standing in the shadow of a tree.

Amongst them indeed the boy Y/n had stood next to and mentioned to her friends.

Embarrassed, she quickly pulled her friends arm down as three of the boys looked their way, Amelia being rather loud.

“Millie!” Y/n hissed making her friends laugh.

“Hey, wait!” They turned to someone approaching them. “Hello?” Anthony raised an eyebrow at the guy standing in front of them.

“Hi,” he pointed his attention to Y/n, “I’m Kai and my friend over there,” he pointed at the blonde boy from earlier who looked mortified. “He thinks you’re really pretty and wants your number.” He said and Y/n gave an amused smirk while Flora and Amelia giggled.

Y/n tilted her head to the side to look at the blond boy who seemed to be scolding one of his friends with black hair.

“Sure, why not?” She smiled and looked over at Charles.

“Charlie, can I have the sticky notes and a pen?” She asked and he smirked and handed them over.

She wrote her number down and her name right under it. “Here, give that to your handsome friend.” She winked as she gave it before Kai thanked her and took off again.

“Damn N/n, you just got yourself boyfriend.” Luna teased with a smirk making Y/n give her a look. “It’s just a number, Lu.” She said, making her friends protest.

“Why did you have to dare him to do that?” Lloyd pointed an accusing finger at Cole who could only laugh.

Kai had jogged back over and everyone looked at him expecting and he gave Lloyd the sticky note with her name and number.

“Y/n, huh?” He read with a small smirk, having not expected to actually get her number.

“Mhm, and, her words where ‘give that to your handsome friend’ so I think you just got yourself a maybe girlfriend.” Kai said and Lloyd knew at that moment he was in for a lot of teasing for the rest of the day.

“I’m home!” Y/n closed the door behind her and walked into her house. It was almost 10 so she was surprised to see her little brother still on the couch.

She walked past and pushed the hood of his hoody over his head and he let out an angry yelp.

“Mooomm, Y/n’s bullying me!” He called out and their mother poked her head out of the kitchen. “Y/n?” She gave her eldest daughter a look making her smirk.

“Why’s he still up?” She entered the kitchen, taking an apple out of the fruit basket. “He’s free from school tomorrow so I allowed him to stay up late tonight.” Her mother said, rolling out dough to make cookies while Y/n took a bite of her apple.

“He’s literally six,” she swallowed her apple. “You didn’t allow me to stay up this late when I was that age.” She said

“Well this is different… kind of, but it’s just one time, I hope it won’t get to his head.” Her mother shook her head making Y/n chuckle.

“If it does it’s a you problem,” she threw the remains of her apple away and snatched her phone form the table.

“I’m heading out around 12, Charlie, Luna, Millie and I are going for a movie and then we’ll see what we’re going to do,” she looked at her phone.

“Hold up young lady, while that sounds fun, there has been a lot going on around the city again, I don’t want you going out at night.” He mother said making her groan.

“Come on mom, nothings going to happen, the ninja and police can handle it, it’s not that big of a threat anyway.” She waved it off. “Y/n!” Her mother said sternly and she groaned.

“Fine.” She left the kitchen and headed up the stairs with a scowl.

The ding of her phone made her look back at her screen.

Unknown number huh?

???

Hi, I wanted to apologise for my friends earlier today.

It’s me from the park btw.

You

Oh hi!

No that’s completely fine, I thought it was pretty funny.

Thanks for the complement btw ;)

???

Always happy to complement pretty girls :)

She couldn’t help but blush before quickly composing herself and sending a text back.

You

Always happy to receive complements from handsome guys.

Who I don’t know the name of btw

What’s your name?😅

???

Lmao, it’s Lloyd, and I supposed yours is Y/n?

You

That would be me!

The two texted for a while, and when she looked at the time she couldn’t believe an hour had already passed.

You

Oh damn, I really need to go, but I’d like to hang out some time

Lloyd

Timing, I need to go to, actually.

Sounds fun btw, text me a date and time, I’ll be there ;)

She chuckled and changed her chat.

The abusment park

LuLu✨

We still up for the movies?

Jamie

Nope

Lulu✨

Piss off Jamie, you weren’t coming in the first place

Jamie

Oh😪

Arty😈

#stopJamesabuse

You

Sooo…

King Charles👑

Y/n😤

You

I am so sorry, my mother is being a pain :(

LuLu✨

Just sneak out

Problem solved

Mills🩷

Y/n you better sneak out or I’ll sneak in and drag you out.

You

Damn ya don’t need to threaten me.

My mom just laid down, I suppose I could sneak out in ten

King Charles👑

See you there then

You better show up🫵🏻

You

🫡

After ten minutes, Y/n could hear her mother softly snoring in her room and she could still hear the tv downstairs, hoping that was enough distraction for her snitching little brother.

She opened her window softly and sat on the window sill. She took en deep breath and jumped down, landing on the grass in their front yard.

She grabbed the broom that stood agains the wall of the house and used it to push her window closed.

That’ll do.

The abusement park

You

Be there in twenty

King Charles👑

You better be

LuLu✨

We will come for you👹

Y/n chuckled and grabbed her skateboard before making her way to the city centrum.

She put in her headphones and blasted music, making the noice of her surroundings disappear into the background.

At arrival, she smirks at her friends who get up at the sight of her.

“N/n!” Amelia cheers as she pulls her into an excited hug. “So Lu just checked on her phone, and there are four seats free in some sort of horror movie, so if we sneak in, we can watch it no problem.” She explains.

“Sure yeah, I can fix that.” Y/n grins, and with a snap of her fingers, they disappeared to the crowds eye.

“Holy shit what happened?” Charlie says panicked. “Illusions Charlie!” Luna hit his shoulder. “Oh, right.”

After four years, Charlie still can’t get used to Y/n having these powers, so whenever she uses them, he believes in the illusion making him see them.

If one does belief the illusion is really there and not an illusion, they just see what Y/n wants them to see, but if they realise what she’s doing, the illusion disappears for their eyes.

“Let’s go then, and uh, stay silent.” She says and her friends follow her, making sure to not walk into someone.

They got into the theater easily, it was still quite empty so when they sat, y/n could change them back and they snickered.

When the movie ended, they snuck out again.

“I can’t believe you actually got scared!” Y/n and Luna where laughing while Amelia cursed at them. She had screamed multiple times. Charlie just followed them with an amused grin.

#stopJamesabuse #ninjago #ninjago city #ninjago cole #ninjago jay #ninjago lloyd #ninjago nya #ninjago kai #lloyd garmadon #lloyd garmadon x reader #jumpupkickbackwhiparoundandspin✨#ninjago x reader #ninjago x oc #harry potter

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ateliersss · 5 months ago

Text

Journey into The Past Ch.1

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader Summary: They say every human has their person, even some as cold, heartless and cruel as the Dark Lord. Would you try and tell that to Harry Potter, of all people, he would not hesitate to deny even the slightest hint of someone having feelings more than blazing hate for that man, this monster. A journey into the past shows him a different part of the former life of the murderer of his parents. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 1,869 Masterlist

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“Chocolate Frogs.” Harry murmured to the eagle statue, which jumped to the side a second later.

He was tired — Snape looked everywhere for an opportunity to give him detention, Ron and Hermione still avoided each other like the plague, and he still had no idea how to get this memory from Slughorn.

As he dragged himself up the staircase, he thought of an excuse why he still didn’t have it. Harry knocked on the office door and was soon called in by the Headmaster’s familiar, calm voice.

“Good evening, Harry.” Dumbledore greeted him from his chair, “Please sit down.” He added and pointed to the chair standing in front of his desk.

Harry closed the door and made his way through the office when he noticed something on the desk — alongside the usual silver instruments, the bowl of Dumbledore’s favourite sweets, some books and parchments, vials containing a silvery shimmering liquid stood on top of the dark wooden surface. Sitting down, they were on the same eye level as him and stared at him judgingly, as if they wanted to remind him of his failure.

“Professor, I–“

“–haven’t found a way to get the memory from Professor Slughorn.”

Harry shamefully looked down at his feet.

“If you did, you would have come to me the second you got your hands on it.”

“I’m sorry, Professor.”

“I have faith in you, Harry. You will find a way. Nevertheless, we will have to continue with our journey through Voldemort’s past.” Dumbledore said, eyes shifting to the gleaming vials. “These memories belonged to an incredibly smart and determined girl, always respectful and friendly to others.”

Dumbledore got up, walked around his desk and took the vial from the far left. The Pensieve was already floating next to them. Harry got up as well and watched Dumbledore pour the memory into it. The memory turned into an ink-like substance and slowly took on a hazy image. Harry dipped his head into the Pensieve and soon felt the familiar tug, lifting him out of reality and into the memory.

Harry was standing in a library, the library of Hogwarts. It had barely changed and was completely empty. Nothing surprising, it was already dark outside.

Just as he was about to turn to Dumbledore and ask him if they were in the right place, he heard a giggle, undoubtedly coming from a girl. Dumbledore headed in the direction of the giggles. Harry quickly caught up with him.

They passed the many bookshelves until they reached the barred doors of the Restricted Section. Following Dumbledore who apparently knew where to go, Harry soon saw the source of the voice.

“I mean it, Tom, stop bothering me. I still have to finish this.” You scolded, trying to suppress your laughter to sound serious.

To say that Harry was shocked by what he saw would be an understatement.

None other than Voldemort — or rather, Tom Riddle — was standing right behind you. He was bent forward so that your heads were on the same level. He brushed your hair aside, slowly revealing the eagle of Ravenclaw on your robes, and slowly kissed your neck up and down.

“You can do it later.” He groaned, his voice muffled against your skin.

“You know I can’t. I put it off until now and it’s due tomorrow.”

“You can copy mine.”

“No, I can’t. Slughorn will notice it.”

“He will ignore it. He loves you.”

“No, Tommy, he loves you. I’m just his second favourite.”

Tom let out a frustrated groan and buried his face into the crook of your neck. “I told you how much I hate it when someone talks back to me.”

You laughed at his antics. “And I told you, you would get bored. You didn’t have to come.”

“You’ll need me when someone catches you outside of curfew.” He countered half-heartedly, nuzzling his face deep into the crook of your neck.

With an eye roll, you tapped the badge on your chest. “Did you already forget I’m a prefect too?”

Tom ignored you and lifted his head slightly to watch your feather scurry across the parchment.

“Why don’t you take a look around? Maybe you will find an interesting book.” You suggested after a while.

When you got no answer, you sighed and wriggled out of his grasp, got up and disappeared between the gloomy bookshelves. You came back five minutes later and handed him a book.

“You told me you were fascinated by such things. I stumbled upon it a week ago.” You looked up at him and smiled.

Tom’s lips curled slightly upwards. Anyone else would have missed it, but not you. Your smile grew even brighter.

You pulled him down to meet his lips for a quick peck before sitting back down on your chair.

“Thank you, darling.”

He sat down casually on the chair next to yours, flipped through the book and flew over most of the pages. After a while, he stopped and began to read with an intrigued expression on his face. He suddenly seemed interested and he immersed himself in the written words. Then he looked up and at you, an expression on his face that Harry didn't like at all.

That must have been the end of the memory, because Harry was back in Dumbledore’s office again. His brain tried to comprehend what just happened.

Voldemort had someone, a person who looked at him as if he put the sun, the moon and the stars onto the sky. And in return, he had kissed this person, had clung to them as if they would disappear if he let them go even for a second.

Harry just met a completely new side of Voldemort, one he never expected to exist, one that was impossible to exist.

Voldemort had been soft. Or at least softer than one might imagine a cold-hearted, loveless and ruthless mass murderer to be. It didn't make any sense.

Dumbledore watched the conflicted expression on his face intently as the wheels kept turning in his head. “I believe you have some questions.”

Harry startled out of his thoughts. “I… Voldemort…” He stumbled over his words, not knowing to which question he wanted to have an answer first. “She was his girlfriend?”

“Yes. (Y/N) (L/N) was, as I already told you, an astounding student. Not only had her fellow Ravenclaws admired her, but almost the entire school. Very honest and responsible. Ideal for the role as a prefect, as you've seen, and later even as Head Girl. It was impossible for Voldemort not to notice her. There had been a rivalry between the two of them from the beginning, as they were fighting for the title best student. As you know, Tom Riddle was a great student with remarkable grades and loved by his teachers and classmates. So was (Y/N), indeed a very gifted and talented witch. However, when he saw there was no possibility for a breakthrough, he charmed his way into her life, but not with a little resistance from her side. She was probably one of the fewer people who were suspicious of him.”

“But she was still with him?”

“She was a 16-year-old girl who fell for the handsome and strange boy who was fascinated by her. A girl like her had many admirers, but he was the only one who could challenge her and was intellectually on par with her. In a way, she was also fascinated by him. Both were an interesting mystery to the other and they were eager to solve it.”

“So he was playing with her?”

“To be honest with you, Harry, I don’t think so.”

“Then what is it?”

“Love.”

Harry looked at Dumbledore as if he had just expelled him from Hogwarts and sent him back to the Dursleys. “But I thought…”

“It wasn’t typical love, the type of love we both know. It was more of a mix of mutual understanding, admiration, trust and something deeper. Just because Voldemort is incapable of loving someone, it doesn’t mean he was emotionless.”

“It’s hard to believe that Voldemort cares for someone else.”

“For someone who didn’t experience him in his school days, it’s easy to say. She had a not insignificant influence on him.” Dumbledore said with a smile before sitting back in his chair.

Harry did the same and asked, “What happened to her? I mean, if she and Voldemort were a couple, she could help us find the Horcruxes! After all, she let you have her memories. Do you know where she is?”

