#and i had a miserable first half of the year but right now it feels like i can’t remember that misery and i wanna go back in time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mysterycitrus · 3 months

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[a roy pov companion snippet to persephone part two]

There was a time, just after his father’s death, when Roy would fall into fits of choking suffocation.

His throat would close, his mouth turning itchy and hot and tight and he’d gasp and claw at his own flesh, desperate for air. Wheezing, bent over on all fours, struggling to breathe and desperate for relief, swallowing around that phantom smoke in his lungs that clung to him and refused to leave.

Brave Bow would find him in the dirt, press a calloused hand to his forehead and brush his hair from his eyes. He’d had the same hands as Roy’s father, then – steady from years fletching arrows.

Calm, boy, he’d say. The fire is gone, and you remain. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

It’d taken years before Roy felt it again, crouched with a needle in his arm and Oliver Queen’s shadow casting him in darkness. That same, encompassing squeeze that pushed his organs taut against his bones, stretched like taffy and drawing all air from his body. It’d been Dinah there with him, that time. Different callouses, with that same tender gentleness.

Then, Jade. Lian. Ollie. Donna. His comfort changed shape, and he learnt to drag himself out of the fire by himself, breathing around the fist in his mouth. The feeling became familiar, and so did the way it would leave him trembling and skittish. In and out. Inhale, exhale. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

Now, he’s sitting on a rooftop in Queens, and the smoke has returned to drown his best friend, because Dick Grayson believes there is evil in him. That all the good he’s done is poisonous. That he bears the burden of a grown man’s mistakes. Because – because Bruce Wayne couldn’t let one good fucking thing in the world lie.

He carries through the motions, watching himself from outside his own body as Dick thrashes, refuses to breathe until Donna physically compresses his lungs for him, forcing him to inhale. His heart is beating so fast it’s as if it’s not beating at all.

Never in his life has Roy wanted to kill someone more.

Donna is staring bullets into the side of his head as they descend into Dick’s apartment, holding him with a tight grip. Dick, younger Dick, seventeen-year-old hurt and miserable and alone Dick, stays silent but his eyes flutter like he’s about to pass out. The bruise on his face has only darkened in the hours since they left Jason Todd’s apartment, and the yellow spots on his cheekbone have started to purple. The bags beneath his eyes are deep.

How did I never notice he was like this? Roy thinks, half incredulous at himself. How did we let this happen that first time?

There was an answer, but it was for an older Dick who still carried all his cards to his chest. Would they be forgiven when that Dick found out what they knew about him? How they knew him now, better than they had before?

Garth, bless him, is holding a performatively casual pose as they gently push Dick through the open window. The soup is in a bowl – the slightly misshapen one that’d been Damian’s first try with a kiln – and Garth looks at him, then the soup, and pivots to start the kettle instead. What Dick really needs is solids, and maybe some protein, Roy knows, but the chances of him just throwing it back up again are high.

“Garth,” Roy says, and Garth turns those big, glistening eyes at him. It’s like staring into a lava lamp. “I’m sorry, but nobody wants any fucking soup.” Then he risks putting his hands on Dick’s shoulders – the kid doesn’t flinch, thank God – and says: “You, stay there. I need to go put my head in the shower.”

He presses down gently until Dick sits on the couch, carefully avoiding Donna’s gaze as she tries to catch his eye and rubs his hands over his face. Inhale, exhale. The smoke thickens, twists, chokes. Roy tilts a little but manages to regain his balance, and passes Donna as she goes to Garth, still fretting in the kitchen. Trusting, finally, that Dick wasn’t going to bolt right this second, he walks out towards the bathroom and immediately collides with Wally.

Wally’s still buzzing a little, and the hairs on Roy’s arms stand on end as he’s zapped when Wally grabs his elbows to hold him upright. There’s a deep line between his eyebrows, but when he looks up over Roy’s shoulders at Dick, his face goes slack. This worked out, actually. It’d keep help keep them both occupied to talk out their feelings, until Roy could get back in control of himself.

“Easy, fleetfeet,” Roy says. “Babysit for a second, would you? I need to wash my face.”

“I thought we decided we didn’t want him to run,” Wally hisses back, but Roy just gives him a shove in the couch’s general direction and staggers down the hall.

He hears Wally move forward as he manages to kick the door shut, falling against it as he starts to gasp. Roy presses his head back against the tiles, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately inhaling in through his nose and out his mouth. His throat itches. A throbbing pain starts at his temple, beating with his heart and radiating to his jaw and neck and shoulders until he tenses into a spasm.

In, out. Breathe, hold, release. Roy manages to swallow, but the noise he makes sounds like a sob, and he fumbles with the faucet until he can trust that the water is drowning him out. Again, and he claps a hand over his mouth. Everything feels ready to snap.

He got through it that first time, says a voice in his head. It sounds a lot like Connor’s patient grace. Remember? He’s still here, just the same.

But this is so much worse, Roy replies internally. Can’t you see? Because now he knows it’s not gonna end. It’ll never end.

No. This is too much.

The first time he grabs at his phone, it falls from his trembling fingers and lands on the floor with a crack. It takes him one, two more tries to retrieve it, and instead of standing he folds himself onto the floor, sat pressed against the wall next to the basin. The blue light makes his eyes sting and seeing Lian smiling back just makes that rolling nausea return, thinking of a young Dick Grayson stare at his daughter in wonder. Eight years old, like Dick’s own father hadn’t fallen when Dick was that age. Like Dick had lost a father all over again a decade later. It hurts so bad.

Thankfully, when he swipes through his speed dial, she answers.

“You’re late with an update, boyo.”

For a moment, he can’t even get the words out, just audibly breathes into the receiver with his eyes shut and his free hand twisted into his hair.

“Roy? What happened? Is Dick alright?”

He has to swallow around the lump in his throat again.

“Is Lian there?” Roy manages to get out in a croak. He truly doesn’t know what he’ll do if Mia’s taken her to MOMA or something. Maybe permanently move into Dick’s bathroom. “She free to talk?”

“Sure.” He hears Dinah move and begin to walk. She’s calm, but her steps are quick and loud down the line. “Give me an answer, Roy. If you want to talk to her because you’re bleeding out-“

“No, no,” Roy says. “No, it’s just – it’s been a long day.”

It’s only about twelve pm, but Dinah doesn’t comment on it. He hears a door open, then shut. His heartrate picks up again.

“Dinah,” he says, and he hears her stop. “Dinah.”

She knows, clearly.

“He’s seventeen, Dinah.”

“Yeah, Babs said.” A pause. “Seventeen, huh?”

“He’s…” Roy stops, tugs at his hair a little. “I can’t tell you –he’s been saying-”

“You were all kids. You know that right? The stuff you were doing wasn’t normal, in retrospect. Makes sense he’d freak you out.”

But it’s not just that. It was the casual acceptance of baiting Deathstroke. Dick’s conviction of his own fault about losing Robin. His terror of confronting Bruce. The profound, absolute loss of everything. Dick Grayson lost his father at eight years old.

Roy can’t reply to that, really, so Dinah says:

“Here she is.”

There’s a shuffle, another pause, then –

“Daddy?”

The tension leaves his body so fast he almost drops the phone entirely, and his legs properly unfold into a sprawl.

“Hey, princess.”

“You okay?” Her voice raises in pitch slightly, like when she’s getting nervous. He’d put a lot of effort into stopping her from sounding like that, so it’s jarring now. “Dinah said… Dinah said-“

“I’m fine. Really. I just wanted to check that Mia wasn’t buying you more Legos from the giftshop with my card.”

“They were mermaid Legos,” Lian tells him, worry gone entirely and now a little huffy. “And Mia said – Mia said you were a landlord. And could buy them.”

“Daddy is not a gazillionaire like Batman.”

“Does Batman have Legos in the Batcave?”

Batman has bloodied memorabilia of all the people he’s let down, Roy thinks privately, but says instead:

“No, but he has a dinosaur.”

“A real one?”

“No. It’s like the one’s out of Jurassic Park. A robot dinosaur.”

“A robot dinosaur,” Lian says rapturously. “Can we visit sometime? With Uncle Dick?”

I am never letting either of you near him ever again, is the correct answer, as much as Dick would throw a fit over it. Roy clears his throat, rubs at his eyes, and changes the subject.

“Maybe. But I want a school update. I didn’t get to talk to you about it, yesterday.”

“Well,” she stops, and he can hear her think it over. “I’m better at spelling than Cassidy, because she always forgets her ayches. But I taught her a trick for it. I can teach you too!”

My best friend was only eight, he thinks.

“Yeah, baby,” he says in a hoarse voice, and tilts back his head. “Tell me all about it.”

#this is an unedited snippet from september 2023 so plz no one judge me #roy harper #dick grayson #nightwing #arsenal #donna troy #teen titans #lian harper #persephone tag #fic #batman #dc comics #mart #roy harper is very dear TO ME!!!!!!!!!!

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reiincarnatiion · 11 months

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shadows of destiny | azriel x reader | part one

summary : 3 sisters for 3 brothers....right? Azriel believes wholeheartedly that Elain should be his mate and in doing so ignores his deep feelings for you.

🧚‍♀️

a/n : I haven't written in like 6 years since my draco malfoy and kpop fanfictions HAHA so please forgive me I am rusty!! Also I wrote this on my phone eeee

but finally eee I'm so excited to post my first writing on tumblr !! I was always a quotev and wattpad girly but here I am finally... 💗

just writing some rough short stories rn but I'll def write more as I get more comfortable again and into the rhythm! let me know what you think please 🫶🏼

ps: it's not proof read cuz I'm lazy I'm so sorry so please ignore mistakes dearies

-----🩷🧚‍♀️💗------

You watched as Azriel bent down to whisper something into Elains ear and you felt a growl beginning to build up in your throat.

You didn't know the mating bond did this ; make one so possessive and jealous that the half-moon nail marks on your palms had become blood red, from gripping your fists too strongly.

"I just don't understand why you can't tell him," a voice whispers next to you. You turn to acknowledge Mor, as she slips in next to you into the booth.

"Because the moment I do, this whole dynamic changes Mor," you whisper back, indicating to the sprawl of people around you.

You guys had come to Rita's once again, to party, drink, kiss and do other nonsense things Cassian had eagerly talked about, whilst pitching the idea to the group. It had started off fun, with everyone talking together but as the night had progressed, they had all paired off. You could see Feyre and Rhys making out in the corner of your eyes and Nesta and Cassian dancing around each other on the club floor. Elain and Azriel had also innocently gotten up and moved to another table, using a range of excuses you hadn't bothered to process.

Even Mor had a female making eyes at her from afar.

"Then change the dynamic, Y/N. I need some excitement in my life," she whispered furiously again and slid out, stalking to the female at the bar.

Groaning you sunk into the booth, left alone to your thoughts plagued by one thing only, Azriel.

The repetitive music slowly faded out, as you downed drink after drink, watching the others around you mingle and grind away into the depths of the night. They would come past your table and say a few words before being dragged away again.

But not once did he come. Not once did he even look in your direction... and it infuriated you.

"You look more miserable than me,"

You blinked, looking up to focus in on the flop of red hair, braids and whizzing metallic eye and a handsome jawline.

"Lucien!!!" you let out a whine, attempting to get up but falling back down in the process, not having realised how much strong alcohol you had consumed in the last hour.

"Woah there stargirl," he slipped in next to you, using the nickname only he used for you.

Lucien and you had met on Starfall, as you had been leaning on the balcony, apparently being half a second from falling over because of your drunk eagerness to "catch one of the stars", and since then, he had named you Stargirl. Your friendship had blossomed due to your matching humour and desire to travel the realms.

His shoulder pressed up against you, his warmth spread through you, making you feel giddy. You couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or your desperation, as you abruptly laid a hand on his thigh.

If he noticed, he didn't show it as he took a swig of one of the elixirs that you had in your hand.

As he drank, you watched his eyes zero in on his elusive mate and you swore you saw them darken.

His scent visibly changed as he placed the now empty cup back on the table with a lethal fluidness that had you wondering how good he was at controlling his emotions.

"Its a shame we are mated to the wrong people, otherwise you and I would have ruled the world" he whispers, still not looking at you.

Your breath catching in your throat, your heavy heart pangs with emotion, exaggerated from the effects of the ethanol.

"At least she knows you are her mate Lucien... he doesn't even know about me," you miserably mutter.

You feel Luciens hot gaze rest on you as you look up into his deep eyes.

There's no doubt the turmoil of seeing each other's mates together shines in both of your eyes, but behind the pathetic nature of the situation, a force glint shines through his.

"Then why don't we tell him, Y/N," he urges, a smirk growing on his face.

Your heart drops as you make eye contact with Lucien, his eyes glinting with jealousy and anger.

