#married and yet you’d think he’s never danced with her before | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

webslingingslasher · 11 months ago

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(yes, i reposted this. i needed to edit the dates. thank you to those who will re-reblog and re-like.)

it's finally here. a major quick thank you for all the love and patience everyone has shown me over this series. i hope it's worth the wait.

word count: 11k.

it's getting real now...

CHAPTER TWO: MASTERMIND

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 8TH, SIGMA NU CHAPTER HOUSE

Chistine Kiko just handed you an eighth of mushrooms and you weren’t one to disappoint. Even if it was your first time. “My fucking dad wouldn’t let me do anything in the Hamptons. I literally only had my dab pen and coke. Like, what kind of person does that?”

They taste like fucking shit, Christine licked her pudgy fingers dry while you were gagging between chews. “He sounds,” baby barf, “like a monster.” She doesn’t pick up on your sarcasm, “thank you! Everyone said I was being dramatic too, glad to know I can rely on you.”

You cough on the last swallow, Christine patted at your back, a red solo cup pushed in your hand. “Drink. I mean, he bossed me around all summer too. He thinks I wanna be like him, like, try that with your other kids?” You pull the cup down, “you’re an only child?”

Christine shrugs, “it’s never too late.” You hum while you finish the mixture, it was ultra sweet, you assume it was full of booze. “So, basically, you’re gonna have a super fun time and I will totally be here for you if you need me, but I have friends to see, ya know?”

It’s a nice way of saying she will absolutely not be around if you need her. You stop her with a hand on her wrist, “wait, how long until this hits? Will I know?” Christine smirks, “about an hour, give or take. Ride the wave and pick a bed to land in.”

You’re alone for an entire two minutes, just enough time to get your own cup of jungle juice, the same mixture as Christine’s, before an arm drops around your shoulders. The voice alone makes you want to eat sand, you just know he’s about to say something stupid.

With his girlfriend in tow, blonde hair whips towards you, a snotty smirk, “did you see Harvey yet?” It takes everything in you not to wack his arm. “No, not yet.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s going to love your top.” You huff at him, “this wasn’t even the shirt Ally wanted me to wear, so, fuck you!” Matt holds a hand to his chest, “I am in a committed relationship, and even if I wasn’t, ew.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, blondie. I’ve seen cuter rats.” He narrows his eyes, “I will pray for evil to find you.” Ally gasps, “Matty, no.”

Holding a middle finger up, your eyes wander around the room until you zone in on Harvey resting against the staircase, a gleam of light hits his wrist, silver dances in your eyes.

Harvey must have felt you, his chin rises in a poor excuse for a nod. You flash a four finger wave, raising your cup to your mouth when he starts laughing with a friend. Matt pokes your elbow at the interaction, “what kind of dress are you wearing to the wedding?”

You grin, “I’m not sure yet, I don’t wanna clash with Ally.” You turn to her, “we both can’t wear white, right?”

“Hey, hey, hey, if anyone’s going to marry Ally it’s me, and it’ll be in a church so you’ll either sit it out or burn.”

Checking your phone you nibble at your lip, thirty eight minutes. Trent’s nowhere to be found, you need to start looking. And subtly. You take a step back, pretending to be interested in a fake text. “Give me five minutes, I need to make a call.” Ally’s quick to give the go ahead, “okay, text me if you can’t find us!”

Thirty seven minutes. Your shoulder hits a freshman’s, jungle juice splashes on the hardwood; spilling out an apology you step over the puddle. A boy you haven’t seen before smiles at you, if you weren’t on a mission, you’d be saying hello.

You loop by the garage, heart stuttering when you capture Peter and Ethan playing a game of beer pong. Trent wasn’t there, your last hope and prayer was in the backyard.

Surrounded by rose bushes, the chapter president had his lips wrapped around a cigarette. The red glow lit his cheeks up on the inhale, two girls and another guy with him, you think you shared a class with one of the girls last year.

Trent catches your eyes, it’s clear you both don’t want anyone to know what’s going on. He directed his gaze towards your phone, a hand moved around in his pocket before he produced his own.

You stare at your home screen, expecting the message any second. It comes when you move back inside.

‘Use the backstairs, my room is on the left at the end of the hall.’

‘Give me five minutes.’

Thirty two minutes, you don’t have any time to waste. Your feet hit the stairs.

Trent’s room is messy and terribly decorated. Clothes covered the floor, empty bowls and plates scattered across his desk, a still sweating, sealed water bottle makes you smack your lips. How tempting.

A string of flags, a political one that doesn’t surprise you in the slightest, a ‘Saturdays are for the boys’ one, and a black and white american flag. The trio makes you roll your eyes, it seems very fitting for his personality. No shoe has a matching partner in the entire room, you’re scared to think of what might be under his bed.

You don’t feel safe or comfortable enough to sit on it either, it’s unmade and with a noticeable and questionable looking stain. He does have a couch though, and it looks very, very comfortable. It feels like you’d sink right in. It’s not enticing enough, you don’t trust it.

You check your phone again, it’s been five minutes and it could be the liquor, but you feel a slight wobble. Twenty three minutes until blast off Trent slides through a small crack in the door, your arms cross defensively. “I know you’re not fucking me, but you can at least pretend to care about my time.”

“Wrong. I wouldn’t care about you, even if you were fucking me.” He proudly takes a seat at his desk, he offers you nothing. A smug look rolls over, “you’ve built it up long enough, what do you need from me?”

The sooner it’s over, the better. “My friends and I have a bet on your potential new members, if the person I pick makes it through recruitment, I win. I need you to make sure I win.”

Trent’s facade slips, even just for a millisecond. “One more time, and I need you to be very clear on it, alright?”

Were you slurring your words? You try to speak clearer. “I know someone who’s going to pledge, and I promise you he has no involvement in this, but I need him to be recruited so I can win some money. All I need is for you to make sure I win and they don’t.”

A brief pause, Trent looks sympathetic. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with that.” You cut him off, he accepted the terms last Friday, and again when you sent over copies of your- Noa’s hard discoveries.

“No, no, Trent, you did. You said anything I needed, and I need this.”

“If you would’ve told me what you needed, you would’ve known I couldn’t help you.”

“This is bullshit, I’ll start singing from the rooftops about your payoff.”

“No, you won’t. I’m the president, so I get final say on who we fully recruit-” You roll your eyes, “I know.”

“- but I don’t get to choose who makes it past rush, you need a member to bid on a pledge. You need someone to big brother him, I can’t do that. If I get involved it becomes dirty rushing, and that is the biggest ‘no no’ to exist.”

You slump, everything comes crashing down. “So… you can’t even pull rank here?” Trent shakes his head, “absolutely not.”

“So this was all for nothing?”

“If you can find a member to bid on him, you have my promise he’ll make it, and I’ll cut whoever you need so you can win. That’s it.”

You’re at a loss, you have no other member you could ask. Matt could never keep a secret, you didn’t know Ethan well enough and there was no way in hell you’d ask- “Want my advice? Parker is your best bet.”

You shake your head wildly, it takes a moment for your mind to click back into place. “You really want to involve someone else into this? You know what’s at stake, right?” You’re hinting at his secret, Trent shrugs.

“If anyone is going to know about it, I’d want it to be Parker. He can keep a secret and has no issue in playing dirty if he’s in on it.” You’re suddenly very thirsty, you keep licking your lips for moisture.

“He doesn’t know who I am.” Not a total lie.

“Then introduce yourself.”

You shouldn’t have to do anything, he’s the one not making good on his promise. You made good on your end and in return he’s barely lifting a finger. Maybe it had something to do with not wanting Peter involved due to fear of judgment. Or, maybe he’d be impressed like Trent.

If you wanted Peter to be a conquest, it couldn’t start by you asking for a favor. That was friend behavior, and you wanted to be anything but friends. This was Trent’s problem, not yours. He doesn’t understand that you can make things difficult for him if he backs out.

Your tongue is thick and you need water. You have no time for this.

“Listen, Trent. This is your problem. I held up my end of the bargain, and you have to do yours. I don’t care how you do it, but you’re going to pledge Isaac Barns. If you don’t, I’ll turn shit around and make this the dirty frat, the frat that cheated for first place.”

Trent held a clenched jaw, you saw nothing but fury in his eyes. “We’ll figure something out. No need to get mouthy.” If you had more time you’d entertain his comment, but it’s clear he’d figure something out.

You eye the plastic water bottle next to him, snatching it from the side. “And I’m taking this, talk to me when you have a plan, Simpson!” When his door slams shut, it rings in your ears.

You feel every muscle in your legs move while you walk, and within minutes it seemed like everything got brighter. A vibration washes down the back of your thigh, you slap around, it’s your phone. A single text.

‘friend?’

You’ve been missing too long, one way to stop the questions.

‘Finding Harvey…’ the response was a keyboard smash.

Blinking harsh, the room feels like it’s blending together. You’ve never felt this way, it’s like the entire house is moving underneath your feet. The floor waves you into the crowd, everything feels like it’s slow motion, yet sped up at the same time.

“Hey!” You don’t know who it is, it’s a stranger, his voice sounds distorted. You shake your head clear, and step right by him. You’re on a mission and can’t be sidetracked, things are hitting quickly and you need to find Harvey to explain plans have taken a very sharp left.

A spin of bodies, you find one that stands out. You catch her shoulders.

“Lindsey!” You fight for the words, they’re like butter. “Have you seen Harvey Guyn?”

She’s fucking plastered, a slur of letters string out. “... hall.. wine… yeah! haha…” A gasp when she sees a friend across the house, you’re forgotten in a second. Putting your faith in her, you take careful steps, slapping your hands on the wine closet and tugging it open.

“Harvey! You in here? Lindsey said you were-” there was no chance to finish, Harvey was busy doing it for you. His head was thrown back on the wall tiles, a guttural moan ripped from his throat. Wrapped around his fist was a tight hold of black hair, to help Christine Kiko keep his dick swallowed down.

“Oh shit,” you slam the door on them, standing in shock for a few seconds. It wasn’t about him hooking up with her, he could do what he wanted. But it wasn’t everyday you saw something like that in person, and you had to give credit to Christine, she was taking it like a champ.

It gave you an out for the night, you were too high for anything but breathing.

Thank god for Christine Kiko. And really bless her for catching up with you in record time spurting apologies while wiping her mouth clean. “I know, I know, you guys were hooking up, but-”

You stop her sorry, “how’d you know?” She rakes her long nails through her hair to untangle it, it comes out clean instantly. “My dad is super simping for his dad and we vacationed together this year so he had me try and make Harvey happy so he could tell his dad they should do business.”

Christine has no idea how fucked up that sounds, “what would he have done if you were his son?” She doesn’t miss a beat, “Harvey swings both ways, doesn’t he?”

Music shakes your feet, Christine’s hair looks soft. It’s black and pin-straight, you reach out, you comb your fingers through without a hint of struggle. “Wow, you take such good care of your hair.”

“Rice water, you’re welcome.” She looks back at the door, “I need some things to finish up, but um, you feeling alright? It looks like it’s settling in.” It is. You’re busy twisting the cap on your water bottle, the small ridges skate across your thumb to create a soothing repetition. “Yeah.”

It makes her smile, “yeah? You should go outside, the trees look fucking awesome, even when it’s dark.” You thank her for the idea, and stand still for a little too long after Christine retreats back to the wine closet. You think it’s your brain trying to remember how to walk, you blame the bass reverberating off the flooring.

The second you’re able to actually pick your feet up, you move three steps before noticing it feels like you have lead boots on. You clomp towards the couches, perched on the side, sitting pretty, was your best friend.

Making eye contact, you replay what just happened. You can’t stop it, it’s uncontrollable, bubbling from your throat, you laugh. Loudly. The longer you laugh, the more intense it gets. Ally has no idea what’s going on, but you assume the giggle is contagious.

“What! Tell me!” You’re trying, but you can’t catch your breath. Each time you try to push more than two words out, you’re back to laughing so hard your shoulders shake. There’s only one reason you’re finding this so funny, you try to collect yourself. “I…” Another round, Ally’s right with you; you think she’s just excited to see what’s got you so giddy.

“Okay, okay. Christine Kiko gave me some shrooms, and they, like, just hit. Also, I just caught her sucking Harvey’s dick.” Ally sputters, “what?!” A hand covers her mouth, the imagery catching up to her. “Oh my god!” You nod, she said it better than you could. “And you saw this?!” It’s like the idea is unbelievable to her. “Uh huh, right in front of me.”

Ally presses the hand covering her mouth, to her cheek. A moment of silence, until she starts to laugh just like you did. You almost copy, until she stops and gives you an ironclad look, “wait, did you say mushrooms?”

You pretend your mind is exploding. “I’m experiencing things I couldn’t explain right now.” Ally’s hair looks almost as soft as Christine’s. You grab a thick piece, breaking it into thirds and start to braid. It feels like rope, your fingers turn into a ball of yarn, fumbling into one useless clump.

“Are you okay? Matty and I were about to go upstairs.” Your eyes flash towards the stairs on instinct, then you're back at her. “Coming back down?” Ally grins and sends you a wink, “not if I give him a reason not to.” She drops her grin, “unless you need company, in that case, I’m here for you.”

Just because you chose to spend your night tripping, it doesn’t mean Ally has to ditch bedtime with her boyfriend. Wouldn’t that be an incredibly selfish thing to do? “I don’t need a trip sitter, I have myself. And Christine. Also, have you seen Prince?”

“Uh, no. He went off with Rocco the second we got here.” Rocco, the second you hear his name, you think of his hair, how does one achieve an afro? Would it be wrong to ask?

“Cool, cool, no doubt, no doubt.” Ally eyes you, she’s trying to make sure you’re fully okay before she pulls Matt upstairs. You flash a smile, it’s enough to have her drop her shoulders in relief. “You always have me, you know where I’ll be.”

“And I am so, so grateful for you, Ally Storm.” Because, you are. In your opinion, mushrooms make you emotional. You went from laughing to appreciative in one minute, suddenly you’re hugging your best friend while holding back tears. “You are so kind, and patient, and nice, and, like, so super supportive to me.”

Ally squeezes you right back, “you should do drugs more often, I’m loving the praise.” You pull back to wink at her, “it’s only cause you’re so great. Go do your boyfriend, since I can’t get any tonight.”

“You think sex on shrooms would be good?” The idea hadn’t occurred, but thinking about it makes you agree with her. “Sex on hallucinogens? That’s boyfriend behavior.” Ally pats your arm, “next time, invite me. I’ll let you know how it is.”

A twinkle in her eye appears, you dread what’s about to happen. “Sup, slugger?” The arm around you is entirely too heavy, but oddly comforting. Like a weighted blanket. “She took mushrooms.” You nod, Matt rubs your shoulder, you almost purr. “Having fun?” Normally, you have a love hate relationship with Matt. You both love to hate each other, but not seriously. Not that it’s been said, but you know Matt would protect you with anything in him if needed.

Tonight, right now, Matt is a solid force. “Permission to hug?” Ally’s eyes widen, she almost doubles down on the sentiment of doing drugs more often. “You wanna full on, front touch me?” Nevermind, Matt just ruined it, like he ruins everything. “Not anymore, you ruined it.”

“Oh, no, no, no. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Before you can try and dodge it, Matt’s got you in his hold. It’s very obvious he’s doing it for the pure enjoyment of annoying you, it’s almost endearing. Almost. You’d fight better at shoving him away but he’s got a warmth radiating from his chest and into yours.

Peter watches you bump hips across the room with Paul’s girlfriend, your fingers pull at her hair. A wild look crosses her face, two of you giggling.

“I didn’t know she was Ally’s friend.” Ethan scratches at his arm, Peter’s guard goes up. He knows why he’s surprised to know you were the friend in question, he doesn’t know why Ethan thinks so too.

Ethan shrugs and asks Peter about something, he can’t focus. “You know her?”

“Yeah, that’s my bio girl.”

Peter felt constricted, he doesn’t know why. “Wait, what? That’s my freshman.”

Ethan stares at the side of Peter’s head. “She’s not a freshman.” Peter sneers at his friend, “yeah, no shit.” Ethan kisses his teeth, “I invited her to the party.” He doesn’t know why, but Peter feels slightly challenged.

“So did I.” His arms cross over his chest, he mumbles the rest. “On the first day.”

“Funny. When I asked she said she had no plans.”

Peter can feel his jaw clench, he wants to kind of fucking punch him, if he’s being honest. And that makes him even more upset, because why is he so threatened? Ethan may have an inkling that his best friend wants you more than he does, but he also wants him to know he could have competition.

“Funny.” It’s clear Peter did not find it funny.

“She’s cool. You know, witty, kind, pretty…” Peter’s doing what he can to keep himself from walking away, he wants to scream that he had eyes on you first. But that’s an insane thought, only one that could be casted by a witch.

“She’s difficult and entitled.”

All Ethan hears is ‘she’s fucking perfect for me.’ And his mind was made up, you were no longer someone he’d pursue. You’re all Parker’s, because he wants you. Even if he won’t admit it, yet.

“So, you have no issue with me moving in on that?” Peter’s a little too quiet, choosing to nurse on his beer in hand. “Do what you want, man.” He finishes his drink, he looks back up at you, sharing a warm embrace with Paul.

“Cause, I don’t mind leaving it alone, if you want.” It takes a second, but Peter lightly shrugs. No words needed to be said, it told Ethan everything he needed to know. “You saw her first, it’s only fair.” It’s tiny, and it’s a microflash, but Peter grinned. What was understood, didn’t need to be explained.

Heavy steps found themselves at a familiar face.

“My roommate ditched me and this floor looks like a pirate ship.” You point down for good measure, Ethan’s a good sport and looks with you. “Is it moving?”

You nod quickly, glad he too can see the shifting boards. Ethan’s sweater catches your attention, it looks soft. By default he looks like a teddy bear, you can’t hold yourself back, latching yourself to the cashmere you run your hands over his back.

“It’s so soft.”

Ethan laughs, he has no issue returning the love. You melt under his touch, everything is so warm. “I can feel your hands.” Your lab partner knows exactly what’s going on, “yeah? What’d you take, X?”

You pull back to spread pixie dust from your fingertips, “magic mushrooms.” Lights flash in cohesion with the music, you’re awe at the sharp beauty. Swirls of color cloud your vision, loud bass rings your ears. Vibrations flow from your toes up to your knees, a circle of laughter around you is contagious.

You can’t stop the giggles, you weren’t sure who was laughing or why but it seemed so fitting.

You throw your head back, the room spins and you squeal when your waist is held tight.

“Ethan!” You hug him again, you can’t stop patting his sweater. “Wanna do some shots?” Ethan shakes his head, “no, you want some water.” You stop, “oh my god, yeah, that sounds so good.” Your lower back is nudged, you’re guided into the kitchen where you see a blur of motion.

Stumbling, your back collides into another body. You spin quickly, you can’t believe it’s taken this long to see him.

“Peter, hi!”

Your arms loop around his back, you pull him tight to you and sigh. He’s broader than Ethan, but his shirt can’t match Ethan’s sweater. Peter feels oddly frozen, you shuffle into him further, an awkward pat is granted to the middle of your back. “Hi.”

“No, no, like this.” You fix the placement, it’s like he’s never given a hug in his entire life. Peter’s offering no warmth, it feels like he’s just allowing you to have this moment. You give him an unsure glance when you pull back, “I’ll make you better, don’t worry.”

You’re stopped before you could try and teach Peter a proper hug. “Let’s not hug, Parker.” You blink wildly at your lab partner, before looking back at Peter, he has an unimpressed gaze on Ethan. “No hugs? You don’t like hugs?”

It’s unacceptable, you pull at Ethan’s arm. “Here, show him how it’s done.” Ethan tries to shake his head, you loop around his waist tightly. “See, Peter? This is how you hug.”

“I know how to hug.”

You smile and nudge away from the cashmere, your arms open wide. “Okay, show me.”

“No.”

A frown takes over, since he’s being mean, you can too.

“Fine. I don’t like your haircut, how about that?” Peter lacks the reaction you want him to give, “thank you.” You narrow your eyes at him, “Christine should’ve given you the mushrooms instead, you’re kinda grumpy.”

Ethan pushes you back, “okay, D.A.R.E. Water.” You took the bottle and looked between the two friends. “Be honest, did you guys know they were hooking up?”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, you had the urge to rub it out. Ethan slapped your hand down. “Who?” You hold a finger up to pause the conversation, water has never tasted so clear.

“Mmm…” you blink awake. “Harvey and Christine. Did you think he wasn’t planning on me finding out? Was he fully prepared to try and bang me after he got head from another girl? Cause, I don’t think so.”

A song you haven’t heard before plays, it sends waves of warmth over your skin.

Ethan shrugs, “sounds like Harvey, yeah.”

You jeer around the plastic bottle, “boo.” Peter’s short circuiting in his brain. You were hooking up with Harvey? The pieces were muddling. His Harvey? That guy sucks. Peter reacts subconsciously, grabbing whatever you handed him. An empty water bottle, you smile, “thanks!” He grunts before tossing it in the kitchen sink.

“This party would be so much better if Taylor Swift was playing.”

It takes everything in Peter not to roll his eyes, Ethan one ups him in a second.

“Which album?”

You gasp, Peter swears he sees a sparkle in your eyes. For a split second he regrets not asking you the same thing. “Any of them! Do you like her too?”

Peter thought his best friend read between the lines from their earlier conversation. He assumes he didn’t.

“She’s alright, I have a few of her vinyls.” Record scratch, Peter just lost you. Your hand grabbed Ethan’s shoulder, you leaned in closer and gave him doe eyes. “No way, I don’t believe you. Which ones?”

Ethan laughs, “I have them in my room, swear to god. I like her sister albums.”

Peter watches your hand slide down his sleeve until you latch around his wrist, “show me.” Ethan shrugs, “alright, we can-” Peter steps in front of him, the path blocked.

“Keznek.” As in, you’re not doing what I think you’re doing, right?

“Parker.” As in, do you really think that low of me?

A third name is brought into the mix, Peter looks down, you’re smiling big at him and for a second he feels like he’s smiling back.

“Who’s that?”

You point at yourself, “me.”

He finally has your name, it’s fitting. He doesn’t think he’s ever thought a name could fit a person, until he heard yours. A weird urge to compliment it tugs at him, he buries it down. Witch.

Attention back on Ethan, “you swear you have them?” He’s almost offended you’d ask, “promise.” You look to Peter, “can you confirm?” Peter sucks in a breath through his teeth, he shakes his head slowly. “I can’t.”

The answer is obvious, “I have to verify, if you’re telling the truth you’ll win cool points forever.” Plan impeded, the chapter president just walked through the kitchen, a gleam in the wolves eye. His hand clapped Peter’s chest, the light abuse caused you to frown.

“Nice to see you’re making friends with Parker.”

You flip the script, a fake smile. “I’m sorry, who are you?” Ethan laughed behind you and was immediately silenced with a harsh glare from Trent. “Watch it, Keznek.” Peter’s face hardened at the tone.

“You’re taking my advice, I love to see it.”

Peter has his eyes on you, it takes strength to ignore it. “Wanna talk about advice? You should play some Taylor Swift.” Trent scoffs, “get fucked.” Peter speaks up before you have a chance, “hey, woah.” The head of the house wasn’t about to be talked to like he was a chapter officer, even if he was. His response was pushing Peter back and walking away.

“I understand why he’s the president,” you watch the room swirl together. “He’s super mature.” Smacking your lips, you blindly reach for Ethan. “Do you see these fucking lights right now?” Peter glances around, it’s the same party lighting they use each time.

“Are they dragging?” You focus in, when you move your head slow trails of light follow. “Yeah, woah.” Peter clears his throat, the sound cupped around your ears. “Your friend here, freshman?” You spin, “who’s friend?”

Peter looks at Ethan for a second, you’re busy trying to pull at a loose thread on Peter’s sleeve. “How are you getting home tonight?” You twirl the strand around your finger, the tension snaps it. When the blood returns to your fingertip, it warms your entire hand.

“Dunno yet. I’ll figure it out later.” You look down at your feet, they seem like they’re a million miles away from you. The floor shifts underneath you, it makes your knees shake, you clutch Ethan’s arm to balance yourself. “Pirate ship?” You nod, “ahoy, matey.”

Peter shifts when you take him in, more or less just focused on his face. He stands a little taller, then questions it, because why would he care about how tall you perceived him to be? “Peter,” he waits. Pointing behind you, “wanna do a shot? Ethan refused, like he hates me or something.” You can’t stop looking at him, the lights dance over his face, casting him in an angelic glow like no other.

“You think mixing shots with mushrooms is a good idea?” You move around, like your body couldn’t stand holding still. “Just one.” One wouldn’t hurt, and it’s not like he’s doing it for you or anything, he planned on having a shot anyways. You were just another person to pour for.

“Sure. Pick the poison.” You answer quickly, an honest response. “Rat.” Ethan starts to laugh and it’s contagious, you start giggling too. You don’t know why he’s laughing, but it feels good to have someone to laugh with. Peter tilts his head to the ceiling with a heavy sigh, “no, freshman. I meant booze.”

“Oh! Not vodka, I hate vodka, I can taste it in anything, even when Ally mixes it with Hawaiian Punch. So, please never give me vodka. I hate it.”

Peter smirks at Ethan, “so, vodka?” You sputter, you wonder if you confused love and hate in your speech. You shake your head quickly, “no, no, no, Peter. I hate vodka, please don’t give me any.”

Ethan slides a bottle down to Peter, it’s a party classic. Peter waits on you, “this good enough for you, princess?” It was sarcastic as all hell, but it still made you feel warm and fuzzy. “Yes, prince.” Peter just shook his head while he poured them up.

Raised glasses, you wait for the toast. “Here’s to A’s, C’s, and double D’s.” The words made you send a glare to Peter, it seemed like he was waiting for it. “You know, like grades?” It’s not what he meant, all three of you knew it, but you couldn’t fight him on it either. It still works, a cheer is a cheer.

Normally, you’d find Fireball warming, tonight, you find it burning. You almost choke on it, holding it in your mouth for longer than you should’ve, the instant sting had caught you off guard. “Jesus Christ, freshy. Swallow.” It’s like you need a reminder, you’re able to take it down; a shutter takes over your body.

You turn to your lab partner, a sour look on your face. “Why did you let me do that? You’re supposed to be smart.” Ethan holds his hands up, you’re not about to throw him under the bus. “Hey, I tried. You’re the one that only wanted Parker’s opinion.”

SATURDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 9TH. CATHEDRAL HALL.

Peter was dragged out of his bed a little too early for a saturday in his opinion. He woke up to Trent hanging over his bed, poking him harshly on his shoulder. “The fuck do you want, Simpson?” If Peter had to guess what time it was by the shadow in his room, it was pushing early morning.