“Unfortunately, Harry, she died a few years ago. The reason for that were, in fact, these memories.” Dumbledore pointed to the remaining vials. “She came to me one year after your parents died.”

Confused, Harry leaned forward in his chair. “Why?”

The older man looked at him over his glasses, his eyes glittering, before looking back at the memory containing vials like it was the most obvious answer.

Harry bit his lower lip, nodding. “Right.”

“However, if you were actually asking about the specific time, then the answer is just as simple. Like some of Voldemort's other followers, she was cautious. Death Eaters were hunted and imprisoned, after all. They also didn’t know if he might come back to reclaim his power. So, she waited a year before she came to me.”

“And she gave you the memories just like that?”

Dumbledore shook his head before he hoisted himself up from his chair, his blackened hand shaking like a leaf in the wind being under so much pressure.

“Not back then, no. At first, she was suspicious of me, considering I could call the authorities the second she stepped on school grounds. Understandable, since she was just as much hunted by the Aurors as the rest of Voldemort’s followers, but I promised her no harm will come to her as long as I live.”

Harry shifted in his seat, a frown on his face. “Why would you do that, Professor? Why would you offer that to someone who was as close to Voldemort as she was? Why would you put someone under your protection who murdered and tortured innocents?”

“And how do you know she did all that, Harry?” Dumbledore asked and his eyes gleamed as he looked sharply at the boy.

Harry, feeling scolded, averted his eyes and merely shrugged his shoulders, not knowing what else to do.

So what if this girl wasn’t like the man who murdered his parents? How should he know? People who were involved with Voldemort were neither good nor innocent. You could have been very well a second Bellatrix.

Dumbledore, who had already taken the second vial and poured the memory into the Pensieve, nodded at his silence and smiled knowingly.

“Don’t view her as any enemy, but as an ally instead.” He said and Harry had to suppress a scoff. “Without her, we would know much less about Voldemort and how to go against him.”

Harry nodded reluctantly and got up from his chair to join Dumbledore again. He looked down at the swirling inky substance that slowly started to take shape and he could already recognize silhouettes of a fire-lit room.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

Text

title: a million moments

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller/female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

chapters: 1/1

summary: a slice of a happy life with joel miller.

read on ao3 | masterlist

author’s note: this fluffy fic is based off of this gif set by @serenaxpedro , this ask, and this one! requests are open if you’ve got something you’re itching to read, and please consider leaving a lil comment if you enjoyed this fic! 💕

contents warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), no use of y/n, fluff!!!!, happy and soft pre-outbreak joel as the lord intended, established relationship, domestic as hell!!!!, discussions of marriage, pet names, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v, minor breeding kink. let me know if any are missing!

You’re finishing up breakfast, talking with Sarah as she tells you about a test she has coming up, when Joel shuffles into the kitchen, yawning widely as he scrubs a hand through his hair.

“My favorite girls,” he says, pressing a kiss first to Sarah’s cheek before wrapping his arms around your middle and leaning his head against your shoulder blade, eyes falling closed again. “Smells good.”

“I made eggs. Yours are cold because you kept hitting the snooze button,” you tease. You can feel his lips spread into a smile against your back. “Sit. Eat. I need to make lunches.”

He brings a palm up to turn your face to his, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips over your shoulder. The kiss is followed by three squeezes to your hip before he reaches past you to grab the plate you made for him, popping it in the microwave.

With the two Millers chatting behind you, you assemble their lunches. Sarah always requests a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, while Joel prefers to bring two ham and cheese sandwiches to work. They each get apple slices and a bag of chips, and you slip a Twinkie into Joel’s box as well, knowing he has a sweet tooth.

Which reminds you…

“Joel, don’t forget you have a dentist appointment at two,” you tell him.

“Shit. I mean, shoot,” he replies.

“Swear jar,” you and Sarah say in unison. The teen giggles as Joel grumbles under his breath, digging his wallet from his pants. He checks his watch. “Finish up, baby girl, we gotta get goin’.”

You watch as Sarah shoves the last of her toast into her mouth. Joel stands, sticking his plate in the sink and pressing a kiss to your cheek before he leaves the kitchen in search of his work boots.

“Babe! Have you seen—“

“On the porch!” You call, cutting him off.

You zip up Sarah’s lunch box, handing it to her as she flies through the kitchen.

“Thank you!” She calls, blowing you a kiss as she heads for the front door. You wave to her, watching through the bay window as Joel gets into the truck, waving through the windshield as he backs out.

You’re smiling to yourself as you clean up the sink, humming a vague tune as you stick the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. Your mind drifts back to the night you met Joel Miller, about a year ago.

“Please tell me you’re not about to rent that,” a masculine voice asks from beside you, making you jump, nearly losing your hold on the DVD case you were reading, a copy of The Lord of the Rings that was sitting in the new release section.

The man eyeing the DVD case is tall and broad shouldered, with biceps straining the material of his t-shirt. He has curly dark hair and kind brown eyes that are looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, uh, I was thinking about it. Is it bad?” You ask. He runs a hand through his hair.

“No, no, it’s a great choice it’s just…my daughter just finished the book this week and I told her I’d rent her the movie when she did,” he admits.

“Oh! You go ahead and rent it, then,” you tell him, holding the case out to him.

“Are you sure?” He asks, reaching for it. His fingertips brush against yours, the slight touch enough to leave you craving more as you return his bright smile. “I’m Joel, by the way.”

After returning his introduction with your own, he lingers for a moment. You’re just staring at each other with goofy smiles on your faces.

“Could I…make it up to you? With dinner?” He finally asks.

“I’d like that, Joel.”

You finish the dishes and grab a rag to wipe down the counters when you notice the lunch box still sitting there. You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you.

Checking the time, you head back to the bedroom to get ready for your shift at the hair salon, resolving to bring Joel his lunch during your break.

________

Joel sees your car pull up at the work site and his face splits in a grin. He tugs his work gloves off and goes to meet you.

“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” he calls. God, he loves the way your cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink just for him. “What’s the occasion?”

“The occasion, Joel Miller, is that you forgot your lunch at home,” you say, shaking the lunch box in your hand. He laughs.

“What would I do without you?” He asks, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. Your head tips back to look at him and presses a kiss to your lips. “Stay to eat with me?”

“Sure. Let me grab my lunch. I’ll meet you at your truck,” you say, squeezing his hip three times as you pull away. He tugs you back for another kiss, swallowing your giggles. “Joel, let me go.”

“Never, darlin’.”

________

You’re sitting between Joel’s legs, your back pressed to his chest, in the bed of the truck. He’s parked beneath a large tree, the shade a relief from the Texas heat as you both enjoy your sandwiches.

“What are your thoughts on marriage?” Joel asks, apropos of nothing. You blink.

“In general? They’re positive ones. Why?”

You feel him shrug beneath you. “Just been thinkin’ about it lately.”

Your smile makes your cheeks ache.

________

Joel stops at the store on the way home, a spring in his step from a good day. He scrutinizes the flower selection, hands on his hips as he tries to pick out a bouquet. His eyes land on a bouquet of bursting pink peonies.

Perfect.

On the drive home, he hums along to the classic rock radio, fingers drumming in the steering wheel, flowers settled on the passenger seat with care. His mind drifts back to the conversation at lunch, and how you’d grinned at him when he mentioned he’d been thinking about marriage lately.

And it’s the truth, he’d been thinking about it a lot. Every time he turned over in bed and slipped an arm around your waist, tugging you closer. Or when he’d come into the kitchen and find you bent over Sarah’s math homework with a furrow in your brow as you tried to help her, despite math being your weakest subject. Or finding the little notes left in his lunch box, scribbled I love yous on colorful paper that he keeps in his glove box for safekeeping.

He thinks about it every time he opens his wallet and sees the folded photo strip of you, him, and Sarah, squeezed into a photo booth at a carnival as you make silly faces at the camera. Or when you’re getting ready in the morning, slicking lip gloss onto your pretty lips and he wants to kiss it all away.

There are a million moments that he thinks about marrying you.

Joel walks in on one such moment this evening. You’re alone in the kitchen, humming as you stir something in the pot on the stove. He steps up behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs between kisses.

“Hey, handsome,” you reply, turning to face him. Your eyes light up when you see the flowers in his hand. “Those for me?”

“For my one and only,” he confirms, letting you take them from him. You press your nose to the blooms, inhaling deeply.

“They’re amazing,” you gush, moving around the kitchen to find a vase to fill with water. You hand them back to Joel and he removes the wrapping paper, using the kitchen shears to cut the ends off the stems.

You set a glass vase of water on the kitchen table and Joel tips the flowers into them, watching with a small smile as you arrange them to look their best.

“I love them,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“I love you,” he says.

________

Joel kisses you breathless, right there in the kitchen. His tongue slides against yours, his hands smoothing down your waist until they grip your hips and tug you closer.

“Gross,” Sarah comments from the doorway. Joel pulls back abruptly. He squeezes your hips three times before letting go, crossing to the doorway to pull Sarah into a hug.

“Set the table,” he tells her, ruffling a hand through her curly hair. She groans, batting at his hand and ducking away from him to grab the silverware.

The three of you enjoy dinner, followed by Joel starting up a movie that Sarah’s been begging to watch.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Joel tells her.

“I won’t!” Sarah insists.

She’s out cold twenty minutes later. Joel laughs silently.

“I’ll get her in bed,” he says, shifting out from beneath her and picking her up from the couch. “Meet you in the bedroom?”

You nod, turning the TV off and putting away the blanket the three of you had been sharing. You head upstairs to your shared bedroom, changing into one of Joel’s well loved t-shirts before climbing into bed, turning the bedside lamp on.

“Never gets old,” Joel says when he comes in a moment later. He reaches behind his head, tugging his shirt up and off.

“What’s that?” You ask.

“You, in my bed. In my clothes,” he says, shoving his jeans down his thighs and kicking them away. You raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ll put them in the hamper later, I swear, let me just hold you.”

He crawls into bed, flopping beside you with a groan and shimmying around until he’s pulled you into his body, tugging your leg over his hip and pressing his head to your chest with a sigh. You run your fingers through his soft curly hair.

“Love you,” he says into your chest.

“You sayin’ that to me or my boobs?” You ask, teasing lilt to your voice.

“Both, definitely both,” he confirms, lifting his head. He brings a hand to the back of your neck to drag your lips to his. The kiss is slow and syrupy, no rush and all the time in the world to enjoy each other.

Joel’s mouth opens against yours, tongue exploring at his leisure. His hand slides down your back until he grips a handful of your ass, tugging you closer until your pussy drags against his hardening cock.

You whine against his lips, and he repeats the action. “You feelin’ a little needy, baby?”

You nod, and he shifts forward, pressing your back to the mattress and hovering over you. His mouth trails across your jaw and down your neck, wet hot kisses marking you like a tattoo, his love seeping beneath your skin.

His calloused fingers drag your shirt up, bunching it up beneath your armpits to expose your breasts to the cool bedroom air. You squirm beneath him as he kisses your sternum before taking one pert nipple between his lips with little preamble.

His tongue swirls around your hard nipple before he draws back with a nip of teeth that makes you gasp. You can feel his grin against your skin as he moves to give your other breast the same treatment.

Joel slips a hand into your panties, finger sliding through your wet folds and he groans. “God, this pussy, baby. Always so fuckin’ wet for me.”

A finger dips into your entrance and you keen, pressing your head back against the pillow. He shushes you as he kisses your tummy. He withdraws his hand to your whine of displeasure.

Joel tugs your underwear over your hips, dragging them down your legs before he tosses them to the side. His hands press your legs apart so that he can position himself on his belly between them, face close to where you crave him most. He kisses your inner thighs, teasing you mercilessly.

“Joel,” you whine. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

He chuckles. “You want my mouth, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you groan.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please, put your mouth on me, baby.”

He licks through your folds, swirling his tongue deftly over your sensitive clit. The sudden stimulation makes your hips buck against his face and he throws an arm over you to keep you still.

Joel is a man on a mission, pulling out all the moves he knows drive you wild. Circling your clit before sucking it between his lips, dipping down to your entrance to drive his tongue against you to drink up your essence. His teeth graze the bundle of nerves and you bite back a shout, hips fighting against his hold.

His free hand presses a finger to your hole, slipping inside you wet heat. He groans against you, the vibration of it making you whine. One finger becomes two that he curls against your front wall, grazing a spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

He looks up at you from between your legs, brown eyes shaded with lust as he works you until you shatter, your release dripping down his wrist as he slows his hand and draws out the swipes of his tongue in broad strokes.

You sink into the mattress, a boneless heap in the aftermath. Joel sits up with a smug smile, crawling over your body until his face hovers above yours.

“You wanna taste?” He murmurs, voice a low rumble you feel through all your nerve endings. You nod and he presses his fingertips to your lips, urging them to part. You lick the taste of yourself from his skin, tongue sliding over the digits reverently.

He presses against your tongue slightly before withdrawing, replacing his fingers with his lips and tongue in a deep and dirty kiss. You reach a hand into his boxers, gripping his length and pumping it leisurely. He hisses, hips flexing into your hold.

“Want your cock, baby,” you whisper, your thumb circling the head and smearing the drop of precum gathered at the slit around the crown. “Please?”

Joel shoves his boxers down in a hurry and you giggle at the display of desperation. He takes himself in hand, sliding himself through your wetness, bumping your still sensitive clit. He notches himself to your entrance, pressing forward in a slow slide until he’s pressed so deep and close you don’t know where you start and he ends.

His body is a welcome weight against yours as he flexes his hips, drawing back before snapping them forward in a harsh thrust. You gasp.

“That’s right, baby,” he says, teeth gritted. “This pretty cunt is all mine, huh?”

“Yours,” you agree, nails scraping against his shoulders. “Wan’ you to fill me up, Joel.”