You had never seen Lucien ever break his calm facades, he always would take whatever Elain would throw at him ; why was he so fired up tonight?

"You have always been so kind to Elain and given her time Lucien, why do you want to make her jealous now?" you voice your thoughts, causing him to look away, as you attempt to search his eyes.

Little did you know or feel, the dark cool gaze that had been assessing you since the moment Lucien had slipped in.

If one were to look through your party at this moment in time, the looks of longing and jealously swirling between you and Lucien could easily have been interpreted as longing and hunger for each other. With now, your full body turned to him, intimately touching him, shoulder to shoulder, anyone could mistake you as a couple.

---

Azriel nodded patiently as he listened to Elain talk about the new plants she wished to acquire from the Dawn Court for her garden.

He was trying so hard to listen and be attentive, but it was difficult when his shadows were buzzing about him, even more frantically, with the effects of the alcohol he had been consuming throughout the night.

He knew the amount of pumps of the vanilla perfume you had sprayed onto yourself, he knew how many times you had sighed throughout the night and he knew of the half-moon marks on your hands. His shadows told him everything, even when he didn't want to know.

For he didn't want to know the looks Lucien and you were giving each other, he didn't want to acknowledge the clenching of your thighs or the hand on your thigh or the-

"-So what do you think Azriel?"

Elains sweet voice cut in deeply through his silent spiralling, as he hummed coming back to the present.

Her big doe eyes innocently looked up at him as he racked his brain for what she had been asking about.

"YES I think the plants would be wonderful-," he began, when his shadows started screaming, "Elain excuse me one moment."

He quickly got up, his eyes narrow and jaw clenching as he went to get out of the booth in haste.

Elains eyes followed him and they widened slightly.

Luciens' hands were on your waist, holding you up from behind, as you both made your way to the dance floor, giggling.

---

read [ part two ] here deariess <3

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ellecdc · 4 months

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Come Back, Be Here (part 4)

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

Sirius Black x fem!reader - First Wizarding War Order of the Phoenix - 6.2k words

CW: mentions of past abuse/torture, amnesia, hurt/comfort, fluff, banter, Walburga Black, use of Y/N

Synopsis: After sacrificing yourself to save your friend and Order partner James months before, you're found on the brink of death. Now, you're moving in to 12 Grimmauld Place.

The group watched as the row of townhomes groaned and stretched to expose 12 Grimmauld place in all her glory. Sirius was certain he could hear his mother and father rolling in their graves to know that he – their disinherited blood-traitor son – was the last Black and official heir once again to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. He grimaced at the title.

“Two disgraced Black’s returning to the scene of the crime.” Ted Tonks joked, both Sirius and Andromeda gave him a look.

“Feels like the beginning of a bad, racist joke.” James mused.

Sirius groaned in response. “What happens when three blood-traitors, three muggle-borns and one half-blood half-breed walk into a bar?”

“Get drunk, I hope.” Lily muttered miserably.

“Well, Sirius, welcome home.” Andromeda announced as she made her way up the stairs to the front door. Sirius pushed the door open and stepped inside a house he hadn’t stepped foot into since he was sixteen years old. He had been so sure at that time that he’d never return; he wished he had been right.

The house was just as dark and gloomy as it had been when he left it, but it was now also covered in a thick layer of dust.

“Okay, please, for the love of all that is holy: Lily, Y/N, Remus, Ted: you are to touch nothing until Andromeda, James or I have checked it first.” Sirius said before pausing, “Scratch that. Touch nothing until Andromeda or I have checked it – okay?”

This earned him an indignant ‘hey!’ from James and a quick agreement from everyone else.

“YOU DISGRACEFUL, WRETCHED BOY!” Sirius’s face drained of all colour at the all-too-familiar sound of his mother’s screeching.

“That old hag is supposed to be dead!” He shouted as he and Andromeda ran up the stairs following the sound of his foul-mouthed mother.

“HOW DARE YOU STEP FOOT INTO THIS MOST NOBLE AND ANCIENT HOUSE, YOU FLITHY BLOOD TRAITOR!” the screeching continued.

The source of the chaos came from none other than an awful magical portrait of the very late Walburga Black, Sirius’ mother and Andromeda’s aunt.

“Oh, thank Godric, she is dead.” Sirius sighed in relief, though he wasn’t sure what he was going to do about the very unwelcome company haunting this house.

“Maybe we can remove it?” Andromeda mused as she tried to pull the portrait from the wall.

“GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OF ME; SULLYING YOURSELF WITH THE LIKES OF MUDBLOODS YOU TRAITOROUS WHORE.”

“Charming as always, Aunt Walburga.” She muttered when her pulling was for naught.

Sirius attempted a silencio which seemed to work for at least a little as Walburga’s face contorted with rage and she continued spewing what Sirius could only assume was foul hatred for all things not Voldemort related.

“Okay so that will last like, not long enough at all. Merlin, I wish we could just burn this place down with her in it.” He muttered as they made their way back downstairs. Ted and James were cooing over a crying Harry who must have been upset at the screeching of the house’s previous occupant, while Remus and Lily muttered quietly to each other. You leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, appearing bored for all intents and purposes, but Sirius could tell you were straining your neck to peer into the rooms you could see from your post.

“Okay, semi-false alarm. Walburga is indeed still dead.” Sirius stated which was met with a cheer from James causing Harry to clap in comradery.

“However, she has cursed us with a magical portrait of herself stuck on the wall with a permanent sticking charm.” He finished, causing James to groan and Harry to start crying again.

“Okay, so, ignoring the unpleasant company for now, where do we start?” Lily interrupted.

“First of all, Red, as I said you will not be starting anywhere.” Sirius rallied.

“Sirius, this place is huge, and we need to clear a space for six of us to sleep tonight.” She countered, but the argument was interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

Everyone exchanged nervous glances. “Literally, no one should know we’re here.” James muttered.

“It could be Moody?” Remus offered nervously.

“Should Kreacher answer the door, Master.” A crotchety old voice sneered from behind him, causing Sirius to yelp and jump what felt like a foot in the air.

“Merlin’s tits.” James muttered as Harry started shrieking again.

“Godric, I’ve never seen you not hanging off my mother’s bosom; I sort of hoped you had died with her.” He muttered, rubbing his chest trying to convince his heart to return to a normal pace.

“Sirius.” You scolded from your place against the wall.

“Kreacher lives to serve the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, even if it’s occupants are filthy blood-traitors and their mud-bloods.” The ancient house-elf muttered.

“New management, new rule Kreacher, no more mud-blood talk.” Sirius barked.

“Yes, Master.” The elf sneered before heading toward the door. Sirius quickly pulled you and Lily, who was now holding a sniffling Harry, behind him much to the chagrin of the two women.

“Master, the wizard tells Kreacher that he’s a curse breaker sent by a Moody.” The elf mumbles over his shoulder.

Sirius relinquished his hold on the two witches and allowed the man entry.

Sirius reiterated to the curse breaker that Lily, Remus, you, and Ted were not to touch anything in any room until the curse breaker, Sirius or Andromeda cleared it first. The curse breaker showed James, Andromeda, and Sirius a few detection spells and a few simple reversal charms before they set off to different levels of the house; Sirius and Andromeda decided to focus on the bedrooms and bathrooms whilst the curse break started in the shared living spaces on the first floor, and James went to the kitchen with Kreacher.

Sirius felt like he was making decent progress. He and Andromeda had cleared out three bedrooms and two bathrooms between the second and third floors, and he had worked up a decent sweat. He had two boxes of dark artifacts to be either destroyed, uncursed or donated. The screeching had started back up in earnest again when the silencio wore off an hour after casting.

“You miserable hag.” Sirius muttered as he marched over to his mother’s portrait to recast the spell. Once the ringing in his ears stopped, he heard another shriek and a bang.

“Y/N!” Lily could be heard shouting, and Sirius bolted down the stairs. He arrived in the parlour at the same time as Remus and James.

“What happened?” Remus demanded.

“She touched a book!” Lily tattled.

“I’m fine.” You muttered as you sat up and cradled your right wrist.

Sirius sighed, fear melting into frustration which quickly melted into fondness. “You sneaky little witch.” He muttered as he moved to crouch beside you. “Let me see.”

“No.” You pouted.

“Y/N.”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Let me see your hand.”

“Bugger off.”

“You minx.”

Sirius sat there biting his cheek trying to suppress a grin at the sight of you sitting petulantly feeling embarrassed being caught having done something naughty.

“What did I say?” Sirius scolded.

You muttered something under your breath.

“What was that?” He smirked, leaning his ear closer to you for dramatic effect.

“Not to touch anything.”

“Uh huh. And what did you do?”

“I touched something.”

Sirius was full on beaming at you now.

“Thought so, let me see.”

You let out an indignant huff and held your wrist out to Sirius, who despite his crassness, took it so unbelievably gently in his own hands. It appeared that you had touched something that was cursed with a knock-back jinx, which twisted your wrist violently on impact. It could have been worse, small mercies.

“Dollface, I could have gotten you a book if you were bored.” Sirius commented as he reduced the swelling with a quick flick of his wand and placed a glacius charm to help with any more inflammation.

“Don’t tease me.” You whispered miserably, and Sirius looked up to see that your eyes were glassy.

“Are the tears because you’re hurt, because you’re scared, or because you’re embarrassed?” Sirius whispered back. Your eyes met his and a single tear fell. He lifted his hand which was met with a mild flinch before he gently wiped it away with his thumb.

“I’m not teasing, love. And you don’t have to be embarrassed; if it hadn’t been you, it would have been Moony.” Which was met with an indignant ‘Oi!’ from the werewolf who had moved down the hall in an attempt to give them privacy. “You also don’t have to be scared. Alright?”

You held his gaze before nodding with a sniff. He massaged your wrist and hand gently, recasting a glacius over the injury.

“Did I teach you this?” You asked quietly, causing Sirius’ head to shoot up from its lowered position.

“Do you remember?” He asked unbelievingly.

You moved your head back-and-forth as if to say so-so. “I remember...uhm-”

He waited with bated breath watching your face as you organized your thoughts.

“Bludgers. The smell of cigarettes and broom wax. And a broken wrist.”

Sirius was sure he heard angels singing. Her first memory is resurfacing. And it’s when I broke my wrist playing quidditch at Potter manor.

“It was you, wasn’t it? Who broke their wrist?” You clarified.

Sirius nodded dumbly. “Yes.” He croaked.

“I think you got hurt often.”

Sirius chuckled, “Yes, I certainly did.”

“That must have been exciting.” You mused.

“I’m sure I was exhausting.” He countered as he continued massaging your arm. He could probably stop now, but he really didn’t want to.

“Please; you got hurt because you were playing quidditch, I got hurt because I touched a book after I was specifically told not to touch anything.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Oh, come now. It’s my fault really; I should have known better than to try to tell you what to do.”

You both sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments; Sirius continuing to work out tension in your arm.

“Which book was it?” He asked you finally. He seemed to catch you off guard, as you looked at him inquisitively. “Which book were you trying to read?”

You blushed but stood up and pointed to the offending book. Secrets of the Darkest Art.

“All this fuss over a book, babe?” he smirked at you as your blush intensified. He cast a quick counter curse over it like the curse breaker taught him and handed you the book.

“Now please, for the love of Merlin, don’t touch anything else?” He asked with a smile which was met with a shy smile of your own.

“Thanks, Siri.” You mumbled. His heart soared at your use of his old nickname, and before he even realized what he was doing, he bent down and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Read up, my little swot. I think I heard Kreacher muttering about making dinner. Hopefully it’s not poisoned.” He said as he exited the room.

Turns out, dinner was not poisoned, and it was actually quite good. They all thanked Kreacher even though the elf acted as if the simple act of feeding them would be the thing to damn him straight to hell. The Tonks’ were quite eager to leave after the fourth rousing of Walburga and left before the dinner was served. Andromeda and Sirius had managed to de-dark-art-ify all the bedrooms on the second and third floor plus the bathrooms. They opted to leave his parents room, and his and Regulus’ rooms untouched. As much as they teased poor James, he accomplished quite a lot in the kitchen and main living room, while the curse breaker focused on the hallways and various parlour rooms on the main floor. Lily mentioned that she wouldn’t mind brightening the place up if Sirius was open to some redecorating – to which he responded with a quick “If it were up to me, Red, this place would be in flames by now”, so she advised she’d make some plans tomorrow. You and Remus fussed over Harry to save Kreacher from anymore toddler ear yanks, but if the house-elf was grateful for the interference, he didn’t show it. A message arrived stating that the cottage in Godric’s Hollow appeared to be secure; Lily looked like she wanted to cry at the prospect of being reunited with her things.

Remus said goodbye to everyone after dinner, stating he couldn’t leave the flat unattended since Sirius appears to be willing to neglect it for the next foreseeable future, which was met with a two-finger salute from Sirius and boos from James which were then chorused by Harry.