“Get up. We need to go somewhere.” Peter blinked quickly, dragging a heavy hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Now?” Trent started to stab, Peter slapped his hand away. “The fuck, man?” His president wasn’t playing around. “Get the fuck up, Parker.”

Only when Peter sat up did Trent back away, “don’t wake anyone up. I need you downstairs in five.” When his door was shut, Peter squeezed his eyes shut and allowed himself to taste the idea of sleep one more time. Then, he got up, tugged on sweatpants and a hoodie, and silently crept downstairs.

Peter tried to ask what was going on, and where they were going, but Trent just kept saying, ‘you’ll see,’ and ‘shut the fuck up and trust me.’ It wasn’t until he was walking up the steps to Cathedral hall, he had an odd feeling, a slight buzz in his stomach. It heightened when they took a turn for the girls section.

“Hey, Simpson, if this is a planned parenthood thing-”

“Shut the fuck up, Parker.” Out of nowhere he stopped, Peter almost ran into him. Trent banged on an decorated door, a whiteboard with Ally’s name, the other one had been swiped, the name unclear. “I thought Ally was at the house?” Trent beat the door harder, “she is.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, he was about to ask, yet again, why they were there. The answer came when the door flew open, eyes squinting at the hallway lighting, stands you. “You’re not Ally.”

Peter’s slightly surprised you’re home, he had no idea when or how you left last night. He also doesn’t really care.

“No shit,” you lightly scoffed when Trent shoved his way in, your shoulder hitting the doorframe. “Good morning to you, too, dick.” Peter gently walked in, making sure not to bump against you. It made you smile lightly, “good morning, Peter.” He nodded back, “morning.” Trent bounced on Ally’s bed, it produced a loud creak. “No wonder she’s always at the house.”

You sat on the edge of your own bed, gesturing to the spot next to you or your desk chair for a seating option for Peter; he chose the chair. Peter looked over your face while you woke up, your eyes puffy from being rubbed at, you stretched with arms over your head, a peek of skin showed your stomach.

“You look sick.” It snapped you from your daze, you frowned at Trent. “Thanks, it’s my natural beauty.” Trent pulled a sour look, “that’s what girls look like without makeup?” Peter doesn’t really notice a difference, and that’s not a bad thing. “It’s too early for your shit, Simpson.” He looks towards you, you poke your tongue out at Trent, a childish moment to prove you had someone on your side and not his.

Peter watches you lean back, velvety thighs on display. A hand goes behind your back, a plush resurfaced. Spider-Man sits on your lap, arms wrapped tight around his waist. He thinks it’s a squishmellow of some sort, he remembers he hooked up with a girl last year with at least twenty on her bed. She didn’t have a Spider-Man one though.

“How are you feeling?” You look tired, maybe a little hungover. Little to no energy. Peter thinks it’s the comedown of your previous night's choices. You grin, holding Spider-Man a little tighter. “Like a champ, you?”

Trent scoffs, “enough bullshit, wench. You know why we’re here.” Peter feels the hair on his neck stand up, Trent can be a prick, but he really has a vendetta against you. “Jesus Christ, Simpson. She’s a human being.” It’s the bare minimum, but it still makes you feel warm and fuzzy. “It’s okay, Peter. He’s just mad he can’t satisfy women.”

Trent flies up, “fuck you! I’m doing you a fucking favor and-” Peter stands up just as quick, pushing Trent back down with a hand on his shoulder. “Sit down, Simpson.” With Peter as mediator, you don’t worry about standing up for yourself.

“You’re not doing me a favor, I’m doing you a favor! You’re the one that couldn’t hold up your end of the bargain, you asshole!” Trent fights against Peter’s hold, “you’re the one that came to me!” You throw your Spider-Man to the side and step up, Peter backs up against your chest, literally using his body as a barrier. “You’re the one that involved Peter!”

Peter shoves hard on Trent’s chest, it sends him flying back into Ally’s bed. You step back, Peter’s doing his best to look between the two of you. It’s exasperated, “involved me in what?” It goes silent, you weren’t going to say anything, you were the one who told Trent to fix it. Trent’s the one that brought in Peter, Trent’s the one to surprise you with a visit.

Trent’s breathing is harsh, he’s more worked up than you are. You don’t know if it’s the situation or your comments, but you’re not saying a word until he does. “Look, your friend here, she’s the one that got us the intel on the other frats.” Trent’s a lot more gentle this time around, you think it may have something with the way Peter’s looking at him, daring him to try and make a move.

Peter glances back at you, you look away, a poster more interesting. “She needs something in return and I can’t help her. I told her to ask you and I’d look the other way, but someone had to be difficult.”

“I held up my end, Simpson. You do the same.” Trent huffed, “I fucking told you-” he lowered his voice at Peter’s glare, “- that I couldn’t do anything. I told you to ask Parker and you were the one that stormed out all pissed. I brought him here, isn’t that good enough?”

Your arms cross, no, it wasn’t good enough. “I never wanted to involve Peter, I told you that last night. I just wanted you to figure out a way to fix it.” Trent throws his arm out at Peter, “I did! He’s fucking here! He’s gonna fucking fix it!”

Peter feels like he’s going crazy, “fix what?” His chapter president rubs at his forehead, a heavy sigh. “You need to pledge… Fuck, what was his name?” You roll your eyes, you have little to no hope. “Isaac Barns.” Trent nods, “yeah, him. Parker, all I need you to do is pledge him and this-” an allover gesture to your body, “-goes away.”

Peter takes a second to let it sink in, he almost laughs, but it seems a little too real to be a joke. “Dirty rushing, really? You do know what’s at stake if I say yes, right?” Trent’s jaw looks like it’s about to break into a thousand pieces with the tension it’s under. “Yes, Parker, I know what I’m asking.” Peter runs his tongue over his teeth, “right, so you understand why I have to say no.”

You jump in, your hand on Peter’s arm, pulling him to face you. He’s staring at the placement, it’s sending a burn up and down, radiating heat. You pull away before he can shake your hold off, “please?” Peter steps away from Trent with a final warning glance, “tell me, freshman. Are you in a sorority?” You frown, “no.” He nods, like he already knew the answer. “Right. And are you aware of what could happen to me if I agree?” You have an idea, and it tells you it wouldn’t be good. “That’s if you get caught, you have Trent’s go ahead.”

Peter laughs, he doesn’t give a shit Trent’s right there. “You think I trust him to have my back? He’d throw me under the bus in a second.” Peter doesn’t know what you know, you look in Trent’s eyes when you respond, making it clear that that would never happen. “Then trust me, and trust me when I say he won’t.”

Trent looks away from Peter, he makes the connection in a second.

“What do you have on Simpson?” You sputter, you feel a flush of warmth coat you. “I’m not like… some blackmailer or anything.” Trent shouts out from the bed, “ha!” Your eyes flash to the same poster from before, nothing has changed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. President. Do you want to share with the peanut gallery?” Peter raises his hands, displeased, “don’t insult me and ask for a favor in the same breath.”

“Look, Parker, just fucking pledge the kid, alright? It stays between us. Don’t think I don’t have shit to lose by letting this happen. I have the same risk you do.” Peter disagrees, “you’re not the one pledging.” Trent stands up, “but I’m cutting whoever she tells me. We’re both playing dirty.”

Peter’s trying to think about it logically, he just doesn’t understand why. You have all the answers, they’re only there because of you. “Why?” You pause, “what, this guy your boyfriend or something?” You shake your head quickly, “no, no, no. Not at all. He doesn’t even know I’m doing this. He’s just a person I know who’s rushing, that’s it.”

Peter kisses his teeth and shakes his head in disbelief, “yeah, I don’t know about that.” Total defeat, you were at a loss. Your answer was Trent, if Peter wouldn’t do it, Trent needed to find someone who would. “Trent,” it comes out as a whine, a defiant toddler pointing at Peter.

“C’mon, Parker. Think about this. You’re smarter than your own good.” Peter sizes his president up, he really doesn’t like what he’s implying. “And I’m supposed to trust you?” You push on Peter’s arm, “no, you’re supposed to trust me. Trent won’t touch you, no matter your answer. Even though I really wish it was yes.”

Peter’s doing his best to push down all emotion, because if he wasn’t, he’d find out that he wanted to say yes. Just because you asked him. And that’s not who he is, or what he does. He’s known you for a week and he’s about to put his entire academic career at hand, it’s dehumanizing to himself. Witch.

“Fine.” You cheer, Peter’s whipped into a side hug. He claws your arms away from him, “I didn’t say yes. I’ll think about it, okay?” You nod, it’s enough for you, “thank you so much, Peter. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Trent throws his hands up, “hello? You’re welcome.” You sneer at him, “you did nothing but put it all on Peter.” Peter tilts his head, he didn’t think about it like that, but you’re right. “You’re insufferable and will never find a man to put up with that.” That was a blow, a harsh one at that. You’re pretty good at brushing things off, or firing back, but Trent went a little too far. He hit that deep down, hidden, insecurity.

You just really wanted to go back to sleep, the thought of Peter in your room no longer slightly excited you. You just wanted to be alone. “Jesus fucking Christ, Trent. Who the fuck says shit like that?” You shrug, “it’s obvious he was just giving me constructive criticism.” You try to joke, it doesn’t really work.

Peter looks down at you, it’s like you sunk down into the floor. Trent made you feel small. “It’s not funny, nothing about that was funny. That was fucked up, Simpson, the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s not an ounce of remorse on his face either, “sorry.” Peter wants to break his arm, instead he shoves him towards the door, nothing near gentle. “You’re a fucking dick.”

“Yeah, and you just wanna stick yours in her.” If he wouldn’t be at grounds of expulsion from the frat, Peter would’ve laid him the fuck out right then and there. “Shut the fuck up, Simpson. Just leave it alone.” He does, and throws the door open before parting you with a middle finger.

Peter pauses at the door, his eyes on your figure. It’s not like he cares about you or anything, Trent was a dick, an uncalled for amount of mean. “Don’t listen to him, he’s still reeling from that ‘can’t please a woman,’ comment.” You give a small smile, “thanks, Peter.”

Peter’s hand holds the door handle, a tight lipped grin. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like he just has to tell you. Clearing his throat, “hey, freshman?” You perk up, he finds himself looking down at your mouth, eyes trailing towards your collarbone. Peter stops himself, it’s not about that right now.

“You’re not… you’re not totally insufferable.”

Something about it makes you explode, you can’t stop the cheek hurting grin. For a second, Peter matches it. “Are you saying I’ll find a man to put up with me?” Peter shrugs a shoulder, “the world is pretty big, freshman. There’s gotta be at least one.”

At least Peter won’t think you’ll die alone, he might even be at your side. “Thanks, Peter. For everything. And for thinking about it, it means a lot to me.” Peter closing the door on himself, he briefly pauses, “just because I said I’d think about it, doesn’t mean I’ll do it.” You nod, “I know.”

“Good. I just didn’t want you to get disappointed.” Your eyes brighten, “you care about disappointing me?”

It goes unanswered, instead, Peter takes a deep inhale. “I’ll see you around.” With that, you were alone with Spider-Man once more.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 12TH, ESU DINING HALL.

The plastic chair next to Peter slides out, nickel legs scratch the tile underneath them.

“So, how are we feeling about a verdict?”

Peter doesn’t even flinch, he takes a bite of his sandwich. It was better before it was ruined by the presence of a demonic presence. Your hands drum on the table like you’re building yourself up for a yes, Peter thinks it’s funny you find him so easy.

“It’s been two days, freshman.” You huff dramatically, “not a freshman.”

“You act like one.”

This is the part where you question your attraction towards him, it’s proof to the saying ‘you can’t pick who you love.’ You lean closer, it’s not about semantics. Peter pulls back when you get too close, he must be scared of another hug.

“It’s a pretty easy answer, Peter. If you won’t do it, fine. But your president better figure out another way and quickly. We already have the PNM list, you make the choice sunday.”

It isn’t his problem but the more he knows about it, the more it becomes his. Peter can’t deny the curiosity, for a witch you have no real magic, beyond what you’ve casted on him.

Peter sighs, “alright, explain it to me. Sell it to me.” You sit straighter and fix your hair, clearing your throat you interlock your fingers on the table and begin to pitch. “I’m going on the ski trip this year, yay you.” You pout dramatically, “I needed money because my boyfriend isn’t a member of the frat and I wasn’t budgeted in.” Your words were a nod towards Ally, as if she couldn’t pay for it herself if she needed to.

Peter wants to bang his head against the table, there’s no fucking way he had to spend a week with you in a house. That’s constant communication. That’s hell.

“We bet every year on a member that makes it in, if we win, we get the money. I upped the stakes this year, and I know someone who signed up to rush.” You smile and poke at his arm, it’s solid. Peter looks down at your finger, you pull back and finish.

“That’s where you come in. You pick him.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest while he tilts his chair back, he’s mulling it over in his mind. He looks over your face while he pokes at his cheek with his tongue, if that’s his concentration face, you hope to make him think a lot more.

“What do I get out of it?” In Peter’s mind, it’s a bit unfair. He’s putting his reputation, spot in the frat and possibly academic probation on the line. And he gets nothing out of it. He doesn’t even want anything in return, or nothing he can think of at the moment at least. It still feels like he has to bargain for something, he’d regret it later.

You try to hide the shock, you didn’t think Peter was that kind of guy. You didn’t know him, but you didn’t take him for a sexual favors type of person. You wanted to hook up with him, sure. But when he felt like it was owed to him, it felt icky.

“Oh,” you look around the room, your voice lowers. The deal took a dirty turn. “What, um…” You look back at him before escaping eye contact, you don’t feel as bold. “What did you have in mind?”

You didn’t hide the shock well, Peter’s chair is back on four legs with a slam. “No, god no.” Okay, he wasn’t asking for sex, but god no? Peter worded it wrong, you took it as a personal offense. “Not…” He’s not even going to try and explain that one out, he ditches the part where he would try to say ‘not that I wouldn’t have sex with you, because I would, but…’

“I’m not asking for you to fuck me, I just meant I’m putting a lot on the line for a girl who assaulted me and a guy I barley like.” Assault is a harsh word, you’d fight him on it but the last part mattered more. You could give him the dirt on Trent, he said if anyone knew he would prefer it to be Peter.

“Wanna know what I have on Trent?” You have his attention, suddenly Peter looks very interested in what you have to say. He nibbles on his bottom lip for a second before nodding, for this part, you really lean in.

“He failed out. The school sent him a letter saying he was dismissed, he had a fourteen average.” Peter’s trying to connect the dots, for once, he truly had no idea what was going on in the frat house. “His dad donated eighty-six grand, anonymously, and the next day? Bam. Reenlisted and all roles reinstated, like nothing ever happened.” Peter’s not surprised one bit, it’s very on brand for the Simpson family, to pay their way out of trouble. At least he can say you didn’t leave him empty handed, it’s good ammo to have in the back of his pocket.

“I’ll consider your request more seriously.” It’s something, and you’ll celebrate it, you pull him into a hug, just for a quick second to squeal in his ear. You’re shrugged off in a second, you don’t care. “Thank you! See, I just knew I picked the good one!”

The good one?

You’re up and pushing the seat in, your bag hung over a shoulder. “I’ll see you friday?” In relation to the weekly party, he nods slowly, like you’re an idiot. “I do live there, yes.” You’re unfazed, you’ve come to realize he’s just a mildly grumpy person. It’s mostly cute.

“Will you let me know then, is that enough time?” Peter will do anything to have you leave, he wants five minutes of peace with his lunch before he has thermodynamics. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” Your eyes sparkle, he has to look back at his plate. “Thank you, Peter. You’re the bestest.”

You really, truly are a witch. Because his sandwich tasted a whole lot sweeter when you walked away. It turned into sog the second you placed yourself at Ally and Paul’s table. Ally’s eyes flashing over to his, a grin when he was caught looking your way. He finished in record time, he needed to get out of the room, it was starting to get a little too warm for his comfort.

Ally started in the second you placed yourself across from her, eyes flashing to where you previously were. “Hanging out with Parker?” You shrug, if it helps getting her off your back, it helps. “He’s cute.” A squeal, she pulls at her boyfriend's arm. “Did you hear that? Matty, ask Parker if he’s into her.”

Matt crushes a coke can, a burp follows. “No.” Ally’s face scrunches up, “why not?” Matt’s swiping at his phone, you can’t tell what game he’s playing, the glare from the lights are too bad. “Cause it’s not my business, or yours.” Ally pulls away from him entirely, her arms crossed over her chest in a huff. Uh oh, she’s mad.

“Babe, can you get me a water? My wallet is in my backpack.” When she makes no move, he peeks over, “please? I can’t pause this level.” It’s a huff from his girlfriend, “what? You’re mad at me now? Look, I can’t even ask him if I wanted to, he’s leaving.” You look over your shoulder, Peter’s walking out with headphones stuffed in his ears, blind to the outside noise. How lucky.

“Yeah, good thing you don’t live together or anything, Matt.” It has his total attention, “no need for that hostility, honey. If you want me to ask, I’ll ask.” It’s the right move, and he played right into Ally’s hand. A cluster of kisses to his cheek, “thank you, Matty. Love you.” A smile’s back on his face, his reward was his request being honored.

The second Ally’s out of earshot you laugh at her boyfriend. “She plays you like a fool.”

Matt doesn’t care one bit. “Yeah, love makes you do that. You’ll find out, she-devil.”

You just hope you’re not the fool.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13TH, QUEENS, NEW YORK.

A six car pileup on the bridge caught Spider-Man’s attention, adrenalin courses his veins, any traces of that six egg omelet from Linda weighing him down vanishes. A screech of his name, he clocks it instantly. A woman, barely fourty. Spider-Man knows who it is, it’s the reporter that called him a Spider-Menace last week. Oh, how the mighty fall.

A head tilt at the woman, she’s panicking. Thrashing in her seat, crumpled between glass and leather. She’s begging him for help, he watches for a moment before speaking over the screams. “Calm down, I’m gonna help you. Just felt like being a menace.” Tears, she speed runs apologies, tells him it’s just a job and her son loves him.

“Alright, alright, come here.’ A grown woman, clinging to his hip is almost comedic. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” Spider-Man doesn’t need to hear it a million times, it doesn’t mean much to him after the first one. “You’re alright, just wait over here for the fire department, okay?”

There’s countless other shouts, he’s already running back up the freeway. Spider-Man has no plans to stay in the city after this, no, instead Peter is going to take the long train back and listen to a podcast. But right now, Spider-Man has a job to do.

CATHEDRAL HALL.

Three copies of the same page, everyone calls a name.

Ally starts, “I call Conner Frise.”

Prince next, “Sam Mason.”

Ally pokes your shoulder, “c’mon, what’s your pick?”

You pretend to think about it, two pairs of eyes waiting expectantly. You grin, “Isaac Barns.” Confidence spills, “and I’m gonna win.”

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 15TH, SIGMA NU CHAPTER HOUSE

Peter’s clouded in infatuation. If he was animated, he’d have hearts and stars swirling around his head. Maybe it was the booze that had him feeling so loose, for once dropping the urge to push you away, and to pull you closer. Or maybe it was you. All he could smell was your perfume, it choked him in the right ways. Something he’d be smelling long after you were gone, something that made him want to breathe in against your neck.

You haven’t left him alone all night, circling back over and over until all he could think about was you, you, you.

He didn’t know a neck could be so pretty, how he’d kiss over your pulse and hope it would race as much as his. And he never really noticed hair, until it framed your face. Peter was never much on picking up sounds, but now he’s heard your laugh, the one he pulled from you, he’d never be able to unhear it.

And your voice. It whispered a song into his ears, it sent him leaning in, begging for more of the inflections. Peter didn’t care what you were talking about, as long as you were speaking to him, he’d listen. He wasn’t one to notice clothes, only when they fit just right or left little to the imagination. But on you, everything was your color.

Peter can’t think of anything else but your lips, they’re puffed while you spin words. Velvet tumbles produced, hints of a smile around your ‘S’s. It’s like you don’t notice him getting closer, as he steps forward, you step back. You weren’t trying to escape, it was subconscious, you were making more room for him, you don't realize he doesn't want space.

“It was really kind of sad, because the whole time you were rooting for the main character,” he’d asked you about a book he saw in your room. He doesn’t really care about it.

“Right,” one step closer.

“But then it all comes down at the end and you realize he really wasn’t a good guy,” Peter takes another step, your back brushes the brick wall. Little pricks dig into your shirt, it doesn’t stop you.

“And then?”

You smile, “this is where it gets good,” Peter leans his hand on the wall next to your head, you make no notice. “It is.” It’s more of a statement than a question, he’s relaying it to his own situation.

“You find out he set up his friend,” it was the twist, you’d been setting it up, but Peter has no reaction. You wonder if he was even listening to you, maybe it would’ve been better if he had read it himself.

“Are you listening to me? Cause I just kind of just spoiled the whole thing.”

Peter can’t stop himself, he leans in. His head hangs low, you raise your chin to look in his eyes. How have you still not picked up on his hints? “Why’d he set him up?” You hum, a sparkle forms in your eyes, he was listening.

“Well, if we're talking about my personal analysis, I think it’s cause-”

Your lips are pillowy, puffed under his mouth as they’re wrapped around your words. Your skin is warm under his hands, he can feel your hips burning his palms over your clothes. Peter tugs you closer while simultaneously pushing you further into the brick, when you hum into his kiss, he licks your bottom lip.

Open mouth kisses, your hands tug at the curls on the back of his neck, he’s not one for girls playing with his hair. But you, he wants you to touch wherever you want. He can’t fucking breathe, but he doesn’t care, you’re enough of a breath of fresh air. Peter feels more alive in this moment than he has in a long time.

You pull from him, puffs of air tumble. Peter’s desperate for more, you’re just so sweet. Wet marks dot from your jaw to your neck, your hands tug at the lapels of his flannel. “Peter,” it’s breathless, he wonders if it’s the kiss or him.

Hands tuck under your thighs, you gasp as you’re pulled up to equal height on the wall. Your legs loosely straddle his waist, nails digging into his shoulder when he hums over the middle of your throat between gentle bites and smoothing his tongue over the attack. “Fuck,” it’s a whimper, you don’t mean to, but fuck.

Maybe he shouldn’t have cornered you like this, but what’d you expect looking at him like that?

Peter retraces his steps, all you can think is that he tastes as sweet as he feels. It was everything you’d been pining for, and more. You were screaming in color, each grip of his hands felt like water paint, soaking deep and spreading.

Would it be selfish if you wished he felt the same?

“Parker, you out here?”

You squeak, your feet hit the ground. Peter’s head is spinning, his instinct to get as far away as possible. “Yeah,” it’s airy. He clears his throat, you look over his face, he’s avoiding eye contact. “Peter,” you feel a jolt when he backs away. A stab when he steps around the corner, you try to follow, he’s quicker.

You feel everything crumble when you realize he doesn’t want anyone to know he was with you.

“Where you at? We’re mixing everclear for the PNM’s.”

“Peter,” it’s on deaf ears. He doesn’t even look at you, how could he kiss you like that and then act like it was nothing? Why would he kiss you like that if it meant nothing?

“Right here,” you watch his back disappear. “Tequila if we’re evil, beer to make them puke.” His frat brother laughs, “you’re a sick man, Parker.”

It really, really doesn’t feel nice to be left behind in the cold. Especially when he just made you feel so warm. And it really doesn’t feel right when you want to cry, and it feels humiliating when you give him a grace period, just so you didn’t follow him from the back of the house. Just so no one would see you, just so no one would know what just happened.

Just so you could keep it to yourself.

You feel nothing when a shoulder hits yours, your fingers feel hot from the contrast of the breezy outdoors to the crowded, humid room of bodies. Ally’s arm hangs over your neck, you want to scream.

Peter’s eyes catch your frown, he should’ve done more. But if he doesn’t understand anything, how would his frat brothers? He feels bad, and a little more sober than he should be, a little too sober to have done what he just did. A line of shots, Peter adds an two extra, but he doesn’t add everclear, he chooses Fireball.

A pink, plastic shot glass slid in front of you. You look up, Peter’s waiting and watching, he raises his own. “Cheers, freshman.” It’s something, he’s waiting on your call, you’re so close and you can’t blow it now. You plaster on a smile and shake Ally’s arm off, you raise it up.

“Cheers, Parker.”

Peter must’ve had more than he thinks, because wow, what a gross feeling.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 17TH, SIGMA NU CHAPTER HOUSE

Peter does his best to be a good person, part of that is knowing when you fuck up. And what he did at his party on friday, was a fuck up. It wasn’t that he particularly cared about you, or your feelings, but he could admit that he pulled a shitty move. So shitty he dodged you the rest of the night and left you high and dry with his answer about your favor.

You didn’t even have a way to try and contact him, other than beating down his door but even you knew that would be a bad idea. Which leads him to now, standing on the front lawn, with thirty two potential pledges.

Peter’s turn to bid. A terrible idea. But all he could think about was getting back in your good graces and how much it fucking annoyed him to want that. Peter can feel Trent’s eyes burning into him, he takes a step forward, boldness in his chest.

“I bid Isaac Barns.”

It would either be the worst or best decision of his life and for whatever reason, you’re worth the gamble.

CATHEDRAL HALL

its.parker requested to follow you.

Your eyes widened, suddenly you’re very awake. Peter’s the one that kissed you, Peter’s the one that walked away, Peter’s the one that ignored you. Peter’s the one that followed you. Mixed messages, but it proved something. It wasn’t his main with ten pictures, it was his personal, his finsta, the one full of his personality.

You nibble on your bottom lip, it shouldn’t be that easy for him. Tapping on his account you hit the request button, just because you follow him doesn’t mean he gets to follow you. Mind spinning, you replay friday night again.

The tension eased and multiplied in one action. Peter had made you feel butterflies in the deepest pits of your stomach, when he kissed down your neck, when he wrapped your legs around his waist, when he went in for more, when he kissed you first.

Even thinking about it makes your cheeks hurt from a grin, you squeal out and kick your feet in your bed. Peter Parker kissed you, and it meant something. It had to, something tells you that Peter doesn’t jump without thinking.

Peter’s holding his breath while refreshing his page, still no notifications. He’s worried he blew it that night, not that it matters, it was just a kiss. Everyone kisses, if you really think about it, kisses don’t mean much. At least that’s what he tells himself.

spider.luvr66 requested to follow you.

If he acts now, he’d be a bit crazy. You hadn’t responded to him, but he doesn’t care. He’ll wait a couple minutes, then respond. It feels like his brain is melting, he’s not supposed to, and doesn’t feel like this. It’s against who he is now.

But, fuck, you make it difficult for him to not think about you. Peter swears you’re a witch.

Accept. spider.luvr66 is now following you.

Follow request accepted, you are now following its.parker.

You sit up, it was quick, you wonder if he was waiting for the notification. It doesn’t matter, you have the Peter Parker bible in your hands, and you were about to do some research.