His hips stutter. “Yeah? You want me drippin’ out of this pretty little pussy?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant back. He bites at your neck before sitting up on his heels, your legs held up against one shoulder as he uses a rough grip on your thighs to slam into you over and over and over.

You have to slap a palm over your mouth to keep the noises you’re making at manageable volume. His grin is near feral.

“Can’t help yourself, huh, darlin’? Wanna scream so bad over how my cock’s making you feel,” he growls. Your eyes flutter shut as you let him command your body how he desires.

You can feel your second orgasm creeping up on you as your belly starts to tighten, like all your nerves are gearing up to shatter in unison.

“Come on, baby, wanna feel you cum on my cock,” he tells you, his thrusts sloppy as he chases his own release. “Make that pussy milk me.”

It’s his dirty words that send you over the edge, forcing you to bite your lip to the point of pain. He lets your legs fall to his hips as he presses deeply into you, his cock pulsing his warm release as he slams his lips to yours, swallowing your noises and mixing them with his own.

His hips slow until he’s just pressed inside of you, his kisses turning into soft pecks to your lips. He lifts his head to look at you, smoothing your hair back from your sweaty forehead with a tender hand.

You smile, turning your head to press a kiss to his open palm.

“I love you, Joel.”

________

As Joel looks down at you, his heart squeezes in his chest. There was a time, around when Sarah’s mom left them both without warning, that he thought love was a hoax. That no one actually found it for themselves.

But looking into your eyes, he finds he was wrong. All that pain was just meant to lead him to you. He wants a million of these moments with you.

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Joel Miller tag list: @huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfell @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro

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#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #no use of y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller fluff #joel x female reader #joel x reader

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ravenelyx · 10 months ago

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I Love You In Every Timeline - Sebastian Sallow

I Do Not Have Any Thought That Is Not Yours

[Fic masterlist]

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name appearance for the reader

Themes: angst, temporarily unrequited love, pining, some form of transference¹, developing relationship, slow burn, explicit (eventually)

Summary: "He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him. She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe." In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: another chapter

AO3 / Wattpad

Tracey Nettlebed was boring holes into Sebastian’s skull, and he was sure it wouldn’t be long until they were deep enough for his brain to start leaking out. And, to be honest, he didn’t totally hate the idea.

It would ensure he'd stop him from thinking altogether.

In short, he did forget the prize. He had remembered that the same night, when he’d met Tracey's incensed gaze in the Common Room.

“I asked him, but he didn't have any,” he’d lied through his teeth when she’d approached, and Tracey had only narrowed her eyes at him.

“Fine,” she’d conceded brusquely. “But you better have them by tomorrow.”

She had stormed off towards the girls’ dormitories then, not leaving Sebastian any space for compromise. Not that she'd accept it, he suspected.

In his defence, he’d had other things on his mind. The picture of her had followed him in his dreams; a meandering torture of longing and sadness that only reconciled at his wake, and even more had vexed him the resemblance, like the picture had taken form in front of him. He’d dreamt of you, then, standing from your chair in the Library, and hugging him; he’d felt your heart beating against his, your arms tightly wrapped around his neck, he hadn’t even been sure if it was you, at that point. He’d wanted it to stop, yet never let that person in his arms go. He’d realised, at the same time, that you were shorter than her.

The fact that you weren't at breakfast, and the fact that you had taken the book with her picture with you were, instead, what haunted him now. You weren't in his arms and neither was she. And she was nowhere to be found.

Not that he blamed you for storming off and stealing her right from his nose, she was your family after all, but he would be lying if he hadn't thought about keeping that picture to himself. After all it was, in a twisted way, the only memory he had of his past life, of his past love, aside from you — but you had that birthmark, and that crease, and those eyes, and the red and gold reflecting on your skin tone.

Sebastian had tried to find another copy of that book, another copy of her that wasn't in flesh and bones, as much as the thought made his stomach knot in guilt at the disrespect it showed towards you, but no matter where he searched, there was nothing in any of them about the Goblin Rebellion of the 1890s. The copy you were reading was obviously a one-off.

Sebastian's luck as always, ladies and gentleman.

He had half a mind to ask you where you had got it, but the discovery seemed to affect you more than it did him. And that was saying something.

Sebastian attempted at allotting all his anger and annoyance and sympathy around that thought, like putting marmalade in jars in his brain. You deserved to have it more, as much as it hurt him.

And it did hurt him. A lot.

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#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #harry potter #sebastian sallow fanfiction #harry potter fandom #wizarding world #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy fandom #fred weasley #george weasley #ginny weasley #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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separatist-apologist · 4 months ago

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Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

“Wake up,” Arina whispered, pulling Elain from a nightmare. Elain started, gasping for air while her heart pounded frantically. “Wake up right now.”

“What’s wrong?” Elain demanded, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. “What happened?”

“I secured us horses. If we leave right now, we can be back home before anyone realizes we’re gone.”

That was a lie. It had been a two day journey from Lucien’s estate to the city and it would be just as long getting back. Horses weren’t cars, they couldn’t run forever like they did in the movies. The best they could hope for was that Lucien wouldn’t notice until it was simply too late to track them down.

“Get dressed,” Arina ordered, adjusting a pack on her shoulder. She was wearing a military uniform and Elain didn’t dare ask where she’d found leather pteruges in her size, nevermind the sword hanging from a baldric around her slim waist. Arina had braided her hair off her face and with a cloak fastened around her neck and the hood drawn, she might pass as a Roman soldier if no one examined them too closely. It left Elain to wrap herself up like a good, Roman woman to sell the ruse.

Arina was her armed escort. Neither of them knew how to use a sword, nor did they believe they could hold their own if they were caught. They simply banked on the illusion of authority to protect them. Still, Elain felt true fear when they made their way just outside the city, darting through gathered puddles muddying the hem of Elain’s dress and the shadows obscuring them from would-be onlookers.

Elain didn’t think Lucien would look at her with the same reverence he’d been once he realized she’d escaped. He’d truly believe she was a spy, and who knew what would happen. If they were lucky, it would be a quick, merciful death.

She had to leave before he did what she knew he was thinking—she was going to upend all of history simply by existing. Elain was not Helena. She would not be his wife and regretted not trying to leave sooner. Now Elain was scared.

She knew Lucien would come for her. The moment he realized she was gone, he’d don the same uniform Arina had stolen with a company of his most loyal soldiers and drag her back. Swinging onto the stiff, leather saddle, Elain didn’t need to voice any of these fears to Arina. Her friend merely pulled her hood over her face, letting shadows obscure her features.

“Minimal stops,” Arina breathed, pack secured to the horse. If we can’t ride, we walk and we walk quickly. No looking back.”

“No looking back,” Elain agreed. She wanted to go home almost as much as she wanted to stay. There was no time for regrets. Arina dug her heels into the flank of the dark horse, taking off into the night and Elain followed behind. Arina had a small map, hand-written and likely copied from one of the scrolls in the library she’d been hiding in. Elain didn’t ask how she knew where they were going—she believed in Arina, and didn’t think for a moment Arina would risk it only to ride them into Sicily.

Not that it made Elain feel any safer. As dawn broke, her panic returned with a vengeance, filling her with a panic she couldn’t shake. He knows, he knows, he knows. Somehow she knew in her bones that Lucien was already aware she was gone, though she tried to convince herself it was merely her anxiety talking. He was likely just waking up—he’d have business he needed to attend to and people to talk to and he’d want to eat.

He wasn’t going to come find her first thing in the morning.

But Elain was antsy when the horses slowed, exhausted from running at a near gallop for too long. They needed water and rest which gave the Emperor time to catch them. Elain took a breath and something to eat from Arina’s hand, holding the reins of her horse in one hand as they kept walking.

“We’re still moving,” Arina said softly, clearly talking to herself.

It was absurd to think the plan would work. Hilly countryside stretched as far as the eye could see, and if they truly wanted to avoid detection, they ought to leave the main road. Elain knew, at some point, fellow Roman soldiers were going to happen upon them, realize what was happening, and drag them before a tribunal.

Leaving the road opened them to other dangers—robbers, bandits, men who were used to getting what they wanted without much resistance. Arina, too, was weighing their options as she stared along the stretch of cobblestone. Which was worse, she wondered?

It was too late to turn back. It would take hours to get back and by then Lucien would know. They’d made their bed and now they had to decide which consequences were the most acceptable to them. In the end, it was leaving the road. They were already outside the law—might as well lean in heavily. Besides, a random bandit might have as much training as she or Arina whereas a soldier would overpower them easily. It destroyed their ruse, though—a Roman soldier walking a lady through the countryside off the roads clearly had poor intentions.

They were a beacon for every unsavory character that might happen upon them. Elain’s dread grew by the minute, swallowed and stuffed behind her teeth to keep from upsetting Arina anymore than she was.

It was impossibly warm and though their clothes were designed to help combat the heat, by the time the sun was high in the sky, Elain was drenched in sweat. Arina’s cheeks were bright pink, her nose betraying a slight sunburn that would only get worse as the day went on. Elain was sure she was faring no better. She wanted to discard the scarf wrapped around her head, the material irritating her cheek with each miserable step.

She missed shorts. And pants. And cars—especially cars. Hell, Elain would have settled for a bicycle right then. Rollerskates. Anything. Her legs ached from walking over hills, thighs burning from riding the horse. Elain was miserable. Exhausted. Asking to lay down was a death sentence and yet when she saw a small copse of trees just up ahead. Arina saw it too, sighing softly as she made a beeline for the shade.

“I’m sorry,” Arina said, unaware Elain could have cried with relief at how cool the shade was. They collapsed into soft grass, shedding the garments meant to protect their faces. “I need to rest.

“So do I,” Elain admitted. How much sleep had they even gotten? She felt as though they’d been riding hard all night and most of the day and her body was worn to the bone. “Can we sleep? Do we have time?”

Arina only shrugged. “I wish I had a watch. Or my phone.”

“So do I,” Elain murmured, eyes heavy the longer she laid on the ground. They needed to get up, but instead passed a canteen of water between them before splitting a little cheese and dried meat. The food settled heavy in her stomach, aiding the exhaustion riding her.

“A quick nap?” Arina asked. Elain knew that was the devil talking. They had no alarm to wake them and neither had volunteered to sit watch while the other napped. Elain should have said no…but her eyes were heavy. She didn’t remember agreeing at all, only slipping into the too-bright, overly warm dreams that accompanied a summer sleep.

She’d known it was a mistake. Elain had always had a sixth sense when things were going to go wrong, and had learned young not to ignore those lingering feelings. Elain had known she shouldn’t leave Rome that night but she’d gone anyway because Lucien had scared her when he called her Helena, and scared her again when she’d been yelling at him for how he thought about women and she’d seen the way he was looking at her.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what was going through his mind and didn’t want to stick around to see it conclude. But she’d known she ought to stay and now Elain was paying for it by way of a rough boot slamming into her rib cage. She exhaled a breath, eyes flying open to find a group of well-armed men circling them with leering, toothy grins.

Arina was already up, furious even in her fear. She’d go down swinging that too-heavy sword. “Where’d you get that?” one of the dark haired men barked at Arina, eyeing her outfit up and down. Where had she gotten it, Elain wondered. What child had she pilfered it off of? The heavy mail of the hamata seemed as if it had been made specifically for her, and even her shin greaves fit a little too well.

Arina spat in the man's face by way of response. She never did know when to keep her temper in check. Before Elain could try and smooth things over, he raised his hand in return and hit Arina so hard in the face she crumpled to the ground, sword abandoned beside her. One of the men beside him, with the same dark, curly hair they all wore, kicked Arina too hard in the stomach.

“Stop!” Elain cried, surging forward. They would kill her if they kicked her again like that—there was no modern medicine, no imaging to see if Arina had internal damage and no way to get her back through the painted wall if she was unconscious. “Please—what do you—”

Elain’s words choked off in a spray of blood. She’d never seen a person die—or anything, really. Elain had once wept for a mouse caught in a glue trap when she’d been a child and Nesta had helped her spread olive oil over the sticky parts so Elain could free it. She was used to death in the abstract—noting the bodies she found and how they died, but divorcing it from her mind. It had happened centuries before and therefore, there was no reason to mourn them.

This was a different world where violence was common place. An arrow jutted from the throat of the assailant who’d slapped Arina. He was not offered a clean or kind death, choking and spluttering as he clawed at the arrow. Elain nearly fainted to the grass when he ripped it from his throat, his panic overriding his better sense.

“No,” she whispered, knees buckling. She’d forgotten the world as it narrowed to a bloody point, unaware of the commotion around her. More bodies fell in a sickening thud of blood and viscera but Elain couldn’t stop looking at the man who would have killed Arina. Was this what he deserved?

Kneeling in blood soaked grass, she reached for him as he stared back, mouth opening and closing desperately. His teeth were stained red, tongue swollen an ugly purple. The arrow he’d broken was clutched in one hand, the shaft splintered in his neck as blood poured around it. She wanted to look away, wanted to wake up from the nightmare she was in.

“I’m sorry,” Elain whispered, forgetting she was speaking English. “I am so, so sorry.”

Hands reached for Elain, jerking her back. Something in her snapped—maybe it was the anxiety or the fear or simply the Italian heat that made her scramble for Arina’s stolen sword. Grabbing it in both hands, she swung without looking just as Lucien arced away, eyes wide. His face was bloodied, eyes livid.

“Put it down,” he ordered as a group of men inched closer. Among them was his older brother, Eris, who had a quiver of arrows on his back and a sword sheathed along his spine. Elain couldn’t remember how to speak Latin at that moment, so she swung her sword again.