“It’s meant to be a slumber party, Moony. Just like the old days.” James whined, which sucked the air out of the room; it suddenly became very obvious to Sirius, James, Lily, and Remus that they had been betrayed by their closest friend, who was possibly responsible for the death of some of their other friends.

“Pads, we can’t keep paying for a flat that no one is using.” Remus argued.

“Uhm, I can, and I will, thank you very much. What’s the point of inheriting all of my family’s dirty money if I can’t waste it on whatever I want?”

Remus sighed, “Fine. I’m going home tonight, though. I can’t leave the cat and the plants.”

“You’re such a good daddy.” Lily smirked from the end of the table.

“Shush, you.” Remus said as he ruffled her hair before smoothing it out and kissing the top of her head. He moved to Harry and placed a kiss there too, before James stuck his head up as if he, too, was waiting for a kiss. Remus rolled his eyes before pecking both James and Sirius on the head and pausing at you.

“What? No kiss for me, Moony?” You smirked and teasingly batted your eyelashes at him. Remus laughed and placed a kiss on your head before waving and promising everyone he’d be back tomorrow, cat and plants in tow.

Much to Kreacher’s chagrin, Sirius and James insisted on cleaning up the kitchen themselves which got a “filthy blood-traitor’s” being cursed at them. He then announced he’d be going to the house in Godric’s Hollow to retrieve their belongings – surprising James and Sirius into silence.

Lily and James took the farthest room on the second floor, it was the largest which left plenty of room for a crib for Harry, and it had their own washroom. Sirius held the bags containing your things and watched as you inspected the other rooms, allowing you to choose next.

“Which room do you suppose Remus would like?” You asked him.

“Vix, it doesn’t matter. You choose.”

“If he has plants, maybe this room? It would get nice light in the evenings; I don’t think he’d appreciate the morning light.” You mused as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

Sirius couldn’t even celebrate the fact that you seemed to correctly remember something about Remus before he nagged you. “Y/N, for the love of Merlin, pick a room.”

“Well, which room are you taking?”

Sirius paused. “What?”

“Which room will you take?”

Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. “I have my old room upstairs. I was just going to stay there.”

You paused. “You aren’t going to stay down here? With us?” The ‘with me?’ was unspoken but Sirius heard it anyway.

“Oh, right. No, of course. Erm.” He looked at the three rooms. It appeared you had already decided the middle room was Remus’ – what with the sunlight for the cat or the plants or the sleeping or what-not. There were two other rooms kiddie-corner to each other. The one at the end of the hall was the largest of the two, and had windows on two walls, versus just the one wall containing windows in the other room.

“I think I’ll take this one.” He said, motioning to the smaller room. It was directly across the hall from the washroom, which was beside the last room – your room – which meant he would be close by.

“Okay.” You nodded, looking into the room you essentially forced Sirius into picking for you. “I’ll take this one then.” You smiled at him as if you chose it for yourself.

“Good choice, gorgeous.” He said as he placed your bags on the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. “Can’t wait to see what Lil’s comes up with for this place – all the Slytherin green needs to go.”

You hummed and looked around the dark room. “I don’t know, the snakes and skulls are really warm and inviting, Sirius. Don’t fix what ain’t broken.” You finished the sentence in a poorly done southern American accent.

The two of you quipped back and forth about the décor in various accents as you unpacked your bags. Sirius found the scene to unbelievably domestic and lovely, basking in the effervescent glow that was your company until you both retired for bed.

Sirius pushed the door open as quietly as he could and stole a glance at you; your breathing was even as you slept curled up in the fetal position on the bed where he’d left you several hours ago.

With a sigh, Sirius made his way down the stairs to the large parlour room – not coincidentally the one he knew had his late father’s liquor stored in an antique bar cart. He knew he shouldn’t – James and Lily fussed over him for months after you went missing, watching him spiral into himself as he tried to drink away his issues. He had to work hard not to end up completely dependent on alcohol – and it still wasn’t enough for him to stay in his supervisor’s good graces.

“You’re a good Auror, Sirius, and a mighty strong wizard – but this is getting out of control, and I cannot allow you to continue putting the rest of my staff at risk.” Moody had told him, and he was placed on a medical leave until James could confirm to Moody that he had gone a full four weeks without a drink.

Sirius sat with a crystal glass of fire whiskey and cast a quick incendio to light the fireplace. I feel like the ghost of my father he thought darkly. The Black’s were all basically carbon copies of each other – the only difference between the two Black sons and Walburga was that they had their father’s silver eyes. If Kreacher walked in now, he’d probably think he was looking at a down-and-out younger Orion Black, if Orion Black ever wore checkered pyjama pants and a band tee.

The fire whiskey was leaving a comfortable warmth in his stomach and esophagus as he leaned his head back against the chair. He felt so incredibly guilty.

Guilty for trusting Peter. Guilty for ever thinking the spy could be anyone but him. Guilty for believing you to be dead all of this time – when he could have been looking for you, should have been looking for you. Guilty to shouting your business in front of your friends. Guilty for ever introducing Peter to you. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

His musings were interrupted by a gentle knock on the parlour room doorframe. His eyes shot open, and he pointed his wand toward the disturbance, only to find the silhouette of you donned in pyjama shorts and a pullover jumper. He sighed in relief and unceremoniously tossed his wand back onto the side table.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” You offered quietly.

“No worries, love. I think everyone’s a touch jumpy these days.” He muttered, taking another sip from his glass.

You surveyed him from the door for a few moments before moving to sit in the matching wingback chair beside him, separated by only a small table.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You asked.

Sirius hummed, “Not well. Not for the last five months. Maybe longer.”

You nodded in agreement as you watched the flames dance in the fireplace. You hadn’t seen Sirius like this – not since you’ve been back, at least – but something about this mood of his felt familiar to you.

“Are you alright?”

Sirius laughed humourlessly. “The captive of an evil terrorist organization is asking me if I am okay because I happened to have my feelings hurt?”

He looked over at you, expecting to find signs of frustration or annoyance at his flippancy and obvious deflection. But - like he should have expected - all he saw was patience and understanding, and it broke him.

He hiccupped loudly and put his elbows on his knees, holding his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered miserably.

“What is it you’re apologizing for?” You asked quietly.

“For losing you. For allowing it to happen. For introducing you to Pete. For trusting him with any of you. For believing you were dead. For feeling at all sorry for myself because I simply missed you whilst you were out there fighting for your fucking life. For telling you any of this.” He moaned.

You chuckled softly. “You do realize you’re apologizing on behalf of a lot of other people right now, right?”

Sirius raised his head to look at you.

“Don’t let them off the hook that easily.” You added seriously.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re apologizing for the way Peter treated me as if it was your fault – by doing so, you’re relieving him of an awful lot of responsibility.” You stated simply. Sirius watched the flames dance in your eyes as you watched the fire.

“You believed me to be dead, and you mourned me – that’s not a punishable offence, Sirius. In fact, I think I’d likely be miffed if you hadn’t seemed affected at all.”

Sirius smirked at that.

“And finally, you don’t need to apologize for telling me things when I was the one who asked you to.”

Sirius shook his head. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.” He muttered.

“You can do that tomorrow.” You stated plainly with a shrug.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You sat in companionable silence as you both watched the fire. It wasn’t often Sirius found himself to be comfortable with silence and empty moments. Silence growing up always meant room for scrutiny – or it was due to his parents ignoring him to teach him a lesson. But it had always been so, incredibly refreshing with you. He always felt safe with you when neither of you felt the need to say anything at all, and just exist together in silence.

“At the meeting, you asked me if we were just friends before.” Sirius asked quietly. He continued when you hummed in acknowledgement. “Is that because you remembered?”

You considered his question for a moment. “Perhaps a bit. I don’t necessarily remember the moments or conversations, but I think a part of me remembers the feelings.”

Sirius hummed. “And the other bit?” He prodded as he turned to look at you. You smirked in response.

“Well, you’re not exactly subtle, love.” You winked at him.

Sirius barked a laugh. “No, I don’t think subtlety is a trait I possess.” He agreed.

“Lucky me.”

He stared at you for a long while.

“I don’t know how good at it I was.” He admitted.

“At what?”

“At loving you.”

You both let that hang in the air as you held each other’s gaze.

“But it was the best thing about me – getting to love you; being loved by you.” He added.

“That’s what woke me up.”

Sirius furrowed his brows. “Hm?”

You turned your gaze back to the fire.

“In my dream – or I suppose it was a memory. You and I were fighting; I accused you of only loving yourself. You laughed before you said ‘Actually, Princess, I hate myself. The only person worth love here is you.’”.

Sirius remembered that fight. It was after you had finally started talking to him again after the Worst Day of His Life™. You both decided to hash out exactly what happened that night with the stupid eyelash batting Hufflepuff that ended with you sleeping in Lily and Remus’ embrace after they had to clean up his mess.

(The boys dormitory, Hogwarts)

“It doesn’t matter, Sirius. What happened, happened, and it’s in the past.”

“It does matter though, because it hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, it doesn’t matter; I’m over it and it clearly meant nothing to you.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Decide what means something to me.”

“I didn’t, Sirius. You did. That night – you decided what I meant to you, which apparently wasn't much. It’s fine, you’re allowed to sleep with whoever you want. The relationship clearly meant more to me than it did to you – that was my mistake.”

“You weren’t mistaken!”

“Then why wasn’t it me!?” You finally shouted at him, tears begging to fall from your lower lash line.

Sirius didn’t have an answer for that. You scoffed at his lack of response and wiped angrily at your face.

“I don’t know why we’re even doing this.”

“Because it’s important.”

“It’s not important. It’s history. I’m over it.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say you’re over it.” The ‘over me’ in Sirius’ plea was left unsaid.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you, Sirius.”

“I just want things to go back to the way they were before. What can I do to fix this?”

“There’s nothing to fix, Sirius.”

“Bullshit.”

You stayed quiet.

“So, what? Am I not worth it then? Am I not worth fighting for?” He accused. Your eyes narrowed at him.

“Sirius, that’s not fair.”

“You’re not giving me anything else to go off here!”

“What about me!?” You shouted. “I need to look after myself for a change, Sirius. Because what all of this has taught me is that the only person you’re truly able to love is yourself.”

Sirius couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh; a real, loud belly laugh that began to hurt his sides.

“What the fuck is so funny?”

“You’re so far from the mark you can’t even see it anymore.” He laughed as he collected himself. “You couldn’t be more wrong. In fact, Princess, I hate myself. The only person worth love here is you.”

(present)

Sirius sighed. “Why couldn’t your first memory of me be me doing something awesome; like the time I caught you when you fell off your broom or something.”

You laughed. “I had bruises from your death grip after that fall for weeks. And you were so annoying – you would hardly let me walk down the hallway without your constant supervision.”

You both seemed startled at your recounting the memory, but neither commented on it.

“Well excuse me, love. What makes you think I should trust you on the moving staircases with your nose shoved into a book if you couldn’t even handle a simple flight session on a school broom a mere twenty feet off the ground,

“Oh please, I didn’t have my nose shoved into a book.”

“You did too.”

“And I was definitely at least fifty feet off the ground – probably more.”

“Nope, wrong again.”

“Stop gaslighting me.”

“Must be exhausting being wrong all the time.”

“You son of a bitch.”

The two of you laughed; the familiarity of the banter and joking felt like a warm hug for you both. You fell into a companionable silence until the crackling of the fire was interrupted by a yawn you tried unsuccessfully to suppress.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you back to bed.” Sirius said as he stood, standing in front of you and offering you his hand.

You jokingly whined but allowed yourself to be pulled up by the black-haired man.

“You look like a hockey player” You blurted as you walked hand-in-hand up the stairs.

“Pardon me?” Sirius asked incredulously.

You ran your fingers through his hair, and he relished in the feeling. “The hair cut – it’s like a hockey player’s; they call it a ‘flow’.”

“A flow?” He smirked.

“Mhm.”

“Do you like it?” He asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Love it.” You offered immediately as if it was the most obvious answer.

You paused at your respective bedroom doors, neither seemingly wanting to part ways. Well, Sirius knew he didn’t, and he assumed the tightening of your hold on his hand meant that you felt the same.

He wanted to hold you. He wanted to wrap you up in bed and stay there with you until the world ended. He wanted your hands to be fused together so that he’d never have to be without you by his side ever again. But he also didn’t want to push you; this was your call – he would let you choose; always.

“I don’t want to be alone.” You admitted quietly, almost as if you were embarrassed by the admission.

Sirius gave your hand three quick squeezes – a code the two of you had made when you realized that Sirius sometimes struggled to express his feelings verbally.

“Three taps or squeezes means ‘I love you.’” You had said to him simply.