You finally had access to his posts, and you were about to scroll through every single one. But the most recent one was the most important of all. A picture of Peter, crossed arms back to back with a slightly familiar face. The caption told you everything you needed to know about Peter.

‘big brother season.’

You had your bid and he posted the proof.

Whatever he did friday was forgiven. That wasn’t who he was, but this, putting himself on the line for you, this was his true character and whether he wanted you to notice that or not, you did.

And it was a bold act for a guy who pretended he didn’t kiss you breathless.

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker blurb #tasm!peter x you #frat!peter parker #frat!peter #uni #my writing

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finelinevogue · 2 years ago

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birthday boy

summary - harry’s birthday party ends up with cake frosting in his hair and your eyes

warnings: twinge of sadness but like it’s barely even there tbh, swearing, kissing, lots n lots of frosting

word count: +2.3k

pairing: fiancé!harry x reader

“Anyone need a top up?”

You were laughing with Glenne as she finished telling a funny story about her new intern. You couldn’t really hear what the story had been about, due to the obscene amount of noise in the room, but you laughed anyway.

“Yes please!” Glenne slurred, drunk on her birthday alcohol.

You were just as drunk, not because it was your birthday but because it was your fiancé’s birthday.

“Me too, please!” You held out your glass flute as the kind server poured more champagne into it, after topping up Glenne’s first.

After you’d both thanked the server politely, you both returned to your conversations with each other. You’d both just needed a moment away from crowds to catch up on the evening gossip so far, so you’d come to sit on the velvet sofas in the corner of the room.

“Y/N, I have to say, you did a fabulous job on decorations this year.” Glenne cheered.

“I did?”

You looked around the room and evaluated what you had achieved. The mirrorball in the middle of the room shone a thousand diamonds down onto the dance floor, which was a black and white chessboard set up. There were fairy lights hung up around the walls. A balloon arch was in another corner of the room, where there was a rose wall behind it, for photo opportunities.

“Yeah! I love it!” Glenne looked around the room too, taking in all your hard work. “Jeff could never pull off something like this.”

It had taken you a couple of hours to set up the decorations and Harry had been all pouty that you had to leave him for so long on his birthday, but when you’d showed him what you’d been up to he fell in love with you a little bit more.

“I would’ve said neither could Harry, but something tells me he actually could.” You laughed, Glenne laughing along with you.

“Speaking of Harry… Have you two decided on a date yet?” Glenne nudged your leg with her heeled foot.

“Maybe May? I… We don’t know yet.” You sighed, shoulders slumping thinking about how you and Harry couldn’t agree on the perfect date for your wedding. “I mean, my dad can’t make any time in April, but Harry’s dad can’t make any time in June and we definitely want to be married before July, but…”

“Babe, woah, slow down. Y/N, this wedding, no matter how much you don’t want to upset anyone, is about you and Harry. It’s the one day in your life, apart from your birthday, where you get to be selfish. Take it as an opportunity to build a wedding day that you want, not anyone else.”

“Yeah you’re right.” You said so quietly not even Glenne heard.

“H’s version of a perfect wedding will be a day where you’re nothing short of perfectly happy.” Glenne shot back the rest of her champagne and placed it on the table in front of you two. “So, really, plan whatever you want.”

“Yeah” You nodded and placed your half full glass on the table too. “Alright, excuse me, I’m just going to go to the bathroom.”

“Sure.” She nodded and stood up herself, pulling down her short skirt and tottling off to find Jeff.

You walked past flurries of people, waving hello to people across the room who caught your eye. A lot of people you didn’t know, but Jeff had told you to send invites to because Harry and Glenne would know them. They were mainly Hollywood people that worked in the music industry, but there were a couple of faces you did know.

Gemma Chan was there and you made sure she knew you’d come and steal her away later for a catch up. Asif Ali was also there and you would have to go see him too, in order to bring some more smiles to your face.

After you’d finished in the toilets you walked back into the room to see a congregation in the middle of the room. Since you had organised the event and had no additional entertainment booked other than the live band, you were curious to see what was going on.

When you got to the back of the circle, trying to peer over the tall people at the back, you noticed Glenne sat on a chair with her back to Harry who was sat on another chair.

You could tell by the look in your fiancés eyes that he was very tipsy. His hair was messy on the top of his head from all the dancing around he had been doing this evening. He still hadn’t pulled you for a dance yet, but you two had been separated ever since you’d walked inside the venue. Harry was whisked away by Jeff to meet people, having a drink each time he came across someone new, and before you knew it he was dancing to Gloria Gaynor with the chief executive of Columbia.

You missed him.

When it came to events like these, even though it was actually his birthday, he was always so whisked up in the business side of it that you had to entertain yourself. It was never that Harry abandoned you, but you would rather not have to over-socialise. You put it down to your social anxiety and fear of social burnout.

“Now, a little surprise for my two best friends.” Jeff spoke into a microphone so he could be heard by everyone.

Some sensual music started playing and you automatically assumed that it was strippers. Your heart sunk at the thought of Harry having a gorgeous girl straddle him and perform intimate positions with him. It would be unkind of Jeff if he had planned something like that. Your heart lightened when you saw Jeff stand in front of Glenne and start pulling off his jacket sexily, before rounding to Harry’s side and wiggling his bum in Harry’s face. Harry’s drunk self slapped Jeff’s bum and everyone laughed. Even you.

Harry looked around the crowd, his eyes not pausing their movement until they met yours. The mischievous glint in his eyes made you wonder what he was thinking. No doubt it was something to do with wanting you as his lap dance, rather than Jeff. Jeff was doing a good job though, making everyone laugh and making his wife embarrassed that she ever married him. Luckily everyone was too drunk to care.

After Jeff buttoned his shirt back up and put his jacket on, he was handed back the microphone, nodded at you and you knew that was your queue to go and get the cake. They were sharing a cake, as they often did, so you picked it up from the kitchen with its candles and sparklers in before carrying it back carefully.

When you returned to the room, the lights went dim and the birthday tune started to play. People made way for you to squeeze through the crowd as you walked towards the birthday kids.

You smiled when Harry’s gaze caught yours. He mouthed ‘wow’ at you, but you knew he wasn’t saying it about the cake. As you stopped short in front of both Glenne and Harry, they stood together whilst people finished the song. You sang out too, looking at Harry the entire time and watched his smile remain constant as he watched you sing out.

The cake was heavy and Harry must have noticed because he picked up the side closest to him and took the weight off you slightly. As the song finished Harry and Glenne both shared the job of blowing out the candles.

Jeff helped take off the candles and sparkler to clear the cake so it was just a plain cake remaining. Harry took the opportunity to try and smash Glenne’s face into the cake, but she restrained enough to resist the force of his hand. Harry wasn’t paying attention to Jeff though and missed him coming behind him and pushed his head down into the cake, until it was too late. The side of his face and a loose curl of hair got caught up in the frosting and people cheered as he made a mess of his face.

You laughed as he stood back up and licked the frosting from the corner of his mouth, as if that was all there was to clean up. You stood still holding the cake and looking at Harry with endearment. He looked so soft and cuddly, and maybe a little delicious too.

“What are you laughing at?” Harry asked, as he lifted the strand of hair back onto his head even when it was still full of vanilla frosting.

You shook your head and laughed at him, knowing he would be a mess to clean up later. It wasn’t a second later after that thought that Harry used his own hand to push your face into the cake this time. He also pulled your head back, using your hair, so you didn’t suffocate inside the sponge. You managed to get more on your face, looking like you were wearing a face mask. So much so you couldn’t open your eyes.

“Fucking dickhead.” You muttered, but it turned into a chuckle because you were drunk and didn’t care.

Harry must have asked someone else to get a hand on the cake so it wasn’t your responsibility anymore. It wasn’t like it was very edible to anyone, considering it now had to face impressions in it.

You felt Harry take your hands, your eyes still closed from the frosting, and you could feel him guiding you through the crowds of people. His hands were warm and even though you couldn’t see whether it was him that was leading you off, you could feel it in your hands that it was Harry.

No one else's hands felt like home other than his.

His hands cupped perfectly in yours and you tailed him like a bind and lovesick puppy. His polite excuses to get through the crowd made him feel closer to you also, his voice so comforting.

When the crowd noise disappeared you assumed you must have been in a quieter room now.

“Harry where are…”

You couldn’t ask him more than that because his lips were on yours. And they were his because no one else's lips felt like home other than his. They were perfect against yours, moving over yours with such delicate precision that only came with knowing how best to kiss you. Harry knew exactly how you liked to be kissed and he was doing everything you wanted. His hands were even cupped in the right places under your jaw.

“You taste like frosting.” He chuckled.

You laughed with him, probably looking silly with frosting in your eyes. Harry had frosting in his hair though and there was no one that you’d rather be in this situation in rather than him.

“Happy birthday, H.”

“Thank you.” He said softly.

You felt Harry’s fingers wipe carefully over your eyes and relieve them of frosting. You opened your eyes carefully to watch Harry lick the frosting off his fingers with his tongue. He then brought his other finger to your lips to allow you to lick it clean, which he watched with beady eyes as you did.

“Good frosting.” You hummed in delight, knowing you had made the right call with the vanilla, not strawberry, frosting.

“Mm. Tasted better off your face.”

You laughed, hitting him softly over his ribs, “Oh, stop it you.”

“Never.” He shook his head and smiled at how he managed to make you laugh.

“I hope you had a good night tonight.”

Harry had looked like he had had a good night, but you could never be too sure until you asked him. He was very good at putting on a front, especially in show business , but with you he was nothing but honest.

“I loved it, baby, I really did. Just wish I got to spend more time with you. I mean, I love my friends and, y’know, all of them other people… but they’re not you.”

You pouted, somehow wishing you could’ve spent more time with him. You tried your hardest to finish all the decorations as quickly as possible, but you were a perfectionist so it did take longer than originally planned. As for the party itself, you couldn’t stop him from talking to people, no matter how badly you did want him all to yourself.

“Sorry.”

“No, baby, there’s nothing you need to be sorry for. Just one of those things, where too many people want my attention and yet I only want yours.” He shrugged his shoulders and he made you smile.

“You always have my attention.” You promised him, cupping his cheek softly.

“And I’ll try to give you more of mine this year. In fact, come my next birthday you’ll be sick of me.” He chuckled and stepped closer to you, not liking the 10cm of space between you.

“Could never get sick of you, H. Never.”

“Feelings mutual, lovie.”

He leant down to kiss you again, kissing your bottom lip with his and sucking on it lightly. His lips grounded you and reminded you that he was right here and he was all yours. You kissed back with force, wanting to show how much you really did love him, pushing into his lips with your own.

A minute later and your lips both raw from such loving kissing, you gave each other one last peck.

“More of that later, baby. For now, let’s go the chippy? I’m fucking starving.” Harry whined.

“Alright, birthday boy, let’s go.” And the rest of the evening was filled with chips, gravy and lots and lots of love.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fic #harry styles birthday #harry styles 29 birthday #fic rec harry styles #masterlist finelinevogue #harry styles fluff

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writing-intheundercroft · 5 months ago

Text

Bite The Hand

AO3 Link

Pairing: Auror!Sebastian x F!MC

Word Count: 7,717

Rating: E (Smut, MDNI - M!Masturbation, M!Receiving Oral Sex)

Summary: Sebastian Sallow bites the hand that feeds him. Or, the years spent between your break up and the events of The Night Shift.

A/N: Auror!Seb took a vacation in my mind, and I never meant to let him relax this long. So, here's an excruciating prologue I've been writing over the past few months for him. If you have not yet, I highly recommend reading The Night Shift before this, which was one of my first one shots!

Sebastian sits on the old stone fence lining the exterior of Feldcroft; he swirls the beer bottle in his hand before lifting it to his lips, taking a thick swig. His eyes are red, and he’s far too drunk, but it doesn’t matter–the pictures have been taken, and no one at the party is missing him too much. Perhaps Anne, but she’s far too busy entertaining everyone in her white dress to separate herself from her new husband’s arm. Ominis looks positively dashing, proudly swaying with Anne in his arms. Sebastian has known since they were twelve they’d probably end up married someday, and he’s happy to see them together.

After delivering a proud speech to honor his sister and twirling her on the dance floor, he indulges a bit too much in the bar Garreth Weasley has put together for the event, downing bottle after bottle of the ginger’s experimental enhanced ale. Choosing to peruse the gift table over dancing in the hamlet square, Sebastian begins appraising the parcels. He’s shaking each box, trying to guess what gifts might be inside, when his eyes land on a neatly wrapped box. There’s a lovely velvet bow affixed to the top, and the note seems to call his name. He tears the tag away, eyes roving over the familiar handwriting. Gripping the beer bottle in his free hand, he stumbles through the field to find some privacy.

Sebastian holds the gift tag, the rough pad of his finger swiping over the swirly cursive. It’s stupid, he thinks, to have thought you would have come. Anne had warned him that she was sending you an invitation despite the distance you’d put between yourself and the friend group. Sebastian had felt sick over it for weeks–either you’d arrive at Anne and Ominis’s wedding alone and he’d have to own up to his mistakes, or worse, you’d arrive, happy with a man on your arm.

Happy and content, the two things Sebastian is pretending to be.

Sebastian loosens his white cravat, letting it fall into the mud below him. He is happy, he thinks. Sebastian Sallow knows he’s an absolute fucking catch. The department of magical law enforcement’s most eligible bachelor, people have said. He has several badges, praising his heroics as an auror. He hasn’t unintentionally left the bar alone in months, something he’s bragged about with the lads. Girlfriends are nothing but trouble, and he’s quite vocal about how glad he is that he wasn’t trapped into marriage at a young age. That comment usually garnered him some laughs at the bar–it was less successful at a wedding, let alone the wedding of his best friend and twin sister, who were getting married at the youthful age of twenty one.

Sebastian pulls the tag up to his eyes, squinting at it once more. He’s searching it for any underlying clues, a note he’s missed.

So sorry I couldn’t be there. Sending my love.

He scowls. Sorry my arse, he repeats in his head. That's surely a lie–you’d never been sorry a day in your relationship, let alone at the end of it. He probably shouldn’t be as bitter about your breakup after three years, but happy events like this only reinforce the overwhelming emptiness he feels when it comes to relationships.

Perhaps one should never date their best friend, he thinks. The love lost from your break up has tainted most of his happy memories, and his stomach only ever churns when he thinks of you.

He has no idea if you’re even still in London, or if you decided to try out a stint in America or Spain, like you always dreamt of doing when you were teenagers. Sometimes he thinks he sees you on the streets of Diagon Alley. A wisp of your hair, someone with the same nose. He hears your laugh sometimes in the pub, but it’s not you. It’s never really you, but the thought, the hope, it stokes a fire. A fire that tells him he would fall to his knees if he ever saw you again, kiss your feet, apologize for having yelled, for thinking that a man would ever walk away from the person he loved because he felt threatened. It was the only time he’d ever lost faith in your relationship, wavering when a pretty girl batted her eyelashes at him in the bar. After your fight, he’d gone to Ominis’s apartment for the evening to get some space, but found your shared flat empty in the morning.

He never lets the fire grow too big. He’s spent the last three years dampening it with cheap booze, recklessness at work, and girls that never last more than a few weeks at a time.

With glassy eyes, Sebastian looks out to the empty fields. It wasn’t like he was actually planning on proposing–the two of you were just eighteen, after all. But sitting in the front row, watching his best friend swear unyielding love to his twin sister, Sebastian found himself overcome with emotion. Sure, you’d been too young then, but he’d always pictured you standing next to the vicar, wearing a pretty white dress.

He tries to think of that memory, but your face is coming up blank. Perhaps he’s too drunk, or perhaps it’s been too long.

“Fuck!” Sebastian roars, throwing the beer bottle.

He can hear it crash in the distance as his head falls into his hands.

Sebastian hops off the fence, wobbling on his feet. The music gets softer and softer as he puts distance between himself and the party; he’s in no mood, and he’s bound to ruin the wedding if he stays any longer. Without another thought, he pulls his wand out of his pocket, apparating back home.

Sebastian doesn’t hear from Ominis or Anne for a few weeks; he assumes the happy couple are enjoying their honeymoon in Lisbon. Ominis’s pretty little owl arrives at his window one day, a scrap of parchment requesting his presence at their home.

Sebastian excitedly replies, promising to be over on his next day off. He wonders if they’ve gotten their wedding portraits back yet, or if they got any duplicate wedding gifts that might suit his bachelor pad. He’s been needing a new frying pan, might as well steal their old one.

Sebastian cheerfully takes a handful of floo powder, clearly enunciating Anne and Ominis’s address as he drops the dust in the fireplace. Green flames burst around him, and he opens his eyes to see Ominis’s mahogany paneled study. The blonde is sitting at his desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“Sebastian,” Ominis has a cold look on his face.

“Morning, Om.” Sebastian grins. “Hell of a party. Wedding of the year, I’d wager.” He walks out of the fireplace, brushing soot off of his waistcoat. “How was the honeymoon?”

“It was lovely,” Ominis says nonchalantly. “Anne quite enjoyed the sun.” he walks over to his best friend, carefully rolling up his sleeves. Sebastian furrows his eyebrows as Ominis stows his wand in his pocket, moving his wedding ring from his left to his right.

Without another thought, Ominis pulls back, sucker punching him.

“What the fuck,” Sebastian spits, eyes watering as he rubs his jaw.

Ominis smoothly puts his wedding ring back on, crossing his arms. “That’s for ruining our wedding, you selfish dimwit. Anne was beside herself for days because of you.”

Sebastian hears the door open; Anne, looking quite sunkissed and freckled, slips into the room.

“Your husband just punched me!” Sebastian complains.

His twin sister shrugs, sitting on top of Ominis’s desk. “You deserved it.” she scoffs. “You invited not one, but two women to be your guest at our wedding, and then fucked off into a field to get drunk and left without saying goodbye. Nearly thought the two would rip each other’s hair out on the dance floor when they realized your mistake.”

“I did not,” Sebastian retorts, crossing his arms.

“Anastasia and Alexandra,” Ominis sighs. “I think you owe both of them an apology, if they ever speak to you again.”

Sebastian’s face heats up as he puts the pieces together. Well, now it made sense why Alexandra, the waitress at the Leaky Cauldron, had spilled his beer onto him and stalked off. Even more so that Anastasia, one of the timekeepers for the auror office, had burst into tears when she saw him at work. She’d put in her two weeks notice, spitting on his shoes as she passed by with a box of her personal effects in hand.

“I think we’re going to laugh about this eventually,” Sebastian suggests.

Ominis’s face twists with displeasure. “They tore Anne’s veil.”

“Okay, it’ll take a few years.” Sebastian sputters in response, nervously eyeing his twin sister.

Anne stands up, her hands balled up into fists at her side. “It wasn’t just my veil, Sebastian.” she seethes. “It was Mum’s veil–”

Sebastian’s eyes widen. “No,” he squeaks, utterly horrified.

Anne’s eyes were watering. “Mum’s veil,” she croaks. “Dug it out of storage, had it restored just for the wedding, and those women you invited destroyed it, fighting over you. Meanwhile, you were out getting sloshed Merlin knows where, abandoning my wedding.”

Sebastian stares shamefully at his shoes while Anne paces back and forth, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. His shoulders bowled over, the brunette looks up at the couple. He hates the way they pity him, but he hates it even more when they’re mad at him. Not roll-their-eyes mad, but truly, deeply upset.

“You need to get yourself together, Sebastian.” Ominis barks. “I’ve absolutely had it with you and this obscene behavior. The drinking, the whoring –”

“Alright, I wouldn’t call it whoring.” Sebastian furrows his eyebrows. “That’s a bit of a stretch–”

“New women, every week.” Ominis sounds even angrier than before. “All because you’re a bloody coward, running away from your feelings. Gods, I used to wonder why she left, and now it all makes sense–"

Sebastian doesn’t even realize that he’s holding Ominis by the tie, pushing him against the dark wooden walls. Anne is screeching at him, hitting him at the shoulders, while Ominis raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Struck a nerve, have I?” he asks coolly.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sebastian growls. “Don’t even go there. Don’t say her name.”

“Everyone can see it, Sebastian.” Ominis shrugs. “It’s pathetic, that’s what it is. Either make your peace with how you left things off with her and move on, or speak to her like a real man.”

Sebastian lets go, hands fumbling for his wand. As soon as his fingers wrap around the cool, checkered marble handle, it flies out of his hand, clattering across the room.

“That’s enough from the two of you,” Anne snaps, shoving her wand back into her pocket. “You’re acting like children.”

“He started it,” Sebastian snarls. He looks over at his best friend–Merlin, Ominis is his best friend, and he doesn’t even recognize him. The blonde man has never been this angry at him before, not even when he killed–

Right, Sebastian swallows thickly. Best not to think about the past like that.

“Grow up, Sebastian.” Ominis digs his finger into Sebastian’s chest; he’s so angry, his jaw is quaking. “I don’t want to see you, speak to you, hear from you until you’ve grown the fuck up.” he threatens. Ominis backs off, tugging his waistcoat down. “Anne, I’m going to take a walk around the block to cool down.”

Ominis grips his wand tightly, stalking out of the study. The door slams heavily behind him, leaving the Sallow twins alone together.

“Now look at what you’ve done,” Anne sighs, crossing her arms as she sits against the window.

“I’m sorry, Annie.” Sebastian chews on his lower lip. “I didn’t mean to–”

“No,” Anne scowls. “You never mean to. You’ve somehow skated through twenty one years of life with nothing ever being your fault.”

“That’s not true,” Sebastian interjects.

“There are consequences to your actions, Sebastian.” Anne huffs. “You need to know that.”

“I do,” Sebastian pleads with her. “And I’m sorry–I’m sorry I left your wedding, I’m sorry I invited the two of them, I really didn’t even remember–”

“You’re not you , Sebastian.” Anne strains. “You haven’t been you in what feels like a very long time.”

“Not you too,” Sebastian groans. “Anne, you can’t possibly think this has to do with her.”

Anne’s eyes are teary now. “Ominis is right. You’re a shell, Sebastian. You’re going through the motions you think you should, but it’s not you. The real you wouldn’t forget about two women and just callously throw them aside. You wouldn’t leave my wedding without saying goodbye.”

Sebastian avoids eye contact with his sister, eyes glued to the floor boards. “I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I was just too drunk.”

“You never used to drink this much,” Anne scolds. “Spending nearly every night down at the pub, all the whispers about you flirting with all sorts of women. You’re a different person.”

“I’ve grown up, Anne.” Sebastian suggests. “A man can’t sow his oats without getting criticized now?”

“You were about to get married–”

Sebastian shuts his eyes, waving her off. “That’s silly , Anne. I wasn’t serious about it. We were eighteen, we’d just graduated Hogwarts. It would’ve been stupid to get married.”

“But you wanted to,” Anne retorts. “You talked about it all the time.”

“Can we stop talking about stupid ideas I had when I was eighteen?” Sebastian growls. His cheeks are aflame, freckles burning at the continued mention of you. Days ago, you were merely a memory, a chapter Sebastian had turned past in life. After seeing your handwriting scrawled on a little card, thinking of you for just a fleeting moment, your memory was now infecting every waking minute of his life. He tugs at his tie, throat growing thick at Ominis and Anne’s pokes into his personal life.

Anne gives him a pitying look. “She’s still around, you know.”

“Why would that matter to me?” Sebastian chokes out.

“Just talk to her—“

“She left!” Sebastian roars, smacking a stack of files off Ominis’s desk. Anne looks unphased as the papers float to the ground. “I leave her for one night, and I come home the next morning to my flat, empty, couch gone. No note, no warning. We had one fight and she left me!”

“You said you wanted to cheat on her, Seb.” Anne reminds him.

“But I didn’t!” Sebastian huffs, red in the face. The floodgates are open, words spilling from his mouth. “I wanted her to be mad, to be jealous! I wanted her to miss me!”

Involuntary tears prick at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall down his cheeks. He can’t bring himself to admit the truth–that selfishly, he’d wanted to hurt you, to push you to your limits to see how you’d react. How he never could’ve imagined you’d actually leave. That his heart had cracked into pieces after finding the flat cleared out, and the shards had turned to dust when he realized weeks later that you weren’t coming home.

“Do you still want her to miss you?” Anne asks.

Yes, Sebastian thinks. His heart would probably explode out of his body if he were to ever find out you missed him.

“No,” he spits out. “I’m over her.”

Anne gives him a distrustful look, and Sebastian has to turn away in shame.

“I think you’ll find life to be a lot easier to digest when you stop lying to yourself,” Anne shrugs, folding her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to watch you waste your life away like this, Seb. You miss her, and that’s okay. You loved her. Don’t sit here and pretend that you’re happy.”

“I’m happy,” Sebastian grunts. “I have a great life, Anne. I’m the best junior auror on the force, I have plenty of friends. I can go wherever I want, do whatever I want, and I don’t need to answer to anyone. What makes you think I’m not happy?”

Anne’s face twists again, this time with a sad, pitiful look. “We’re twins, Sebastian. I know you. I’ve known you forever. I know things can never be as it was, but Ominis is right. You have to make peace with the past, or talk to her.”

“It’s not about her,” Sebastian snarls again, crossing his arms.

“You got shitfaced and left my wedding after you stole the tag off her present.” Anne declares. “Tell me now how it’s not about her.”

“Whatever. I can’t talk to you when you’re acting like this.” Sebastian huffs, turning on his heels back towards the fireplace. “Send an owl when you’re feeling like yourself again.”

Anne leans against Ominis’s desk, her hands fidgeting with her skirt. “Likewise. We can talk once you’ve figured out everything, and when you’re acting like yourself again.” she says coolly. “Otherwise, I don’t want to speak to you.”

“Ultimatums and threats, how very Gaunt of you.” Sebastian blurts out, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Why would he even dare to say such a thing?

Anne is unphased, shaking her head as she brushes dust off her skirt. “There you go again–trying to hurt someone you love, just to get a rise out of them. Seb, grow up. Don’t talk to me again until you’ve figured it out.”

Sebastian can’t bear to look at Anne, so he grabs a fistful of floo powder and disappears into the green flame.

“Another.” Sebastian demands, pushing his glass towards the new barmaid.

The woman raises her brow. Elsie, Elise, whatever the fuck her name is. She’s relatively new, and less obliging than the other bartenders Sebastian has come to know at the Three Broomsticks. Although he might not have much pull anymore–the other bartenders seem to have gone cold towards their favorite regular, especially after he’d ditched their colleague Alexandra at the wedding with a duplicate guest.

“I’m afraid I’d be over-serving you, sir.” she says, polishing a tankard. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, turning the barstool around to appraise tonight’s crowd. It’s a Saturday, but there appears to be slim pickings amongst the crowd. Nary a pretty woman in the room. He leans his elbows back against the bar top, scanning for any viable conquests.

And then, the bell on the door rings.