“Get away from me!” she screamed. Lucien remained where he stood, legs spread ever so slightly in what looked like a power pose. Then very, very slowly, he sheathed his sword behind him before raising his palms.

“Put the sword down, Helena—”

“My name is Elain!”

Elain was hysterical, her breaths coming in short, panicked bursts. The world was still narrow, blackened around the edges and she suspected Lucien knew it.

“Stand down,” Lucien ordered his men, eyes still focused on Elain.

“Luc—”

“I said stand down!” Lucien roared, twisting to look at the six men at his back. They retreated wordlessly, leaving Lucien standing before Elain surrounded by a pile of bodies. “Put down the sword, Elain.”

“No.”

He sighed. “I don’t…I don’t understand the words you’re speaking. Just set the sword down and lets discuss this like civilized creatures—”

“Civilized?” she hissed, swinging again. Lucien dodged easily, looking more annoyed than scared. “Is this what you call civilized? Five dead men while you chase me all over the Italian countryside so you can…you can what, Lucien? Jail me?”

He blinked. “You sound angry.”

Elain laughed incredulously, her hysteria breaking as tears began to roll uncontrollably down her cheeks. Lucien inched forward, lunging for her wrist. His grip was warm yet firm as he held her steady, his free hand prying her fingers off the hilt until it fell uselessly to the ground.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, her Latin returning.

“Then make me understand,” Lucien replied, dropping her wrists to hold her bloodied face between his palms. “Where were you going?”

Vaguely, Elain had the sense people were moving around her. The only thing keeping her on her feet was Lucien. “You don’t understand,” she repeated

“Where were you going? Are you a spy?” he asked, his voice cracking on that last question.

Elain snorted against her tears. “No, I…”

“Tell me,” Lucien urged, thumb sweeping the moisture from her cheeks. “Tell me and I will protect you. I swear it.”

“You won’t. You’ll have me killed—”

“On my honor, I swear I won’t. Elain, I swear it before the gods themselves that I will not betray you.”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Elain told him, deciding to trust him, even if it was her downfall. Behind them, Elain watched as Eris crouched beside the lifeless body of Arina, fingers sliding beneath her nose to check for signs of life. Arina had wanted to leave sooner and Elain had made them stay.

This was all her fault.

“Where are you supposed to be?” Lucien asked, drawing her attention back to him. No one could hear them—no one was paying attention.

“The year two thousand and twenty four,” she managed, her voice nearly inaudible. “I found the ruins of your palace, I…I touched a wall, and now I’m here and I’m trying to get back. Lucien, are you listening to me? I’m from the future and I need to go back.”

But Lucien said nothing at all.

LUCIEN:

Glancing at Elain, wrapped in the cape he’d unpinned from his shoulders at the base of the hill, Lucien turned to Eris. “Can you get her back to the city?”

“Are you not joining us?” Eris asked, wrapping a careful arm around the badly injured Arina.

“I’ll be behind you,” Lucien said, his mind still reeling.

The year two thousand and twenty four.

He wanted to throw up. He wanted to throw Elain into a cell until she recanted her confession and admitted to being a germanic spy trying to topple the empire. He wanted…he wanted proof that she was mad so he could drag a healer to their door and treat her with herbs until she smiled again. He wasn’t sure he believed her, either.

So Eris would take Arina back to Rome, just in case. If Elain was right, then Lucien had a way to keep her with him while he figured out what to do next. Maybe he’d destroy the entire palace to ensure she never went back.

He felt uneasy about the entire thing. The gods had brought her here—brought her to him. Why should he allow her to subvert their will? Worse, still, was the unfair choice presented to him. He’d already signed the decree to make her his wife. He’d gone to get her early, wanting to tell her before he told his advisors only to find her out of bed. He’d just known—had gotten everyone else out of bed and left before the sun had fully risen, riding at a breakneck pace to get to her before she could cross into enemy territory.

Only to find her surrounded by men, her life hanging by a thread. She belonged with him. She belonged to Rome. Glancing upward, Lucien wondered at the wisdom of the Gods to send her to him, only to cruelly snatch her away.

Lucien took a breath and made his way toward Elain. “Come on,” he said, offering her a hand. Elain looked up at him with wide, exhausted eyes and all he wanted was to wrap her up in his arms and put her into bed. It seemed unfair he’d force another day of traveling on her just so she could prove or disprove her theory.

It would give them time, he reasoned, to be together. To get to know him before he betrayed her by refusing to let her go back. He was gentle with her, putting her in the saddle before swinging up so she was nestled between his thighs.

“It’s another day's journey from here,” Lucien told her, wondering at the wisdom of dismissing all his guards. He didn’t want rumors to spread of what she said or for her to be labeled as some kind of witch who’d put a spell over him.

“Okay,” Elain murmured, a word he’d learned was an agreement.

“You can rest, if you’d like.”

Her head pressed against the mail armor on his chest, looking for a comfortable purchase she wasn’t going to find. Since it was just the pair of them, Lucien didn’t dare remove an inch of his armor lest he needed to defend the pair of them. Only a fool would try and overtake them on the road and Lucien knew Rome was filled to the brim with fools.

He was chief among them.

Elain was silent for the plodding walk back to the road, and asleep once they were safely back on Roman ground. Lucien watched merchants pass in both directions, broken up by marching soldiers patrolling or returning to or from the front lines of wherever they’d been stationed. Travelers eyed him warily, though they paid him little attention save for a beggar who offered him a rose in exchange for a denarii. He’d wanted to give it to Elain, but the sharp thorns bit against his thumb, causing him to immediately drop it where the horse's hooves trampled it beyond recognition. It seemed like a bad omen to him.

Lucien managed to rouse Elain just as they reached a hospitia just outside a small city a good thirty miles from his estate. Elain said nothing, rubbing her eyes as he made his way indoors with her half tucked into his side. It was nicer than most inns, catering to a more upscale clientele and Lucien had stayed many times before. There were baths to clean the filth from the road and a kitchen willing to stay open late so meals might be sent up. There was a flurry of activity when the staff realized they had the Emperor of Rome standing in on the terracotta tiles. Lucien was too busy watching Elain and her unguarded fascination with the whole thing. She crept toward a fresco, touching the red paint with tentative fingers before her gaze swept over the well made tables and chairs now emptied of patrons. The work day had concluded and once the men were finished in the baths, they’d begin to trickle in for food and drink. Lucien didn’t want Elain around for any of that.

He wanted her back in bed, ideally next to him.

He wanted to give her a reason to stay.

“This way,” he murmured, brushing his fingers along the back of her hand. Elain jolted, looking up with those wide, sweet eyes that seemed so, so sad. They went up the stairs to the small, rather nice room he’d never been in. It was still impossibly small—truly just a mattress with clean bedding, a small table for eating and drinking, and two chairs by an open window.

“You should bathe,” Elain murmured, but Lucien had no intention of letting her out of his sight.

“Come with me.”

She looked scandalized. “They—you—no, we can’t.”

“We can do whatever we like,” he reminded her as he unbuckled his belt and let the weight of his weapon fall to the floor. “I’m the Emperor, remember?”

“I…don’t think we should bathe together.”

“Then I’ll remain here,” Lucien replied, pulling his armor piece by piece over his head. Elain remained frozen, eyes locked on his bare chest.

“Lucien!” she hissed when his fingers reached for the clasp keeping his skirted leather wrapped around his waist.

“Do you expect me to sleep on this?” he questioned.

“I…hadn’t thought about it.”

Gods, she was going to make him mad with want. “Think about it.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Then turn around,” Lucien ordered, because by Jupiter above, he was taking off the miserable clothing he was wearing. Get used to the idea of me naked, was what he wanted to tell her, though he suspected he wouldn’t go over well.

Lucien cleared his throat before reaching for his shin grieves. “Do ah…men and women not…?”

“They do,” she hastened to reply, her voice strained. “It’s not like this at all.”

“What’s it like, then?”

“Casual,” she said after a moment, clearly thinking it over. “People aren’t as worried about men and women spending time together.”

“We don’t worry about it either,” Lucien replied, re-adjusting the long shirt he’d taken off so she wouldn’t feel quite so uncomfortable. It smelled as though he’d been traveling and he didn’t relish sleeping in it, but small sacrifices needed to be made. “Men and women can be alone together.”

“It’s just different,” she finally said, turning when Lucien sat on the soft mattress. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try,” he murmured, if only to hear the sound of her voice. “I want to know about it.”

That was a lie. Everything about the future made him feel sick to his stomach. Trying to picture her leaving made Lucien want to die. What he needed was one good reason for her to stay.

“Well…where I’m from, I’m considered an important, well educated woman.”

Lucien let that sit for a moment. “Oh?”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. “I ah…women can move through the world freely without as many restrictions. We dress differently—”

“I remember the clothing,” he interrupted, nose wrinkling. “It was not flattering.”

“It was for work,” she told him, inching a little closer.

“You work?” he questioned. “Why? Your father doesn’t provide for you?”

“He could, but only the very wealthy live like that. You’re expected to work…to make your own way.”

Why? “Is that not your husband's job?”

“I don’t have a husband. I did have a fiance—sorry, a man I was betrothed to, but…”

Lucien had told her to disavow him. Stomach lurching, he asked, “Do you miss him?”

A soft smile spread over her lips. “Truthfully? No, not really. He…god, how do I explain this to you? He wants me to stop working and take care of his home.”

Lucien wanted that for her, too. It was clear to him, however, that Elain did not like this, so he said, “Why does he wish this of you?”

“He thinks I’ve been working too long—he wants me to have children and be his wife. Nothing more.”

What else would there be? “That’s…”

Bumping her shoulder with his, Elain laughed. “I know. I know. But he and I both have careers. Imagine you spent your whole life working toward being Emperor and then your wife said she thought it was less important than what she was currently doing. And also imagine a world in which she has an equal say, but people still expect you to defer to the wishes of your wife.”

“I would be upset,” he conceded, though he couldn’t imagine a world like that.

“I thought he understood me,” Elain told him, hands in her lap. This was clearly a point of contention—and though Lucien didn’t disagree with Graysen, he wanted to position himself above this man she was considering returning to. Lucien remained quiet, wondering what he could even offer her besides being Empress. That would have been enough for any woman here—more than enough, truthfully. She’d have her own power, though in ways he wasn’t sure she could conceptualize.

An idea was forming. One so antithetical to his Roman mind that even as he thought it, he nearly banished it. He could make her his equal in all the ways that mattered. Could make her the true power behind the throne, if she wished, giving her the ability to reshape Rome in her vision. He’d have to be careful, of course—should any of his advisors or rivals suspect, they’d have them both executed.

Lucien considered himself a clever man. He could do this with her help if she’d stay. If she’d stay.

He needed to give her a reason.

“Do you think he misses you?” Lucien questioned, scooting just a little closer.

Elain shrugged her shoulders. “Is it cruel if I say I haven’t really thought about what he’s going through?”

No. Lucien could work with that. “Come bathe with me,” he said, rising to his feet. “And then we’ll eat.”

“I’m not—”

“Please?” he asked, trying it for the first time in what felt like his life. He’d beg—Lucien wasn’t so prideful he couldn’t get on his knees, at least before this woman. Elain looked up, exhaling a soft breath.

“I can’t…Lucien…I can’t stay here.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he lied. He was very much asking her that. “I asked you to bathe with me. Our time is short, it seems. Indulge me.”

Please.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence that threatened to end up, Elain rose to her feet every inch the Empress he hoped she’d be. “Okay,” she agreed. There was a wariness to those brown eyes that he hoped to banish entirely. Offering her a hand that she took, Lucien made his way back down the stairs with an order to clear out the baths.

She didn’t want anyone to see her—fine. Lucien would offer her privacy, so long as she’d let him stay. Elain followed behind, nervously biting her teeth as they stepped into the arched doorway onto slick tile.

“Careful,” he murmured, tightening his hold on her. Lucien’s mouth was dry at the thought of what she might do next, of what he wanted to happen. Servants came in with towels and oils and soaps, laying them all out on trays expectantly.

“Out,” he said without his usual authority. He couldn’t stop staring. Elain was pulling pins from her hair with trembling fingers.

“Let me,” he asked, coming behind her. She smelled like honey and jasmine and the wind outside. It was tempting to lower his head and bury his face in her thick curls, to gather them up between his fingers and pull tight until she looked up at him with the same wanting he felt.

She wanted to leave.

Lucien pulled each pin out deftly, dropping them onto a nearby tray with a soft clink each time. She turned to look over her shoulder when he was done, unaware Lucien was hoping to take her out of the dress, too.

“Turn around.”

He let her see the roll of his eyes, but he did as she asked all the same.

“No peeking.”

“I’ll see you in the water,” he reminded her.

“It looks pretty opaque to me,” she said beneath the sound of rustling clothing. He, too, began pulling his clothing off, letting it clatter loudly to the ground. There was no point in arguing with her—Lucien saw cock more often than he wanted to admit when bathing in Rome. Did she genuinely think he wouldn’t see her, too?

“Don’t look. I’m getting in,” Elain warned, which seemed unfair given Lucien was wholly naked then. He heard her gently splash into the steaming water, foregoing, he supposed, the stairs that made it far simpler. Did she know?

“It hardly seems fair that you can see me but I am not allowed to see you,” he protested once he heard the water settle.

“I’ll look away—”

“Don’t,” he ordered, turning so fast she didn’t have time to avert her gaze. Elain’s eyes landed on his face, first, before sliding down his body. Her already pink cheeks, warmed by the steam, inflamed as she turned abruptly, but he knew she’d seen what hung between his legs. Unlike Elain, who had slipped in quickly, Lucien walked around the bath house for the stairs, taking his time until he was waist deep in the water.

“You’re an ass,” she muttered. Lucien laughed, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings to echo around them.