“Babe, every breath I take means ‘I love you.’” He countered before placing a searing kiss to your lips.

“Funny, that. Neither do I.” He replied.

“Stay with me?” You asked him, eyes shyly meeting his.

“I’d love nothing more.” He said, as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Come on, love. Let’s try to get some sleep.”

James had tossed and turned all night, waking up in cold sweats. He had been eager each time to change Harry’s diaper or do a feeding, bouncing him a little longer than strictly necessary just to avoid having to be alone with his own thoughts again. But by the third time he woke Lily up in a panic, she’d kicked him out of the room.

“Potter, I love you, but if you don’t fuck off right now, I’m going to live the rest of my life as a widow.” And with that, he was banished from their bedroom.

He padded his way down the hallway, poking his head into the other doors. The room in the middle of the hallways was vacant; probably Moony’s he mused. The next room was also empty, but the sheets were disturbed as if someone had been sleeping in here, but also couldn’t sleep.

He poked his head into the last room and spotted two figures curled up in the bed, holding onto each other as if one of them could float away at any moment.

There was a voice in James’ head that told him he should leave them; they were likely having just as hard a time sleeping as he was. Also, it’d be weird to join them. However, there was a louder voice in James’ head that was screaming to climb into bed with them; so that’s the one he listened to. James had never been very good with boundaries.

He crawled onto the other side of Sirius and slid under the covers.

“Are you serious right now?” He heard his mate mutter groggily.

James smirked as he curled up behind him. “No, you’re Sirius.”

Sirius groaned. “Five points from Gryffindor for the terrible joke that only I’m allowed to make, and another five points for touching me with your cold ass feet.” But he didn’t tell James to leave, so he took that as a win.

“How’s she?” He asked quietly.

“So good, considering.” Sirius answered.

“I can’t believe him...” James started quietly, but he needn’t finish; they both knew who he was talking about.

Sirius took a deep breath. “I feel, guilty. Bad. Y/N says I shouldn’t.”

“Of course she would, she’s perfect.” James offered easily.

Sirius smiled into the top of your sleeping head. “She is.” He agreed.

“I can’t believe she survived, all that time.”

The two men sat, marvelling at your perseverance. “I’m dying to know who her allies were.”

Sirius hummed. “Me too. I don’t know how to feel about them yet.”

James nodded. “That’s okay, I don’t much know how to feel about a lot of things.”

Sirius snorted and then tensed, worried about waking you, but your breath remained even.

“Do you blame me?”

Sirius eyes flew open at that.

“Pardon?”

James sighed before repeating himself. “Do you blame me, for Pete?”

“What about him.”

“Well, I’ve been wondering, would you and Remus ever had made friends with him had I not dragged him along with us?”

Sirius laughed. “Okay, if it were left up to Remus, no one would have ever talked to him ever and he would’ve made exactly zero friends, so I don’t think you’re asking the right questions.”

“Pads...”

“No. Of course not.” Sirius stated. James remained quiet and tense behind him.

“I think Peter made a choice. He made a lot of choices, but he made a choice.” He said as he thought of your earlier words. Don’t let him off the hook that easily. “He has a lot to atone for.”

He could feel James nod and they sat in silence for some time, watching the lights move from the street below them.

Sirius was pretty well asleep when James spoke up again.

“So, are you guys like, back together?”

Sirius scrunched his face. “What in the hells are you talking about?”

“You and Vix? Does this mean mom and dad are back together again?”

“James, she doesn’t remember me.”

“Well that just can’t be true.” James argued.

“Why’s that?”

“No one who doesn’t know you would let you sleep in their bed, Pads. You look like a bad idea.”

Sirius groaned. “She remembers some things.”

“Nice! Anything about me?” James asked excitedly.

“Yes.” You muttered sleepily. “I remember that you’re unbearably annoying.”

Sirius beamed and pressed a kiss to your hair.

Lily began to redecorate, though she muttered unhappily the entire time about not being able to run to the shops. Every wall was painted white, causing each space to look far brighter and bigger than it had before. James took down every framed piece of art and gave it to Harry and Sirius to paint over – what were once paintings full of dark objects and pureblood legacy were now Gryffindor logos, the Hogwarts castle, a golden snitch, owls, self-portraits, or, in Harry’s case, a big truck. (If you close your eyes, you can absolutely see it).

Sirius insisted the house was still chock full of “bad vibes”, but everyone else already felt less suppressed.

Your memories were slowly returning to you, and much to everyone’s chagrin and to his absolute delight, Remus seemed to be the first of your friends you completely unravelled.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” James cried.

“I’ve never been so offended in my life.” Sirius muttered.

Lily refused to speak on the matter...but she also (playfully) refused to speak a word to you at all.

“I mean, really, what’s Moons got that I don’t?” Sirius whined as he watched the golden coloured orb on your scan get accessed by the travelling lights without incident.

“Class, obviously.” Remus claimed haughtily.

“Oh, I’ll show you class.” Sirius barked before launching himself at Remus who was sitting in an armchair with a book in his hand.

The two boys men struggled with each other, Remus never leaving the armchair nor dropping his book, before Sirius began whining.

“Say it.” Remus said with a smirk.

“Moony!”

“Say it.”

“Uncle! Uncle!” Sirius cried and Remus released his hold on his arm.

“Real classy boys.” Lily said with a roll of her eyes.

It had been about a week since Vix had been home and it was about a week until the next full, so Remus could not figure out why he felt so itchy.

“Maybe you’ve got fleas.” James offered as he shoved roast potatoes in his mouth.

“I don’t have fleas, you sod.” Remus muttered.

“No, that’s usually a Padfoot problem.” Lily chortled

Sirius elicited a dramatic gasp and held his hand to his chest.

“I have never once in my life had flea’s you hag.”

“Don’t call my wife a hag!”

“Then tell her not to act like one!”

“Can we not do this at the dinner table?” You moaned with a roll of your eyes. Both men stopped the antics and looked down at their plates, shame faced.

“Sorry mum.” They chorused.

You smirked and looked over to Remus, who still looked unsettled. “It’s not usual for you to get like this, this far from the moon.” You commented.

“No.” Remus muttered miserably. “I don’t know, something just feels off.”

“Our world has been flipped upside down multiple times this week. I think it will take some time for us to get our bearings again.” Lily admitted.

The adults nodded in agreement; Harry shook his head violently.

“No? You don’t think so Haz?” James asked his son.

“No!” Harry squealed happily, lifting a handful of crushed roast potatoes in his hand.

“Don’t mind him. That’s his favourite word right now.” Lily explained.

“Is miss finished?” Kreacher’s voice appeared beside you, causing you to jump in your seat.

“Oh!” You breathed, holding a hand to your chest. “Uhm, yes. Kreacher, thank you.”

The house-elf grunted and took your plate to the sink, before returning and pulling your chair out for you. James and Sirius shared a look at the odd behaviour.

“What are you doing, Kreacher?” Sirius asked.

You looked just as confused as Kreacher helped you stand.

“Kreacher has been asked to retrieve the mudblood.” He said plainly, and with a snap of his fingers, the two of you were gone.

Continue to part five here.

#sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #marauders x reader #first wizarding war #first wizarding war fanfic #reader insert #escapism #self insert #canon divergence #hurt/comfort #sirius black hurt/comfort #sirius black fic #sirius black one shot #sirius black blurb #sirius black ficlet

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atlabeth · 5 months

Text

greener grass | luke castellan

i recommend reading bleedin me dry before this as this is the au to that!

summary: what if you left with luke that day in the woods?

a/n: would just like to give a HUGE thank you for the massive amount of support on my luke fic!! and another huge thank you to all you angst demons because why do you want more of it. i mean i get it but why. anyways here’s a different path of actually accepting luke’s offer like so many of you said you would instantly fold lmao i hope you enjoy

wc: 3.2k

warning(s): fem!daughter of demeter reader. luke is his own warning. kind of unhealthy relationship, weird vibes all around

The stars were brighter than ever tonight.

It was one of the first things that stuck out to you when you got to camp, and it was one of the first things that you noticed when you first got on the road with Luke.

You’d always loved the stars. They were a rare sight coming from the city, such a sign of nature and purity that it honestly shouldn’t have been a surprise when you were claimed. You still remembered the shock that went through you when you first saw what a night sky free of pollution could be, and you still remembered the first time you risked your life with the harpies just to spend the night star-gazing.

And you could never forget the first time you dragged Luke along with you, his wry protests falling on deaf ears though he grinned the entire way down to the beach, his hand laced in yours.

Gods.

Luke.

Even the thought of him these days was enough to make your heart clench, a slight shiver run down your spine, and you weren’t fully sure as to why.

You loved him. You ran away with him. Every path that led you here, you willingly chose to walk down.

But you still questioned every second of every godsdamned day if they were the right decisions. Especially now, as you sat alone in front of the fire, carefully stoking it with one of the few dry sticks you’d been able to find after taking shelter—in your own haphazard tent made of vines and tree trunks and any other bits of nature you’d managed to sprout from the ground with your powers—to wait out a rainstorm.

You decided to spend the night, deciding that traveling through the darkness was too risky after the last monster attack, but the minutes couldn’t have been creeping by slower. If being in nature didn’t quite literally fuel you, you knew you would be far more miserable than you already were.

You loved Luke with all your heart, and if he was willing to potentially throw off his entire plan just so he could bring you with him, then he had to love you the same. You owed him this, at least, to not abandon him.

You— you didn’t want to serve Kronos, but you didn’t want to serve the gods, either. Your mother abandoned you before you were old enough to know what the word meant, leaving you on your father’s doorstep swaddled in blankets and with a note that he still had to this day.

Demeter left your father to raise you on his own, left you to live the half-life of a half-blood, and hardly paid attention to you since. She didn’t help you when you were on the road to camp with your satyr, wondering if every bump in the night would be your end, and she let you feel worthless for an entire year before she finally decided you were deserving of her claim.

Or maybe she just finally remembered you existed.

You understood Luke’s anger—you felt it yourself more than you liked to admit—but the path he was on was a dangerous one. You doubted you could take him off of it, but you could keep him safe, and you could prevent more damage. That was all you cared about at this point.

How long you could walk this line was an entirely different question.

You sensed him before you heard him even lost in your thoughts, but the snapping of twigs still made your breath catch for a moment. You kept your gaze on the fire as you spoke.

“Anything?”

“These woods are surprisingly bare for the time of year,” Luke said as he set his backpack on the ground, kneeling down to rifle through it. “I feel like Artemis is punishing me.”

“Well, she doesn’t exactly have a reason to help you,” you said wryly. You gestured with your head towards the miniature orchard you’d been making at each one of your camps—one pro of your parentage was that you—hopefully—wouldn’t ever starve on the road. You’d been growing plants since you realized you could, so it was practically second nature at this point. “Fruit’s on the menu, if you’re interested.”

Luke chuckled as he walked over, and as he plucked a perfectly ripe strawberry, he glanced at you. “Feeling nostalgic?”

You shrugged. You wondered which of your siblings would be in charge of the strawberries with you gone. You hoped Mr. D wouldn’t give it to one of his kids. “Do you blame me?”

“Not at all.” He popped it into his mouth then took an apple from the smallest tree you’d been able to grow. “It was home for us both, for a while.”

You bit your lip. It still was your home—it had been for the past four years. You wanted to go back eventually, but you felt like you had sealed your coffin by going with Luke. Would they ever welcome you back, knowing you willingly followed him into the darkness?

“How long do you think we’ll be on the road?” you asked, finally looking over at him as he sat down across from you. “Not that I don’t enjoy being with you, but… it’s not exactly the safest.”

“At least another week or two,” Luke said. You tried your hardest to keep your expression even as he settled the full force of his gaze on you—you couldn’t deal with the scrutiny. “I need to make sure they’ve lost our trail. The last thing we need is a questing group on our asses.”

You huffed a laugh. “You think they’ll actually send anyone after us?”

Luke shrugged. “If all went well, camp is in total disarray. If it didn’t, they still know I’m with Kronos. I can’t imagine Chiron would take that lightly. And,” he inclined his head, “I did kidnap you.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t kidnap me.”

“They’ll probably think so,” he said, and there was something strange in his eyes. “Doesn’t make sense for you to come with me willingly.”

This again. “Luke—”

“I know,” he said, a slight smile on his lips. There wasn’t much heart in it. “You don’t have to explain yourself again.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m not with you,” you said. “I— I am. I’m only here for you, Luke.”

His eyes softened. “You mean it?”

“I do,” you nodded. “I couldn’t just leave you.”

“I don’t take any of this lightly, you know.” His eyes never wavered from yours, the orange light flickering across his face and casting a devilish shadow. “You being here means the world. Nothing’s gonna happen to you—I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m not just gonna lay you out to dry, either,” you said wryly. “We’ll protect each other. Like we always have.”