Sebastian freezes, pint in hand. He’d always imagined how this day might go–how it would feel to see you again. He always pictured himself being brave, too cool to care. Merlin, he might’ve even gotten some satisfaction out of seeing you be a bit miserable.

But you’re not. You’re laughing. Oh god, how could you be laughing?

He’s frozen in place, standing rather sheepishly at the bar as he watches you, giggling on the arm of some stranger. Sebastian could care less what he looks like, rather fixating on you instead. His heart swells at the sound of your voice for the first time in years, the playful lilt to your question.

Should we sit down here, or upstairs?

Your date tells you to go upstairs, while he meanders over to the bar to get drinks. “One whiskey, on the rocks, and…some drink with gin. Er, with lemons?”

A white lady. Gin, orange liquor, egg whites, lemon juice , Sebastian screams in his head. It’s embarrassing how quickly that knowledge came back to him. The entire history of you floods into his brain, a dam he’d built over the years of your estrangement destroyed with the mere sound of your giggle. You always favored gin in your drinks, but despised when things were too sweet, too fruity. The key to your heart was understanding your sense of taste. Sebastian recalls the nights he’d make dinner for you, before your shifts at St. Mungo’s. He was no chef, but you always praised his cooking. Pretty noises coming from your mouth as you savored braised mushrooms over pasta, the way your tongue ran over your lips when he made chicken–

Why did you break up again?

Images play over and over in his mind. You scoffing at him, your career being more important than his. Screaming, fighting, going days without seeing each other. His teeth sunken into the neck of someone he didn’t know. A book thrown at his head, a coffee mug missing a handle.

Right. That again.

Sebastian snaps out of his thoughts as your date takes two drinks up the stairs. He follows on careful feet; if he’s learned anything in his years of being an auror, it’s how to follow with stealth. He hides beneath the creaky wooden staircase, concealed by the darkness. Yet through the wooden steps, he can see you sitting at the table, and the way your smile falters when your date drops a fruity concoction in front of you. He wonders if this is your first date–no, you’re far too comfortable leaning into his touch for this to be a first date. Perhaps a third, maybe a fourth.

“You did promise me if we made it to our fourth date that you’d tell me,” the man across from you says. Sebastian feels a bit proud for knowing you well enough, but sick at the thought of you being close to anyone.

“Tell you what?” you ask, feigning innocence as you fake a sip of your sugary drink.

“If you’ve ever been in love,” he croons. Sebastian winces, remembering just how excruciating it is to be in the early days of a relationship. At least then he’d been sixteen; he can’t imagine asking such cringey questions as a grown adult.

You roll your eyes, leaning back into your chair. “That’s such a cheesy question,” you scoff.

Even when you’re not together, you two are on the same page.

“It says a lot about a person,” your date shrugs. “You have been in love, haven’t you?”

You roll your eyes once more, wincing as you take a sip from your beverage. “I have,” you announce, holding up a finger. “Just once.”

“And?” the man pries. “What happened?”

“What always happens.” you shrug. “You get older, and you fall out of love.”

“Indulge me,” your date asks, leaning his chin into his palm. “What was it about him?”

Sighing, you lean forward. Sebastian wishes he could cast a disillusionment charm, get closer to see the look on your face as you condense your love story into a palatable tale for this stranger. He wants to know if you’ll do it justice.

“We were sixteen,” you muse. “It felt like we’d grown up together, that we could do anything. And for a while, we could. But then we had jobs, friends, and lives we had to explore outside of each other. Suddenly, we needed different things. We just couldn’t love each other the way we wanted to.”

Sebastian wrinkles his nose. That’s it? That’s all you’ll say about the great love you shared, a measly five sentences? That you drifted apart, you grew up? He has half a mind to march up the stairs and confront you right this moment. In fact, one foot is already ahead of the other, emerging from the darkness.

“In the spirit of honesty, can I tell you something?” you ask. “I absolutely hate fruity drinks.”

Sebastian stops in his tracks. You hate complaining, let alone correcting someone. You never complained once during your tenure at Hogwarts, nor did you complain at the simplest offenses. He and Ominis would have to practically beg you to send back food if your order came out wrong. Imelda would roll her eyes every time you apologized for sending a beater your opponent’s way. Hell, half the reason the two of you broke up was because you could hardly confront him, moving your belongings out of your shared apartment to avoid conflict.

Yet here you are, finally open and honest about something. You’ve grown, he realizes. Has he?

“Excuse me,” your date clears his throat. Sebastian is drawn out of his thoughts as the dark-haired man bumps into him at the foot of the stairs.

“Sorry mate,” Sebastian says hurriedly, turning his back. Hopeful that you haven’t seen him lurking quite yet, he pushes through the throngs of people in the pub, all blocking his way to the front door.

“Oi, Sallow!” the barmaid yells, and he curses under his breath, stopping in his tracks. “You forgot your tab.”

Sebastian digs through the pockets of his cloak, pulling out a few sickles to cover his drinks. He turns toward you on the second floor, wondering if you’d heard his name. You hadn’t; you were back to chatting animatedly with the stranger, his hand resting on your forearm.

Sebastian slams the sickles down on the bar top, pulling the hood on his cloak over his head before turning on his heel. Rain pours outside, the water sliding his back as he rushes down the cobblestone street to his doorstep. Your laugh haunts every step, mocking him all the way home.

Sebastian turns in his sleep, bedsheets tangled in his legs. He’s not one to brag (Ominis would say otherwise if they were on speaking terms) but he’s not used to being alone in bed. Not if he doesn’t want to be.

He is alone tonight, his damp cloak discarded in the corner of his room where he kicked his clothes. He lives alone, so he wasn’t quite sure why he was going through the motions of banging the cupboards, slamming his door. The tea he’d made to sober up had gone cold, perched on the side table next to a myriad of dirty cups. He nearly bangs his head against the wrought iron headboard, staring up at the dark ceiling. There’s a tightness in his belly, an urge sparking his senses below.

Fuck, he’s hard.

Sebastian grumbles to himself as his hand trails down his stomach, gripping his length. He’s sleeping in the nude—has been, ever since he got his own bachelor pad—and can’t help thinking about how much you would despise him for it. You’d always been a stickler for pajamas, grumbling about him sitting in bed with dirty clothes.

Why is he thinking about you now, after all these years? Sebastian grunts in displeasure as his cock twitches in his hand. He tries to focus on anything else—the blonde he’d kissed a few nights prior, or the woman with auburn hair who’d gripped his locks at the root when he’d sucked a mark into her neck. Neither works in his quest for relief. Begrudgingly, his thoughts fall towards you, distant memories he’s not even sure are real anymore.

They had been real, and so were you. Sebastian paces his strokes, biting hard into his lower lip as his memories flood back. He furrows his brow as he pictures you, sidling up next to him in bed. You’d always crawl back underneath the sheets after a long night in the ward, getting home with just an hour or two left before Sebastian would have to wake and get ready for work. He tightens his grip at the memory of you, nosing his cheek as your hand replaces his.

“You know I hate when you go to bed without pants,” you whisper against his neck, teeth grazing his pulse.

”I do,” he murmurs, letting you take over. His hand falls back against the pillow, arms above his head as he sighs into your touch. He swears he can feel your hands ghosting over his body, firm grip pumping his cock up and down. He groans audibly when your thumb glides over the glistening head, a gasp caught in the back of his throat as he feels your lips pressing a tentative kiss against it.

“Please,” Sebastian pleads. “Please.”

He’s not sure what he’s begging for, but his right hand crashes against his mouth, a pathetic whimper spilling past as he feels your mouth envelop him. Your hands brace his thighs, a curtain of hair brushing his hips as your head bobs up and down. He’s loud, louder than he’s been in years—you always brought that out of him, loving how vocal he could be.

You hum against him; he knows you’re looking up at him, a devilish grin on your lips. Sebastian doesn’t dare to look down at you, worried you’ll disappear the moment he tries.

“Good morning,” you gasp, popping off of his cock. Your hand replaces your mouth, the filthy sound of your spit and his come pounding alongside his heartbeat in his ears.

Sebastian can’t stop himself, his hips rolling upwards. A garbled noise falls out of his mouth as he opens his eyes. You’re gone—you were never here to begin with. He fucks up into his fist with urgency, his eyes stinging as he chases his climax. Sebastian lets out a guttural groan as he spills into his palm, a tear rolling down his cheek as he heaves, coming back down to earth.

You were never here, Sebastian reminds himself. A fucking memory, that’s all. An end to a means, a way to get off. That doesn’t make him feel any better as he rolls over to his night stand, picking up his wand. He mutters a quick cleaning spell, rustling the sheets to the end of his bed as he lays, staring at the ceiling. Not real, not real, not real. The two words comfort him, eyes fluttering back to sleep.

Your laugh replays in his mind anyways.

Sebastian rolls the vial in his hands, fingers hesitating at the stopper. It’s standard issue for aurors to have their own personal pensieve, especially once they’re at the senior level. Sebastian has been trusted with his own pensieve, the only junior auror on the force to have one. It’s an important tool, one he uses to peruse old memories. They’re useful if you need to observe an old crime scene, hone in on a suspect’s face.

Fuck it, Sebastian thinks, pulling the stopper out. The silvery memory floats down from the glass to the swirling waters, and he’s reminded of the first time he’d used a pensieve—he’d been with you. He shudders as he lowers his face to the milky surface, falling into a memory he’s tried to forget.

It was raining that night. He follows his past self up the stairs to the old flat he’d shared with you, stopping to take a sobering breath before pushing the door in. He can see you sitting at the dinner table, arms crossed over a white muslin dress. You look so angry with him—you always looked so angry in those final days of your relationship.

“Where the hell have you been?” You snap, and both versions of himself flinch.

“Out,” his past self growls. “Why does that matter to you?”

You stare at him with furrowed brows. “This was my only day off of the week, Sebastian. I wanted to spend it together. You’re always going on and on about how we don’t spend enough time together, yet every time I even make an effort you don’t even show—“

”Merlin forbid I want to celebrate a good day at work with my colleagues,” the younger Sebastian snarls, a hiccup lining the edge of his sentence as he slams his bag down on the table.

”You reek,” the past version of you declares, nose wrinkling. “Of booze. How long have you been drinking?” You lean in, sniffing his neck. Sebastian instinctively moves his arm, trying to pull you away. It’s no use; it’s an illusion, his hand passes right through your skin.

“Is that perfume?” Your voice falters.

”You’re imagining things,” Sebastian accuses.

”Don’t lie to me, Sallow.” You roar. “I smell perfume on your neck.”

Sebastian flinches when his younger self whirls around on his heel. “And so what if I smell like perfume?” He screeches.

Your face crumbles, and Sebastian has to force himself to look. You look so much younger, with full cheeks and wide eyes. He’d forgotten you’d plaited your hair at the top, just the way he’d liked it. He remembered tugging on your braids when the two of you were still in school, before you’d even started dating. That was ages ago, yet his heart still yearns for those days.

”Sebastian, have you been with someone else?”

The words still prick his heart, yet he forces himself to keep watching. His younger self stands there, a blank expression on his face.

”What if there was someone else?”

“Is there someone else?”

The younger Sebastian stands firm, arms folded over his chest. This is it, the moment his heart closed to you. This is when your relationship slipped down the drain. He doesn’t flinch with his next words, all aimed at you. He’s playing the offense now, drawing blood with his words.

She’s nice, and she actually cares to listen to me. I didn’t kiss her—but damn, I wanted to.

Sebastian perches on the table, knowing what comes next. You don’t bother with tears—you’d cried enough in the last few months of the relationship, trying to salvage damaged goods. There’s nothing left to give. You pick up the closest book, hurling it at Sebastian’s face. The book passes through the real Sebastian, his past self ducking just in time for it to slam against the wall. The book falls to the ground with a thud, spine dented from the wooden beam.

His past self curses, knocking into the closest table. Your favorite mug, the one with the funky handle, goes flying off the surface, the handle breaking off.

”I’m going to Ominis’s, until you can be a reasonable adult,” his past self roars, tugging the hood of his cloak over his head.

No, Sebastian screams. Don’t go. She won’t be home when you come back.

”Sebastian!” You wail. His head snaps to you, hands balled into fists at your side. He’d never noticed the look of despair on your face, the longing in your eyes. “I—“

The memory ends with a slammed door, your voice far away. He didn’t even give you the chance to finish your sentence. Sebastian is forced out of the memory, head jolting out of the stone basin with nowhere else to go.

It’s the first time he’s forced himself to relive the memory. It’s different than he remembered; he doesn’t look nearly as confident as he thought he did. He doesn’t need to watch the rest to remember how it felt. After a night spent on Ominis’s settee, sleeping off the alcohol, he’d walk back into the flat prepared with an apology. He’d slip the key into the lock, calling out your name. You’d probably be asleep in anticipation of your night shift, but he wouldn’t be able to wait. He would burst through the bedroom, but you wouldn’t be in bed. In fact, all of your belongings would be gone, leaving half of the flat bare. No note, no goodbye. He’d spend the better half of a day banging on Poppy’s door, only for her to snap at him in response.

She doesn’t want to speak to you ever again. Every friend had said it, and Sebastian took it to heart. Perhaps it would take you a couple of days, a few weeks at most to forgive him. Weeks turned into months, and before long it was a year. He moved into his own apartment in Diagon Alley. Poppy and Imelda stopped talking to him entirely, and Natty would only speak to him at work. It wasn’t much longer that he started chatting up women at the pub, going on dates. You became a distant memory, his teenage love, a chapter he’d left behind.

Sebastian thought it would give him some closure. That he’d accept being the asshole, finally put you away for good. Seeing your handwritten note to Ominis and Anne had only eroded his stone heart, dripping away at his resolve. Hearing you laugh was like taking a pickaxe to the chest, and your summary of the relationship had been the killing blow. It’s like you didn’t even care; simply shrugging off what had been the longest and most defining relationship of his life.

Isn’t that what he wanted?

Sebastian slumps against the basin, fingertips drumming against the edge. It’s classic, really, textbook Sebastian Sallow to ruin everything. He still remembers the way he pushed away Ominis, had forsaken Anne’s wants and needs when it came to her curse. The unforgivable curse falling past his lips, regretting the words while he says them. He’d crumpled in your arms, sobbing against your robes that night. You’d given him a second chance at life, to be a better brother, a better friend. He promised he wouldn’t squander the opportunity, choosing love over anger.

But falling in love with you hadn’t been a choice. It had been natural, the easiest thing Sebastian had ever done. He’d loved you so hard, too much—he’d wanted to marry you, for Merlin’s sake. That all changed when you started working the night shift. You spent less time together, and even moments at home were spent studying. You balked at his touch, preferring the company of a book and a cup of tea instead. He felt his walls go up, guarding himself from pain. It couldn’t hurt if he hurt you first, he recalled. He’d bite the hand that fed him, and that would give him an advantage.

Sebastian splashes the water in the pensieve, the silvery threads of his memory tangling in his fingers. How easy it would be to store it away, destroy it forever. Fuck, he’d obliviate himself if he could. He could move on with his life, finally be rid of you.

Your name, scrawled on parchment. The lilt of your laugh, the way your cheeks still turn pink when you smile. The memory of your hair brushing against him in the morning, how just the memory of you is enough to make him hard. Fuck, he loves you—he’s always loved you. He’s always going to love you. Who do you think you are, to stay this long? Perhaps he’s afraid of you, how powerful you are to have this hold on him.

Sebastian carefully collects the memory with the tip of his wand, letting it seep back through his ears and into his mind. It hurts, still a heavy weight on his heart. But better to have it, to have a piece of you. He knows he’s done irreparable harm, and he can’t change who he was then. Sebastian has been given a plethora of second chances in his life, and he’s likely run up on any good karma he has left.

You deserve better, Sebastian thinks. He hopes you’re happy. He wonders if you’re still enjoying the night shift, still at the top of your field. His mind trails off to the man you were sharing drinks with—perhaps you’ve found love again. He shudders at the thought of you walking down the aisle to a faceless man, but there’s nothing he can do. He made his bed, and he’ll lie in it.

Sebastian can only resolve to be better. Maybe in time he’ll get back into Ominis and Anne’s good graces. Be a better brother, a better friend. He shuts the cover on the pensieve, pushing it back into the corner of his bedroom. His eye catches the book on his shelf with a dented spine before he straightens his tie, collecting his cloak to leave for work.

He can be better. Maybe. For now, he’ll settle on drinks after work, praying you don’t walk into the same pub as him ever again.

Sebastian’s breath is knocked out of his chest. You’re sitting at the table with Poppy, Andrew’s chair pulled up next to them. You look breathtaking, dressed in a pretty lace gown with matching gloves on your hands. Your hair is piled atop your head in a fashionable way, and you’re blinking up at him expectantly. He can barely look you in the eyes, lest he crumple at the knees.

”Emergency meeting,” he utters gloomily. “Ruined a good lunch.”

That’s all you have to say? He berates himself in his mind as Andrew and Everett bid you farewell. Your eyes turn back disappointedly to the cutlery on the table, and Sebastian screams internally as his colleagues drag him away from the table on unsteady feet.

”Pull yourself together, man.” Everett rolls his eyes. “You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost. And considering how many ghosts we knew at school, it’s a little embarrassing.”

“I can’t,” Sebastian mutters. “That’s the first time I’ve seen her in years.”

”Years?” Andrew’s eyes widen. “You’ve really gone that long?”

Years, Sebastian thinks. Years since you left. Years since he fought with Anne and Ominis after their wedding, years since he froze under the stairs at the Three Broomsticks, hearing you recount your love story to a new flame. He’s thought of you every day since.

”That’s depressing,” Everett whistles low. “I never want to fall in love.”

“It’s sweet, really.” Andrew points out. “You never forget your first love, even after you’ve moved on.”

”Moved on?” Sebastian asks.

Everett gives him a sympathetic look, scratching his head. “Er, I thought you noticed—the giant diamond on her hand? I heard she was engaged.” He confesses. “Sorry mate. Natsai told me.”

Of course Natty wouldn’t tell him , Sebastian thinks. She’s hardly spoken to him in years, despite working in the same department. She’s dutifully ignored him, only daring to speak about work related matters. The moment your conversations turn towards your personal lives, she would disappear.

”I’m happy for her,” he chokes out, trying to sound convincing. He knows it isn’t.

”Well, you’re happy now too, aren’t you?” Andrew tries to cheer up the conversation. “The bachelor life suits you.”

Sebastian isn’t sure that’s true.

They apparate back to the ministry, all of the aurors crowded into the office to help with a massive case. Sebastian is hardly listening during the mission debrief. His mind is elsewhere, on you. He wonders if you’re marrying the man from the bar, the one with the cheesy questions. He swallows thickly at the thought of you in love, real love this time. Something that would last.

He wants to call on Anne. They haven’t spoken since he’d fought with Ominis after their wedding, his twin holding strong to her words. She wanted to see him grow, to confront his feelings before coming back to her. Maybe now was a good time—Anne was always a good shoulder to cry on.

Sebastian had expected a decent fight, but this one takes the cake. It’s the most intense of his auror career so far, battling what feels like an army of ashwinders who’ve rallied to terrorize the highlands once more. The fight isn’t fair; it’s brutal, several of his fellow aurors falling on the scene. Andrew has a nasty gash, arms slung around both him and Everett as they try to get to a safe floo point. They might splinch if they try to apparate, and Andrew is looking pale enough as it is.

“Wild day, isn’t it?” Everett chuffs, straining as they lift Andrew and his bleeding leg. The floo point is about twenty feet away, but it’s an uphill climb. “We need to get him to St. Mungo’s, stat.” He says your name, wondering if you’re on duty to help with Andrew’s injury.

”She works the night shift,” Sebastian blurts. He doesn’t even know if you still work nights—it’s just the only thought that comes to mind.

”Well, maybe she’ll be there and you can stop acting like you’ve got doxies for brains.” Andrew snorts, wincing in pain.

”She looks happy,” Sebastian admits. “Beautiful. Merlin, I forgot how beautiful she is.”

Sebastian feels Andrew tugging on his shoulder, panic laced through his voice. He turns to see an ashwinder, appearing out of nowhere. The masked man has his wand raised, pulling his arm back to inflict a curse. Sebastian can see he’s aiming at Everett, the incantation on his lips.

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. He lets go of Andrew, letting him topple over onto the grass. He dives in front of his partner, the bolt of green magic electrifying him as he lands with a thud on the ground. He can’t tell if he’s yelling, or if it’s Clopton. He feels cold and wet, streaks of red blossoming on his crisp white shirt.

“We have to get him to St. Mungo’s!” Everett roars. “I don’t care, apparate! Get us out of here!”

Andrew crawls over to his side. He asks Sebastian to forgive him, curling his arms around him as they apparate away from the scene. Sebastian feels like he’s being pushed through a piece of straw, landing on the cold marble floor of the St. Mungo’s intensive care ward. Healers are already running amok, trying to help the others coming in from the scene. A healer is sending a patronus message, rabbit bouncing off the walls before disappearing to relay a message. He wants to lift his head, check the room to see if you’re there. When he tries, Clopton chastises him, holding him down to the floor.

We have to stop the bleeding, someone says. What bleeding? He’s just cold.

“Can someone get me a blanket?” Sebastian slurs, words garbled in his throat.

He hears someone saying your name. “We’ve called in the head of the ward,” they say. “She’s on her way in as we speak.”

“We know her,” Andrew insists, still holding his hand down tight against Sebastian’s chest. He’s not sure why Andrew is clutching him so tightly, clamping down on his sternum.

”She’ll know how to stop the bleeding,” the healer assures him. “She’ll figure it out—her magic always does the trick.”

That’s all he needs to know. Sebastian shuts his eyes, the sounds of the ward disappearing against the ringing in his ears. He’ll be okay, especially if you’re on the way. Deep down, Sebastian knows he’s in good hands.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x F!mc #auror sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fic #ominis gaunt x anne sallow #ominis is an a plus husband #i wanted to give ominis the opportunity to punch sebastian because you know he's thought about it plenty #but in a loving best friend way

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ave09 · 1 year ago

Text

marriage

indiana jones x reader

“indy?”

“doll?”

“where do you draw the line when it comes to grading?” the man glanced up at you, pushing his round spectacles up the bridge of his nose, “what do you mean?”

you slid the test you were grading across the table, “her answer is correct technically speaking, but he added a lot of unnecessary information that i had to pick the paragraph apart to find the right answer.”

his hazel eyes skimmed the overly large paragraph, chuckling, “mark it as wrong.” you arched your brows in surprise, “really?” indiana nodded, “she’s adding in the extra information in order to try and score points with me, i’ve seen it too many times before.”

“but won’t marking it wrong benefit her? this is worth ten points, marking this wrong will bring her to an F. therefore, you will have you will have to meet with her after class, giving her exactly what she wants, which is alone time with her attractive professor.”

indiana stared blankly for a moment. he knew you were right. and yet, his answer remained the same, “mark it wrong.”

you complied, using a red pen to mark an ‘x’ over the question. “well, don’t complain to me when she starts writing ‘love you’ across her eyelids.”

suddenly, indiana rose from his seat abruptly, “maybe it’s time to show them that i already have a lovely lady.”

“they know, i’ve been to your class before, indiana.”

“no no, i mean like officially. show ‘em that i’m off the market completely.” you furrowed your brows, “indy, i’m not following.” the man rushed out of the room, toward the kitchen. you rose to follow him, only to hear, “don’t move!”

so you remained seated. you heard a rummaging sound, then a clang. your gut told you to go see what was going on, but you remained compliant to indiana’s orders.

he reentered the room, “okay,” he exhaled deeply, “i was gonna plan this out, make it nice and all, but i am known to be spontaneous..”

then he dropped to one knee. your eyes widened as he revealed a small velvet box. you couldn’t believe it.

“beautiful, we’ve been through a whole hell of a lot. from wild adventures, to almost dying, you’ve stuck with me through it all. and i’ll be honest, i never saw myself as the type of guy to settle down, but, then i met you.”

tears stung your eyes.

“you make me better, you make my life better. you’re the light in the darkness and i love you so much.”

he opened the box, revealing a beautiful diamond ring.

“will you do me and the honor, and become mrs. jones.”

you smiled tearfully, nodding rapidly, “of course i will, indy.” he grinned widely, “i had a feeling you’d say yes.” indiana then rose to his full height, you stood as well, approaching him. the man gently reached for your left hand, sliding the band onto your ring finger.

you couldn’t believe it! you were getting married!

“y’know, i think this calls for a celebration.”

“celebration?” you were thinking he met breaking out the wine, or even heading to the bedroom. but instead, indiana moseyed toward the stereo, clicking it on.

‘cheek to cheek’ by fred astaire began playing.

indiana turned around, extending a hand toward you, “dance with me?”

“of course.” you replied, taking his hand. you two danced around your dining room, completely forgetting about the pile of papers that needed to be graded.

indiana began singing along in a low voice, “when we’re off together dancing cheek to cheek.” it was always a surprise to hear him

sing. it was one of the man’s many hidden talents, and you were the only one he’d ever sing for.

he then spun you around, before pulling you close to him.

“i love you.” he whispered, leaning in to kiss you.

“i know.” you replied, only to have him

jerk back, “ i know? that’s all i get? i know?” you let out a loud laugh, “i love you too, indy. more than anything.” you then pressed your lips to his in a passionate kiss.

— — —

the next morning, indiana jones walked to his classroom with an unexplained pep in his step. the students exchanged confused looks, the professors were curious.

the man stepped into his classroom, clapping his hands as he grinned at the students, “good morning class!”

“good morning, doctor jones.” they replied. one of the girls, the very one who had added all the entire information onto her test, raised her hand.

“yes, miss fisher?”

“you seem very happy this morning, doctor jones, has something happened?” the man’s smile somehow grew bigger as he thought back to the events of the night before.

“something has happened, miss fisher, and i’ve been waiting all morning to tell you-i’m getting married.”

#indiana jones x reader #indiana jones #indiana jones and the temple of doom #indy #indiana jones and the raiders of the lost ark #harrison ford x reader #harrison ford movies #young harrison ford

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evita-shelby · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, hello

This is my first request ever, please ignore my spelling mistakes if there's any, I'm French so...

So how abt the femreader /OC (as you want) has an illness and is destined to die but Tommy pursue her and falls in love with her anyway and then she dies and we see how he copes. I'm a sucker for angst.

Thank youuu

You are welcome 😊

I cried so hard i ran out of tp to clean my snot.

Promise

Gif by @manie-sans-delire-x

Cw: death, illness, grief, suicidal thoughts

You hoped he’d forget about you while he was in France, but when he stepped down that platform he was as in love with you as when he had left.

You had broken things off with him before he even left and yet he returned to you as if nothing changed.

No matter how much you tried, Tommy never left your side.

Eventually you had to tell him the truth.

You were dying.

You had a year at most, the tumor was not operable, and it wouldn’t be long before you were dead.

“I can’t leave you, love, not when you need me most.” He had said as he held your face in his hands.