“My apologies,” he said, not apologetic at all. And when she turned, he’d been right—Lucien could see all of her beneath the semi-clear water.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said as she swept her hair over one shoulder.

“Is it working?” he questioned, genuinely curious.

Elain didn’t answer. Instead, she tipped her head backward to wet her hair, unaware that her perfect breasts emerged from the water, revealing peaked, rosy nipples that pointed upward at the painted ceiling. Lucien felt his knees shake, fingers curling to fists to keep himself for reaching for them.

This had been a mistake. He’d been so caught up in her touching him that he’d forgotten how badly he wanted to touch her. It was only a moment before she returned, unaware of what she’d done. Her dripping wet hair did nothing for his arousal and if he wasn’t careful, she was going to be painfully aware of it before he had a chance to properly seduce her.

“Let me wash you,” he said, his voice hoarser than he’d meant. “Tell me about your life.”

Elain blinked, eyelashes sparkling from the water. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he said, pulling one of the soaps from the side of the tub before wading back toward her.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said softly as Lucien rubbed the soap between his palms. “It’s not going to work.”

Chagrinned, he replied, “Then what’s the harm in letting me try?”

Elain took a breath, but Lucien was having a new realization as he spread the soap through her hair. “You know everything about me, don’t you?”

“Enough.”

Blinking, he said, “Do you know when I die?”

There was a long stretch of silence. “I do.”

A new, more horrible thought struck him. “And the Empress?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Elain whispered, her spine stiffening. Lucien wanted to, though, his chest filled with a mix of hope and dread.

“I’m asking,” he replied.

Elain whirled in the water, soap still in her hair as she shoved at his chest. “Knowing might destroy the future.”

“Or you don’t want to tell me because you know it's you,” he replied, stepping so close he could feel her breasts against his skin. “Is it you, Helena? Are you running from your fate?”

Elain pushed him again, telling Lucien everything he needed to know.

Don’t call me that, she’d once snapped at him. Her name was Elain, but the Romans would want a Roman Empress, and Elain sounded too foreign, too strange. She couldn’t leave now. Lucien would spend the rest of his life mourning her. She was scared, made worse by her attack on the road. He could protect her.

He could give her whatever she wanted, he decided. More than any man back in her own home could, at any rate. His problem was not knowing how to convince her of this. In his entire life, Lucien had never needed to convince a woman to be with him. They’d always wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, backing down to make it seem as though he wasn’t certain he was right. “Turn around. Tell me something else.”

While Lucien worked, Elain told him about cars, a contraption that made his throat tight. They were chariots, truly, but somehow self-propelled. Elain couldn’t really explain the mechanics of it, which was probably for the best. His head ached trying to picture it, or the system she described.

Roads that stretched in every direction, that connected even the most remote places to large city centers. That was the dream of every Roman emperor, though perhaps not with cars. Still, Lucien asked her every question he could imagine as he tried to piece her life together. It seemed far more convenient than the life she had now.

And lonely. Elain described days of doing nothing but work, cooped up in a house where no one came to check on her save for through another device he didn’t entirely understand—a phone. Lucien murmured for her to lean back, fingers in her hair and his eyes on her breasts. This time, Elain covered them with her arm much to his dismay. Still, he took his time, if only to dump all the information she’d given him from his mind.

When she stood back up, water sluicing from her body, Lucien couldn’t resist—he pressed a kiss against her bare shoulder as one hand slid beneath the steaming water to cup her waist.

“Lucien,” Elain whispered, though she didn’t move.

“You’re leaving,” he said, a truly terrible idea worming its way into his head. “What does it hurt?”

“You could change your mind,” she breathed. He could—but he wouldn’t. If Elain decided to leave him, Lucien was going to let her go. Forcing her to stay would only make her hate him. It pained him to consider that he might fail—that she might decide to thwart her very destiny and go back without him. He didn’t wait for her to come to her senses. Lucien turned her entirely, wet fingers sliding against her wet cheeks so he could properly kiss her. Though deep down he’d known better, Lucien still hoped he felt nothing at all. No pull, no magic—nothing but interest in what she might do, too.

He was still a man, after all.

But Lucien did feel that spark warming his chest, tugging against some long forgotten muscle just beneath his rib. He’d forgotten to breathe until his lungs expanded, pulling air through greedy lips. She tasted sweet, somehow, like warm sunlight and fig and a million other things that intoxicated his senses. Lucien hadn’t realized, much like holding his breath, that he’d wrapped an arm around her body to crush her against him until Elain’s palm pushed against his chest.

Just enough to readjust in the water, propping up his leg so she could sit on his thigh like a chair. Lucien could feel the heat radiating from her body, making him half crazed. He needed to touch her everywhere before he lost the last shreds of both his dignity and sanity.

It was luck that Elain was too busy kissing him back to notice what was happening beneath her. She’d begun raking her fingers through his tangled hair, knuckles occasionally brushing the stubble gathering against his jaw. Her tongue was in his mouth, stroking over and over until Lucien felt like he’d caught fire. His entire body was pulled taut, cock pressed against his stomach mere inches from her body. If she’d only lean forward just a little, she’d touch him.

He needed to touch her first. With what felt like extreme willpower, he moved his hands over his shoulders, skimming the sides of her body to see what would happen.

Elain merely sighed against his lips, unaware of the silent plotting happening. She scooted forward when his fingers brushed the tops of her thighs, rolling her hips against the leg she was straddling.

A ragged “oh,” ripped through him, the sound echoing off the tile around them. She didn’t seem to notice, leaning forward like he’d hoped so her breasts were entirely squished against him. Lucien had forgotten why they he wanted this—all he knew was if he didn’t have her, he might shrivel up and die. He wasn’t particularly elegant with his movements given he was still kissing Elain like his life depended on it.

He found what he was looking for between her legs. Lucien thanked the gods above—all of them, if they were listening—when she adjusted her body, angling back just enough that he could continue his rather sloppy exploration. Lucien felt brand new—like he had the first time he’d been presented with a naked woman. She’d laughed in the middle of his love making, though at the end had offered him some helpful advice that Lucien still utilized even now.

Not so rough.

Right, he reminded himself as the callused pad of his finger slipped through the silken heat emanating from her body to find her clitoris. Elain sighed when he rubbed, locking her arms around his neck. Lucien couldn’t abide by that, though—he needed her to touch him, too. He wasn’t selfless. He couldn’t bring her to pleasure at the expense of his own, not when he’d been dreaming about her day and night since she arrived. With his free hand, Lucien reached for her wrist and lowered it beneath the water until she was holding his shaft. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might not know what she was doing until she remained there unmoving even when he began to circle around her. Did she need—

“Oh,” he breathed again when her grip tightened around him, stroking up and down with exquisite slowness. She was tormenting him and Lucien was obsessed. “Don’t stop,” he mouthed against her throat, licking the salt gathering against the hollow. She arched her neck, her long hair falling back into the water. She looked like a goddess, and he might have said so had he not wanted to tempt fate.

Elain had the kind of face and body that would make Venus herself rage with jealousy.

And she’s mine.

He was barely thinking about what he was doing, one hand teasing the rosy nipples on her pert breasts, the other still teasing her clit until Elain had her forehead pressed against his shoulder. Lucien felt her teeth sink into his skin, causing his whole body to jerk in response. He needed her beneath him, writhing in pleasure, pussy squeezed tight around his aching cock.

He might have suggested they move had he not taken that moment to slide a finger into her body. Elain tightened on instinct, rolling her hips against his hand and Lucien was committed to seeing her through, even in the water of the bath. Elain, too, had sped up her hand until Lucien’s breath came in gasping pants. He was going to come—he just needed to hold it back long enough to get her off. He had the feeling she was going to bolt the second she realized what she’d done, and it would be far easier to keep her naked if she was already pliant and boneless.

Sliding a second finger into her body, Lucien used his thumb to rub against her clit until Elain set the pace, grinding against his hand to take what she needed. Her own stroking became erratic, the rhythm falling off as she forgot what she was doing only to remember and begin her ministrations again. He was burning, chest heaving as he tried his best to keep himself from coming. Release gathered at the base of his spine, making his balls tight and heavy.

Elain came mere seconds before Lucien did, unable to hold himself back a moment longer. His vision fractured into a million shards of brilliant sun, blinding him as pleasure rolled over him in waves. He could feel Elain clenched around his fingers, the wetness of her body markedly different from the water they were currently submerged in.

He felt her pull away, but dazed and a little confused, Lucien didn’t come back to reality until Elain was already out of the water and wrapped in a thin robe.

“I shouldn’t—we can’t—”

“Elain,” he replied, his voice rumbling like thunder. “Come back here.”

She didn’t, though. Just as he’d predicted, Elain bolted.

That was fine.

Lucien would bring her back.

ARINA:

Arina was on fire.

There were periods when she felt the heat ravaging her body lessen, cooled by what seemed like water. She’d hear mumbled voices—and the occasional jumbled shouting from a man clearly at the end of his patience. Whenever that happened, Arina knew she was close to a reprieve from the burning, though it always returned.

She couldn’t claw her way out of it.

“I’m going to die,” she said—or, she thought she did. No one responded, and it was possible she merely thought it during one of the brief moments of lucidity before she was dragged back into the raging inferno that was her body. She needed medicine—antibiotics and fluids, and likely a physician who knew what they were doing.

She was going to die in Ancient Rome and no one would ever know. Her bones would be interred here, dug back up by someone like her two thousand years later. They’d know how she died but they wouldn’t know who she was. She wanted to cry.

Maybe she did. Arina simply didn’t know. Time had no meaning to her—it didn’t seem to pass at all beneath the weight of her agony. All she knew were the cooling periods and that voice, always yelling before murmuring words she couldn’t untangle back to her.

And then the hand.

She woke one night, unable to pry her heavy eyes open, to the feel of someone's hand wrapped around her own. Fingers laced, she tried to squeeze only to feel them squeeze back. Words were spoken, though her brain simply could not parse through them. She wasn’t convinced she even knew the language.

Arina woke one morning to sunlight, sweat soaked sheets and Eris Vanserra slumped in a chair. His usual immaculate hair was wrecked, the auburn strands falling into his closed eyes like dying embers. She didn’t mean to wake him, but when Arina shifted against the sheets to escape the dampness, Eris jerked awake. He had one hand wrapped around the hilt of a dagger, the other gripping the edge of the chair so hard she swore the wood groaned in protest.

Their eyes locked. She couldn’t get out the words needed to ask what he was doing. Despite all the sleep, her body ached as she sat herself up, watching as he made his way to a decanter of water sitting on a wooden table.

“Drink,” he ordered once he’d poured a glass. Eris thrust it into her hands, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited. Arina traced the silver embroidery over the white of his chiton to keep from having to look at him and instead drank the cool water. She tried not to think about all the lead floating through it—how much lead could one adult consume, anyway? Probably not a lot, though Arina didn’t know enough about it, nor did she want to worry about it. Not when Eris looked like he was seconds from throttling her.

“Where is Elain?” she whispered when Eris took the cup, setting the pewter to the side.

“With my brother. They haven’t returned,” Eris replied, his tone clipped. “Where were you going?”

Arina couldn’t tell him. Eris waited longer than he should have, staring her down while Arina focused on the wall across a room that did not belong to her. The items within suggested this was a mans room…and the man in question was hovering over her, waiting for her to explain herself.

Arina pushed the blankets off her legs, noting that someone had changed her into a white shift that smelled like fresh sunlight and lemon.

“Did you change me?”

Eris’s cheeks darkened, though his expression otherwise remained unchanged. “You were ravaged by fever,” he explained, jaw clenched. “I did what I needed to do to preserve your life.”

“Why bother?” she questioned, rising on shaking legs to try and leave. Eris caught her before she collapsed, holding her against his body.

“Why bother?” he repeated in a low, lethal voice?

Arina tried to tug away, but Eris’s grip merely tightened. He was in danger of being slapped again, just as she was in danger of falling against him and weeping out an apology mixed with gratitude.

“Why go through all the trouble?”

“You know why,” Eris breathed, staring down at her not, she realized, with hatred—but desire. There was need behind the burning amber—the kind of need that would drive a man to track her down in the first place and then place her in his bed while he took care of her.

“Eris—” she tried to protest, though it was weak, even to her own ears.

“You’re not leaving this bed,” he replied, gently pushing her back to the mattress. “I’ll have the sheets changed, but you are not to leave until your strength is back.”

“Eris—”

“No.” He had her flat on her back before his mouth found hers. It was messy and inelegant—all the things he seemingly wasn’t. There was passion there, and though it wasn’t the first time he’d kissed her, it certainly felt like it. Again, that urgency ribboned between them, and had her bones not groaned in protest, she might have let him climb on top of her and do whatever he liked.

Eris pulled away just as she’d begun reaching for him, still looking more wild animal than man. “When you’re better,” he breathed, one hand flat against his chest, “I’m going to finish what’s been brewing between us. But for now—rest.”

He was gone before she could say another word. Arina rolled onto her side, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She’d been so desperate to escape she’d never truly considered the dangers of this place. Was Elain even okay? For all she knew, Lucien had Elain because she, too, was dying.

They weren’t supposed to be here, and at every turn Arina felt like the universe itself was conspiring against her to keep her here. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to leave. The thought slammed into Arina harder than any highway robber could have. She gasped for a breath of frantic air just as Eris returned.

He muttered something about returning later before the door closed behind him. Foolishly, Arina had hoped he’d left her to her grief, too, but a moment later the soft mattress dipped and then Eris was pulling her against him so her face was buried in his shoulder.

“What is it?” he asked, lips pressed against her hair.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” she whispered, her tears getting the better of her. “I don’t belong here.”