“Exactly,” Luke affirmed. He bit into the apple he’d seemingly forgot about, and you looked up at the sky in the resulting silence.

It felt like your mind always drifted back to camp, back to your siblings and friends and the victims of Luke’s crusade.

Your summer siblings who would come back next year and wonder where you went, your year-rounders waking up the next morning and all the mornings after with a discontented glance at your bed.

How long would it take for them to forget you? For you to just be another lost demigod in the camp files?

And poor Annabeth Chase. Luke practically raised her, and he walked out on her without a word—you considered yourself lucky he didn’t do the same to you, and you had no idea what awaited you on your path together.

The gods had never been one for listening, and certainly not to you, but you hoped at least one of them would look down on you. Maybe your mother could provide some of that wizened second child advice, shine her favor on you for the first time in your life.

Well. You doubted Demeter would very much appreciate your quasi-support of the titan that ate her. The thing you should have considered yourself lucky for was that your powers still worked.

Luke brought you back to Earth by saying your name, and your gaze snapped back down to meet his. His scar seemed especially grisly in the firelight, at odds with the softness of his expression—something that felt all too rare these days.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“What else could possibly be on it?” you asked wryly, tossing the stick you’d been fiddling with into the fire. It crackled as the flames devoured it, something so out of its realm thrust into it anyways.

“Stupid question,” he admitted.

“We’re practically fugitives, Luke,” you said. “We have monsters after us, and possibly people from camp. We left everyone behind. I’m with you, trust me, but— but I can’t just get over it all as easily as you.”

“And I get that,” he said. “This—” he sighed and shook his head— “you really don’t know how much you being here means to me. I thought I was going to be out on my own on all this.”

Your throat bobbed. You’d never tell him, but you didn’t even know what your answer was going to be until the words left your mouth.

“And you’re telling me that you’d still choose them over me?”

“No,” you said. “I wouldn’t.”

Luke’s eyes softened and your throat felt like it was closing up.

“Then come with me,” he whispered. “We will change the world together.”

“I can’t,” you asserted. “I can’t just leave everyone behind— I’d be leaving my entire life behind, Luke!”

“You’ll help them more this way,” Luke insisted. “The gods aren’t on our side—we’re here so they don’t have to pay attention to us. If we want anything to change for the better, we’re gonna have to do it ourselves.”

You bit your lip, and he brushed a strand of hair out of your face.

“I wouldn’t ask you this if I didn’t think you were right for it,” he murmured, tilting his head as he gazed into your eyes. “Your mother’s never bothered to see you before. I’m gonna make her see you.”

“How?” you asked, hating the hints of desperation coloring your voice.

“You’ll see,” he said. “But we’re gonna do something so big that no one’s going to be able to ignore us.”

Memories of the past four years flashed through your mind, but the two at the forefront were ones with Luke and ones without your mother.

He’d always been there for you, even when Demeter—especially when she wasn’t.

You couldn’t just leave him on his own. Not when he was baring his soul to you—not when his quest for greatness included it for you too.

Not when he was the first boy you ever loved, the one who brought you back from the god-induced edge.

“…Okay,” you said, the word feeling like an ultimatum the moment it left your lips. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

He stared at you for a second like he didn’t hear you, or rather like he didn’t actually believe it. And then he broke out into a grin.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” you said. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“Go to your cabin and pack your bags,” Luke said, still unable to control his exuberant expression. We’ll meet each other at the top of the hill.”

“Right now?”

Luke nodded. “Only a couple hours until we’re harpy feed. Everyone’ll think we’re just leaving for the school year.”

“You’ve always been a year-rounder,” you said. “Won’t people—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “No one’ll think anything of it. We just have to get out before anyone asks any questions.”

“Luke,” you murmured, “are you—”

Luke cut you off with a blazing kiss, the same kind of fire in his eyes when he pulled away, a slight smile on his lips at leaving you breathless.

“I’m sure,” he whispered. “You’re not going to regret this. I promise.”

It was all you could do to stare up at him, his grip on your arms the only thing keeping you upright for a solid moment.

“Go,” he said. “Take your time—don’t draw any suspicion. I’ll meet you there.”

“You’re really sure?” you asked, finally able to form words. “Really really sure? About this, a— and me?”

He cupped your cheek, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than I am about you.”

Leaving camp was insane—when Luke told you of Kronos’s plans, it was even more insane—but it had always been you and Luke. He’d been such a huge part of your life, ever since you first came to camp, that you couldn’t imagine yourself without him.

And when you looked back at him, illuminated by the fire, you were sure of at least one thing.

You weren’t leaving any time soon. Not when you could still fix all of this.

A yawn got the better of you, and you felt Luke’s eyes on you as you covered your mouth with a fist.

“You should get to sleep,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

“It’s been a long day for both of us,” you said. “We both had to get here—and you were the one who wandered around in the woods for two hours trying to hunt.”

“How do you know I wandered?” Luke asked, setting the apple core down on the ground next to him. “You weren’t there. Maybe I had a very respectable saunter and just came up with nothing.”

You chuckled. “The trees speak to me.”

“Really?” he asked, clearly amused. “And what did they say?”

“That you’re an awful hunter,” you mused, “and you should be very thankful that your girlfriend is good at everything.”

Luke smirked and got up to start walking towards you. “Your ever-knowledgeable trees should know that I already know.” He kneeled down in front of you, a slight smile curling on your lips. “And that I am very thankful.”

He pressed a heated kiss to your lips, and you reciprocated, looping an arm around him to keep him close before you pulled away.

“It’s always good to hear it,” you murmured.

“I’ll say it as many times as you need,” he assured. Luke stole another kiss then gestured towards your makeshift tent. “But you do need to get some sleep. We’re picking up at first light.”

Your smile wavered. “We’ve been moving break-neck for a week already. Are you sure we can’t ease up?”

“Soon,” Luke promised. “I told you, I just want to make sure we’ve lost any tails. We can’t afford that right now.”

He must have seen the change in your expression, because his eyes softened and he took your hand. “It won’t be like this forever, babe. You can handle it.”

“It doesn’t mean I want to,” you said dryly, but you sighed as you squeezed his hand. “I’ll turn in if you do too.”

“Anything for you,” Luke said with a smile. You chuckled and shook your head as you stood up, and Luke grabbed his backpack before he went over to the tent with you.

Your meager belongings weren’t much. You’d stuffed all the demigod essentials, some outfits, and a sleeping bag in your pack before hightailing it to Thalia’s tree, and Luke hadn’t packed much more—but at least it was light traveling.

Every night had been spent in the same way, sharing your sleeping bag as you got what precious sleep Luke allocated before you were back on the road again. You were sure the only thing that got you through each early rising was his soft touches and easy murmured words.

You laid down, staring up at the roof of brambles and bark, and you twisted your hand just so to make them twist away from each other for a small opening.

Luke raised an eyebrow at you as he zipped his bag up, still crouched on the ground. “What’s that for?”

You shrugged. “I’ve always liked sleeping under the stars.”

Again, that small smile. It could still make you melt, even now. “I remember. I just hope it doesn’t start raining again.”

“Like rain’ll be the worst thing we’ve dealt with,” you said wryly. “Besides, I can feel it in the air. We’re gonna be fine.”

“Yeah,” he said. “We are.”

You glanced over and he was looking at you. You patted the spot next to you.

“C’mon,” you said. “I’m cold.”

“Oh, we can’t have that,” he said, amused, and he huddled in next to you. You let out a contented sigh as his body heat sunk into you, and he draped an arm across you to pull you closer.

“That better?” he asked.

You hummed in response. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

You closed your eyes as you exhaled deeply, trying your best to unwind the tension in every part of your body. You weren’t used to trekking miles every day, eating rations you’d packed from camp or gas station food from whenever you ended up close to town, only having the woods and the sky and Luke for company. It was starting to wear on you, but you weren’t going to let Luke know.

“I love you,” Luke said suddenly, breaking the silence, his breath tickling your neck. Your eyes snapped open. “You know that, right?”

A moment passed before you murmured, “I know.”

You could feel some of the tension leave his body, and he adjusted his position to be closer to you.

“Good.”

His curls brushed against your skin as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. Luke was a comforting presence behind you, like an anchor in the choppy waters you’d thrown yourself into, but it… it just felt different than the countless other times.

But that was only natural. You were back on the road, living the way you did when you first made the trip to Camp Half-blood with your satyr. Of course it felt different than the crowded chaos of the Hermes cabin, or the beach underneath a tapestry of stars, or your own bed at the behest of your siblings. The only thing that stayed the same was the scent of nature, and the scent of Luke.

Things were different, yes, but you knew that would happen. Luke was different, but you knew that would happen—half the reason you came along with him was because you wanted to make sure he had a lifeline, a way to come back to shore when he decided his crusade was over.

Because it had to be over eventually. He would decide that there was no way you could beat the gods, that it wasn’t worth killing himself over some meaningless mission. The gods had never cared about you before—you didn’t know why they would care about some half-baked rebellion by two of their least favorite kids.

You loved Luke. He loved you. You told yourself that was all that mattered, because you were in this together now.

For better or for worse.

#damn girl you really are a demeter kid the way you're planting these seeds of distrust #also he hasn't told her what he did to percy so this is clearly a very stable and good situation for both of them #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan angst #pjo x reader #x reader #sadie writes

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wileys-russo · 6 months

Text

going the distance II unc!a.russo x reader

as always unc!era remains god tier, based on this request

going the distance II unc!a.russo x reader

"-and you're sure she doesn't know?" you asked lotte for the tenth time who rolled her eyes. "yes i'm sure! have i ever lied to you?" the brunette chuckled, keeping a careful eye out as she ushered you through the campus.

you'd met your girlfriend when you were sixteen at a house party, she'd gone along with a few of her under nineteen national team after a big win and the cheers the small group had gained as the entered captured your attention.

you'd known lotte for years having grown up a few houses down from her your families had become quite close, though once things with football became more serious you'd seen less of her still at school yourself.

so quickly making your way over for a hug and hello was when she'd introduced you to a few of her friends, alessia a little tongue tied around you much to her friends amusement as she seemed to follow you around all night not unlike a lost puppy.

you'd exchanged numbers and hung out a few times. her crush on you was anything but subtle as you finally grew inpatient of waiting for her to make a move after weeks of pining and made one of your own, catching her off guard.

from then on her confidence grew as did your feelings for one another and the rest was a story she loved to tell people at any chance she was given, especially now that you both lived in separate countries and were doing long distance.

which lead to right now as lotte let herself into her dorm room, ushering you inside with a worried look around, knowing alessia was due over anytime now. it was the final game of the season, the championship, and you'd lead alessia to believe you'd not be able to be there for it.

your own university had broken up last week despite you lying to your girlfriend of almost two and a half years now that you had another fortnight of exams and wouldn't be able to come and support her, which she was gutted by but made sure not to show this to you knowing your own education wasn't any less important than hers.

you'd come and seen her in north carolina a few times now though rarely while she was mid season given your university semester dates seldom allowed you to, and you relished in the few weeks every term break where she was back home and the two of you fell into your old routine together.

distance does make the heart grow fonder but the small lapses in it where you were back together again just meant leaving one another and going back to having that distance was so much harder, and it hurt a lot for the first few days adjusting back into it.

the blonde was by nature incredibly hard to surprise, always working out your plans before you had a chance to even try much to your growing frustrations and her insistence that it was an 'accident'.

so spurred on by her family you'd concocted this plan and roped lotte in to help, alessia's own family were due to touch down in a few days time and you'd stay with them for the most part but lotte had pulled some strings with the coaches that would mean you could stay with alessia at the uni for a few days beforehand.

but first, came the seemingly simple task of surprising her with your presence. however you knew nothing was that easy with the stubborn striker and the lack of contact from you for a couple of days as you'd flown over was sure to have raised her suspicions.

you'd even gone as far as to memorise the time differences, making sure you weren't texting her as you normally would once you touched down, since you were supposed to be sleeping.

you'd excused your lack of contact and drawn it down to your need to study for the exams which didn't really exist, alessia being understanding as usual though you knew from chatting with lotte on the way back from the airport that your girlfriend had been miserable.

"get in the closet."

"what?" you gave the taller brunette a bewildered look as she opened the door, dropped your bags down and gestured inside. "lotte!" you huffed, this not a part of the original plan.

"you want to surprise her right? you can jump out and scare the living daylights of her, very romantic." lotte grinned gesturing again for you to get inside.

"i came out of the closet three years ago wubben-moy, this feels slightly homophobic." you huffed as she shoved you playfully and you stepped inside, hurriedly closing the door as knocks sounded on the other one.

your heart rate accelerated hearing your girlfriends voice as she entered the room, knowing she was only a few metres away after not seeing her in person for months now.