And he hadn’t.

Not when the barmaid showed up and made it clear to all that she wanted him, not when he provoked Kimber and certainly not when Campbell threatened to have the hospital deny you care if he didn’t give him the guns.

Campbell hadn’t expected you to laugh and spit at his face, “Do it, do your fucking worst, Inspector. I am dead anyways.”

You were dying, but you were never going to let Tommy and his dreams die with you.

You had a year.

And you had decided that your last wish was to see Tommy get the hell out of here and be the great man you know he is.

This you tell him as the two of you stand as witnesses for Freddie Thorne and his sister, Ada.

He couldn’t say no to you, he said so as you tied his tie for him and told him to drive you and Ada to the courthouse where Freddie was waiting with his cousins and a rabbi.

“It could be us up there,” he said quietly knowing you’d say no.

“Ask me again in a year.” You love him, and that is why you refuse to tie him to you like that.

Time passes slowly, you encourage him to pursue Grace because he needs the distraction. There was something there, on her side at least.

Not that he budged, said he didn’t need anyone else. Not when he had you.

“I’m going to marry you.” He says the words you feared the most. He did never learn to let go, even when death took those he loved most, he stood there refusing to let go.

“Tommy, I do not want to tie you to me like this. Not like this.” You plead for him to move on weeks later when he takes the barmaid to the races.

“I’m gonna marry you, when you go, I want you to go as my wife, y/n.” he vowed just as you vowed to see him succeed.

You supposed that is what had you say yes.

He wants to do things proper, keeping almost every tradition and custom in place that you find to your liking. Whatever you want for your big day, he and Polly make it happen.

Its sweet and thoughtful you think as he gets the two of you on a table at the Garrison and announced to all that the two of you will be getting married.

He had bought you a ring, a Claddagh ring like the one his mum had worn. Only difference was that the other one was lost in the Cut and yours had a red garnet heart to represent his love and devotion to you.

Tommy was a romantic, no matter what he did to hide it.

You dance in the dark of your room nights later to some old record your mama had since she settled here with your father.

“We could always elope, go somewhere just us and come back like our parents did.” He suggests and you nod.

As much as you’d like to do things properly, you’d rather get the things on your list done before you meet your maker.

Besides, that trip to Liverpool before the war had been lovely and you’d like to see the sea again before you go.

“I’d like that.” You say and that next morning the two of you set off to Liverpool like the wild teenagers the two of you used to be.

The wedding is lovely even if it happens in front of strangers, but the weekend the two of you spend as newlyweds is enough to make you forget your time is running out.

Perhaps when your health becomes worse you could return here, die somewhere beautiful away from everything.

“I wish we didn’t have to go back.” He admits as the two of you lie down on a blanket and enjoy the sun on your faces on your last day here.

“Once its over, we should come back here.” You say as if you knew for sure you’d be alive by then.

Zilpha Lee saw your death in the first chills of December. A black star and blood on Tommy’s heart.

It was late July now.

Only five months left in your clock. And you were going to make the most of it.

And you did, you danced at John and Esme’s wedding like there was no tomorrow. You gave the barmaid a good enough thrashing she never even got to call the police on Freddie and when little Karl was born it hurt your heart to know you would never have this with Tommy.

You wept like a baby in his arms as everyone celebrated down at the pub.

“Promise me you will love again.” You dry your tears and make him swear to live for you.

He cannot die with you, you refuse to let him.

“Don’t make me promise that, love, I’ve only ever loved you.” He shook his head, refusing to even think of a life without you in it.

It becomes the first of October that night.

You can’t hide your illness no matter what you do. A girl from the neighborhood is hired to help you and from your bed you play cupid between the sweet but never spineless Linda and the most unlikely dashing knight, Arthur.

When they finally go out ---with Finn to keep things proper--- it is late November.

And as if by magic, you are bursting with energy enough to leave your bed and make sure there is no loose string left by December 1st.

You are laughing with Polly over something when you see it in Tommy’s carefully annotated diary.

A black star on December 3rd.

He plans on having everything done by then, to deal with Kimber and Campbell that same day and spend the rest of your time on earth in a cottage by the sea.

It was supposed to be a surprise until you answered a call back from the woman renting it.

If only you could live long enough to get there.

But you won’t.

Zilpha had said on the day of the Black Star.

On December 3rd your time was up.

And you had fulfilled your mission, on that day Tommy would have reached the first step towards getting the hell away from here.

Only Polly knows what transpired during that meeting with Zilpha Lee and she holds you as your heart breaks all over again.

“Promise me you’ll take care of him.” You ask her as she holds you tight enough to put you back together again.

“Of course I will, sweetheart. Just like I told Martha Strong I’d take care of her boys and John’s Martha as well.” The older woman promised you as she gave you her Black Madonna.

Its is December 3rd when Tommy leaves the house as giddy as a boy on boxing day.

“After this it will be just us in that little cottage by the sea, love.” He had promised kissing you like there was no tomorrow.

And there wouldn’t be.

The moment the bullet strikes his chest, you collapse at his desk and never rise again.

By the time Jeremiah lets him go, you are gone.

That night, after the undertaker has taken you away to prepare you for burial, he takes your ring, a bottle of whiskey and his gun.

When he pulls the trigger, there are no bullets and he curses you for leaving and refusing to let him leave with you.

He wakes up in Charlie’s Yard, with his aunt and uncle wearing black for mourning.

“I promised her I’d take care of you, don’t make break that promise, boy.” Polly said as she helped him back on his feet.

After your funeral he leaves for the seaside, hoping to have the peace and quiet to finish what he started and yet as he sits there in ghe sand looking at the ring he gave you, he remembers your voice making him swear to live for you.

And he does.

On December 3rd 1922, he returns to the beach with May Carlton now wearing your ring on her finger.

“Thank you.” He whispers to the wind.

#tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x wife!reader

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fangirl-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Who Do You Love?

JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): angst

Request: I NEED MORE ANGST SO WHAT ABT THE READER IS UNSURE IF JJ LOVES HER OR NOT SO SHE BREAKDOWNS IN FRONT OF HIM AND HE REASSURES HER AND FLUFF ENDING

Notes: Man JJ and angst just go together and that’s unfortunate but a happy ending is mandatory. Also Cleo’s in here but there aren’t any season 3 spoilers. I think if this situation were actually in the show, it would be way more action-y and dramatic but I wasn’t feeling that so have this instead.

It wasn’t that JJ was a bad boyfriend. On the contrary, he was a better boyfriend than his circumstances would’ve led you to believe.

But lately it had been nagging at you; a year into the relationship and he hadn’t told you he loved you. Not once.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t said it. In fact, when you said it the first time, JJ looked like he was ready to break up with you on the spot.

But he didn’t and you just assumed that he wasn’t ready. You always put your whole heart to things and JJ was no different. You’re convinced he’s the one.

But now, after everything that’s happened to you guys, he still can’t say it?

John B. and Sarah got metaphorically married after not even six months in a relationship and JJ can’t tell you he loves you.

Are you that unimportant to him? Or is this just a fling to him? And breaking up with you is just something he hasn’t gotten around to yet?

It’s a stupid thought, JJ never does anything he doesn’t want to do and he’d never play with your feelings like that, but you can’t wrap your mind around why he doesn’t just tell you.

There can’t be another girl, right? That’s just silly when would he have the time-

...him and Kiara had been spending a lot of time together lately.

But her and Pope- no. That hadn’t worked out either. Was that where you and JJ were headed? To an unceremonious end that you wouldn’t talk about? You didn’t think you could be as cool with it as Pope.

Maybe that’s because you weren’t a true pogue.

Which was just as silly because you’d been friends with them since way before you and JJ became a thing. But you two were the first to break the “no macking” rule, even before Kiara kissed John B.

Oh, fuck.

First John B. and then Pope...Kiara wasn’t just making her rounds on her friends, right? Trying each of them out until one fit?

No, how could you even think that? That’s a horrible thing to think about one of your friends. But the insecure little girl inside of you was trying to come up with an explanation. One that wasn’t just “he’s not ready.”

Because why wasn’t he ready?

You tried to push these feelings down. Tried to not stare at John B. and Sarah with jealous longing, to not feel queasy inside when Kie and JJ hugged.

If anyone noticed your discomfort, they didn’t say anything. There was just so much going on, as always, and anyone’s feelings that weren’t out in the open fell to the wayside.

But, if you were being honest with yourself, it was starting to wear on you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Cleo said, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Why ya staring at Kiara like you wish her head would explode?”

You blinked, a blush coloring your cheeks. “What? I-I wasn’t-”

“Now, come on. Don’t lie to your auntie Cleo. What’s going on?”

You rubbed your arm, considering. Cleo might be the best person to talk to about it. She and JJ weren’t really close, so she could give a rather unbiased perspective on things. Maybe she could help.

“It’s just...you don’t think there’s anything going on between them do you?”

Your gaze was transfixed on the way Kie and JJ laughed, doing a little dance to the music playing at the wreck.

“Them two? Nah. They bicker like siblings, but I don’ think either of them are interested like that. Besides, aren’t you and JJ an item?”

You nodded. “Yeah but lately I’ve been...kind of worried about it.”

“How so?”

You took a deep breath.

“It’s stupid, really, but JJ and I have been together for over a year now and...he hasn’t told me he loves me. Which I know is a stupid thing to be worried about but I can’t keep it from bugging me-”

“Hey, hey, slow down there,” Cleo said, coaxing you from the brink of rambling. “If it’s botherin’ you this much then it’s not stupid.”

You bit you lip, anxiety pooling in your stomach.

“For what it’s worth, JJ looks at you like your da sun. But if you’re really this worried about it, just talk to him. Either way it goes, you’ll have your answer.”

You gave her a grateful look. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. We’re friends, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now go talk to yer boyfriend before someone’s head explodes.”

You laughed, feeling a little more relieved, but that anxiety returned the closer to JJ you got.

He was his beautiful self, as always; drinking a coke in board shorts and a muscle tee, sunglasses perched perfectly on his nose, and strands of blond hair falling gracefully over them.

“Hey, baby,” JJ greeted casually as you approached, putting a hand on your thigh when you stopped by his seat.

“Hey, J,” you replied, trying to keep the waver out of your voice. “Can we talk?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah! Yeah. I just need to talk to you about something...alone, preferably.”

You glanced around the group, who were all staring at you with curious eyes and wondering glances. You never asked JJ to “talk,” especially not alone.

“Yeah, uh, okay.”

JJ got up anyway, but you could tell by his body language that he was just as weirded out by this as the rest of the pogues (except Cleo, who gave you an encouraging nod when you glanced at her).

He reached for your hand, but you crossed your arms to sneakily avoid it and took off toward the docks. That he definitely noticed.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” He asked, sitting himself down beside you on the dock.

“Actually, no, but also yes? Um, you’re gonna think this is stupid and I really need you not to blow up at me for it because I think I’d lose my mind if you did.”

“Y/N, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

You let him take your hand this time and squeezed it for comfort.

“I just...why haven’t you said you love me?”

JJ’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“It’s stupid, I know, but, J, why? I’ve told you I love you. I’ve told you multiple times, even just out of instinct, but you haven’t said it once.”

“I say it-”

“No. You don’t.” You snapped.

This put JJ into defense mode. “Why’s it so important to you anyway? They’re just words. Just because you say them doesn’t make them true.”

“But are they?”

“What?”

“Are they true?”

Tears were rolling down your cheeks now, unable to control your emotions when he was discounting your feelings like this.

“This is stupid,” JJ said, standing up.

That shattered you.

“So, that’s it then?” You asked, feeling your heart sinking in your chest. “You don’t love me?”

“Of course I love you, Y/N! Why the fuck would I be with you if I didn’t love you?”

“I don’t know, you tell me!” You shot back. “Because this has been bothering me for weeks and you haven’t noticed anything’s been off! You’re too busy with this stupid treasure hunt and hanging around with Kiara-”

“Is that what this is about? You’re pissed because I’m hanging out with Kie?” JJ asked, face pinching angrier with every second.

“No, that’s not what I-”

“Well, maybe I should date her! At least she wouldn’t act like this!”

“Maybe you should!”

JJ’s face fell and silence settled between you.

Tears were still falling from your eyes and you hugged yourself, regret and guilt pooling in your stomach.

“You don’t mean that,” JJ whispered.

“I don’t know,” You replied, softly.

“You don’t know what?”

You shook your head. “I just don’t know. I don’t know if I meant it. I don’t know if you love me. I don’t know if I want to be dating you any more.”

JJ looked like you felt, completely shattered. Tears were pooling in his eyes and his mouth was slightly open, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out.

“Y/N-” he started, reaching out for you.

You stepped back from him. “Just...just don’t.”

You shouldered passed him, heading up the dock.

JJ watched, frozen, as you grabbed your bicycle from where it was leaned against the Wreck’s building and biked away.

He also caught sight of his friends, who’d been watching the encounter from the balcony, and they looked to him, confused.

What just happened?

JJ wasn’t sure either. But he knew that if he didn’t do something soon, he was gonna lose the most important thing to him.

It wasn’t until the sun had gone down that JJ finally showed up at your house.

You’d been expecting him since you left without resolving anything in your fight. In fact, you’d been aching for him for that long, wishing he’d come hold you in his arms and tell you everything would be okay, like he always did. But when he was the cause of the pain, would that make it better or worse?

You were almost asleep when there was tapping on your window.

You went to it almost too quickly, opening the curtains to see JJ standing on the roof with a small bouquet of flowers in his hand and an unsure grin.

With a deep breath, you opened the window.

“Hey,” JJ said, sliding into your room as you moved out of the way.

You didn’t respond to him, just crossed your arms and waited for him to start talking, a tired frown etched on your face.

“Um...these are for you,” he said, holding out the bouquet.

They were Gaillardias. The flowers that grew in the soft sand along beach walkways. JJ always said they reminded him of you because they were bright and beautiful and thrived in the sun.

The thought warmed your heart and you felt yourself wanting to cry again.

You took the bouquet from him, “thank you.”

You put them in a small vase that was on your desk, having once held the flowers JJ got you for your birthday a few months ago and you were just too lazy to put the vase away. You were thankful for it now.

“So,” he started, taking a seat on your bed. “Can we talk about our fight?”

You shrugged. “I guess we have to, right?”

JJ nodded as you sat next to him.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” You said, avoiding looking at him. “I knew it was stupid and I still brought it up. I just wanted to know...”

“It wasn’t stupid,” JJ replied, also not looking at you. “I’m sorry for saying it was.”

“Would you tell me why?” You asked.

“I-” JJ sighed, turning sideways and pulling you along with him so that the two of you were facing each other.

You wrinkled your nose. “JJ your shoes are all sandy-”

“I’ll take them off,” he said, quickly pulling his sneakers off his feet and dropping them on the floor, making sure to wipe away the sand before taking a deep breath and continuing. “I can’t say I love you because I really do. It’s hard for me to say because everyone I’ve loved before have left me. My mom’s gone, I loved my dad just as much as I hated him, Big John’s gone, I thought I lost John B.”

JJ hung his head, stopping to take a breath. “I guess I’m just scared that I’ll lose you, too,”

You chuckled a little. “You know, it’s funny, I wanted you to tell me you love me because I didn’t want to lose you. I thought that if you weren’t saying it, that meant that this wasn’t something you were invested in.”

“I’ve never been more invested in anything in my life,” JJ admitted.

You smiled. “I guess that’s all I need.”

“No,” JJ shook his head. “No, this time I’m going to say it. I love you, Y/N.”

You felt like crying all over again. “I love you, too,”

JJ took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours. A gesture you returned, putting your hands on his chest and gripping his grey t-shirt tightly.

A thunk hit your window, causing the two of you to pull apart and turn your attention towards it.

“Oh, yeah,” JJ said, getting up and sticking his head out of the window. “We’re good, guys!”

Confused, you joined JJ at the window.

The twinkie was sitting in your driveway, passenger and side door open, with the rest of the pogues around it.

“Good,” John B. said. “We were starting to think she killed you.”

“Not yet, he’s still worth keeping around,” you said, jokingly.

“You guys coming down? We’re gonna go have a bonfire now.”

JJ smirked. “Nah, I think we’ve got some more apologizing to do, if you know what I mean.”

“JJ!” You said, shoving his shoulder and blushing furiously.

“Be safe!” Pope said.

“Use protection!” Kiara said.

“Don’t do anythin’ I wouldn’t do!” Cleo chimed in.

“I hate you all!” You said, disappearing back into your room.

JJ laughed, leaning back in and closing the window.

“Now,” he said. “Where were we?”

“I’d really like to start at ‘I love you’,” you said, smiling bashfully, sitting back on your bed.

JJ leaned forward on his hands that were on either side of you. “Well, then I love you,”

You were giddy inside. “Alright, let’s do this.”

JJ laughed as your wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned backwards on the bed, taking him with you.

Yeah, maybe love doesn’t only have to be said in words, but it’s nice to hear. And JJ would say it indefinitely more times, if only to see the smile it brought to your face.

#outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you

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written-in-flowers · 2 years ago

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I love your writing so so so much. Do you think you could write something with aegon x reader x aemond where she’s married to someone else but it’s kinda an open secret she’s in love with her brothers (her children are definitely theirs)

Open secrets are a funny thing. A secret is usually something that is kept between people; it's never spoken outside of those people or brought into the light. Openness implies things are out there and free to talk about. An open secret is an oxymoron in a way. People know about it as public knowledge, yet nobody acknowledges it out loud.

Such as your relationship with your older brothers.

When you turned sixteen, your parents betrothed and married you to Jacaerys Velaryon. Being married to your nephew on your sister’s side meant both houses maintained a good alliance. Jace was kind to you. He never raised his voice or hand to you; he treated you well, and cared for you as a husband should. Yet, you found it hard to truly love him the way people hoped. You both were more than aware of your families dislike of one another; that the marriage was really to put on this united front that both houses did not have. Your mother tried dissolving it before it came to pass, but your father repeatedly talked her down. It disappointed you for the most part. For most of your childhood, you’d hoped you might marry one of your older brothers, Aegon or Aemond. You often pictured yourself standing before a Septon, exchanging vows with one of them, sometimes both if you’re deep in your fantasies. When Aegon married Helaena, you’d set your hopes upon Aemond, only to be told you’d marry Jacaerys instead.

You adored and loved your brothers, even as children. Aemond often comforted you when you cried, holding you after a terrible nightmare or when your mother scolded you too harshly. He’d hold you close, stroking your hair and whispering soothing words. His warmth and soft voice usually lulled you to sleep easily after that. Aegon liked cheering you up instead of seeing your tears. He’d tell you funny stories from Flea Bottom or show you a trick he’d learned from a street performer or play a drinking game with you. You treat them the same in return. You listen to Aemond’s angry venting, calming him down with gentle touches and reassurances. When Aegon is particularly drunk, he’ll sometimes slump into a bad mood which only your presence brings him out of smoothly. You supposed after seeing your father disregard you and your siblings too often, seeing your mother bed him to show sympathy or concern, you grew closer to your family. Even with Helaena, you found a secret passion, though you knew her heart and desires rested on Lady Alyssa Stokeworth, her lady-in-waiting.

The night before your wedding, you danced with Jace only once. The rest of the night, you danced, drank, and ate with Aemond, Aegon and Helaena. Helaena eventually retired to be with Lady Alyssa, while you remained behind with your brothers. Your mind swimming from the wine, you realized you never saw your brothers as your “brothers”. Yes, you shared the same blood and the same name. You came out of the same woman, and lived in the same castle. Yet, you never grew up seeing them as such. They were boys you were related to, but it was never really brought up. That night, seeing them in the glow of candles and immersed in the frivolity around you, you realized they were no longer the boys you watched in the training yard, but men. Aegon, with his short hair and square jawline and Aemond with his sharp features and tall height, you couldn’t ignore their handsomeness.

You giggled as you led both your brothers from the hall. It reminded you of the kissing games you’d play with them in your youth. In the privacy of your bed chambers, you deeply kissed both Aegon and Aemond. Their lips brought on a new sensation that excited you. Soon, your bodies came together in heated passion. You recall whispering to them as they undressed you in between them.

“Take it. Don’t let him have it. I want both of you to do it.”

They did. It’d been Aemond who broke your maidenhead first, but you liked believing they’d both taken it in a way. You spent the night kissing, fondling, sucking and licking one another. You remember the absolute ecstasy running through your veins as Aegon lapped at your overstimulated clitoris and the blinding bliss of Aemond’s thick shaft pumping in and out of you slowly. You still don’t know how many times they brought you to orgasm, or how many times they did in return, but you know it ended with their seed dripping from your sex. You hoped their seed might take root inside you, giving you a true Targaryen baby, and not one tainted by the “Strongs”.

You continued coupling with your brothers even after your marriage to Jace. Sometimes you’d have one alone: Aegon in a stairwell or Aemond in the library. But, you preferred them together. Nothing else quite beat the feeling of both of them inside you at once, taking different paces and strokes that drove you wild. It aroused you more when you laid back to watch them kiss and fondle one another in front of you. You’d originally thought they did it for your entertainment, but that was before you caught them naked in a brothel Aegon frequented.

It remained a secret, but secrets don’t do well in The Red Keep and soon the whispers started. You noticed people watching you more closely; giving you strange looks when they thought you hadn’t seen them. The worst came from your mother, who told you it is a disgrace and an insult to your husband. You innocently claimed you had no idea what she was talking about, as you’d done your duty as a wife and laid with Jace. Yet, you also laid with your brothers. When you became pregnant, you tried passing it off as Jace’s child, since you tried bedding him on the days you’d been with Aemond or Aegon. People believed it, but only for a short while.

Baby Maelora Targaryen had the silver-hair and purple eyes of her Valyrian ancestors. Being Targaryen yourself, you managed to put about that she had strong Valyrian genes. Jacaerys believed this to be true, and embraced Maelora as his own. Detractors noted that Maelora also had the nose and jawline of her Uncle Aemond. Aemond still enjoys bragging that your firstborn is his child, and not Aegon’s.

Aegon, however, likes to boast that he gave you two babies for the effort of one; he sometimes noted he’d given you boys as well. Vaeron and Jaeron came into the world crying and screaming nine months after the Tourney at Highgarden, which only Aegon and you attended out of the three. He can only lay claim to them because both boys have his eyes, nose, and ears. Later on, they’d grow to have his curly, wavy silver locks as well. It was another feature people started noticing. Even Jace could not deny the likeness, though still said nothing.

It was people in Jace’s family who noted it the most. Baela Targaryen often said how strange it was that none of Jace’s three children looked anything like him. Rhaenys Velaryon said once she found it sweet how much time the Targaryen siblings spent together even in adulthood. Rhaenyra, his mother and your half-sister, was the only one who never spoke out. She was in no place to accuse because she’d been accused of the same thing when Jace, Luke, and Joffery were born. You replied to these rumors with passive comments, never insulting or outright denying them, but acknowledging them anyways. Your father once again showed everyone his willing blindness when presented with each babe. He proclaimed they had strong genes, and would be great knights and ladies when they grew up.

So, the secret was now open. This gave you a little more courage than you should’ve had. You spent more time in your brothers’ company, not always making love, but usually talking or relaxing in each other’s company. When they did bed you, they sometimes fought over who got to breed you. The thought of fathering more children on you aroused them both, giving them the feeling they have something over Jace once more. The talk did eventually die down…

But then you became pregnant a third time. You’d grown worried that your brothers gave you another child, and the rumor storm will be immense this time around. Throughout your pregnancy, people speculated about the father. You heard a particularly nasty rumor that lords were placing bets on who was the father: Jacaerys, Aegon, Aemond, or some unnamed man nobody knew about. It was endless. You tried finding comfort in the time Jace and you laid together, both of you drunk, lonely and horny. Yet, you knew around that time, Aemond and you shared a night together before he went off to Storm’s End to secure a marriage pact. Only the Gods knew until the day came that you gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

A baby boy with thick brown hair and violet eyes. Rhaelor delighted everyone in House Velaryon, and quieted anyone who spoke out against you. The idea was further ingrained when the children started growing, and Rhaelor maintained the same features as Jacaerys. Still, your brothers spoke about their disappointment about Rhaelor, yet loved him as much as your other children because they were an extension of you.

Aemond said Rhaelor was their little blessing. Aegon said he didn’t know Jace had it in him.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon x aemond x reader #house of the dragon #hotd drabbles #hotd imagines #hotd fanfiction

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be-my-ally · 7 months ago

Text

The Seatbelt Sign is On

A Big Bunny Vignette.

Bunny wants to get tied up, so uh, here we are. Playboy!Reader x 76/77 Elvis - this little plot-less smutty fic is set between The Lisa-Marie & Crash Landing. Although I think it could be read as a standalone. This is pretty much totally unedited, so apologies for any typos.

warnings: 18+ 18+ 18+. Light bondage. No safewords or anything but it is clearly pretty ssc**. Oral, and penetrative sex (p in v), slight overstimulation.

75-77 elvis x playboybunny!reader (established relationship - here's the link for the rest of the series)

wc: 4.2k (miss concise smut is back baby!!)

** ((Spoiler: Elvis does say he has scissors in case she needs to be cut out - but he’s pretty much just holding her down with some ribbon and a seatbelt.))

Elvis often climbed up the stairs with his last burst of energy post-show - happy to collapse and settle in or onto the nearest chair, sometimes not even making it to his bed, taking in the precious hours of rest before the next stop. It meant that even though you were spending a serious number of hours with Elvis, it didn’t leave a whole lot of time that he was lucid or awake enough to actually spend it with you.

You’d worried it was you, to start with, but you’d heard the guys whispering about him lately. About his lack of interest in the girls he flew out to meet him, or the ones waiting back home for him. You’d watched Sam looking you up and down a little smugly in the middle of the conversation as if saying without a word that there was a lack of interest in you too. The rumours that he couldn’t get it up at the moment followed raucous retellings of salacious events from years before that you were sure were heavily embellished if they’d even happened at all. But, despite what they would gossip about, you never would describe Elvis as lacking in some way, and certainly not out loud. Sure, he didn’t always (or even often) have the energy to be intimate with you but when he did he was as considerate and, usually, as fun as ever.

Sometimes though you couldn’t help but feel like it was just…a bit bland. You still blush when you think about those first few flights on Big Bunny, meeting him in next to nothing for that rehearsal. Nothing has really come close in a long time. He certainly wasn’t behaving in the same way, and you felt a little like maybe you had become too comfortable together, or like a married couple or something. A distinct lack of excitement together.

The issue, you thought while brainstorming ways of keeping it interesting, was that despite how brash and forward Elvis could be, he ultimately became quite shy and almost too respectful towards you while you were alone. You knew enough about how his brain worked to know that part of the appeal of the opposite sex was, for him, the perceived softness and ability to at least perform an act of gentle innocence. He could be brazen and arrogant while ordering you to dance for him, to roll his latest dirty film acquisition, yet when he had you alone he’d be almost apologetic, gentle. You didn’t want him to be mean to you, but maybe a little less of the…desperation. If he could just take a little more control again.