Eris didn’t say anything, perhaps because Arina dissolved into loud, hiccuping tears. She just blurted it all out between gasps—life before and the loneliness she’d felt in the Rome she knew. She told him about Elain’s research and Arina tagging along only to get stuck in this time, this place. And Arina told him how desperate she was to get back, though she didn’t know why. There was nothing waiting for her other than her work, which had stopped feeling meaningful long before she’d been punished by the universe.

Eris didn’t interrupt, nor did he move, and by the time Arina had cried herself out the sun had nearly fully set and they were lying in near total darkness.

“Maybe,” Eris began, his voice hoarse from either disuse or fear—Arina didn’t dare look up at him to try and tell— “The gods brought you here for a reason and you’re thwarting their will by trying to leave.”

“Brought me here for what?” she demanded, sitting up angrily. “So your brother can sell me off to the highest bidder while he courts my friend—”

“For me,” Eris whispered, his voice practically inaudible. “They brought you to me.”

Their eyes met and she realized it was fear looking back at her. Eris sat up quickly, looking as if he might reach for her before he thought better of it. His hands fell to his lap while the fabric of his chiton gathered around his hips while riding up his muscular thighs. Arina tried—and failed—not to look.

“Eris—”

“I can’t eat,” he whispered, their eyes finding one another as he spoke. “I barely sleep. My every waking thought is consumed by you. I wonder what you’re doing, or if you’re reading. If something has made you smile. If you’re happy at all. I…” he trailed off, as though all of it pained him to say. “It’s been that way since I first laid eyes on you. You’re under my skin and I can’t escape you even if I wanted to.”

“Do you?” she heard herself asking.

Eris offered a humorless smile. “No. What I want is you, in this bed, until I die and then I want you in whatever bed is afforded to me in the afterlife.” She didn’t realize she was shaking her head, but he did.

“I don’t care what you do,” he continued, those eyes pinning her in place. “Or where you go so long as you return to me. Arina…”

“Eris—”

“You can’t go back,” he said with venom, “I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it?” she repeated incredulously. “You can’t tell me I have to stay.”

“I am telling you that,” Eris replied. She understood what he was doing—he was baiting her, slipping into their comfortable dynamic as nemesis so she’d fight him back before she agreed. If she even agreed. Arina didn’t believe for a moment that Eris would force her to stay, though she did believe he wouldn’t help her go, either.

“Eris,” she tried again. His expression didn’t soften.

“If the gods wanted you to leave, you would be gone by now,” Eris said with such conviction it made her heart ache. “They would aid you in your return but they don’t. They intervene every step of the way—they brought you here. Who are you to spit in their faces and say you know better?”

“I do know—”

Eris’s hand covered her lips before she could finish what she was saying. “Don’t,” he hissed. “Don’t tempt fate. You just narrowly avoided death but you aren’t immortal, Arina.”

“This would never work,” she said, her resolve crumbling as she spoke. “My name is too foreign, I look too barbarian—”

“Then you’ll change it for the masses. We’ll say you’re Agrippina and your blonde hair is merely favor from the gods.”

The last vestiges of air escaped her. “What did you call me?”

“Agrippina,” he replied dismissively.

Arina knew, right then and there that Eris was right. She knew all about his wife—how he’d gone to his grave faithful to the famed beauty Agrippina. Her.

And whether it was the gods or fate or some trick of the universe, something restless finally settled in her chest. Maybe it was knowing that for once, she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She could fight it in the morning—could plot and plan and scheme to try and figure out how it was even possible that his wife was born ten centuries later than him and yet history had already immortalized the life and love they shared.

“It won’t work,” she said, more to herself than to him.

Eris was pushing her back to the bed, coming with her so they were once again wrapped around each other.

“It will,” he whispered, lips grazing the lobe of her ear. “Trust me.”

And she did.

#elucien #inappropriate use of roman baths

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uhohbestie · 3 months ago

Text

TAMN Outline

Since we're so close to the end of TAMN, I just wanted to share what Lock and my outline looks like, especially because neither of us ever used outlines for writing fic before this LOL

The only reason we have one for TAMN is because we were determined to finish this thing within a year of starting it and really wanted to post a chapter a week. Realistically, between work and irl and different timezones, there was no WAY we'd be able to keep up with a weekly posting schedule OR our self-imposed deadline if we were writing on the fly, so an outline was a good way to keep us on track.

(Details under the cut 'cause this got long af lmao)

SO FIRST OF ALL. We have quick chapter markers to refer to just to keep track of where we're at. The obvious ones are as follows:

🐈 Scar POV Chapters 🦜 Grian POV Chapters 🧟‍♂️ Some sort of significant zombie encounter that chapter 💦 Smut

I took this screenshot a WHILE back so Chapter 12 was actually split into 2 chapters, as was Chapter 14. So while the two emojis in Chapter 14 were meant to signify both Scar and Grian's POVs in that chapter, we ultimately just split it into a separate Scar chapter and a separate Grian chapter.

As for the other markers, this is what they mean at a glance:

✔️ Chapter is written ✔️✔️ Chapter has been edited by one person ✅ Chapter edited by both of us; Ready to Post 💯 Chapter has been posted to AO3

The last one isn't in the screenshot above, but is another one we use. And, ofc, if it doesn't have any of those markers beside it, it means the chapter hasn't been written yet.

Other than that, every chapter heading has not only the chapter number, but a reminder of where Scarian are, the time of day that chapter starts at, and how long of a walk/drive to their next destination remains. Plus, the very first point is always the current date and the weather (in Celsius 🍁) for the day. It looks something like this:

For a short chapter like Ch. 6 where not too much happens, the outline is just a handful of points. Also, we put a strike through things we skipped as we wrote when we felt they no longer fit the mood we were going for. (Basically, the outline is here as a guide and we adjust as needed for full creative freedom.)

Now the LINKS at the bottom lead to ANOTHER document where Lock and I's original conversations are sorted, in case we need to reference back to something we don't remember. That looks like something like this:

So when you click the link, there's a pop up that will take you directly to the original conversation about it located in another doc.

Basically, Lock and I had talked about TAMN for months before every writing it, so when I suggested making an outline, Lock was like "yeah, we basically have a skeleton already with how much we've talked about it". So what we did was, I copy-pasted EVERY conversation we had about TAMN into a Google Doc, and then Lock went through and SUMMARISED EVERYTHING in each conversation into The Main Points. After that, I went and put them into chronological order in a new doc which then became the outline we use today! 💫

Thus, when you click on a link from the outline, you get taken to the conversation summary, and if you scroll down past the summary you get to the actual conversation itself, minus our usernames/formatting/timestamps to make it easier to read at a glance:

And then, ofc, the further along we got in the fic, the more complicated the plot and the chapters got. So instead of short and sweet outlines with a link or two to old conversations, we had to come up with a lot of in between events that still somehow added to the plot and moved the story along to the main points we wanted to hit.

This was actually what took me the longest during outlining, and poor Lock kept going "JUST LEAVE IT BLANK, WE'LL FIGURE IT OUT AS WE GO" but I really wanted to have SOMETHING down just to give us a springboard to launch off of, because we had no idea if we'd have time WHILE writing to come up with anything.

(This continues on for more pages since we combined two chapters into one here, but this is the gist of what the outlines turned into per chapter as we got later and later in the fic LOL)

Turned out to be the right call, because it's saved our asses more than once when on a time-crunch! That said, there were a couple chapters where we DID in fact go "idk about what's in the outline, what if we do this instead?" and then do that because it Felt Right. So again, the outline was super helpful but not a hard and fast rule. (Though Lock and I had our fair share of "WHY DIDN'T YOU WRITE WHAT WAS IN THE OUTLINE"/"I FORGOR" moments that have been fun every step of the way 😂)

AAAND, I THINK THAT'S IT! THAT'S OUR OUTLINE! 🎉

Just wanted to make a post for it to document because it was such a novel experience, hahaha! Like I said earlier, neither Lock nor I ever used outlines before, even when writing fics together for other fandoms :')

I've got two completed longfics under my belt from before TAMN in my last fandom and I wrote those completely on the fly as well. Worked out just fine, but like. It took me 2-4 YEARS to finish the fics, and they were both MUCH shorter than TAMN is. 😅 Nothing wrong with that obviously, but it was a lot of fun to try something new and it felt incredible to be able to have a new chapter ready to go each week! ;w; 💜

We're almost done writing the fic and honestly idk what we're gonna do with all this free time once we've wrapped it up... time to come up with a new longfic ig LMAO

IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR, HOORAY! 🎊

Here's a little bonus for you--

From the time I went to a gun range and shot both a rifle (near the head) and a shotgun (the spray by the stomach) and took notes so that we could use it in our fic JHGFDSKJHDF THE CRAZY RESEARCH WE'VE BOTH DONE FOR TAMN I STG 😂😂😂😂😂

#TAMN #TAMN outline #🔑#I wore my HotGuy jacket to go shooting btw :J #well worth it #lock sneaking in to say: I love writing with Key so much omg :') bestie ilu #key: hehehe aww ilu2 bestieeeee ;w; 💜💜💜

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galway-girlatwork · 4 months ago

Text

written for @studioghibelli's writing challenge

Fandom: Narcos

Rating: Mature-There is angst, fluff and smut if you squint really, really hard. 😊

Central Characters: Reader/Pena/Murphy

Central Relationship: Pena/Reader

Word Count: 3,478

AO3

Please do not copy or reblog my work without tagging me

Music inspiration: The Pretty Reckless

SUMMARY:

A tumultuous relationship with a fellow DEA agent, is marked by tension and unspoken feelings. Can a growing affection, mixed with reckless behavior, drugs, death, money and power, really survive? From Bogota, to Miami, to Rome, how far will it go?

A Broken Silence

As the last of the Cali Cartel fell, like little toy soldiers, she wondered what was next. She’d been down in Columbia, longer than she’d lived back in the states. It had taken years of dedication, long fucking days and even longer nights. Elise thought of the hundreds of people that had died, gotten hooked on blow and for what? Power and money. That was the root cause of it all, power and money. She’d been assigned to Columbia a year after she became DEA. They told her she’d be an asset, it turned out to be a load of shit. Women agents were looked at as glorified secretary’s but that was until she met Pena and Murphy. Pena looked at her like a piece of meat, Murphy actually used her intelligence to their advantage. Did she ever actually make it into the field? Yep, as an undercover hooker, Pena’s idea of course. His exact words to her, as she stood there in a slinky red dress was, she had a body, might as well use it. That was the first time she hit him. The second time was when he drunk on whiskey and made a pass at her.

The three of them had been working together for a year before she realized she actually cared about Pena. She’d been sitting in her car, in the parking lot of the embassy when she saw him pull in, a gangly female crawling out of the passenger seat, as he got out, pressing herself against him, her tongue half way down his throat, his hand on her tit. Part of her wanted to vomit, part of her wanted to punch the whore. She knew the woman was a whore, those were the only types of women Pena seemed to be interested in. It was that afternoon, the dynamic of the relationship changed between them because she realized she’d been jealous and the only reason a woman was jealous was because she wanted him. She wanted all of him but knew it would never happen. Her attitude towards him went from indifference to straight up bitch, Murphy snickering every time she went for a kill. By the time Escobar was riddled with bullets, Pena hated her with a passion, which he made clear before he was sent to DC, Murphy back to Florida and she was right back where she started, glorified secretary.

A month later she had been re-assigned, working with some head honcho on the Cali cartel and the intel needed to break up their little surrender deal they had going, cringing inward when a jean clad hip, found the edge of her desk.

“Well, well, seems something is working out for me, how’s is shaken Tanner?” “Are you fucking serious right now Pena? I am working with you? Again? Can someone please tell me who I pissed off in a past life?” “Probably the devil himself hermosa.”

“Don’t, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Come in here thinking I won’t deck you for bein a polla.”

“Whoa, Spanish is improving.”

“Get the hell off my desk Pena and go find yourself a whore. I’m sure there were slim pickins in D.C.”

“You offering?”

“Vete al infierno.”

“Already there babe.”

Getting off her desk, he went into his office, slamming the door, watching the glass rattle before he threw himself in the chair behind his desk. Fuck, he thought Elise would have been stateside by now, along with Murphy but as luck would have it, she was here to torment him. It was hard seeing her right now, needing to focus on Cali but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Fuck she was still beautiful and her temper gave her skin a glow that most women he knew would kill for. Closing his eyes, he remembered all the nights he thought of her. Imagining his hands twisted in thick, curly brown hair, looking into eyes so brown, they were almost black, as he slid into her, marking her as his. He not only wanted her but had fallen in love with her. He wasn’t sure when it happened or how but he realized it the day he had been shipped to D.C. thinking his career was over, sitting in an airport bar with Murphy. Murphy knew it and told him to do something about it before it was too late. He’d laughed it off before giving his partner a hug, both of them going their separate ways. Well God had a sense of humor, he thought as he walked in, seeing her sitting there in jeans and a t-shirt, chewing on a pencil as she read the file on her desk. Yea he was so screwed and not in the way that made him want a drink and a smoke.

The next six months were unbearable, her nerves frazzled when it was all over, thrilled when they gave her a month before she was going to her next post in Miami. Just because Cali fell in Columbia didn’t mean the drug trafficking did, since it was still all about power and money. What was that saying, he who dies with the most toys wins? Well, these bastards were gonna make sure they had all the toys and more.

Sitting on a bar stool, surrounded by co-workers, they celebrated with food and drinks, the beer and tequila flowing freely, except for Pena, who leaned more towards whiskey.

“To victory,” Javi toasted, his eyes lingering on Elise longer than necessary.