"lotte why do i have to help you catch up? you're normally so on top of your assignments this is very unlike you." you heard alessia groan and the squeak of a mattress meaning she'd likely collapsed onto the bed, and you could very near imagine the bored look which would be etched in her features.

"oh its not me who needs help with their studies." lotte stated and you heard her knock twice on the cupboard door signally you were good to go. "what the hell do you mean its not-"

"surprise!" you shouted as you barelled out of the closet, both you and lotte grinning as alessia jolted up and very near went flying off the edge of the bed as she just caught herself.

"can you help me study for my exams please babe?" you smiled, a flash of blonde flying toward you and you laughed as her hands hooked under your thighs hoisting you up into a bone crushing hug, your legs wrapping around the taller girls waist.

"surprise, finally got ya russo." you chirped with a grin, softening as you wiped a few stray tears from the corner of her eyes. "baby don't cry." you laughed, hugging her tightly and running a hand through her hair, winking at lotte who was filming a few feet away.

"but you were-and then you said-but you had to-don't you have-" the striker rambled out among her sniffles, hopelessly lost and most definitely shocked as she struggled to even get out a sentence.

"i know, might have told a few white lies love but in my defence you are incredibly hard to surprise. so nosy!" you teased, your girlfriend placing you back down on your feet and pulling you in for another hug, your face pressed into her shoulder as she clung onto you as if worried it was all some sort of dream.

"are you really here right now?" "i'm really here right now, and you've got me all to yourself till we fly home for spring break."

"seriously!" alessia's eyes widened even further as her lips finally curled into a shit eating grin. "if thats okay?" you clarified, not entirely sure of her schedule as her head nodded about a million miles per hour, grin somehow widening even further.

"alright lovebirds it was a pleasure to help meddle in this little plan but i don't fancy a live show of you 'catching up' so please, exit stage left!" lotte smiled, opening her door and waving for the two of you to leave.

you tried to grab your bags but your girlfriend had them all in her hands before you could even try. "shut up." the blonde smiled shutting down your protests, sweetly kissing your cheek a few times as lotte jokingly gagged and your stomach fluttered at even just the brief sensation of her lips against your skin.

"less let me just take one!" you laughed as she struggled, shifting your duffle on her shoulder so she could free up a hand to grab yours, the two of you mostly you, hugging lotte goodbye as you departed for alessia's own room which was only luckily just down the hall.

you'd been here before so there wasn't any need for a tour, just time to make up for as your girlfriend jutted out her hip and nodded for you to grab her room keys from her pocket. unlocking the door the two of you hurried inside, alessia dropping your bags the moment it clicked closed again.

"god i missed you." she exhaled shakily and within seconds her hands were on your hips and your body was being pulled flush into hers, her head dipping to connect her mouth to yours as your knees nearly buckled from the breathless passionate kiss you were rewarded with.

"missed you more." you mumbled against her lips, hands resting on her cheeks as she pulled the two of you to sit down on the edge of her bed, never breaking the kiss for even a second.

"hi." you finally pulled away, pressing your forehead against hers. "hello gorgeous." the blonde beamed, unable to keep the smile off her face as you wrapped your arms around her neck and the two of you collapsed with a laugh back into the mattress.

"you really had no idea at all?" you questioned, slotting your legs between hers as she firmly shook her head. "not a single bit. i was moping alot because we weren't talking much, lotte told me i was becoming insufferable to be around." the striker pouted which you made quick work of kissing away, grinning at the slight blush which coated her cheeks afterwards.

"now thats hardly a championship winning attitude baby." you smiled in amusement as again she perked up, pushing herself up to rest on one elbow. "you'll be here for the game!" alessia realized excitedly, flopping down on top of you and peppering your face with kisses as you laughed and pushed her off.

"you can wear one of my jerseys, i'll braid your hair, you can sit with my family and- wait do they know you're here too?" your girlfriend rambled on as you nodded. "sure do. honestly shocked neither one of your brothers let it slip, they're just as bad as you are with surprises." you teased with a grin.

"its a russo family curse i'm afraid my love." "what to be hopelessly nosy?" "hey!"

"less!" you laughed, trying to take a seat as your girlfriend slid her body left and right, blocking you at every opportunity as she patted her thighs expectantly.

"only one seat left i'm afraid, sorry babe." the striker grinned, wrapping her arms around your torso and pulling you down to sit on her lap as you rolled your eyes. "are they always like this?" one of her teammates katie asked lotte who hummed as alessia smacked her shoulder.

"don't be jealous now girls." the blonde winked as you sighed dramatically causing her to playfully pinch your side. "hey we're hardly jealous, its your little love bubble which caused you to be late which means you're running the beep test solo this afternoon at training." katie smirked as your girlfriend groaned loudly, forehead thumping into your back.

"i would like the jury to know that it was not my fault and i tried for a half an hour to encourage her to get up and out of bed but she refused." you spoke loudly as lotte smacked her fist on her textbook like a judges gavel proclaiming your innocence.

"i'm not a morning person and i don't understand why we have to go for a team run at 6am in summer!" alessia huffed as you twisted around and played with the rings on her fingers absentmindedly.

"that doesn't sound very team orientated of you captain russo." you smirked, katie cheering and giving you a high five as you felt your girlfriends glare burn into the back of your head, stretching around to smile and peck at her lips.

"you should come watch, see your girlfriend all sweaty and hot." madeline another one of her teammates grinned from beside lotte. "more like puffing, panting and on the ground half dead. its boiling out there and again need i remind less; beep test." katie added on as alessia groaned even louder, squeezing you tightly.

"i'll be sure to bring a video camera." you nodded eagerly, her teammates roaring with laughter as your girlfriend continued her whining, disappointed when no one took her side or agreed to her plan to try and get out of the beep test, all of them having been up and ready in the morning and lacking in sympathy.

luckily for alessia given that it was so close to the championship training was a closed afair so she'd left you to occupy yourself in her dorm room, almost making herself late again as she'd insisted on about a hundred kisses goodbye.

"alessia you'll be done in a few hours and i'll be right here, you're not off to fight a war love get out!" you laughed pushing at her chest as she puckered her lips for another kiss, sighing dramatically and blowing you one final kiss as she raced out the door.

arriving luckily with just a few seconds to spare she saved herself any further punishment, the solo beep test enough of a grueling humiliation as the rest of her team sat with ice vests and water bottles on the sideline cheering her on.

finally making it to the last level alessia could run no more, collapsing onto her back and covering her eyes with her arm, nodding along to her coaches words and heeding the warning if she blew off a single training she'd be benched and stripped of the captains armband.

though it seemed harsh she knew it was fair and that as captain she needed to step up and set a good example, her team mates helping her up and strapping an ice vest on, helping her to sit down and chug a powerade as everyone stretched and chattered about the weekends match.

finally dismissed the girls dragged themselves off the pitch, alessia practically peeling herself off the bench, grabbing their bags and all reminded firmly that there was to be another 6am run tomorrow and everyone was expected to show at 5:45am sharp.

now she could breath and somewhat walk again the teasing began, alessia taking it all on the chin as slowly the girls branched off in small groups heading for their respective dorm buildings and agreeing to meet up later to do dinner together and some team bonding, a subtle request from the coaching staff.

hearing alessia's key turn in the door she'd opened it before you could even stand, sat with your feet propped up on her desk reading a book. "hey baby." you greeted her happily, a grin curling onto your lips at the disheveled sight of her.

"how was the beep test?" you teased as she dropped her bag and kicked her slides off by the door, collapsing to lay down on the floor with a deep sigh. "that fun huh?" you laughed spinning around in her chair, still adjusting from the english cold you were certainly feeling the heat yourself. so you couldn't even begin to imagine running around in it for a few hours like alessia had been.

"go shower lessi, you'll feel much better." you encouraged, poking her limp form with your foot as she whined and pushed it away. "too hot to move." alessia mumbled, patting the floor beside her clearly expecting you to lay down with her.

"not till you shower, i can smell you from here." you smirked, an u impressed glare sent your way as your girlfriend slowly got up to her feet with a groan of pain. "thanks for your sympathy babe." she grumbled as she did.

"alessia!" it was now your turn to groan as she wrapped herself around you, her skin sticking uncomfortably to your own. "get off you're disgustingly sweaty." you moaned trying to wrench her hands off to no avail.

"didn't you miss me baby? honestly you're so rude." she mumbled into your neck making you roll your eyes. "are you studying?" she frowned at the book in your hands. "no! some of us like to just read...for fun." you smacked her forehead with the book.

"mmm my smart pretty girl, soon to be a lawyer!" alessia grinned wolfishly, pecking your lips and gratefully peeling herself off of you. "more like in three more years baby but thank you for your support." you chuckled.

"i still tell everyone my girlfriends studying law, very very very proudly." alessia beamed, hovering over you as she held herself up, hands gripping the arms of the desk chair you were sat in.

"as i tell everyone my girlfriend is going to win gold for england in the next olympics, very very very proudly." you smiled up at her, both your eyes shining with adoration. "that medal will be going right around your neck baby, my good luck charm." alessia mumbled as she pressed her lips to yours, you pushing her away before she could go any further.

"go shower! then we can makeout." "or we could shower together and makeout." "well women are supposed to be good at multi tasking right?" "mm exactly love. so lets go prove their point then."

"that was pathetic! you can do so much better than that." alessia laughed, effortlessly stopping the ball with her foot and shaking her head. "you're supposed to be coaching me here not insulting me!" you huffed crossing your arms with a pointed stare.

"i have told you over and over how to kick it, i can't kick it for you baby." alessia grinned, rolling the ball back to you as you sighed, smiling sarcastically as she commended your trapping it.

the two of you were messing around kicking a ball on a spare pitch she'd been given access to as captain, having accompanied your girlfriend for her afternoon workout, even joining in much to her utter delight.

though you knew really alessia only encouraged it so that she could have her hands all over you in nothing but a pair of bike shorts and a sports bra as she 'helped you' use all the equipment as if you'd never stepped foot in a gym before, but hardly disliking her hands all over you you played into it.

for a cool down she'd suggested the two of you kick a ball around, the sun setting the perfect backdrop for you to agree as you'd spent more time taking photos than playing any form of football as your girlfriend has confiscated your phone.

"football is your thing not mine!" you huffed as again your shots were all easily blocked by your girlfriend in goal. "okay now i'm going to defend and you have to get past me and shoot, no one to stop you scoring once you do. easy!" alessia stepped forward as you grabbed the ball and placed it by your feet.

"give me your worst babe."

of course, even your very worst was no match for the footballer between you, alessia taking the ball off you with ease every single time.

"ref! where's the ref! contact!" you yelled as your girlfriends arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you off the ground, carrying you easily in one arm as she expertly flicked the ball into the back of the net.

"referee! obstruction!" you laughed, alessia throwing you over her shoulder as she pumped her arms up in victory, spinning the two of you around before collapsing to the ground and taking you with her.

"dirty cheat, you've been in america too long!" you laughed, moving so your head was resting on her bare stomach, both of you just in shorts and sports bra's as the thick summer heat was pelting down even as the evening ascended.

"russo! clear off please the juniors have to train!"

"-and then my mum said they're already headed over with some of the other families so to meet them at the field." your girlfriend informed as you hummed, her head laid in your lap as you sat against the headboard of her bed.

"we should really get going love, you're starting to cut it fine." you reminded with a smile, chuckling as she sighed and buried her face in your stomach. "i'm nervous."

"what?" you frowned, not quite hearing her with her face smushed into your top. "i'm nervous." she sighed, sitting up and moving so she was beside you, your hand quickly grabbing hers.

"thats to be expected baby this is a big game. but you've played big games and all you can do is give it your best and no one can ask anything more of you!" you stated firmly, moving so you were straddling her lap and grabbing her face in your hands.

"you are a phenomenal brilliant passionate talented footballer lessi, you've already played for your senior national team three times and you're only twenty. thats huge!" you traced her jaw with your thumbs as she nodded.

"you're the captain of this team for a reason and i have not a shadow of doubt one day you're gonna be captain of england. this is that first step you have to take toward it, next up is the euros and the olympics and the world cup, onwards and upwards. but for now you need to go out give 100% and inspire your girls to do the same! you're going to win this and lift that championship trophy, i know you are." you promised.

"can you repeat that? i'm going to need to write it down and give it as my captains speech." the blonde joked though you were relieved to see the tension in her shoulders ease a little at your words. "i love you. i am so fucking happy you're here and you have no idea how much it means to me." alessias hands caressed your thighs with a gentle squeeze.

"i love you more, my star girl."

"i have to say the pink tape wrap headband she's rocking is something new, is that an american thing?" gio tutted as you rolled your eyes and pushed him, luca mumbling to focus on the game as the match ticked down to its final minutes, unc ahead by just a singular goal they'd well and truly parked the bus.