It was at the end of a run of shows, Elvis tired but with it, when the answer came to you. He’d been carefully kissing the inside of your thighs, where you lay, still fully dressed on the bed of the Lisa-Marie when you’d moved your hands onto his head in an attempt to impatiently guide him. He’d tutted at you, immediately pulling away from your fingertips trying to bury themselves into his longer hair.

“No, no, no, keep your hands outta the way, baby, gotta let me work.” He returned, but a kiss to a sensitive crease sent your leg knocking into his shoulder. It’s been a while. You can feel his grin even as he pulls away again to look up his lashes at you.

“I told you you gotta stay still, I need my hands for this, can’t be holdin’ you down.” You’re not sure the noise that came out of your mouth could be heard by anything but dogs but he laughs, shaking his head, “What m’I gonna do with you?” You wiggle a little, and there’s a clunk of metal hitting the floor. You both turn to look, and your wide eyes meet his calculating ones.

“You can. You know, if you want.” He stares at the seatbelt now trailing on the floor for a moment longer before responding, turning bashful;

“Uh, well, I don’t know. I wouldn’t wanna pin you - I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable… I was really only jokin-“ He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead.

“El- it’s ok, really, I think I’d like it.”

“I didn’t, uh, I didn’t - do girls, do ya, do ya, uh, really like that kinda thing?”

“Uh-huh, I think so, or well, maybe not every girl, but I like the sound of it, all tied up and ready for you, just having to take whatever you wanted to give me? Doesn’t that sound good to you too?” While you were talking you could see him looking at the belt, gently stroking your wrist as he considered the proposition, he swallows. You can tell he likes the idea.

“You’d… you just, you’d just let me know if you want out right?” You laugh at his nervous questioning;

“Lord Elvis, what’s running through that mind of yours to do to me that I’d want out?” He shrugs, glancing at the clock.

“Well, not today, baby, gotta be ready for the show in an hour, ‘m gonna, gonna freshen’ up.” And with a pat to your side, he headed to the bathroom, leaving you there.

You realised you might have made an error in judgement bringing it up just then, just when he’d started to get going now you were left with your panties twisted to one side, skirt hitched, alone on the bed with the plane seemingly whizzing past any prospect of an orgasm today.

——————————————————————

“We’re uh, going to Denver, you know, for the uh, burgers.” You pull the headset from your ear, as if blinking at it was staring at him and he would offer you more explanations.

“Oh, yeah… sure, ok.”

“Well, don’t ya wanna come too?” He sounds offended at your noncommittal response, but you don’t really. Truthfully, you still didn’t quite feel like you were rested from the tour yet and you knew it was only a matter of days before you’d be up all hours of the night and day and running ragged after him again. But, he made that dejected sort of hopeful hum that made you cringe at the mere thought of not agreeing to his plans.

“Of course I do - I’ll uh, I’ll be there just as soon as I can.” It’s silent on the other end, and then,

“We’re leavin’ now, so hurry.” Of course he was.

It didn’t occur to you until much later that he didn’t want to go to Denver at all, and definitely not for the burgers - you’d heard Joe ringing from the comfort of Elvis’ fancy car-phone to make sure someone, presumably a pretty Miss Colorado of some sort, was home. Assuring them down the line that Elvis couldn’t come to the phone right now, but if they made sure they were at the airport he’d be there in a few hours for a flying visit. Somehow, you were able to listen to this - your legs nudging his, and his nudging Joe’s, without the slightest jealousy - just a mild sympathy for this girl desperate for the crumbs he was willing to lay. It would be much later that you would realise Denver had nothing to do with this girl either, that it was all an excuse for you. You’d realised there was some kind of ulterior motive to a lesser extent though as soon as you were, quite frankly, shoved into the bedroom as soon as you had boarded.

“Elvis! I’ve got a job to do!” He shakes his head, grinning at you and standing in the way of the door,

“Nu-uh baby, I been thinking about what you said last time.” You didn’t expect that.

“Oh?”

“Yes ma’am, and you’re right.” You really didn’t expect that,

“Oh! Well I can’t say I’m surpr-” You yelp as he pinches your side,

“‘Nough of that, on the bed! I got ‘quipment.” You pause your stride towards the bed, looking at him grinning with his hands on his hips, it was all a bit sudden.

“Um, I didn’t, I mean, I’m not su-” He grins at you,

“I thought you were Miss Confident?” He gets that sly look on his face, his eyes narrowing and crinkling in their corners, “You know… I’ve been readin’ up and I don’t know if I oughta be worried, liking this kind of thing is listed in the DSM you know…” You gulp, your stomach twisting a little, feeling a flush rise up from your chest to your cheeks.

“Jesus El - I’m not the one with equipment! I just like a little…I’m an adult, and I know what I like and I think it’s unfair of you to say that kind of thing, especially when I know what you’ve been up to, and you know Hugh - Elvis stop laughing at me!”

“You’d have thought I was secretly sending you off to the nuthouse baby, the way you were carrying on then,” He manages to get the words out past his giggles, “ ‘s just a bit of ribbon, honey-bunny.” You both feel the rumble of the engine starting up, “C’mon we’re on a time limit.”

“Well, if you’re - if you’re sure…” You bite your lip in nerves.

“Where’d my conf’dent l’il bunny go huh? C’mon baby, ‘s no worries - you’ll like it .”

“Are you - you know what you’re doing?” His mouth gapes a little, wide-eyed.

“Of course!” He looks genuinely offended, for a second before grinning, “I got good at knots in the army don’t you worry.” He winks at you as he salutes, his feet knocking together and you giggle, your tension relieving itself.

“I’d be more reassured if you’d been in the navy.” He swats at you,

“ ‘M better than any of them boys playin’ out on their little boats I tell ya, now hush and let me work here.” Your breath catches again, “don’t worry darlin’ I saw this in a uh, blue movie, don’t ya worry, I know how you like it.”

That did little to calm your nerves - his reassurance that he knew what he was doing too often led to some kind of mild disaster. “Well, ok, but - you’ve got, you’re prepared, right? You got some scissors or, something, haven’t you? In case you hafta get me out quick?”

Elvis puts the bag back onto the bed, holding three fingers up - but his solemn face belies the comedy of the action; “I swear, swear to you, I’ll get you out if you want to be. Not gonna let anythin’ happen to my best bunny.” You look into his eyes pausing for a moment and nod, lying back on the bed. He situates himself between your legs, bending to place a feather-light kiss on the corner of your mouth,

“Aren’t you gonna…?” You shake your wrists at him and he huffs a laugh, his breath fanning over you,

“Gotta get you worked up first baby, ain’t no fun if you’re not ready to wriggle and jiggle around, is it? Now, hush,” He whispers against your skin, “let me work my magic.”

He might not have been focussing his energy through his ‘healing hands’ this time, but you couldn’t deny he did have the magic touch, he barely had to brush his fingers over you, press a thigh against your side, and you were gone from the world, levitating above the bed, above the plane, into the sky above. You’re embarrassingly quick to turn on, making out with Elvis enough to make you squirm. After a minute or so he presses kisses against your clavicle, open-mouthed while his fingers fumble with opening the buttons that stretch from your neck to your thighs, almost immediately shoving his hands around the waistband of your tights and he tugs hard enough that there’s the tell-tale ripping sound of the nylon falling apart - if you’d been more conscious of it you would have rolled your eyes, somehow you never seem to be able to keep a pair for long around Elvis. As it was you were far too distracted to care, relieved simply to be divested of the fabric and you lift your hips to let him roll them off - throwing the destroyed fabric to the corner of the room. His hand supports your back as you lean forward, pulling your arms out of your dress, immediately wrapping them around his neck once you were free.

He’s all-encompassing, someone else might find him smothering, the way his arms seem to be everywhere all at once, caging you against him. But you can’t get enough. Your underwear ends up somewhere, god knows where. You’re reminded again of that revelatory first time when he’s biting nibbling kisses across your chest, tiny pink bruises sucked onto your soft skin, Elvis’ hands pawing at you in that somehow hot clumsy way. He tweaks a nipple and your back arches to meet him, you don’t know when your eyes closed but you open them at the sudden loss of any sensation,

Elvis is sat back on his heels, assessing you, rubbing your thighs firmly. He nods with satisfaction at whatever he sees, reaching up the bed for the ribbon and tugging your wrists towards him. He kisses your pulse, and you wonder if he can feel how it jumps. He tuts when the ribbon twists, wrapping it around several times and looping it over and under before finishing it off with his best attempt at a bow. You make eye contact with each other, and you open your mouth to tease him about it, but he stops you with a pointed finger, his eyes alight.

“Don’t say a word.” You swallow your words, playfully snapping at his finger instead, and he laughs, holding your newly tied wrists above your head as he leans down to kiss you again. It’s somehow dirtier this time, whether because you just feel that way, or because he doesn’t take his time, biting your lip and pushing his tongue into you; forcefully mapping out your mouth. He works his way down, sucking a small, darker bruise on the underside of your left breast, you wonder if it was intentionally close to your heart. You tremble, wriggling against him and after a moment he evidently grows tired of pinning your wrists, his long arms not able to keep them pressed flat while he works down your body and he looks for a way to secure them better.

“Well, I guess we didn’t think this through, honey, it’s not the right kind of headboard, so I s’pose you’ll just hafta keep ‘em there.” He presses your newly tied wrists against the pillows, fingertips brushing the velvet of the headboard and your back arches with the effort of keeping them there. His breath tickles when he returns to his place, and the air over the sticky wetness of your inner thighs makes your arms involuntarily attempt to come back down to hold him in place. Elvis tuts at you, leaning back.

“’S no good. You’re wriggling around too much.” He stands up, his hands on his hips to assess your predicament. He sits back down and peers down the side of the bed. “C’mere.” He hauls your body up and you wriggle up with him until you were high enough up the bed that your back was now supported by one of the cream-golden reading cushions and he was able to pull the seatbelt across your stomach.“Keep your hands there.” He pats them at the top, and you grip the top of the headboard as best you can. “Where was I?”

You’ve lost all ability to speak, simply too turned on to comprehend what’s going on. There’s the barest hint of sweat beading above his eyebrow and glistening on his dark, longer, sideburns. Your hands twitch to cup his face and you whine in frustration, unable to reach where he kneels between your legs, your fingers clutching the dusty top of the headboard, desperate not to ruin the game. He grins, tongue running over his teeth, and you thump your head back against the hard cushion,

“Elvis, c’mon.”

“I’m havin’ fun now, baby,” He sing-songs it delicately and you shiver, “Gonna get you so worked up.” His thick hands grasp your thighs, fingertips digging in, “C’mon, bunny, open up for me.” You have no idea if the growl that comes from his mouth was intentional, or if it just had the unintended side effect of your legs immediately spreading, your breath hitching. He leans in and you feel yourself tense, hairs pricking with the tension of the moment, desperately anticipating his next move.

Elvis is clearly not unaffected by the sight of you - his breathing much harder than before and it tickles as he gently kisses your inner thigh, his pouty lips open. The very tip of his tongue ghosts across your skin, and you shudder at the sensation, aching for him.

“Elvis you’ve gotta - you’ve gotta touch me.”

“I am touching you.” His fingertips continue to dance, and you try to squirm a little, the seatbelt trapping you in place.

“Nooo. Properly.” He chuckles,

“Properly” He teases with a shake of his head and you whine again,

“Ssh, shhh, I’mma take real good care of you, bunny, just relax baby,” He firmly rubs at your thighs, as if he wasn’t the reason you were squirming. You let your head roll back again, suddenly distracted as he teases you by the sight of yourself in the mirror at the end of the room, the dark mahogany of the wood-covered room and the dim light reflecting off of the creamy ceiling putting you into a soft-glow focus. You can barely see yourself beyond him, he takes up the majority of your view, and though the concept is hot to you, fully clothed as he was, it left little to look at - just your twitching tied wrists, above both of your bodies, really visible.

Finally he’s kissing across your bare skin and you’d forgotten somehow, impossibly, in the time since you’d last been together like this, just how good he was at this. You’re already so sensitive, you can feel the cooling dampness in the air, and yet it still comes as a surprise at his first kitten licks how responsive you were to him. He presses one hand against your thigh, fingers leaving bruises from his tight grip, holding you totally open to him. Elvis leans back a little, grinning at your attempts to grind on nothing, and you might be ashamed at such a wanton display in the morning but right now you just need the pressure back. He spreads your slick folds with his flattened tongue, moving his fingers in to keep you spread open so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on the little nub and sending you shuddering.

Your legs are the only part of you able to move, and you wrap them around his, now thicker, waist holding him against you until the movement of his talented tongue and fingers make them kick out. For some reason, even though he wasn’t doing anything new, being secured down like this was making everything feel ten times more - like someone had turned your sensitivity up on a dial. He tongue-fucks into you, and it’s so hard to keep your hands where they are, writhing around as you were, desperate to hold him in place - gain better purchase to grind against his clever, talented tongue.

The singular focus he dedicates to this task always reminds you of that first time and having him so committed only adds to your enjoyment. Elvis renews his efforts, suckling like he needs you for oxygen, and the warm wet pressure builds until finally, you’re shuddering over the edge of orgasm, legs spasming and your back arching as much as it was able to do so - and the tension of the seatbelt across your body - pinning you down far more than you would usually be held, has you electrified, adding to your startling passion. You pant, trembling as he leans back, it’s scandalous how he smiles at you, catching his breath, lips glistening with your slick and you try to form words to tell him how earth-shattering that vision is, but you struggle from the sheer anticipation of watching him stand up.

“El- Honestl-El, how’d you, it’s so good. You need, I need you -“

You cut yourself off, panting, as Elvis finally, finally, slips out of his lounge pants and jacket. His tanned hairy chest unveiled itself, a perfect trail leading down to his hard cock, its pink head poking out, glossy with his precum. You shudder, and he grins at you wildly for a moment, before seemingly focussing on the task at hand, clambering back atop you. He mutters the same thing he always mutters as he presses himself into you,

“Y’re good, y’re a good girl, bunny, swear it - y’re so, fuck, so tight.” It probably shouldn’t make your chest glow so much. He presses a hand on your stomach, just below where the seatbelt pins you to the bed - holding you in place for him to get himself situated. The firm pressure is almost enough to tip you over the cliff again. You realise you’re babbling, muttering pleas when Elvis kisses your sweaty cheek, hushing you. He jerks his hips once, twice, in time with your gasps before he growls, evidently incapable of getting the angle right and you suddenly feel yourself being tugged down the bed, hands leaving the headboard and seatbelt scraping your skin until you were lying mainly flat, mostly immobile.

“That’s it, that’s - that’s better - that good for you Bunny?” He doesn’t give you time to respond, laughing to himself, “ ‘course it is. You’re like one of them kids toys, what’re they called, those, those, slip n’, slip n’ slides. So fucking wet down here.” You nod frantically in agreement, stuttering out that you were fine, it was all good - but please, Elvis, please, just move.

It’s a strange sensation, being unable to use yourself to get leverage, and it feels almost objectifying. Lying there just to be used, but you liked it, and Elvis took advantage, pulling and tugging to exactly the pace and angle he needed to chase his own pleasure. You plant your feet, when you manage to get purchase, able to use your thighs to your advantage a little. You can feel the edge rising, but before you get there Elvis stills, his mouth agape, sweat beading at his forehead and eyebrow, upper lip aglow with it, and you feel him pulsing. His hand comes down to stroke between your folds, as he slowly pulls out, and you shake your head - it was almost too much, but he hushes you,

“Shh. Wanna see you go again, it’s only fair - ’n’t that the reason I got you all tied up like this.” You tremble, and he presses his thumb against you, it’s filthy, the viscous mix of your fluids. Elvis deftly rubs your clit, and your body shakes through the waves of orgasm until you squirm away from his fingers, completely overstimulated,

“El- El, that’s that’s enough, I can’t - fuck, that’s too much - too much,” He laughs at you, stroking you a final time as your legs twitch. You lie there panting for a long while, and Elvis gets up before you do, cutting the ribbon off of you, not bothering to deal with the knots that had tightened as you struggled, and heading to grab a drink from the little dressing table alcove at the end of the room while you caught your breath.

The ribbon had done pretty well at keeping your hands together, he’d done them up tight enough that they’d laid fairly flat and untwisted, but still, when you rubbed your wrists there was a light mark and the hint of soreness, especially around the outside edge of your forearm. You unbuckle yourself, sitting upright slowly.

Clearly, there’s a reason people don’t usually use seatbelts like this. The rough edge of the nylon had rubbed you where you’d wriggled around, the lines criss-crossing, while the heavy weight of the gold buckle had left indents - several of which you were sure were going to bruise. You didn’t mind that so much, pressing a finger into the darkest of the marks.

“Good Lord Elvis, I look like I’ve been whipped or something!” He glances back at you in the mirror where you’re now fully upright, brushing your fingers over the pink marks. He points a finger at your reflection,

“No chance in goddamn hell. Nope. There’s not enough space - don’t you go gettin’ any ideas now, li’l girl. Absolutely fuckin’ no.”

---------

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#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #be-my-ally #elvis x oc #elvis x reader #big daddy elvis #elvis fanfiction #big bunny #big bunny vibes #elvis x playboy reader #elvis x you

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goddess-aelin · 11 months ago

Text

Feels Like Home

For @backtobl4ck for the Rowaelin Yulemas celebration/ Secret Santa. For the second year in a row, I once again had the pleasure to write something for Maria! I was so excited when I found out I had you because we both loveeeee fluff and friends to lovers. So I hope you love this little gift and have a very happy Yulemas :) @rowaelinscourt

Masterlist

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: none!

Her hands were everywhere. Her lips touched his softly as she breathily moaned at his ministrations between her thighs. Silky blonde locks brushed his face as he made his way down the side of her neck. He never tasted anything so sweet, so right. “Rowan. Rowan. Rowan.” Her voice got louder and louder as he laid her back on the cushions of his couch, muscles straining to reign in all the things he wanted to do to her. He had to do this right. Move slowly. This thing between them was as precious as the sun’s warmth. “Rowan. Ro.” Her voice changed cadence, suddenly closer and louder. “Ro!”

A stinging sensation against his cheek woke him. Like lighting, he shot up, catching the arm of the person who slapped him. Once he registered where he was and what was happening, the first thing he noticed were the depthless blue and gold eyes of his best friend. His best friend. Aelin. Who he was in the middle of having a sex dream about.

Rowan could feel his face flush as he became more aware of his surroundings. He silently thanked the Gods that he chose to cover himself with a blanket for this particular nap. Otherwise, it would’ve been painfully obvious just exactly what he had been dreaming about.

“Must’ve been some dream, huh? Since you didn’t wake up the first twenty times I called your name.” Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Sorry for the slap, though. I just didn’t know how else to wake you up.” Aelin gave him a devious smile.

Rowan rubbed at the still stinging area on his left cheek. The good thing was that the slap hid any blush that might’ve remained on his face. “Sure you are, Fireheart.” She pouted slightly, giving him her best “but I’m innocent” look. “Wait, how did you even get in here?”

“You gave me a key, remember?”

“Yeah, for emergencies. Not to barge into my house at…” He checked his phone. “4:35pm on a Thursday afternoon.”

“This is an emergency, Ro.”

He raised an eyebrow and silently commanded, explain.

“Well ok…you see, I have this cousin. His name is Galan. Well he’s sort of my cousin but he’s also not. Not in the sense that Aedion is my cousin. But he’s still sort of close family, ya know? And I got the invite a few weeks back and I hoped that I could find a date but I haven’t yet and I just really think that maybe it would be a fun time and there’s going to be good food-”

“Hold on. What the fuck are you talking about?” Rowan couldn’t keep the humor and huff of laughter out of his voice. Aelin tended to ramble when she was nervous. So obviously this was something she was nervous about. He gently took her hand. “Start again and take a deep breath this time.”

For once, she listened to him. After inhaling and exhaling deeply, she tried again. “My cousin, Galan. He’s getting married and I have a plus one. I can’t go alone because my mother will have a fit and that will make her and my aunts scheme like hell to set me up with one of the groomsmen. But I 100% do not want that. I know Galan’s friends and they’re all dumbasses. I love my cousin, but his groomsmen all make really stupid, idiotic decisions. So no, thank you. So I guess my question is, will you go with me? As my plus one?”

Rowan took a moment to process the information. What are the odds that he would have a sex dream about his best friend right before she asked him to be her plus one to a wedding? He was treading dangerous territory and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He must’ve taken too long to answer because Aelin hastily said, “As friends, of course. And you’d get free food, booze, and a night of dancing. You get to dress up, which I know you hate but it’ll be fun! Plus, you’ll get to have the most beautiful, amazing, graceful date on your arm.”

That shocked him out of his stupor. Rowan let out a cackle. “Modest, aren’t you?”

“Modesty is my middle name.”

Rowan hummed in mock agreement. “Yeah, I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun. A night away, drinking, eating great food, and getting to watch the bridal party get increasingly drunk as the night goes on? I’m in.”

Aelin beamed but quickly bit her lip. He knew her too well to know that it wasn’t just a nervous tick. There was something else. Rowan narrowed his eyes.

“It’s also like five hours away in Varese so we need to rent a hotel for the night.” She looked apprehensive, as if this new information was going to make him change his mind and say no.

“O..kay? We’ve been on vacations together before, Fireheart. What’s different this time?”

She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I just know you don’t like being the center of attention and I know that my mom and my aunts are going to be all over you like vultures. So I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into before saying yes.”

Rowan shrugged. “How bad can it be?”

- - - - -

Bad. The answer to his question from a few weeks ago was just that: it could be bad. The date of the wedding crept up steadily, he and Aelin hammering out the details of their stay in Varese. Aelin, of course, insisted on coordinating colors for their outfits, which is how he found himself standing at the base of the stairs in the grand ballroom attached to their hotel in a black tux and emerald green bowtie, talking with Aedion while waiting for the two ladies to make their grand entrance. Aelin insisted on the emerald green to match his eyes. He really didn’t care either way, he just hoped he was able to reign in his budding feelings when he saw Aelin in what just so happened to be his favorite color. And that if he somehow did accidentally let some of his feelings show, that it wouldn’t make it awkward for when they got back to their hotel room.

Oh right, that. The other predicament he was in.

Once he and Aelin arrived at the hotel that morning, they were surprised to find that not only did their room only have one bed, it also had one of the most romantic views of Varese, overlooking the river that flowed through the center of the city and its beautiful architecture. Aelin was quick to insist that she had nothing to do with this and that she ordered a double room. At the time, the wedding was only a few hours away and Aelin shoved him out of their room towards Aedion and Lysandra’s across the hall, stating that she needed to get ready and she couldn’t have his broody self in the room while she was doing so. So he and Lysandra had switched places, Aelin assuring him that they’d remedy the bed situation later.

He and Aedion took a whopping total of ten minutes to get ready in comparison to Aelin and Lysandra’s two hours. Rowan’s foot started tapping of its own accord as the time ticked closer to the ceremony. If Aelin didn’t hurry her ass up- albeit her very, very nice ass- they were going to be late.

He was cut off from his thoughts by the two sets of clacking heels on the marbled floor coming from the top of the stairs. It took one look at the thigh slit of Aelin’s dress for his mouth to dry up. Another glance at the way it hugged her hips for his body to go wholly still. And one final glance to her beautiful, glowing face for him to black out completely.

He must’ve actually blacked out since, in what felt like a single moment, Aelin was standing right in front of him. Her emerald green dress matched his bowtie perfectly, of course, the gold accent of her minimal jewelry complimenting her eyes. She didn’t need baubles and gems to make her sparkle. She, just as she was now, was an ethereal being, glowing from an internal, unseen star.

Rowan tried so hard; so, so, incredibly hard to will his mind to say something, anything. And yet, words escaped him. How could he ever put into words how beautiful she was, how much she meant to him? As saliva started making its way into the dry desert that was his mouth, all he could manage was a “Holy shit.”

Aelin’s laugh was like twinkling bells in his ear. “Back at ya, Buzzard. You look…very handsome.”

Was it just his imagination or did she sound…breathless? He couldn’t help but become aware of every place her eyes drifted to, like they were emitting invisible fire and burning him everywhere. His hand subconsciously came up to rub at the back of his hair, trying to smooth out anything that was out of place. “You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?” He managed a small smirk. Or, he hoped he did.

Aelin’s eyes continued their unhurried perusal, mouth parting slightly and hand coming up to grab his own to stop him from messing up his hair even more. “No,” she breathed, “For once in my life, I’m not. I Promise.” Rowan could see her swallow hard.

Rowan had to take a deep gulp of air, otherwise he was sure he was going to pass out. Somewhere, deep inside of him, some air of confidence kicked in and gracefully allowed him to offer his arm for Aelin to take. Gently, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, both of them silently making their way to the doors where the ceremony would be held. As they neared the room, Rowan purposefully slowed them down, falling behind Aedion and Lysandra. “Fireheart,” he whispered. “You look…you look stunning. It’s what I wanted to say earlier but I couldn’t find the words.”

Rowan could have sworn a blush overtook her face. But she beamed up at him, giving him a sweet, shy smile.

“Thank you.” He could feel more than see her sharp intake of breath. A breath to recenter and refocus. “Well, shall we, Buzzard?” Rowan nodded and steered them once again to the doors.

An hour later, the ceremony was over and Rowan’s stomach was rumbling. Loudly. Seated next to Aelin, he knew she could hear it and she continued to sneak glances and little smirks at him. The hunger he could deal with. The sly glances from Aelin? Not so much. She had been driving him insane since she floated down those stairs and it was slowly but surely causing him to lose his cool. That would be if he ever had it in the first place.

And as the night went on, the torture only continued. Throughout dinner, her arm would brush his as she turned to talk to Lysandra next to her, her leg would tap against his own when she told a joke, and she would find any excuse to touch him as often as she could. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind. But they were here as friends. And these touches were making him want much, much more than that.

The only time he felt like he could breathe was when Aelin got up to dance with Lysandra to an upbeat pop song, leaving Rowan and Aedion sitting alone at their table to chat. Rowan had a few drinks already but he was nowhere near drunk. A nice buzz was flowing through him but he was still very much so in control of his actions.

At least, that’s what he thought until Aedion cleared his throat. Rowan broke his stare from Aelin’s sensuous dancing. Did she even know what she looked like to him? How much she was torturing him just by being herself? He wasn’t sure if she was aware. But Aedion sure as hell was.