“To victory,” she echoed, smiling, but there was a wistfulness in her eyes that Javi couldn’t decipher. As the night wore on, one drink led to another to another and before she could stop and form thought, she found herself in Pena’s apartment, passion flaring between them like an arc of lighting. His lips found the base of her throat, suckling at the skin and come morning, it would be a purple blossom of broken blood vessels. Fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt before she grabbed the sides, yanking as hard as she could, buttons pinging to the floor before they moved to his belt. She wanted him knowing in the morning she’d be gone. One night wouldn’t kill her, right?

Fuck, he thought, as he yanked her t-shirt off her frame, breasts held in place by a wisp of lace, was this really fucking happening right now? Her skin was warm and soft beneath his hands as he undid the button on her jeans, hand sliding into the waistband, his mind focused on one thing, and he almost died right there as he slid his fingers into her depths, feeling how wet she was. God fucking damn he wanted her, laid out in his bed, beneath him, his body marking her as his.

She moaned against his mouth as his fingers slid into her, the pad of his thumb against her clit, every nerve over firing, sending dopamine coursing through her, limbs melting from one feeling to another until they were both naked, not remembering if they had even stopped kissing at this point. He was rough with her, one hand tangled in her hair while the other slid under her knee, teeth nipping at her earlobe. Reaching between them, hand wrapping around the thickness of his cock, she positioned him at her entrance, his name a whisper into the space between them.

That was all it took for his control to snap like a rubber band wound too tight and he slammed into her. He held still for all of thirty seconds before he lost control, hips bucking against her like teenager having sex for the first time. She was warm, wet, tight, her skin sweet on the tip of his tongue as he dragged it across one nipple before moving on to the other, lips attached themselves to the skin of her collar bone, sucking on it, knowing he would mark her there just as he did to the left side of her neck. He knew some thought hickies were tacky but he didn’t give a fuck. When she walked the streets of Columbia, he wanted everyone to know she was taken. He pulled out of her so violently, he wondered if he’d hurt her, but that thought was fleeting as he flipped her over, bringing her to her knees, fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her back, sliding into her with no remorse for the brutality of it. He was feeding his soul with her body and she was allowing it. He exploded violently within her as her orgasm hit, her walls clenching around his hardness made it impossible not to, his name screamed out into the sex filled air surrounding them. Arms wrapped around her, his chest against her back, holding onto her for a moment before he left go, collapsing on his back.

Her body had a mind of its own at this point, falling on her side, facing him, watching as he took in deep gulps of air. He turned to look at her, eyes making contact, it was like they had just seen each other for the first time and there was something so intense in his stare and she felt it within her soul, feeling as if he knew everything about her and still wanted her, wondering if he actually cared, if all the hate fueled words he’d thrown at her, was a façade. She shook her head, displacing those thoughts as she moved over him, wondering how many more times they could lose themselves in the moment before dawn streaked across the sky of Columbia.

He woke up to an empty bed, reaching out, only to find Elise’s side cold. Panic surged through him as he saw a note on the pillow.

*Javi,

Watch your back. Be safe.

Elise.*

Fuck, he thought, as his heart sank, crumbling the note and throwing it across the room. He’d never been good with words, especially when it came to expressing feelings. He’d cared for Elise, but kept that buried, not wanting emotions involved because they were a distraction in the dangerous world they’d been living in. But now, that time was up down here, he realized he couldn’t let her go and now he had to find her.

Finding her hadn’t been as easy as he thought it would be. By the time he got cleaned up and to the embassy, he found out that everything was being sent to the field office in Miami, her next assignment. He wasn’t due to leave Bogota for another week. By the time he got to Miami, his nerves were on fire, feeling like he was always just one step behind her. She’d checked in with the field office but twenty-four hours later, she’d gone on vacation and no one knew where, all they could tell him is she wasn’t due back to the office for a month. Where the fuck could she go for a month?

It took him two days and breaking protocol, something he did with ease; to find out she was in Rome. How the fuck was he going to find her there? He’d never been to Rome and no idea where to start. That was when he broke into her new apartment, searching for any clue and found just the name of a museum, Galleria Borghese. What the fuck was he doing, chasing some woman across the fuckin world? This was out of character for him, he was the fuck em, use em, kick em to the curb kind of man but now he was standing at a ticket counter, passport in hand, heading to Italy.

Everything she’d done since she landed were things she did on the fly. There was no rhyme or reason to where she went, how she spent her days, just happy to be away from drugs and death. Don’t get her wrong, she loved her job but Columbia had taken a lot out of her and she needed time to breathe, to find herself again. But her thoughts kept drifting back to Javi. The night they shared had been everything she had ever wanted, and yet, she knew it was impossible. Maybe that was part of the reason she’d come here instead of staying close to home. Maybe she was running and didn’t even know it. Maybe she was just a tad crazy about a man who went through women like he did cigarettes.

She wandered around Rome, trying to take in what was around her from Vatican City, to The Colosseum, every art museum and tonight to the Trevi Fountain. She’d learned that it was best to go at night, the crowds were not as bad and to make sure she threw three coins into to the water. Gelato in hand, she was standing at the edge of the fountain, the white marble still warm from the sun that had beat down on it from the day. Even she had to admit that it was beautiful and again that is when her mind went back to Javi. Fuck, why the hell did she had to be in love with that man? He was more a man of action, not of words. She had seen him break hearts before, and knew she was just another casualty.

The Trevi Fountain loomed ahead, Javi been all over the tourist places and had come up empty. He was frustrated, pissed and was beginning to wonder if he should just go back home and wait however there was one small problem, he was not a patient man, anyone who worked with him could tell ya that much. When he reached the fountain, the third time he’d been there, the coins glinted at the bottom, knowing each one was a wish, a hope and without a coin to toss in, he couldn’t help but think about his own wish, to find Elise. He was too stubborn, refusing to go back and wait. That was when he saw her, sitting at the very edge of the fountain, rubbing fingers over his eyes to make sure it really was her. About fuckin time, he thought, as he watched her throw a single coin over her shoulder. He moved towards her, pushing his way through the crowd, ignoring annoyed mutters and sharp glares of the other tourists he jostled aside. He was less than a foot away from her before he stopped, “What did you wish for?”

Shock couldn’t even begin to describe the look on her face when she saw him standing there, asking what she’d wished for. He looked out of place among the tourists and well everything that Rome was but his eyes were intense, filled with determination, a look she’d seen before when they were in Columbia. “Javi what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came for you.”

“Why? My assignment in Columbia is over, so is yours so I am a little confused as to again why you’re here.”

Grabbing her hand, he began tugging her away from the fountain, looking for someplace where they could talk, finding a doorway, he pushed her back against the old, faded brick, kissing her, tongue slipping into her mouth, tasting lemon against her lips before he pulled away from her. “Why the fuck did you leave Bogota without saying goodbye?”

“Wait you came all the way to fuckin Italy to ask me that? Are you insane?”

“No. Yes. Fuck. I came here because I didn’t realize until I woke up to an empty bed, a fucking note, and you gone, that I love you.”

“You have lost your mind. Javi please don’t do this because I seriously can’t handle it. I’ve seen you with other women, I’ve seen you use them, hell I’ve seen you break them, and I can’t be just another one in a long line of em.”

“You’re not,” he said. “You’re not just another one of them. Te quiero hermosa.”

“Yea heard you say that a time or two. Look, what happened that night, it was, and this is not to feed your ego, was amazing but I am also not stupid. I can’t take the chance that this is nothing more than a fling and, in the end, the only one picking up the pieces is me as you move on to whoever can give you intel on whatever big bad you’re chasing.”

“God you fucking talk too much.” He kissed her again, hands wrapping in the thickness of her hair, before he nipped his way to her shoulder, teeth and lips, digging into the curve of muscle and sinew, suckling until he heard her gasp, her fingers digging into his hips. The tip of his tongue ran over the red mark on her skin, knowing he marked again, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Now every man in Rome will know that you belong to me.”

“I am not a possession Javier Pena.”

“Fuck I didn’t mean it that way. God damn it, Elise. No one is fuckin perfect but I’m standing in the middle of a fucking country I’ve never been to, chasing you around the globe wanting you, no one else, why can’t you see that?”

She stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide with shock, his words hitting her like the tidal wave crashing over her. Taking a deep breath, she slowly let it out, “Because I don’t want to be hurt, can’t you understand that? I’ve been in love with you, all this time and there is a part of me that wants you too, to love all the parts you are. Demanding, possessive, passionate, asshole, dedicated. The risk? Of this? Of believing you want me this much is something I don’t know how to handle.”

“It’s not going to be cut and dry baby. It ain’t like intel where you dissect it all. Just feel it.” He took a deep breath, frustration giving away to relief, stepping closer, eyes locking onto hers. “I get it hermosa, never been down this road before with anyone. Scared shitless that I’ll fuck it up but let’s try to see where this goes.”

Feeling the warmth of his body against her, hearing all the words, let’s be honest, every woman wants to hear, “Okay,” she whispered, voice barely audible. Something in the back of her mind was telling her this was a mistake, of the highest, but fuck it, she thought, because she didn’t want to be that person who turns a hundred and has regrets. Fingers tugged on the belt loops of his jeans, she pulled him closer, tongue tracing the outline of his jugular, skin tangy with the salt of his sweat.

His breath caught as she pulled him closer, feeling her mouth against his throat. “I just want to get away from all of this. Just you and me, away from the crowds, from everything. I want to be alone with you, beneath me. Fuck we need to go now or I am going to take you against this building and we’re getting arrested.”

As dawn began to creep along the city, fingers pinched her nipples as she straddled him, hips rolling in circles, his cock buried deep within her body, he pulled her down to him, lips hard and demanding against hers, devouring her orgasm as his spilled into her depths, her heartbeat erratic against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

His name was whispered breathlessly, her voice trembling with the aftermath of their orgasms, feeling his embrace tighten around her, hands now trailing down her back, she pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips as she rolled off of his body, laying on her side. “Didn’t get much sleep last night. We should stay in today, order room service.”

Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her towards him, a hand cupping her breast, nipple still erect beneath his palm. “I don’t think I will ever get enough of you hermosa, so I am in agreement with you on that. Te amo.”

“Yo también te quiero, cariño.”

“Getting better with the Spanish.”

“Been practicing.”

Fuck, he thought, hearing his native language fall from her lips, he was in deep with her and it was a realization that hit him with a force of a hurricane, watching her as her eyes drifted closed, breathing steady as she fought staying awake, losing the battle. How the fuck had he fallen for her? He, who had always kept emotions in check, as he whored his way through Bogota, taking down drug cartels, not wanting involvement. Figured he would be scared out of his fucking mind but he wasn’t. The last thought he had before sleep claimed him? How he could get re-assigned to Miami.

#studioghibelli #javier peña #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal #narcos

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wasjustred · 2 years ago

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See Me After Class - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: Your new boss pays you a visit.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Smut, under-negotiated dynamic, Mommy kink at the very end if you squint, cunnilingus (reader giving), fingering, orgasm denial, dom!Larissa and sub!Reader

Word Count: ~3.4k

Author’s Note: My first reader insert as well as my first attempt at smut! I hope y’all enjoy - feedback is always welcome (and greatly appreciated, especially as this is an un-beta-ed work)! ♡ ╱ AO3

“You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.”

You allow the air to settle before prodding your students, perched comfortably against the front edge of your desk. “Someone explain for us what Lord Henry meant by this.” The usual array of hands shoot up, eager and willing as they are, swaying discreetly in anticipation of being called upon. It’s everything you had hoped for before starting this job; you spent weeks prepping lesson plans and brushing up on Outcast literature before your official interview had even been scheduled, losing sleep and your appetite equally over the thought that you might not secure the position, and almost more so that if you did, the students wouldn’t take to you. But this sight… it is as reaffirming as any. With a modest hope of hearing from someone new, your eyes roam the rows and columns of seated students. But it’s an unexpected figure who draws your attention to the far back:

“Principal Weems.. Please, indulge us.” You gesture widely with an open palm. Your nonchalance frankly betrays the anxiety her presence brings. Another observation so soon after the first? And so early in the term? You have to wonder if one of your students has complained, or perhaps another professor. Were you doing a bad job? Were your lessons subpar?

It’s clear, though, that despite her authority Weems is embarrassed to have been caught, even more so to have been called out on it so unceremoniously. Perhaps you’re not as powerless here as you thought.

“Well,” The blonde pulls back her shoulders and levels her gaze on you. “It has been a minute, but if I’m not mistaken, I do believe Lord Henry was referring to Dorian’s seemingly virtuous nature in comparison to his own glaring hedonism. By all accounts, we desire and are captivated by the things we refuse ourselves.” She continues, arching a brow, “I believe Lord Henry also said that ‘the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself’. It is both a warning and a call to pleasure.”

Any surprise you might have felt at Larissa’s adeptness, any residual apprehension at her presence, is easily overpowered by the sudden and shameless wave of heat that comes to rest between your thighs. She must notice as she grins wickedly at your attempt to play it off, crossing one ankle over the other and lowering the open book in front of your lap.

“Very good. I’m glad to see your Nevermore education paid off.” Sparse chuckles crop up from your students as the final bell announces the official end of the school day. They waste no time in rushing past each other towards the door, and you’re glumly aware that your calls to read the next two chapters for class tomorrow fall on deaf ears.

“I didn’t realize Mr. Wilde was still part of the curriculum.” Larissa follows the steps down past your students’ desks and comes to rest in front of you, hands clasped behind her.

“And yet you’ve proven yourself to be a remarkably apt student. Impressive.” Your eyes twinkle. The degree at which you have to tilt your head back is not an unpleasant one, stretching muscles that had already been whining after the hour-long class session. You break eye contact briefly to reach behind you and toss the worn copy of today’s topic on your desk, and in that short timespan Larissa evidently decides to test your professional resolve.