"this is it, this is the last play." you exhaled shakily as the injury time ran out and the opposition gained a corner. "i can't watch." you shook your head, covering your face with your hands as alessias mum carol rubbed your back with a chuckle on your other side.

you peeked through a crack in your fingers as there was a thump and the baill sailed through the air, a sea of players decked out in both baby blue and red pushed and shoved one another desperate to make first contact.

it was the opposition who got the first touch, smacking the ball at goal as it just grazed the keepers fingers and there was a sharp inhale from the home support, no one uttering a word.

but as the body of players parted it revealed the unc goalkeeper did make the save, curled up around the ball as the whistle blew for full time and there was a thunderous roar as everyone around you all leapt to their feet with whistles, screams, claps and cheers.

you jumped about and hugged alessia's family and friends, watching on with a heart swelled up with pride as your girlfriend raced around the field with her team.

"thats your cue!" gio nudged you as she appeared at the barrier grinning up at you, ignoring her brothers making kissy faces as mario told them off and you made your way down toward her.

"told you you could do it." you beamed as you hung over the barrier, your girlfriend pulling you into a hug as you whispered her praises into her ear, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"proper one for the winner?" the blonde grabbed your jersey in her fists with a grin, tugging your lips to meet her own as you kissed her, cheeks flushing red at the wolf whistles from her team mates who alessia flipped off without even needing to break the kiss.

"my winner."

#alessia russo x reader #woso community #engwnt #alessia russo #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso

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sareeen · 6 months

Text

Meaningful words

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: A lonely night without Azriel is hard enough for Y/N, but when she gets a terribly sad book in her hands, she feels a thousand times worse. Luckily, Azriel is always there when she needs him and can calm her down like no one else.

Warnings: nothing, just fluff :)… maybe at the end a little dark azriel

Masterlist

A/N: After months of hard times, today I finally had the time and the will to write. With this little story today I would like to wish you all a Merry Christmas in advance :)

English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistake.

Damn you, Nesta.

Y/N could hardly see the letters because of the tears in her eyes and the bottom of the page was already wet in several places. She felt so miserable that she wanted to throw the book away and lie there for two days, weeping in the depths of the bedclothes.

But the story sucked her in, the heroine's suffering and grief dug into her like sharp claws, and she was unable to put the book down. As Azriel was on a mission all night and she could not sleep for lack of it, she took the book that Nesta had borrowed to her. She told her it was a sad story and surely if Nesta Archeron called something depressing then it must be so.

As she kept turning the pages, the harder it was to restrain herself from reaching for the bond with the spymaster and tugging at it, then begging him to come home. But, with great difficulty, she managed to control herself and behave like an adult. However, in the last few hours, as the sun began to rise, she looked at the clock more and more and sat on pins and needles to hear the front door open.

When she started another chapter and the protagonist was hit with yet another worse blow, as if the poor thing hadn't already had a hard time, she sobbed so much that she missed the opening of the door by just the wrong margin.

Azriel stood frozen, his broad shoulders almost filling the doorframe and panting heavily as if he had run all the way home from the Illyrian camp.

"What's wrong?" he stepped inside immediately after the first shock and rushed straight to their bed.

"Stupid book."

The words were almost unintelligible and Y/N pointed the thick book towards him like some kind of idiot and handed it to him.

Azriel held it in his huge hands, clueless, and it was obvious that he didn't understand the situation at all. He looked so lost, which was so unlike him, that if the situation had been different Y/N would have laughed.

But she felt so lousy she just tried not to cry any harder.

It was almost consuming him, it seemed, to see her like this and not know exactly what was wrong with her and how he could help her. So, he just lay next to her, dressed in his battle clothes as he was, and pulled her onto his chest.

It made Y/N cry even more.

"It's so sad," Y/N poked the hard cover of the book. "Nesta gave it to me and now I feel so awful."

Azriel kissed her hair and mumbled something that sounded too much like I'm going to kill that woman.

"Then why are you reading it, sweetheart?" his warm hand traced soothing circles down her back, making her feel a little better. At least enough to form meaningful and complex sentences, and not like some one and a half year old child.

"Because it's so good by the way," she whispered, pressing her palm against Azriel's chest, right where his heart was beating. A small relief welled up inside her and she stroked the leather.

“But it's so sad because Adja the main heroine is losing her mate. He was wounded during a battle and the healers couldn't save him, and then he died."

A shiver ran through her as Azriel's arm tightened around her, almost pulling her into him.

"I've been thinking about what I would do" Y/N sniffed. "If you died, I don't know what I would do. I'd probably jump off the nearest cliff I could find and go after you."

Azriel took a deep breath at her words and cupped her face in his two scarred hands. Y/N looked at him with teary eyes and the way his partner looked at her, with that devotion and adoration, she was absolutely certain that she would indeed go after him to death.

"My love" he gave her a soft kiss on the lips and then wiped away the tear that trailed down her cheek. "I'm not going to die."

"You can't promise me that" Y/N argued at once. "No one can promise that."

Azriel smiled and gave her another kiss.

His lips were warm and soft on hers, causing Y/N's arm to unconsciously wrap around his neck and pull him closer. Their legs tangled together under the blanket and Azriel's shadows retreated to the corner, as if they didn't want to share this intimate moment.

When they broke apart, Azriel's finger brushed her cheek with a breathless caress. The golden-brown eyes almost glowed and Y/N could have sworn they sparkled slightly. She knew that her mate sometimes still struggled to accept that she really loved him. Every once in a while, her heart sank when she sensed through the bond that Azriel doubted himself and at such times she always made sure to surprise him with something to prove that he deserved it more than anyone.

"Indeed not, but I can promise you that I will do my best to stay alive" he grinned and playfully pinched her bottom. "I'll do my best to come home to this pretty little bottom every night."

To enhance his words, he gently patted the said body part.

Y/N gasped in surprise at the sensation and slapped his shoulder, but her mouth was already up to her ears. She felt much, much better thanks to Azriel.

"Good, because you're never leaving the house again" Y/N raised an eyebrow, then added jokingly. "Besides, it's not nice that your partner tearfully admits what she would do if you were gone and all you could think about was her butt. You know, other men would return the favor in a heartbeat, with words like I'd burn the world for you."

Azriel laughed and rolled over, pushing her body with his huge one almost into the mattress, which made Y/N sigh happily.

"Really?" The spymaster asked, brushing her stray hairs from her forehead.

"Yes," Y/N answered seriously, but there was laughter in her voice.

Azriel slowly leaned in to her ear and Y/N shivered with excitement as he began to whisper.

"Do you want to know what I would do if you died?" the spymaster said, but his grip on the words grew a little steely, as if the very thought of it was driving him mad. "I would cover the whole world in darkness and blood, hunt everyone down and when I had finished with all the sinners and all their loved ones, I would end my life and follow you to the afterlife. Proudly and without thinking, because if you no longer exist then the whole world is meaningless and I wouldn't want to exist in it."

Y/N's fingers tangled in Azriel's dark hair.

"That was better than a I'd burn the world down."

Azriel's dark laughter filled the apartment.

"I would do more for you."

#acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acomaf #acowar #a court of thrones and roses

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jayybugg · 6 months

Text

poison

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Based on Poison by Brent Faiyaz

Summary: You've poisoned Theo's mind and it's driving him completely insane.

Warnings: Language, Slight time skips, Jealous Theo, Smut (18+), No specific house is mentioned.

Word Count: 3.6K

Music:

Note: HI! This is my first time posting a fic on here so please be patient with me. Any feedback will be great but be nice. ALSO, a big thanks to @pizzaapeteer for proofreading and the pretty banner (created by @cafekitsune). Other than that, ENJOY.

Know you ride it right, I might just die tonight. but you know I’m still coming through, baby.

Friends with benefits. That's all you were to Theo, nothing more, nothing less. It had surprised him that you happily obliged to keep it a secret. He still couldn’t believe you didn’t make a big deal about it.

His fleeting glances at you in class, the hallways, and social events never seemed to bother you. Outside the bedroom, you never batted him an eye. You paid him no attention. It plagued his mind to see how unbothered you acted in public, yet you were always whining and begging for him in private.

Despite how you treated him in public, he always found himself at your mercy and door. The sex intoxicated him like a drug, making him feel like he was on cloud nine. You took his breath away like no one else could. Every time. He could die at your mercy right then and there.

I know it's bad for me, and you know it tastes so sweet. I think I need your abuse, baby.

Theo knew it would be trouble to continue this relationship with you. It was terrorizing his mind, thinking about you constantly. Day and night, his mind turned. He knew he needed to end it.

So, he tried, but it only lasted two days.

His attempt to avoid you failed miserably. In those two days, he couldn't stop thinking about you. His mind lingered on your scent, voice, and the way you tasted. He craved you.

Merlin, he missed you.

Before he could register where his feet were taking him, he had already found his way in front of your dorm. Knocking on the door, he was half expecting you to not be in or at least not answer.

But fortunately for his heart, and unfortunately for his mind, you answered.

"Teddy?" your soft voice filled his ears, and it took all his strength not to fall to his knees right there. He hated the nickname when Mattheo and Enzo teased him with it. But when you said it, he felt at ease. The childhood name that followed him all the way into his teen years was only a tool for his friends to use to tease him.

But you? When you said it, it reminded him of the happy times that he had as a child and with you.

"I need you." Was all he said, pushing past you into the room. He shoved his jacket off, turning to you. You had closed the door, tilting your head in curiosity as you watched him.

He glances down at you, taking in all your glory. He bit his lip as his eyes trailed your outfit, dressed in just a tight spaghetti-strap shirt, no bra evident to him. Continuing his gaze down to your delicious thighs covered only by tight boy shorts. He'd never seen you look hotter with your hair pulled into a ponytail and glasses perched on your head. The fact you had answered the door looking like that. Not knowing who it was, lit a fire in Theo.

"Fuck," Theo groaned before closing the distance between you two.

Girl, you do damage to me. You know I love it, yeah, I love you. Ain't nothing better for me now than your poison.

Unbeknownst to you, you were breaking Theo down piece by piece. His days became increasingly hard to tolerate if he didn't catch a glimpse of you. Even when he did see you, his need just grew more and more. Theo was starting to think that this had to be some kind of curse. You had to be some kind of poison to make Theo like this.

"Theo? Theo! hello?!" Blaise slammed his hand on the table, bringing Theo out of whatever trance he was in. He sat with Enzo, Mattheo Draco, and Blaise in the Great Hall. Theo wasn’t very interested in what they were talking about, so he tuned out whatever they were speaking about. Theo eyed Blaise grumpily for having ruined his thoughts.

"Fuck do you want, Blaise?!" Theo snapped at the boy, shooting a menacing glare at his other friends, who were laughing.

"Did you hear anything I just said to you?" Blaise raised his eyebrow at him. "Obviously not." Theo grumbles, "What is it?"

"Party tonight. In Ravenclaw. Are you coming?" Draco repeats Blaise's question to Theo.

Before Theo could tell them to fuck off for bothering him about a stupid party, he saw you enter the Great Hall. Laughing with your friends, he caught the end of your words "Yeah, I'll see you at the party tonight," you said. He watched you hug your friend goodbye before separating from them to sit at your respective tables.

"Yeah, I'll come." Theo said quickly. The four boys shoot Theo a glance, confusion and suspicion spread across their faces.

"Why?" Enzo asked. Enzo wasn’t sure if he had heard Theo correctly. Theo narrows his eyes at him, "What do you mean 'why'? you just asked me to come."

"Yeah, but you always decline so, we expected you to say no." Draco says, shrugging his shoulder.

Theo huffs, annoyed that this conversation was going on for longer than he would have liked. "Whatever. I said I'm coming so shut up." Theo snapped, grabbing his stuff, and stalking out of the Great Hall.

At Theo's abrupt exit, Draco and Enzo share a look of confusion, but shrug it off before continuing to eat. Meanwhile, Blaise and Mattheo wear knowing smirks, having caught Theo's wandering eyes towards you.

Angel of the night, drowned between your thighs. I’m still here, ain't no excuse, baby.

The next time Theo saw you was in Transfiguration class, sitting in front of him, not helping his already preoccupied mind. As Professor McGonagall lectured, all Theo could think about was propping you up on one of the desks and letting your thighs give him engulf him with warmth as he used his tongue to pleasure you.

Theo massaged his temples as he tried to get you out of his mind. It was working until he heard your soft giggles, his eyes shooting open to witness you laughing at whatever Fred Weasley had whispered in your ear. He felt anger boil within him as he watched you smile brightly at Fred as the redhead’s hand rubbed your lower back. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Right in front of him? Did you truly not care about him? How could you flirt right in front of him?