The blonde man gave him a knowing look and raised an eyebrow. Rowan just rolled his eyes and allowed his gaze to maneuver back to Aelin. He caught the moment when she threw her head back and laughed, the sound making his bones feel like they were both on fire and also a pile of mush. It was a feeling that he was unaccustomed to, having only felt anything of the sort with his high school girlfriend. But if that feeling was a good one, this one made him feel like he was flying. Made him feel a need so deep that he wasn’t sure he would ever recover. He needed every inch of her. Not only her body, but her soul, her smiles, her laughter, her tears. He wanted everything.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Beside him, Aedion chuckled. “You’re only now just realizing it?”

Rowan could do nothing but stare at the table, knowing that if he looked at Aedion, his secretly harbored feelings would be completely out in the open for the other man to see. And if he looked up at Aelin, the same outcome. So yeah, he was fucked.

“I know you’re having a complete crisis over being in love with her but I’m glad you finally figured it out. Took you long enough.”

That made Rowan look toward the man sitting next to him, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, we’ve all known this for ages. I feel like it was obvious to anyone with eyes, to be completely honest. Some of us even have a bet on how long it’ll take for you two to finally admit that you’re in love with each other.”

Rowan made to open his mouth with a denial but Aedion held up a hand. “Nope, dude. Save the bullshit. I know just by looking at you that you’re so far gone for her, it’s unreal. And I know that Aelin has never been as happy as when she’s with you. She never laughed this freely until she met you.” Aedion let out a small huff of breath. “You have my blessing.”

Rowan just repeated his earlier statement. “Fuck.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a breathless Aelin sitting in the seat to Aedion’s right, where she promptly picked up the half-full glass of wine and chugged it.

“So what are you boys gossiping about over here that has poor Whitethorn all red in the face?”

Internally, Rowan was panicking. Aedion opened his mouth to say something that Rowan was sure to be snarky but before he could, Rowan blurted out, “birds!”

The corners of Aelin’s mouth quirked up slightly. “Birds…?” Rowan could tell that she didn’t fully believe him but luckily, Aelin was already half drunk. He hoped she would just let it go.

The first mistake Rowan made was making eye contact with her. She always had an uncanny ability to read him like an open book, despite most people not understanding him. As she narrowed her eyes, the part of their souls that has always been intertwined translated for him, as if to say, I don’t believe you and think you’re full of shit, Buzzard.

So Rowan sent his own thoughts back, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fireheart.

The second mistake was continuing to hold her gaze. Not because he gave anything away to her but rather because it prompted the man sitting in between them to throw his hands in the air and exclaim, “Oh no. Oh helllll no. This isn’t happening right in front of me.” Aedion quickly shoved his chair away from the table and got up to leave. Before walking away completely, he turned around and pointed right at the two of them. “I’m tired of this bullshit. You guys need to get it together and just fucking make out already. Gods.” And with his piece said, Aedion stalked away, directly to the bar where he knocked back a shot immediately.

Rowan turned back to Aelin, whose eyes were wide and brows furrowed.

“Umm, what just happened?”

The only thing Rowan could do was shrug. He sure as hell wasn’t going to lie to her but he wasn’t sure that he could outright confess his feelings, either. He was saved from deciding by the transition to a slower song, one he knew Aelin liked. As he looked back over at her, her eyes had drifted closed and her shoulders were swaying slightly, moving along to the lilting melody of the song.

Rowan shoved his chair away from the table, extending his hand toward her. Blue eyes met his own and held his gaze with an intensity that could’ve set him on fire. “Dance with me, Fireheart.”

Aelin managed a small smile and took his hand, following him to the dance floor where Lysandra and Aedion and her parents were already coupled up and swaying back and forth. He gently guided her hand to rest at his shoulder, laying his own on her waist, and cradling her other to his chest.

Looking down at her, he felt like he could do this forever. Her bright teal eyes were hazed with alcohol and something else, as if she felt content, safe. Slowly, she tilted her head so it rested on his chest. Of their own accord, Rowan’s lips gently placed a kiss to her hair, inhaling her sweet lemon verbena and lavender scent. Aelin always smelled so good. So…comforting. Like home.

Through the haze of their otherworldly bubble, Aelin murmured something.

“Hmm?” he asked.

Pulling her head back, she answered him, “I said ‘are you going to tell me what that was back there at the table? With Aedion?”

He tensed, Aelin tensing along with him. “It was nothing, Aelin.”

She raised an eyebrow in protest. He knew she was disappointed. She could tell he was lying through his teeth. “It obviously wasn’t nothing. Just tell me. Did my mom say something? She and my aunts have been watching us all night like hawks.”

“Really, Fireheart...I…It’s nothing. Everything’s good.” He gave her a tight smile, hoping she would let it go and they could go back into their bubble. But, of course, this was Aelin. She tensed even further, pulling her hand off of his shoulder and making to pull away from him completely. But before she could walk away from him, he grabbed her hand and as gently as he could, pulled her back toward him. She was caught off guard, Rowan could easily tell that much.

He slowly began to sway them back and forth again. Not caring about the eyes on them, he murmured “I’m not good at this.”

Aelin’s brows furrowed together. “At what?”

Rowan’s shoulders shrugged up and down of their own accord. “This. Talking about…about my feelings.”

Aelin’s head tilted in that way of hers that told him she was thinking. “And what about your feelings are you having a hard time with?”

“I’m not having a hard time with my feelings, I just…I can’t–” Rowan sighed. “For fuck’s sake.” It was at that moment, when Aelin was looking up at him with her eyes that could see everything, her beautiful mind that could work out any problem, that he grabbed her face. “Aelin–I love you. I’m in love with you.” Rowan felt as if his heart was going to beat out of his chest, his breathing so ragged as he waited in anticipation for what she would say back. But the answer didn’t come after a few seconds. And then it didn’t come after a few more. Aelin just stood there, wide-eyed and mouth opening and closing as if she couldn’t find the words, either. And bit-by-bit, Rowan was beginning to give up hope.

Slowly, he loosened his grip on her face, meaning to step back and give her space. But before he could pull away completely, Aelin threw her arms around his neck, dragging his head down forcefully and attaching her lips to his own. If he was being honest, it was probably the least romantic kiss he’d ever experienced but it didn’t matter one bit because it was Aelin.

The kiss was over before it started and Aelin pulled back slightly. Just enough to murmur, “I love you, too, Buzzard.”

He couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face. Properly this time, he held her face between his hands and brought her mouth back to his. This kiss was entirely different from the first. Gone was the urgency and desperation and in its place was genuine love and devotion. Would he ever get enough of this? He could’ve died in her kiss a happy man right at that moment. But he hoped that he would get many more chances to experience Aelin in all her glory.

Cheers and clapping broke them out of their reverie, startling them both back into reality. Rowan assumed it was cheering for Galan and his wife but as Rowan’s gaze roamed over the crowd, they all seemed to be watching…him. Aelin’s mother was at the head of her sisters, all five of the Ashryver sisters looking toward him and Aelin. All with smirks on their face. He could’ve sworn he heard a few swoony sighs as he and Aelin made their way back to their seats, faces aflame.

Once seated, Aelin leaned in close, putting her hand dangerously high on his thigh. “Well, I’d say it’s not such a bad thing that our room only has one bed, wouldn’t you Buzzard?”

Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Did you plan this, Fireheart?”

Aelin shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Who could ever know.” Rowan pinched her side, making her giggle. “I will say, though, that my wheels might have started turning the moment I walked in on you having a nice little smutty dream about me.”

Rowan gaped. “Wh-what?!”

Aelin shot him an answering smirk. “Oh yeah, did you think I didn’t know? You were literally moaning my name in your sleep. How else was I supposed to take that? Unless there’s another Aelin in your life, which, if that’s the case, excuse me, I’ll let you two be alone.” She feigned getting up from the table but he pulled her right back down, bringing her face close to his.

“And so what if I was, Fireheart?” He murmured in her ear. He both saw and felt the shiver that made its way down her body.

“Then, Buzzard, I’d say its a very good thing that our room has a king bed.” While his blood heated at her promise, he couldn’t help but think that this was the start of something amazing. Something that felt like home.

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writers-hes · 1 year ago

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the one i love most (a. bridgerton x reader)

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But I knew you Playing hide-and-seek and Giving me your weekends, I I knew you

(Warnings: cheating, folklore by taylor swift… angst), unedited

Kate was your dear friend but it was Anthony Bridgerton who had your heart. It wasn’t something that you meant…Anthony was just always there. He understood you in ways no one ever has. Maybe it was because of the friendship that you both fostered long ago. Two kids in his mother’s garden, playing hide and seek with his siblings. Your friendship was rooted on solid ground and nothing could have ever ruined it.

When Edmund Bridgerton died, it was you who helped Anthony through it all. He said it himself one afternoon while you walked through the lush green grasses of the park. You smiled and brushed it aside. He was your friend, it was the least you could do. Anthony was grateful for you. Grateful that you stayed in his life despite his shortcomings and his mistakes. You’ve always been there for him and he couldn’t just let you go so easily. It hurt him when you left. It broke him when you told him that you’d never want to receive another letter from him…he didn’t follow.

But everything hurt.

It started one night. You were in a secluded area in someone’s estate, attending the party under the guise of looking for marriage.

“My mother has been pestering me to find a wife,” he chuckled. “I don’t think I could marry yet. There’s so much to do…so much to achieve and I…” words fell from his lips as he watched you tilt your head sideways.

“What is it?”

I wanted it to be you. I want you. I want everything but I’m tied down to my responsibilities and I can’t just want you so wantonly without thinking about anything else.

“I am to attend a picnic with the Sharmas,” he sighed. “The younger sister…Edwina. What do you think of her?”

“Why does it matter? She’s smart, capable, and beautiful,” you replied monotonously. Edwina was all of these things but Anthony wanted something else.

“I think it is Kate who has my heart,” you heard him mutter. You looked up at him, hopelessness stirring in your heart. “But I’m not sure yet,”

“Shouldn’t love be as simple as knowing?”

Kate Sharma was the perfect match for Anthony and you couldn’t even deny it. It was there. They were written in the stars; foretold by the cosmos. You simply had no space in his heart. The shape of Anthony that you so carefully took care of would forever be his but you would never be. It was the same thing when he fell in love with the opera singer. He longed for her whilst he occupied your mind.

“But I want you…”

“Anthony?”

“I want you,” he said. “But if it is one of the sisters who I shall marry for the preservation of the honor of my family, then, I shall,”

Words died down in your throat. Were you not honorable enough for him? You shook your head as he neared.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the day I realized that I want you,” he whispered. “Will you allow me?”

One kiss turned into more kisses. Fleeting touches that occurred sometimes. He’d look at you sometimes while you laughed at someone else’s jokes. You’d look away when he’d dance with Kate. Soon, you were travelling the roads less travelled by; wearing Anthony’s garments as to not arouse suspicion. Soon, you were meeting an inconspicuous alleyway that led to a hidden cottage just outside of the city. Only the two of you before he marries Kate tomorrow.

“You’re getting married tomorrow,” you told him.

“But it is you who I want,”

“How many more proposals must I reject for you, Anthony?” you asked but he’d kiss you so you’d never have to think of it ever again.

Tomorrow, when you help Kate prepare for the wedding, you'll have a lump in your throat that you’ll try to swallow. When he puts the ring on her finger, you’d tear up because of how happy you were for the two of them. They’d never know the cross you’d carry in your heart; how terrible you’d feel because Anthony would never be with you. You’d never be his wife. He’d never wake up beside you ever again. You knew that he loved her and you only warmed his bed to keep him from the cold. He’d never know the guilt you’d carry for loving him while he loved someone else. He’d never know anything because at the end of the day, it was Kate whom he loves.

It’s been three days since he married Kate.

He seeked you out in all of those days. He’d come up with a smooth lie about his estate but he’d ultimately end up with you somewhere. He’d hike your skirt an inch higher than what was appropriate and when the sun sets, he’d walk away and let you go. Not today, though. You were set on telling him something important.

“A duke proposed to me,” you muttered while he fixed his belt. He looks at you.

“And what did you say?”

“That I’ll think about it,”

“Say no,” he says, sitting down on the bed, helping you with your corset. “Say no,”

“Why?” you asked. “I’m not getting any younger, Anthony,” you sighed. “My mother wants me to accept his proposal. It’s not everyday I get proposed to by a duke,”

“A viscount isn’t enough for you?” he asks, nibbling softly on your ear.

“No, it’s not like that. You know it isn’t,” you scolded, inching away from him but he holds you closer. “It’s just that…my prospects aren’t as great. Every year, my value dwindles down. This man…he’s kind and considerate. He’s not half as bad and respects me.” Every word seemed to stab Anthony’s heart, twisting it further and further until he was bleeding. “Besides, if I don’t marry, where else will I go?”

“You’ll have me,” he says. “You don’t need a duke to take care of you. I will,”

“And what of my family? What about Kate?” you asked. “Anthony, you’re only mine when we’re together. These clandestine meetings ought to stop soon,”

“Will you make him wait a little bit more? Until I sort things out,” he asks and you nod, your voice betraying you once more. You knew that you had to give an answer soon…but for now, you’ll allow yourself to take Anthony’s word for it. “I promise you’ll never have to look for somebody else to take care of you,”

Between the two of you, you both knew that things would be changing. Anthony has never faced a proposal from a duke before when it came to you. You were right. How many proposals do you have to reject just so you could wait around for him? He knew it was unfair for you but Anthony was a selfish man. He couldn’t imagine himself sharing you with somebody else. He couldn’t imagine losing you and if it took the heavens to come crashing down to do so, he would be more than happy to comply.

He watched as your carriage took you back home. For all everyone knew, you met up with Anthony by the park for an afternoon stroll. It was a daily occurence that shocked no one. Still, when he married Kate, the Ton wondered if these meetings would stop. The town moved on from one gossip to another but one thing was sure…they’d never get over how a married Viscount and a spinster from a respectable family met up every afternoon without lapse.

You sat in the drawing room of your house. You heard the whispers on the street. How shameless! You knew what they said about you but still, there was something inside your heart that bloomed whenever you saw Anthony. You’d never admit it to him and it seems that he’d never say it too but without the verbiage of confessions, you just both knew.

You hated how he made you feel sometimes. It hurt to know that no matter what you did, you’d never take things back. It hurt to know that you were hurting Kate too. She’d never hurt you the way you hurt her. Multiple times…over and over again. Anthony would never know the guilt that consumed you whenever you laid with him…the torment of knowing what’s right but doing what’s wrong because for him, what he was doing was right. He was a selfish man.

The next time you met Anthony with even more confusing feelings was a dinner hosted by your family. He was with Kate, happiness painting his face so effortlessly. Kate made him happy while you looked like you were dying multiple times. You flashed a smile when Kate found you. It was so natural, nobody would ever suspect a thing.

“Kate, you look so beautiful,” you told her. “Marriage life suits you,”

“Anthony treats me well,” Kate laughs. “I heard a duke has proposed to you…?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “I…said yes,”

“What? That’s amazing!” Kate exclaims but you shush her.

“It’s still something that we decided to keep between us,” you confessed. “A moment of peace before the Ton realizes,” You couldn’t look at Anthony who appeared beside Kate.

“Anthony, you can’t tell anyone but our dear friend is spoken for,” Kate whispers and Anthony could feel his world crumble. He showed it with a fake smile and a clench of his jaw.

“What?” he asked, incredulously. “You’re engaged?”

“Yes,” you whispered, looking everywhere but him. “I am,”

“Excuse me for a moment,” Kate says, sensing the tension between the two of you. She knew that you were the closest among the Ton and you were the one to thank for how Anthony turned out. He only ever listened to you and she often wondered if his heart belonged to someone else. Maybe you…but you were engaged now. Surely, she’d never have to worry about that. About you.

“Let’s go,” Anthony says, taking your arm and then dragging you to your room. How scandalous. It hurt to think that for him, he could drag you everywhere else without so much as a word from you. He locks the door behind him and looks at you like you’ve murdered him.

“Is it true?” he demands. “That you’re spoken for?”

“Anthony—“

“Please…just tell me,” he begs. “Is it true?”

“It is,” you nod and he inhales a breath. “I was planning to tell you tonight. He’s kind, Anthony. You’d never have to worry about how he treats me,”

“Break it off,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“Break off your engagement. It’s my job to take care of you. While it’s early,”

You felt anger bubbling inside you. How could he ask that of you when he could never do the same?

“We can’t keep on seeing each other like this, Anthony,” you tell him calmly. “Kate loves you and I…”

“What about you? Do you love him?”

“I’m engaged to him,”

“Do you love him?”

“I’ll learn to!” you cried. “He’s a great man, Anthony and after we wed in England, he’ll take me away from here and bring me to Scotland,”

“What?” he asked. “He’ll take you away from me? What about me? What about us? You’ll forget about us that easily? Like we were nothing? You know that I need you here. Why are you leaving me? Do you not love me?”

“You can’t do that to me, Anthony,” you tell him. “I could have stayed with you for a lifetime if you weren’t married…but this—everything—doesn’t feel right anymore. I’m hurting Kate. We’re hurting her without her knowing and you’re hurting me.” you cried. “This is all too confusing for me and I’m afraid we have to let it end here,”

“We can’t. We’ve known each other in all of our years. You just can’t leave me here alone.”

“But you are married to Kate! It doesn’t feel right. Do you know what the Ton thinks? I used to think that we could just both run away,” you told him. “I thought about it but it couldn’t happen. You have your responsibilities and I have mine…”

“I need you here,” he begged, sitting down on your bed as you walked towards him. “Just stay here with me. You can marry him…just stay here with me, please,”

“Anthony…”

“Please,” he begs, wrapping his arms around your waist and laying his head on your chest. “You can’t leave me. You’re the only person in this whole world that gets me. You know me more than anyone else. You’re my person,”

“But I don’t know you anymore, Anthony. Ever since you married Kate, everything between us became purely physical. You don’t talk to me anymore. You don’t kiss me the same way you used to. You stopped letting me in,” you said, stroking his hair softly.

“Please. I’ll be better. Kate may be who I am married to on paper but it has always been you,”

“So, why didn’t you choose me?”

Anthony stilled. You’d never know how much he wanted you. You’d never know how much he yearned for you. You’d never know how he had to stop himself from loving you completely because he believes that he’d never deserve your love. He didn’t want to marry in love and you wanted it more than anything. He was tied down to produce an heir. He never wanted to love but you took it from him. He’ll always be the first born. His responsibilities must come first before his whims.

“And then what? We’ll hurt two people?” you asked, hands on his shoulders to push him away. “Anthony, I’m so tired of hurting the people that I love,”

“Am I not who you love the most?” he asks in a small whisper. “You’re who I love the most,”

“So why did you marry Kate?” you asked, breaking away from him. “You’re telling me you love me now when you’re married to someone else. When I’m about to marry somebody else,” you cried, tears flowing from both your eyes. “I’ve done nothing but love you in all our years. I was so, so, so convinced that you were going to marry me. I rejected proposals and prospects because I was holding onto that thread so badly but you never once asked me for a dance,”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so, so, sorry,”

“If I asked you to run away with me now…would you?”

“Kate is pregnant,”

You could only chuckle as you moved from him.

“Kate is pregnant,” you nodded. “Kate is pregnant and yet, here you are begging for me to stay. You’re about to have a family, Anthony. Why can’t you see that we’re hurting the one we love?”

“Because I love you the most,”

“Kate is pregnant,” you reminded him. “Anthony, we should stop all the emotions that linger. I’m leaving England and you have to leave me too. We’d never be the same. We could never have our nights again. I am thankful for them, trust me…but this—this needs to stop.” you shook your head in disbelief and excused yourself.

Anthony watched as you left your bedchamber. He’d have to save face and attend your wedding soon but for now, he’ll allow himself to nurse his broken heart in the place where you broke it into a million pieces.

Marked me like a bloodstain, I I knew you Tried to change the ending Peter losing Wendy, I I knew you Leavin' like a father Running like water, I And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

cc: @screechingdreamercollectorsblog @pink-lemo @lana-isabelle @evelyn3000 @simran1111 @marrilly @jemimah-b99 @goldeng1rl8 @lovely-him @wreckedsymphony @silvermistt @rexit-mo @chazubagi @freyathehuntress @flourishandblotts-inc @ @bellaiscool

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #fanfiction #fan fiction #anthony bridgerton angst #angst #folklore #bridgerton #cardigan #fanfic #fan fic

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queen-of-the-avengers · 9 months ago

Text

A Dream Come True

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: fluff <3

Request by anon: When steve and vixen ever settle down they might have a small wedding with their friends invited , loving vows , steve would have a simple yet beautiful rings for him and vixen, vixen herself would make her wedding dress (40's and 50s inspiration) bucky is the best man as for natasha as the maid of honor . Adorable part they ask tony morgan and pepper if morgan can be the flower girl they allow it , sam walks her down the isle even tearing up " i cant belive you two are tying the knot! ;-;" she smiles at sam "its alrigjt sam^~^ dont be sad”. Oh the reception is both sweet and little rowdy (best mans speach lol bucky remembering how they had good times in the past ) some cracked some laughs, theres tears and one did the protective brother mood "he better not hurt my sister" type to the bride and grooms first dance as a married couple ;-;

Request by anon: If vixen and steve are getting married . Could vixen make her wedding dress inspired by 40s era and 1900s style hair updo . And we guess steve would be in his 40s military suit in the wedding lol both buck and sam are the best men morgan is the flower girl 🥲 hope its not much pressure

Summary: It's your wedding day, a day you never thought would come. You're marrying your best friend, the love of your life. After darkness clouded your entire life, you're finally seeing the sun.

Cat and Mouse Masterlist

Squares Filled: clint's farm (2021) for @star-spangled-bingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Before you were taken, before you got your world turned upside down, you had a dream. You had a dream that one day you’d be wearing a beautiful white gown that closely resembles the one your mother wore (hers got destroyed in a house fire when you were young), standing in a room with all of your best friends who couldn't be happier for you, marrying the love of your life. You had that dream many times even after you got taken by Hydra. It’s what kept you from going insane in the beginning. When things got tough, you’d close your eyes and imagine your wedding day.

Never did you think it would finally come, and it finally did.

Instead of a room filled with a ton of your friends, it’s Natasha. She died giving herself up for the Soul Stone, but when you and Steve returned the stones, they gave her back in exchange for the stone. You didn’t think that was possible but it was, and you brought her home to everyone.

It’s sad that Tony never knew she made it.

You stand in front of the floor-length mirror and admire the dress you made yourself. You drew inspiration from your mother’s wedding dress. It’s been so long since you’ve seen it but you can recall every detail by memory. It’s not an exact replica but is very similar. Natasha walks up behind you and fixes the dress from the back. It has an open back that clips right behind your neck, and the entire bodice is a flowery lace material. The dress goes all the way down to your feet and is loose and airy, nothing like those puffy dresses people where nowadays.

“You look beautiful,” Natasha smiles.

“Thanks, Nat,” you whisper.

She is your Maid of Honor while Bucky is Steve’s best man. You only have one person because the wedding is so small. Clint offered his farm for you to use which is why it’s so small. The only people in attendance are your closest friends and family--mostly Avengers and their family. There are minimal decorations but it’s very elegant and intimate.

Someone knocks on the door and you two turn to see Sam walk in.

“It’s time.”

“I’ll see you out there.”

Natasha kisses your cheek and leaves the room. When you asked Sam to walk you down the aisle, you could have sworn you saw tears roll down. Your parents are long gone and you wanted the person giving you away to mean something to you. Sam is that person. You and Bcuky are close but by trauma, and Sam was the next best thing.

“Wow, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Are you ready for the rest of your life?”

“Is Steve?” you joke. You put your veil on and smile. “I’m ready.”

Bucky and Natasha go out first followed by Morgan who is your flower girl. Pepper had no problem with letting her little girl be part of your wedding. Toy has been a big part of your life, so having her be the flower girl is like having a part of the wedding. There is a picture of him sitting next to Pepper to symbolize his presence along with everyone else who has died.

Then, you and Sam enter the main ceremony room, and everyone rises. Steve stands at the altar wearing his 40s military uniform that Bucky and Sam stole from one of the museums. It still fits him like a glove. The second he sees you, he immediately gets tears. He never thought he’d get to his day with you. He was positive that a mission would take him out.

Sam reaches the altar and kisses your cheek over the veil before taking a seat in the front. The ceremony doesn’t last very long and you get to your vows quicker than you thought. Both you and Steve have written your own vows, and he lets you go first.

“I don’t know where to start, honestly. Growing up, I had this idea of what I wanted my wedding day to look like. I had the dress picked out, who I wanted my bridesmaids to be, where I wanted the wedding, and what my first song was going to be. Then, I was taken and forced into something I didn’t want to do. I was broken down, beaten, and shaped into what Hydra wanted me to be. I didn’t know I could have the things I wanted. Soon, my mind wasn’t even my own.

“Then, I met you and it was like I could finally see. It’s like I’ve been in this tunnel all my life and seeing you brought me out of it and into the light. I got Hydra out of my head. I gained control of my life. I took back what they stole from me thanks to you. You saved me in more ways than one, and I can’t believe I get to stand up here and marry you.”

“I had a dream of my own. This was before the military where I wanted to marry a nice girl and make a family of my own. Like you, I was unable to. I had a duty to my country and gave it my all. The guy who went into the ice nearly a century ago had goals, and when I came out of it, those goals changed. I just needed to get through the day and face the next. I didn’t know I could have all this until I met you. You say I saved you when it’s you who saved me. I found myself wishing for the things I did in the 40s. Now I get to have them with you by my side. You’re a dream come true, Y/N.”

The rings you two have are simple ones but hold so much meaning. When you two kiss, everyone stands and cheers. The reception is in the same area as the ceremony but everyone makes room for your and Steve’s first dance as a married couple. It’s sensual. It’s intimate. It’s romantic. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. Everyone else disappears since the only person who matters to you at that moment is Steve.

Afterwards, you go off to be with the girls and Steve goes off to be with his boys. Sam, Thor, and Clint toss back shots just as Bucky clasps a hand on his shoulder.

“Congratulations, man.”

“Thanks.”

“Do I have to have the hurt-her-and-I’ll-hurt-you talk?”

“No,” Steve chuckles.

“You know I’ll do it. I’ll kick your ass if you hurt her.”

“I know, and I’d let you.”

“She’d probably do the ass-kicking if we’re being honest,” Sam interjects with a smile.

“Yeah, she would,” Steve laughs.

One of the wedding games you planned is a game where you and Steve are sitting back-to-back with both shoes in hand. You have one of yours and one of his, and he has the other pair. Bucky has cards that he will read and you have to raise a shoe for the person you think is the most like the card.

“This is a great one to start with. Who wears the pants in the relationship?”

You immediately hold up your shoe while Steve holds up his own. Everyone laughs at the dynamic of your relationship, and Bucky moves on.

“Who is the best chef?” Both you and Steve hold up his shoes. “Who is needier when they’re sick?” Again, both of you hold up Steve’s shoes. “Who is the better driver?” This time, you two put up your shoes. You’ve had more practice. “I don’t know, Y/N, I’ve been in a car with you before.”