“Remarkable students are rewarded for their diligence, are they not?” You swivel back to her, brows raised. … intriguing. Hot, even, you have to admit.

“Was it diligence, or pure luck?” Larissa scrunches her nose at this response, clearly - amusingly - displeased.

“I’ll have you know I’ve been reading at the pace of your lesson plans.”

“So you did know Mr. Wilde was ‘still part of the curriculum’?”

“... I don’t appreciate your tone, Ms. L/N.” Larissa looms over you, forcing you back against the edge of your desk. Your hands instinctively shoot out behind you, white-knuckling the oak in an attempt to keep yourself steady (both mentally and physically). Your brain rapidly ricochets between processing how little space remains between the two of you and the fact that the school’s headmistress, your boss, Larissa, has taken to following your lessons plans of her own volition.

“All due respect, you do pay me to read between the lines, Principal Weems,” you respond. She seems delighted with this, a puff of warm air landing against your lips as she chuckles. Your fingers twitch against your desk. If you stretched them out, there’s a chance you’d reach her, brushing against the clothed expanse of her thigh.

“You have a very interesting understanding of what you’ve been hired to do here.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm.” Larissa closes the leftover distance, reaching long fingers up to grasp the tip of your chin. It feels like whatever air you can get here, eye-level with her chest, is trapped in your lungs. “.. look at me, darling.”

It takes everything within you not to moan once you meet her gaze and realize she looks absolutely ravenous: pupils blown, tongue running slowly along the length of her bottom lip as she watches you. Chest rising and falling in time with her rapid heartbeat.

“Oh.”

Your lips meet in a hot, desperate clash of tongue and teeth, no indication as to who’s moved first. You grasp wildly at her forearms, shoulders, neck - any stretch of skin you can dig your fingertips into, pushing yourself up as tall as you can to reach further into her. A phone rings somewhere off to your left and you grunt, shoving the contents of your desk off to the side in a clatter. Larissa laughs.

“Eager, are we?” Before you can form a coherent response she’s making a grab for your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the top of the desk and parting your legs as she comes to stand between them. A shiver rolls through you toe-to-spine as her fingernails drag tantalizingly - painstakingly - up your sides, rounding out at the tops of your shoulders and coming down so harsh along your back you’re positive she’s marked you through your blouse. You whimper despite a valiant effort not to, eliciting a devilish smirk from the blonde.

“Larissa, th-the door. Please.” She’s nothing if not sensible, immediately abandoning the space between your legs to switch the lock with a satisfying ‘thunk’. The less pronounced sound of a shade being drawn reaches you, as well, before the steady refrain of her high heels against linoleum. You keep your eyes trained on the climbing rows of seats before you, the anticipation of her sudden touch, unforeseen, curling deep within your stomach.

Her footfalls grow slower as she comes to stand behind you. Just over the sound of your own heavily beating heart can you hear her breathing, pitchy and shallow, in the expanse above your head. Neither of you budge. A tingle on your right tells you she’s on the move, hovering at your shoulder. The suspense tightens in your core as you imagine her phantom touch in the very places you ache for her–––and you tighten your grip on the desk’s edge in order to suppress the urge to spin around and jump her.

A passing group of muffled voices - students - evidently inspires Larissa to act first, however, as she clamps a hand over your mouth and pulls you flush against her, back-to-front. Her breath is hot on your neck.

“Shh, sh… Not .. a .. peep, Ms. L/N…” You nod against the force of her grip on your face, biting back the impulsive desire to take her fingers into your mouth. It’s only when her other hand sneaks around the softness of your waist, sinks down, down, and under the hem of your skirt that you realize exactly what she has planned for you. It’s bold, especially for someone like Larissa, whose dedication to this school and its students comes before all else–––which prompts you to wonder what kind of day she’s had and if she’ll be taking it out on you, one frustration at a time.

The thought makes you squirm. A pool of wet heat’s collecting between your legs at her touch and she finds it with a swiftness, applying a searching pressure along the entire length of your sex, humming against the shell of your ear when her fingertips meet the strip of dampness there.

“Such a slut,” she rumbles. Your teeth come down hard onto the inside of your cheek, eyelids fluttering on their own accord the moment Larissa nips at your earlobe. Christ, she’s already ruined you. She sweeps the satin of your panties aside and immediately presses a finger against your core without warning, and your entire body jerks at the feeling, hopelessly attempting to choose between pressing itself further back into her warmth or to thrust itself in the chase of her fingers. You’re left somewhere in the middle, head braced against her shoulder while your hips slide against the top of the desk towards her touch.

A flash of blonde and bright red swoops into your peripheral at the same time that her hand shifts to cup you: “I’m going to remove this hand now,” her nails dig sharp into your cheek, “but if you make so much as a whimper…” The threat tapers off but her meaning is clear: there’s a punishment lurking there that you won’t enjoy. You nod again, shakily this time as your chest heaves.

“That’s my darling girl.” At your assent her hand migrates from your mouth to the swell of a breast, kneading harshly in tandem with the rolling movements of her other hand, the heel of her palm pressed against your clit, fingertips resting just at your entrance. Any dignity you may have had is quickly fleeting; Larissa’s intoxicating, overwhelming, robbing you of all sense with just her fingers. You reach a hand behind you to grip the back of her neck, urgent as you search for some semblance of relief. The word ‘please’ balances precariously along your tongue.

It almost slips out when she sinks her teeth into your shoulder, hard, and simultaneously buries two fingers into your cunt. Every ounce of breath left in your lungs rushes from you at once as she sets a punishing pace. The distant thought that you’re both somehow still fully clothed echoes against the back of your skull, but it’s overrun by the sensation of her fingers tightly curled inside you, nearly rocking you with their force. Simultaneously, she presses absent, open-mouthed kisses to the skin almost broken by her teeth, drifting to the space where shoulder meets neck, below your ear, the edge of your jaw.

“You’re mine.” Larissa’s voice is coarse with desire. It’s a new declaration, tongue flicking out with her words as the taller woman twists a nipple between her fingers. She’s claiming you for herself, hardly a month into the term, and you’d be entirely out of your mind to complain. Suddenly the number of times your eyes have met during staff meetings, the lingering touches when she passed by or handed a paper off to you, her willingness to compliment your work at every turn has taken on new meaning.

Her thumb seeks out that little bundle of nerves, hitting each new wave of pleasure that the pumping of her fingers brings with excruciating accuracy. You’re so close, throbbing, and when her hips buck and collide with your back your breath hitches, indistinguishable from a squeak, … and it’s then that you realize you’ve ruined it.

Her fingers stall inside of you abruptly, the others that are clamped around your nipple finding a sudden homeostasis of pressure.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I’m s-sorry, I––” You’re on your back, no longer supported by her weight, her fingers roughly pulled from you.

“I gave you very clear instructions,” she all but growls, staring down at you now.

You swallow. Loudly. Your legs are shaking at the loss of her touch, teetering still on the edge of an explosive climax.

“If you’re not going to listen,” Larissa grits out, hiking her dress up over her thighs, “then you’re not going to cum. Now earn it.” Without another word she yanks you back by the shoulders and moves to straddle your face, hands planted at either side of your waist. It takes only a second to right yourself–––and then you’re wrapping your arms firm around her thighs, flattening your tongue along the slickness of her cunt.

No underwear.

She had every intention of being serviced when she came to your classroom unannounced, greeted your students, faked literary smalltalk. You’re a toy to her, a pet she knows with absolute certainty will kneel when called. Fuck. You could bring yourself over that edge with her taste alone. A natural tradeoff.

Larissa jolts above you and you lap at her with a renewed fervency, sliding the tip of your tongue between her folds, plunging into her as deep as you can from this position. The heat of her soaks your face: she’s sharp and metallic, a lingering note of something deliciously tangy. You’re going to taste her in your dreams for weeks after this. You’re vaguely aware of her hand on your chest as you alternate swirling your tongue along her, rolling in waves, and sucking her swollen clit into your mouth hungrily.

“Tch, right there, darling,” she murmurs, pitching her hips as she rides you. “That’s it.” Her voice trembles at the pace of her increasingly frantic rocking, breaths coming in heavier than before. Your smugness at unraveling her so quickly, so efficiently, is surpassed by the raw desire that rushes to your core when she weaves a hand through your hair and uses it to balance herself against your face, to more thoroughly fuck herself into reckless abandon.

One of your hands adjusts to squeeze a handful of ass, the other still fastened tightly around her thigh. The supple skin there twitches and you know she’s close, doubling-down on your devotion to her clit. You have a feeling you know what it’ll take, and with a gentle scrape of your teeth you’re rewarded, savoring the juices that flow from her as she clamps down on your face, quaking. She sounds heavenly as she cums: Larissa whines into the collar of her dress, breathing in short, sharp bursts that come in a heady mix of gasps and whimpers. There’s no disguising what’s happening to anyone on the outside; you entertain the bemused thought that in punishing you, Principal Weems has violated her own rules at least once over.

It takes her a moment to dismount but you pass the time in contentment, nipping at her inner thigh, tonguing the arousal there, gathering the residual cum in your mouth. Just like ambrosia, fucking nectar. When she does finally lift herself away from your mouth, she has to grip the desk with both hands.

You take it as a sign of a job well done.

Your eyes follow her, upside down still from your position, as she pulls her skirt back down over her ass and shimmies into place, smoothing her blouse down with it. When she meets your gaze, there’s a deepening blush spread across her cheeks.

“Well. You’ve certainly proven yourself capable of following directions. There’s no excuse as to why you can’t continue to adhere to any rules I provide, hm?” If it were that easy you wouldn’t have found yourself on your back in the first place, but there’s no doubt she’s fully - perhaps gleefully - aware of the fact. In an effort to abide by those rules you only nod in response, wary of what a verbalization will bring you–––but this rule is evidently a time-sensitive one, indicated by her bemused smirk.

“You may use your words now, pet.”

“I’ll follow directions.”

“I’ll follow directions what?” Larissa approaches again, a softer air about her now despite the firmness in her voice, and eases you up with her hands beneath your shoulders. She turns you to face her, guiding your legs up and over the top of the desk. When she looks at you expectantly, you respond with an honest hesitation.

“I–– I’m not sure what you like to be called.” You’re not sure what you’re expecting her response to be either, but what you’re met with is a dazzlingly grand smile.

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” You suck in a sharp breath; that went straight to your cunt. You can feel the warmth unfurl across your face at the praise and purse your lips in a rare lapse of shyness. “Mistress or Mommy – whichever your preference.”

The instinct to whimper is an ardent one. You’re exceedingly aware of the backwards order of things, only now discussing titles and retroactively negotiating, no prior agreement on limits or safewords, but it’s too little too late to pretend you’re bothered by it. No one’s ever accused you of listening to your brain over your libido, and Larissa’s looking far too smitten with you to start changing that now.

“I’ll follow directions, Mommy.” Her hands come up to cradle both of your cheeks, thumbs working gently over the blush that still remains. You’re promptly reminded of how she felt straddling those very same cheeks and feel all the blood rush to your face once more.

“Thank you, darling.” Your hips wriggle in anticipation when Larissa leans in to brush her lips against yours––but she’s instead reaching around you to grab a tissue from your desk. “Here,” she says, rubbing at your chin with a delicateness only she could muster. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You watch as she works in silence, tilting your head to and fro with her prodding hands, studying the faint wrinkles beneath her eyes and along her forehead. The right corner of her lips draws downward as she focuses, tongue peeking out in concentration. Her brows raise, just minutely. There’s something of a twinkle in her eye when she wipes away your ruined lipstick.

She’s beautiful.

“What?”

“–––Hm?” You freeze at the same time her hand does, though Larissa proceeds within the matter of a second like she never stopped, a renewed smirk lined in crimson.

“Beautiful, is that so?” You imagine your face matches the color of her lipstick, and not due to a frenzied makeout session. She doesn’t seem perturbed by the admission, however … may in fact even enjoy your little slip-up, so you might as well own up.

“.. Yes. Is that alright?” She snorts but covers it just as quickly with the back of her hand.

“Of course,” which translates to: Do you really have to ask?

Larissa pulls away and tosses the tissue into a wastebasket beneath your desk, still smiling rather haughtily. Her hands clasp in front of her as the image of the consummate headmistress falls back into place. At this point you think she’s figured out that disregarding your own orgasm isn’t much of a punishment when you so thoroughly enjoyed ravishing her; no doubt she’ll have something far less agreeable lined up for the next time you disobey.

“I enjoyed this.. ‘private lesson’ on the nuances of literary hedonism. Perhaps we could schedule another? If you’d be amenable?” It’s largely symbolic––this will happen again. And again. And possibly again. But Larissa’s offering something valuable to you: The power to decide how, when, and where this will play, if at all. The gesture doesn’t escape you.

You slip off of the desk and take slow, measured steps towards her, coming to a rest with less than a foot between you. A hint of anxiety slips through her otherwise flawless mask and you reach up nearly on tiptoe to smooth it away. “I’d like that. Maybe a coffee date is in order first,” which translates to: God yes please, but we are going to have to discuss things before we make a habit of this. Larissa releases a relieved breath and nods, covering your hand with her own.

“The Weathervane? Thursday, during your lunch period?”

“Sounds perfect.”

She leaves soon after you schedule your next rendezvous, but not before settling you into a breathless haze with a series of intense, bruising kisses, her hands snugly fitted into your back pockets.

One orgasm that wasn’t even yours and you’re already whipped. God help you.

#apologies for any mistakes! i tried my best :')#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems #principal weems x reader #principal weems imagine #larissa weems x f!reader #larissa weems smut #larissa weems reader insert #larissa weems x you

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