“You lived, didn’t you?” you grin at Bucky.

Nothing can ruin this moment. Hydra is gone from your head, Thanos is gone, and you can only go up from here.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fiction #steve rogers fan fic #steve rogers fan fiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fic #marvel fan fiction #mcu #marvel fluff #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fiction

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numinousmysteries · 10 months ago

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Dancing the Tandava (7/10)

[on Ao3] @today-in-fic

Washington, DC 1993

Since William has no identification, money, or place of residence in 1993, Mulder lets him stay at his apartment while they figure out what to do next. As he accompanies his parents on the drive to the airport and the shuttle flight from New York back to DC, he’s tickled by how different they were years before he was born. He only knows them as his happily married, domesticated parents, not these young FBI agents who barely know each other.

Even though they aren’t together together yet, he can see the sparks flying between them. It oddly reminds him of his relationship with Hannah. They’ve stayed up all night talking but have never done more than hug. She’s beautiful and makes him think. He’s considered telling her how he feels about her, but he was scared it would ruin their friendship. Watching his parents now, he doesn’t feel as afraid. As his dad unlocks the door to his apartment, William decides if he makes it back to 2023 he’s going to tell Hannah about his feelings.

Seeing his father’s old apartment thrills William. There’s the leather couch covered by a Navajo blanket and the fish tank from the basement of his childhood home. He tries not to think about it, but he suspects there’s a chance he was conceived on that couch based on the way his parents lock eyes over it. He glances over at the bookshelf and sees familiar titles on parapsychology, cryptozoology, and mythology. Some of these made the cut and are still in his parents’ house in Virginia, but others he’s never seen. He imagines his parents going through the bookshelf two decades ago, deciding which ones were still relevant and which ones they should give away.

Everything else in the apartment is the stuff of legends. This is the setting of all the stories his parents told him of late nights poring crime scene photos trying to break a case or watching old movies and debating the patriotic merits of butter on popcorn.

“This is so cool,” he says, unable to suppress a grin. “I’ve heard so much about this place.”

“About my apartment?” His dad sounds skeptical.

“Yeah,” he says. “This is where you lived before I was born, right? And then we all lived at mom’s old apartment for a little bit before moving into our house. Can we go see mom’s place? I’ve seen pictures from when I was a baby, but I don’t remember it.”

“Um, sure. We’ll see when she’s around. William, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are Agent Scully and I a couple in your time?”

“Of course,” William laughs. “You’re crazy about each other. It’s actually kind of gross sometimes.”

“Are we married?”

“Yeah. You didn’t get married until after I was born, but you told me that you’d been together for a while beforehand.”

Mulder’s quiet as he takes this all in.

“I really shouldn’t say anything else, you know, Back to the Future and everything. Don’t want to accidentally scrub myself out of existence. Remember we used to watch that all the time when I was a kid?”

“I—” his dad starts.

“Oh yeah,” William says, dejected. “Sorry, I keep forgetting.”

“It’s okay, buddy,” his dad says. Buddy. It’s what his dad always calls him. “I don’t remember. But I can imagine if I had a kid I’d want to watch that with him. What about Plan 9 From Outer Space? The Wrath of Khan?”

“Yup,” William says, smiling. “I was Spock for Halloween three years in a row when I was little. None of the other kids had any idea who I was. That was before the J.J. Abrams reboot and everything.”

“They did a reboot? Was it any good?”

“It was okay,” William says. “I liked it. But you said there was too much action.”

His dad grins as he sits down on the couch and invites William to sit next to him. The leather feels squeaky, not as soft and broken-in as he remembers it.

“Mom doesn’t believe me, does she?” William asks.

“She’s coming around to it,” Mulder says.

William shouldn’t be surprised. His mother, the doctor and scientist, has always been the skeptical one but it still crushes him whenever she gives him a cold stare without any recognition. Where’s the mom who read him stories, soothed his nightmares, and helped him with his homework? The one who learned all the rules of baseball and basketball so she could cheer him on during his high school games and listened excitedly when he talked about everything he was learning in his college physics classes? He’s glad his dad, at least, believes him, even though he has no memories of his entire life.

“Am I a good father?” His dad asks hesitantly, and William turns back to face him.

The question confuses him. He always thought fatherhood came naturally to his dad. He remembers hours of playing with Star Trek action figures and building Legos on the floor of their living room as a kid, playing catch and practicing fielding ground balls in their backyard until sunset.

“You’re the best,” he says as if he’s confirming the sky is blue.

His dad turns away and he thinks he sees tears in the corner of his eyes.

“Does that surprise you?” William asks. Growing up, his dad was his hero. He never suspected he had any doubts about being a father.

“Honestly, a little,” Mulder says. “You mentioned my sister, Samantha. I can’t imagine myself settling down and living this life with Scully, and with you, unless I found out what happened to her. Do I ever find her?”

William knows this part of the story—how, a little over a year before he was born, his parents learned Samantha died at 14 years old—but now he starts putting together the pieces. His father needed to get closure before allowing himself to commit fully to his mother and, eventually, to him.

“You’ll find out what happened,” he promises. “You’ll get your answers.”

He sees the pain in his dad’s eyes, how he wants so badly to ask William to tell him the truth, but William can’t bring himself to do it.

“Back to the Future, right?” William says. “I can’t mess up the past.”

“Alright, Marty McFly,” his dad says, his mood lightened. “Let’s work on figuring out how you got here. And how to get you back where you belong. You mentioned this Dr. Bellona. Any hint where he might be working now?”

“I don’t know,” William says. “We can Google him.”

“What’s a Google?” His dad’s puzzled face makes William laugh.

“Sorry,” he says. “I keep forgetting it’s not 2023 anymore. It’s a search engine on the internet. Do you even have internet access?”

“Not personally, but I know some guys who do.”

“The Gunmen?” William perks up. He loved spending time with his dad’s trio of offbeat friends growing up. They always let him play with their latest piece of technology and shared wild stories about his parents from before he was born.

“You know them?”

“Frohike, Langly, and Byers are basically my uncles,” he says and his dad smiles. “They’re awesome.”

“Want to go pay them a visit in 1993?”

***

The Gunmen’s headquarters hasn’t changed much in thirty years. The technology has evolved but it’s just as grungy, overstuffed with audiovisual equipment, and somewhat malodorous as he remembers. Apparently, none of the three have updated their wardrobes in decades either. William recognizes Frohike’s leather jacket and fingerless gloves, Langly’s Dead Kennedys t-shirt, and Byers’s funereal suit.

“Guys, this is William,” his dad says as they come inside. “William, you know the guys.”

The three men look around at each other and then back at William.

“He knows us?” Byers asks Mulder.

“Tell them,” Mulder says, nodding at William. “They’ll believe you.”

“I’m Mulder’s son. And Scully’s. I’m from the year 2023.”

Despite Mulder’s assurance, all three Gunmen start laughing nervously.

“I don’t know what’s harder to believe,” Frohike says. “That Mulder knocked up Scully or that you’re from the future.”

“He appeared at Camp Hero,” Mulder says and the guys stop laughing.

“No way,” Langly says. “Did you see the Delta T antenna? That’s what they use to bend time. It’s supposed to have technology the military stole from extraterrestrials from the Orion constellation.”

“Well, the Delta T antenna can bend time,” Byers adds, “but it’s probably not what allowed you to travel back from the future. That was likely the Phoenix III tunnel.”

“Yeah,” says Frohike. “Do you remember a tunnel that descended deep underground? The CIA has supposedly been throwing homeless people down there just to see what happens, and they come back saying they walked out onto Civil War battlegrounds.”

“He’s a little hazy on how exactly he got here, but we think we know who’s behind this,” Mulder interjects.

“Dr. Vincent Bellona,” William says. “He’s at CERN now. That’s where I was working before I came here, but I think if we find where he is now we might be able to figure out what happened to me.”

“You’re working at CERN?” Byers asks. “Impressive. Must be Agent Scully’s influence.”

“Think you guys could look him up on the ‘net?” Mulder asks.

“On it,” Frohike says as he rolls a chair over to a desktop computer. “Vincent Bellona. Looks like he’s a post-doc at Princeton, specializing in high-energy physics. And—this is interesting—he’s got a hot wife who’s even more accomplished than he is.”

“Oh, let’s see the wife,” Langly says.

“Samita Shah,” Frohike reads off the computer screen. William looks and sees a photo of a younger version of Bellona (with a full-head of hair) next to a pretty South Asian woman with long, dark hair cascading over one shoulder. They’re both in lab coats. The picture is above an article titled “Quantum Leap of Love: Meet the Physics Department’s New Power Couple.” Skimming the article, he learns that Bellona and his wife came to Princeton together to research W and Z bosons, although Shah’s list of publications appears to be twice as long as her husband’s.

“Did Bellona ever mention his wife to you?” Mulder asks.

“No,” William says. “I didn’t think he had one. He doesn’t wear a ring anyway. They must not be together anymore.”

“Frohike, can you print this out?” Mulder says, then turns to William. “What do you say we pick up Scully and then go see what Bellona’s up to at Princeton?”

***

On the drive to Scully’s apartment, William sneaks glances at his father from the passenger seat. While his mom’s face has thinned out over the years, his father seems narrower in 1993, less solid. They’re both free of wrinkles and the gray hair that he knows his mom dyes to hide, and look more like his peers than his parents. He imagines how worried they must be in 2023 when they come to visit him. Hopefully, they’re able to get in touch with Hannah. He told her what he saw Dr. Bellona doing at the Shiva statue and she knows that Bellona called him in last night, so he hopes she’s making the same logical leaps.

More than anything, he wants to talk to Hannah. He knows they could figure out what’s going on. But she doesn’t exist yet. He doesn’t know if her parents have even met. If he doesn’t get back to 2023, he’ll be 30 when she’s born—if he doesn’t manage to screw up the space-time continuum so much that she’s never born at all. The thought of a world without her in it doesn’t feel worth returning to.

William’s dad knocks on the door of his mom’s apartment. She opens the door in jeans, a flannel shirt, and small, round glasses. She looks like she could’ve been in one of his classes at MIT.

“Scully, we have a lead on Dr. Bellona. He’s teaching at Princeton currently. We have to go see him.”

“Mulder, slow down,” his mom says, her face scrunched in concern. “Can we have a word alone?”

William watches as his dad follows his mom into the kitchen. Her apartment is much more familiar than his dad’s. Even though they moved out when he was a few months old, he’s seen photos of his dad holding him in front of the wood bookshelf in the living room, and one of himself as a chubby-cheeked infant with both his parents on the same sofa he sits on now.

His parents are speaking softly, but he can still hear them from where he sits.

“The preliminary DNA test results came back and they’re surprising, to say the least.” William hears his mother opening an envelope and handling papers. “They appear to confirm William’s claims.”

“Scully, you know how accurate these tests are. What’s the likelihood that we aren’t his parents with these results? Less than 10 percent?”

“Even smaller,” she says. “Mulder, this is completely impossible.”

“At this point, it’s more impossible that he’s not telling the truth. You’re a scientist. If you had to testify in court, wouldn’t you say this objectively proves we’re his parents?”

“If I didn’t know the context, sure,” she says. “But this is actually not possible. It has to be a statistical anomaly.”

“A walking, talking statistical anomaly with your eyes and my nose?”

“Mulder, it’s easy to see patterns when you’re looking for them. A lot of people have blue eyes and, well, distinguished profiles.”

“Distinguished? Thanks, Scully.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Come on Scully, talk to him. He knows things about us. I think he’s a little upset you don’t believe him. You’re his mom after all.”

He hears her sigh and then they both come back to join him in the living room.

“William,” his mom starts. She’s turned towards him but her eyes are on the envelope in her hands and not him. “According to the preliminary DNA analysis, what you’re saying is true. Agent Mulder is your father and I, somehow, am your mother. I don’t know how to explain that, but these tests are extremely unlikely to be wrong.”

“I know,” William says. “I told you I was telling the truth.”

She finally faces him and he can see the bewilderment in her eyes. He has to remind himself that this is his mother in 1993. There’s so much she has neither seen nor experienced yet. He knows about her abduction and about Emily. By the time his parents left the X-Files, her name was attached to one of the thickest files in the office, but at this moment he worries that his being here feels like a violation to her.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Mulder says, filling the silence as Scully continues to stare at William, examining him.

“Maybe if we talk to Dr. Bellona, we can find out how to get me back where I belong. I realize this must be weird for both of you.”

His mother nods sadly, looking down at her hands interlaced in front of her. “I think that would be for the best.”

He smiles with his lips tightly shut and nods in agreement, but inside his stomach churns. He wants to reach out and hug her, let her smooth his hair down with her gentle touch like she did when he was little and not feeling well. His heart aches knowing he’s little more than a stranger to her.

#xfiles #txf #xf fanfic #msr #xfiles fanfic #x files #the x files

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year ago

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A Green-Eyed Monster

Dance Like We're Making Love Chapter 3

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: You're enamored - completely and totally enamored by one person. He seems to be enamored by you too. In the eight weeks since you met Bradley Bradshaw you know you've never felt like anyone the way you feel about him. It worries you that you're ready to commit to him, that you're ready to take the next step. But you're not sure you're ever going to get the answers from him that you're searching for. But you're ready to try. What you are not expecting is the red-head in a green dress standing right by his side when you walk into dance practice. She's all over him like she belongs with him, and even you can tell that she looks far better with him than you do. Disclaimers: Female! Reader, Dancing, Sexual Themes, Kissing, UST, Phone Sex Warnings: This story does not start explicit but does get there. Minors do not interact. This story is 18+. Word Count: 3012 A/N: I think I ought to brace for some pitchforks with this installment. Roo and Tiny's happy little relationship? It's not quite so happy, not anymore. But! I hope you all love this installment! Thanks, as always to @desert-fern for beta-reading this chapter! Love ya, Fernie! AO3:Cross Posted Here! My Masterlist Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Dancing hasn’t been the only thing happening in your life over the past couple of months - not in the slightest. Between planning the Bachelor and Bachelorette parties, cake tastings, and dress fittings, you've been navigating the burgeoning relationship between you and Bradley Bradshaw. You've never felt so alive. It feels like you’re finally living your life. You've had so much fun in the eight weeks since your dalliance, your assignation, your arrangement, well your whatever it is with Bradley Bradshaw began. He sets your every vein alight and makes you laugh, so much. If you didn't know any better, and you’re not sure you actually do, you'd think you were falling in love. It feels like you’re free falling, like there isn’t a single thing holding you down.

Before Bradley Bradshaw you’ve never felt so cherished or gorgeous or loved, not once. You’ve also never had a partner so intent on ensuring your own pleasure. Sometimes you can’t believe that you feel like this, with him, when you’ve never even been on a date together. But that was by design, you know, even if a part of you rankles just a little to think that you have to hide until after Greg and Sophie get married. You shouldn’t feel like a dirty little secret. You shouldn’t. But as hot as you find having signals to meet Bradley at his place or yours, and how many times you fuck in restaurant bathrooms and filthy clubs, you can’t hide how you feel. So, on what is the penultimate dance class before the wedding, you’re determined to finally get Bradley to put a name to what the two of you are doing.

But you’re also running horribly, terribly late. You’re one of the last people walking into the studio, slipping in just as Rodrigo begins his customary speech at the beginning of class. Bradley’s easy to spot, he always is. But what you don’t expect is the long-legged red-head in a green dress clinging to his muscular bicep. The dress accentuates all of her assets and you can tell by even Will’s googly eyes that every man in the room has his eyes right on her. It’s a blow to your already fragile heart and your tattered self-esteem to see the two of them standing there together.

You can’t cry, not in front of every other person in the bride’s and groom’s parties. And you cannot let yourself cry in front of Bradley fucking Bradshaw. In fact, you will not let yourself. You let your anger at being duped and taken advantage yet again by a man fill you. When it comes time to actually dance, you feel exactly like you did that first dance class with Bradley Bradshaw, except it hurts far more than you’d expect to see his brown eyes widen in delight at the sight of your face.

“Hiya, Tiny.” Your eyes roll so hard that you’re sure your disgust is palpable from in the cockpit of one of his jets from ten-thousand feet in the air.

“Rooster.” Ice-queen. Ice-queen. Ice-queen. That’s your motto at the moment.

“Is everything okay, Tiny?” How dare he keep being so concerned?

“I dunno, Rooster.” Your voice is a sardonic drawl as he twirls you around on the dance floor. “You tell me.”

You would step on his disastrously colossal feet, but you’ve worked too hard to make sure this dance goes well - far too hard. You rebuff his every attempt at making conversation, but are otherwise exactly the same as you always are. Thankfully nobody notices how you’re maybe just a touch further away from the heat of his skin than you should be.

It’s even more of an exquisite sort of torture when you and Bradley have your final rehearsal for Greg and Sophie’s wedding present. The red-head has long since disappeared from the studio. Bradley's hands still linger over every inch of your skin as he draws you close. But while just a week before, you were responding to his touch eagerly, now you feel disgust. Maria and Rodrigo seem to want to correct every move, including how close you are to Bradley. Of course, what you don’t expect is the clapping that springs up as the final note spills out of the speakers after your final run-through of the day. It’s the red-head, of course it is, and her applause has Bradley letting go of you like your skin has burned him.

You sip carefully on your water, noting vacantly how Bradley glances your way as she plants her red fingernails hand on his chest. So they’re that close, huh? You should’ve known it was too good to be true. But you paste a halfway decent facsimile of a smile on your face and sincerely thank Rodrigo and Maria for their assistance with Greg and Sophie’s wedding gift.

You’re just gathering your bag when a breathy noise and the scent of too-sweet, cloying perfume alert you to her presence. You turn and are not even the slightest bit surprised to see the red head’s big green eyes staring right into yours.

“I, um” She sniffs out, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Abigail.”

“Nice to meet you,” You grind out, wanting nothing more than to be as far away from this woman as you possibly can get.

“I’m Bradley’s wedding date.”

You blink at her, before smiling inanely. “Oh, how come he’s never mentioned you before?”

“I travel a lot for work. I’m a flight attendant.” She’s starting to sound defensive and isn’t that just perfect?

“Oh, that’s nice. It must be hard to leave him here all by himself, though.” You pretend not to notice how Bradley blanches at your pointed statement.

“It is nice to have a husband to come home to.” She giggles, the sound tinkling like the gentlest of bells. But you have to lock your knees to keep your legs from collapsing out from under you. You’re not sure how you escape the married couple, and you’re sure you black out, because the next thing you know you’re pulling into your driveway.

Married! He’s married? Why? Why would he string you along when he’s got such a beautiful wife to come home to? It occurs to you suddenly that you’re the other woman in this situation - that he’s made you the slut. You’ve had sex - filthy hot, dirty sex - on his bed, in his bathroom, in the kitchen and on the sofa. He’s desecrated you in nearly every room of his house. The house he shares with his wife. But you’ve not seen a single picture of her on the walls or ever seen the tan line of a wedding ring on his left hand. You’ve had his dog tags dangling over your face as he pounds into you for fuck’s sake and there’s definitely never been a wedding ring on them.

You want nothing more than to cry while eating ice cream straight out of the carton in your pajamas. Of course, just as you're wriggling out of the terribly uncomfortable bra which pushes your tits up just right and makes them look delicious, the one you'd worn for Bradley, your phone trills from its spot on your nightstand.

"Sophie?" Your voice is quiet and a little choked up as you murmur into the phone.

"Hiya, Honey Bee!" She sounds so happy. It hurts to think that you were that happy only a couple of hours ago.

"So, Greg and I, we wanted to thank you and Bradley for everything you've both done to help us with the wedding. So we wanted to take you each out to dinner, separately." Her joy makes you smile, despite your emotional turmoil. "And we were sort of hoping we could have our dinner with you tonight?"

"God, Soph. You don't have to do this! But," You giggle gently, "if you insist, then I wouldn't say no."

"We'll pick you up at 7! Love you babes!"

That's about how the rest of the week goes. You get yanked from wedding event to wedding event and it's nearly enough to keep your pain at bay. At least until you're safe and sound under your covers. That's the only place where you can cry until you fall into a fitful sleep. By the night of the Bachelor's and Bachelorette parties, you're caking concealer under your eyes to hide the dark circles and all you want is a strong, stiff drink.

But you're smiling nonetheless in your sparkling green dress and matching high heels when the limo comes to pick you up. The glass of champagne that gets shoved into your hand is just the ticket. You have no complaints when you're told you have to catch up and down the pale gold liquid until one glass becomes two and turns into three.

The alcohol buzzing through your system has you finally relaxing. You can finally feel the lump in your throat and the snarl in your thoughts dissipating. It feels like the universe is screaming at you to give up on Bradley Bradshaw. Here, at one of San Diego's best night clubs you're sure to find somebody who'll actually want you, not for some far fetched revenge plot or for a bet or to cheat on their flight attendant wife.

The minute you step in, you can feel the music rattling the floorboards. Coupled with the shots that get sent your way, and it's not long before you're dancing with anybody who wants to dance with you. It feels like sin. Your hair is mussed and you’ve long lost the sash that was once draped over your shoulder in the crush. There have been hands on your hips and curled around your waist all night. So you don’t even blink when another pair of hands draws you close. Sophie and all of the other bridesmaids aren’t even in your line of sight anymore. But you feel reckless, wild, tonight. Who’s tying you down? Who’s there to stop you from doing whatever you want with whoever you want?

It’s far too easy to find a man to dance with. Your new tango skills make it nearly too easy. Then the hands roaming your skin are replaced suddenly. For several moments, it feels even better than before. And then your new dance partner pulls you into moves you could do in your sleep after months of practice. You know your dance partner too. You can smell the spice of his cologne surrounding you. It feels like a bubble popping. All of a sudden everything is too loud, and your skin is crawling and you can barely hear yourself think. You rip yourself out of Bradley’s grasp, turning tail and pushing your way off the dance floor like he burned you. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Greg and Sophie all loved up in the corner as you rush past.

Your head is spinning and your heart is racing. Your thoughts seem to be lightning fast and molasses slow all at the same time. What the hell is he doing here? Why does he keep trying to find you? You’ve been avoiding all of his phone calls and leaving him on read for a reason. You grab your purse and cut a path through the most crowded section of the club making a beeline for the front doors.

When you burst through them, you finally feel like you can breathe again. But just because your lungs are taking in needed oxygen and spilling out carbon dioxide, it doesn't mean that your mind has made any more sense of why Bradley Bradshaw is trying so hard to get close to you.

"Hey." Your entire body locks up at the sound of his voice, worried that you'll see him with Abby hanging off of his arms like she belongs there. "Why do you keep running away from me, Tiny?"

Of all the things you expect him to say, that's not one of them.

"I keep running, Bradshaw, because the last dance class showed me exactly what you think of me." Your chest heaves as you catalog the exhaustion on his ridiculously beautiful face. "A cheap fuck. Somebody to keep your bed warm while Abby's jet setting around the world."

"That's not what happened between us." There's finally understanding dawning on his face and you want to smack the smug little grin right off of it.

"Then what happened?" Some sadistic, viciously curious part of you wants to know - needs to know.

"Abby…" You can see his throat work in the dim light as the doors open and send sound spilling out across the parking lot. "It's right, what Abby said. She is my wife. Or well, she was."

"I fell in love with her when I was in flight school. She was perfect, or so I thought, for a sad, gangly, barely adult man with no other family in the world. It was head over heels for me. I thought it was a head over heels kind of love for her too. It was the happiest moment of my life when she agreed to marry me."

"It was easy for the longest time. I gained my wings, I figured out how to be a man, a husband. I tried desperately to recall all of the things my mom told me my dad did, and did them for Abby. Just when everything was going great, better than, I was deployed. We spent the next three years snatching moments with each other here in San Diego, or in Virginia or via phone calls and video chats. I came back home thinking that we'd weathered another storm together."

"I was wrong. I felt like I was the same man I was when I got married. But Abby? She was different. She'd changed everything about herself and become a flight attendant. The next three years were, to put it gently, a train wreck in motion. Even though I was stateside with short deployments on board a ship, she was flying all over the world. I got back after a deployment to find her in bed with a pilot from her airline. And that? That was the end."

Bradley's breathing raggedly, like he's looking to you for approval or understanding or something. But you're still processing what he's saying.

"That's when she told me I was too rough in bed, sitting in front of a lawyer and demanding half of everything that was mine. It's been three years since the divorce was finalized, Tiny. I didn't cheat on her, or lead you on. I wanted to tell you. I was going to tell you after the wedding."

Your throat is bone dry, your head swimming.

"C-could you ever give me a second chance?" You must've zoned out because all of a sudden, Bradley’s much closer than he was before. The heat drifting off of his broad frame, clothed in olive green is hypnotic. If you were any less stubborn, you'd beg him to take you home. You'd beg him to let you help him forget that a woman like Abby had him first and threw him away.

"I dunno, Roo." The words feel like a peace offering spiraling through the hot night air. "That was… a lot of information."

The hope on his face falls, just a little at your honest words.

"But why is she back here? In San Diego again?" Your nose is a little stuffy and you can feel tears building at the back of your throat. You’re not sure you can take it if he says they’re getting back together again.

"She shows up every once in a while, asking for money." Your lips part, shock parting them without your permission. "Normally it’s only a couple hundred dollars. But this time, it is different. She wants thousands, claiming that I owe her that as spousal support after the divorce."

His shoulders are bowed under the weight of Abby's expectations.

"But I told her no, this time."

"Why?"

"Because I found somebody that's better for me than she ever could be."

It feels like the world goes silent around you. Your heart flip flops in your chest as you stare up into Bradley’s big brown eyes. It’s not a conscious decision which has you flinging your arms around his neck and smashing your lips to his. He staggers, catching himself against the wall as you straddle one broad thigh and kiss down his throat. You can feel every muscle in his thigh flex as one big hand tugs you in closer. This close, you can see the amber flecks in his eyes and practically taste the whiskey on his breath. It should sting your nose and make your eyes water. But instead the scent intoxicates you, drugging you as his chest heaves and each twitch of his muscles has his thigh brush against your sensitive clit. Your chest heaves, brushing your suddenly peaked nipples against his broad chest. When the door clangs open, neither of you move, too caught up in the rush of each other. At least, that is, until calls of your name and his rip you apart.

It’s the bride and groom’s parties, and your face grows hot as you tug your dress down so your panties aren’t completely exposed to the world. A breeze wafts its way over the assembled group, raising gooseflesh on your exposed arms and legs. But you’re not shivering for long as a sports coat is draped over your shoulders. You clutch the lapels close, reveling in the spicy cologne and ignore the way Sophie is trying to figure out why you’re kissing Bradley Bradshaw at her Bachelorette party.

As the two parties separate for the night, not to meet until wedding day, you pull your phone out and send one text message.

Roo, that was a lot, and I probably shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I need a little more time. But I promise, I'll tell you what I decide about us after the wedding.

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