There was no clear explanation for why he was so angry. No justification for why you were filling up his mind every second of the day. No reason why he couldn't function when he wasn't around you. You were supposed to be just his friend with benefits. A no-string-attached fling.

As soon as class ended, you left without a glance towards him. Not only that but with a Weasley twin on either side of your arm. Theo felt strapped in his seat, unable to move. Even though he wanted to chase after and punch the twins for touching you, he physically couldn't move.

"So, we were right, Blaise." Mattheo's amused voice states, causing Theo to drag his eyes from your table to him.

"It seems like we were, Mattheo." Blaise says, matching his amusement. The two of them snicker knowingly.

"What are you two idiots chatting about?" Theo mumbles, gathering his stuff.

"Oh, nothing. Just talking about how you like Y/N." Mattheo teased. Theo's eyes widened before he narrowed them at his two friends. "I don't like her."

"Oh, but you do," Blaise says teasingly as Theo pushes past them and out of the classroom. The two boys follow him, continuing their torment, "You were burning holes into Weasley's back as you watched the two of them interact."

"If looks could kill, Weasley would've been six feet under," Mattheo adds with a laugh.

Theo rolls his eyes at his friend's accusations, "They were just laughing obnoxiously loud." He mumbles.

"You could barely hear her laugh." Mattheo rolls his eyes in response, "This isn't just some small crush you have. This is a humongous crush you have on Y/N."

"I do not have a crush on her!" Theo yells, causing people to glance over at him. Theo cleared his throat and glared as Blaise and Mattheo laughed at him.

"Okay, you don’t have a crush on her." Mattheo smirked, "So, therefore, I’m going to ask her out tonight." Mattheo gives Theo a challenging look, waiting for him to fight him on his comment.

Theo looked at Mattheo, searching for any sign that he was bluffing, "What?"

Mattheo walked past his friend with a bright smile, "You heard me, mate."

I see you in my sleep, I'm scarred beyond belief. Ain't nothing you can't make me do, baby.

Theo struggled to get a nap after class before he had to face you at the party and try to contain himself. He was trying to convince himself that everything was fine. Trying to convince himself that he didn’t like you more than a friend.

But of course, his mind had different ideas.

Only he would suffer not only experiencing wet dreams but regular daydreams about you. Theo groaned, closing his eyes. He didn't have a moment of peace with you, always in his thoughts. The buzzing of his phone made him pry his eyes open. Your name lit across his screen, causing him to sit up and grab it.

The text read: teddy, can you cover for me to professor hooch? I reallyyyyy don't wanna go to her class tomorrow? please?

Theo sighed, already coming up with the perfect cover story for you. It had become second nature for him to help you without much of a second thought. If you had asked him to burn down all of Hogwarts, he would've casted the incendio spell in an instant. Another buzz came from his phone. Another text:

i'll make it up to you. whatever you want. tonight, tomorrow, whenever.

As innocent as the text read, Theo knew the underlying message in it. He blew a raspberry as he fell back on his bed. You had him wrapped around your finger.

And that was dangerous.

Eventually, it was time for the party. By the time Theo got there, it was in full swing. His worry grew when Draco told him that Mattheo had left for the party first. Mattheo was known to be notoriously late to everything.

He wasn't going to seriously ask you out, was he?

Theo knew that Mattheo found you attractive. All his friends did. He remembered when the group of them had seen you step off the train at Hogwarts after a long summer. The blatant staring that Enzo did was enough to draw their attention to you. While Theo wholeheartedly agreed, a part of him grew jealous at the thought of them even thinking about you.

Theo entered the party, scanning the room for you. He immediately found you leaning against a wall. Pansy and Blaise are on your left and Mattheo is on your right. Mattheo stood dangerously close to you, running his hand up and down your arm. Theo watched the interaction, feeling the same anger from transfiguration boil again as his eyes narrowed at his friend. Mattheo’s eyes caught Theo’s causing Mattheo to chuckle at his friend’s anger. He smirked and waved at Theo, pissing Theo off even more.

Theo made his way over to the group, watching as your eyes lit up as he got closer.

"Teddy, you came! Blaise and Mattheo said you were considering not coming." You smiled at him, causing his anger to subside. He wanted to pull you into his arms and tell you that anywhere you were, he would be there too.

"That's weird because I told them that I was coming." Theo glanced at the two, who were desperately holding back their snickers.

"Oh, must've slipped our minds." Mattheo grinned, "Y/N, dance with me?"

Theo’s anger returned quickly at Mattheo’s question, and he resisted the urge to punch the shithead in his face. "Yeah, of course." You smiled at Mattheo, taking his hand, and moving to the dance floor. Theo felt his fist start to shake with anger as he watched the two of them dance. Blaise's laughter made his head snap to him with a pointed glare.

Pansy rolled her eyes, slapping Blaise's arm. "Stop laughing, you idiot! He's obviously quite upset." Pansy said. Blaise grinned, "Oh, but why is our poor Theo so upset? Is it because he has a crush on her?"

"Fuck you, Blaise." Theo avoided the question, which only made Blaise grin harder. Blaise gazed past Theo, quipping, "Oh, no thank you but you know, those two might start fucking soon."

Theo's head whipped around quickly, almost giving him whiplash. The sight in front of him fueled his anger further. Mattheo and you were grinding on each other, as you smiled at whatever he said to you. Theo couldn’t do this any longer, he had enough. Theo marched over to the pair, grabbing your arm and yanking you out of Mattheo's grasp. "I need you." was all Theo said as an explanation as he dragged you out of the party.

Theo angrily muttered to himself as he dragged you to his dorm. He was so preoccupied with cursing his friends that he didn't even notice the amused and knowing grin on your face. Pulling you inside his dorm, he pushes you against the wall planting kisses on your neck.

Girl, you know I play my role when I'm inside that. With my hands around your throat, I know you like that. Girl, I'll do anything to hear you scream my name. I love your game, I do.

He knew your likes, your dislikes, your hobbies. He knows when you're annoyed, he knows when you're sad, he knows when you're happy.

He knew that you bounced your leg when you were anxious. He knew that your eyes darted around when you were trying to come up with a lie. He knew that you press your thighs together when you're horny. He knew that you get a gleam in your eye when you're being mischievous.

Theo knew that you poked out your lip when you were about to cry. He knew that you hopped up and down when you were excited. He knew that you blink fast when you’re trying to stop your tears from falling. He knew you.

So, when he finally caught that gleam in your eye as he kissed up your neck, he immediately pulled back and looked at you.

"Tell me." Theo said, after studying you. You bit your lip in amusement, "Tell you what?"

"What did Mattheo and Blaise tell you?" Theo asked.

"Mmm, I don't know what you're talking about." You smiled at him innocently, though the gleam was still there in your eyes.

In an instance, he picked you up and threw you on the bed, yanking your skirt down. Overwhelmed by lust at the reveal of your emerald, green panties. He eagerly bent down, becoming face-to-face with your pussy. Theo knew what he had to do to get the truth out of you. He trailed his fingers down your clothed clit, causing you to shiver and whimper. Theo loved hearing your moans as he continued to drag his finger up and down, tauntingly, "Still don't know what I'm talking about, baby?"

"Nope, not at all." You said. Theo smirked slightly, moving his thumb to rub your clit. You squirmed slightly under his touch, before receiving a slap on your thigh, "Stop moving."

Theo kept rubbing your clit at a slow, teasing pace with the cloth of your underwear still acting as a barrier between the contact. "Teddy, come on...." You whined.

Theo looked up at you with feigned innocence, "What do you mean?"

"I need-" You halt your words, a moan stopping your words. As Theo rubbed his fingers faster, you rushed out, "I need something, anything of you inside me."

"Hmmm." Theo hummed, moving your panties to the side, "What did Mattheo and Blaise tell you?" Theo blew slightly on your core causing you to shiver, "I'll finger you if you tell me."

Persuaded by his promise you confess, “They told me you liked me. They said that you were super jealous of other guys around me." you gushed out, eager for more of Theo. "We decided to do stuff to make you mad and jealous for these past few weeks."

Theo tried to fight off the redness that was climbing up his neck, "Few weeks?" This whole time, you knew what you were doing. You were terrorizing him on purpose.

You nodded, biting your lip, "They came to me-" you moaned out as Theo flicked his tongue up and down you, "And said you liked me." More words started gushing out as Theo licked you faster, inserting a finger as he did.

Of course, his two friends had been aware you his budding feelings for weeks now. Theo cursed silently at how observant Blaise and Mattheo were. "And?" he asked, taking a breath. He inserted another finger, going back down to suck and lick on your clit.

“I didn't believe them," you whimpered, letting out an airy breath as you felt yourself coming close. “I thought you just liked the sex, and I didn't want to get my feelings hurt,” you admitted.

He looked up at you, his eyes softening at your confession. You didn't need to explain further, because he knew what you meant. He realized that both of you were in the same situation. Too scared to make a move, in case your feelings aren't reciprocated. Theo couldn't stay too mad at you and decided to forgive you for trying to make him jealous.

Theo pulled away from your pussy, causing you to whine. You were silenced quickly by Theo kissing you. He had only one thought running through his mind: You liked him. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close.

"Don't do it again." Theo muttered against your lips, causing a smirk to spread across your face, "I don't know it was kind of fun, flirting with all those guys in front of you."

Theo pulled away from you slightly, raising an eyebrow at you, "Oh yeah?"

"Mhm, Mattheo was nice to dance with and-" cutting you off mid-sentence, Theo had flipped you over to all fours, positioning himself at your entrance. Before you could comprehend what had happened, the undoing of his zipper and the sound of his pants hitting the floor was heard. "Teddy, wait-" An uncontrollable moan escaped your lips as Theo sank into you. He groaned, his hand wrapping around your throat, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "You’re mine. Not Riddle’s or Weasley’s. No one but mine. Do you understand?" Theo snapped at you.

Struggling to control your moans, you nod which displeases Theo. You whimper at the hard slap Theo lands on your ass. "Use your words, baby. Do you understand me?" Theo keeps at his relentless pace, making your mind blank. “Yes, Teddy. I understand." You managed to say in between your moans.

"Good girl." Theo smirked, "You're such a pretty, good girl." The praise caused you to moan and whimper under his touch.

"I’m c-close, Teddy. please." You pleaded at the contact of Theo’s hand rubbing skillfully on your clit.

"Cum for me, baby. Go ahead." Theo whispered in your ear. Your release hits you, his words being the tipping point to send you over. Your moans merge with Theo’s as he comes with you.

With heavy breaths, Theo pulls out gently and lightly taps your hip to let you know to relax. You lie down on the bed as he walks to the bathroom. Cleaned up, he returns to take care of you, wiping you down so you can move more freely. He hands you one of his shirts before putting on his pajama pants. You stand, redressing yourself in his shirt before sprawling across Theo's bed.

"When?" You ask, breaking the silence, as Theo cleans up the clothes off his floor. He looked over at you, a smile tugging at his lips as you made yourself comfortable.

"When what?" He finished his task, laying down next to you.

"When did you start liking me?" you elaborated, turning to catch his eyes.

Theo thought for a moment, "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know." Theo confirmed, "I remember when I first saw you on the train one year, I thought you were so pretty, but it was no more than that because I didn't know you. Then we had classes with each other, and I got to know you. Somewhere in that I became attracted to you."

You hummed at his explanation, "It was the third year."

Theo raised his eyebrow. He couldn't remember anything significant about his third year. That was the one year where you didn’t have any classes together. It bothered Theo how little he saw you daily that year.

You chuckled at his confusion, "It was when we took the annual trip to Hogsmeade. I was in the bookshop, but I had forgotten a chunk of my money at school." The memory quickly resurfaced to Theo’s mind and his entire face flushed red. You have a love for muggle romantic literature so when you came across four books that you wanted but couldn't afford, Theo decided to gift the other three to you. Though he had gifted them to you secretly.

"Oh Merlin, how in the world do you know about that?" Theo asked. You grinned, "Ah, I can't reveal that to you."

Theo simply shook his head, pulling you close and letting out a content sigh.

"You're poisonous, love, but you're my poison."

#harry potter #slytherin boys #theodore nott #draco malfoy #enzo berkshire #mattheo riddle #blase zabini #hogwart #smut #Spotify

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melzula · 7 months

Text

Break Apart

pairing: Zuko x princess!reader

notes: i know i’ve said previously that i don’t like going backwards with fire lilies but i feel like i didn’t do this scene justice the first time so i decided to rework the piece. plus i think revisiting this scene will be important before starting smoke and shadow

summary: your peaceful life with Zuko comes crashing down in the crystal catacombs of Ba Sing Se.

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

You pull the shutters apart and let the sun shine through your new home in Ba Sing Se. The morning is just getting started, and as Iroh begins fixing breakfast for your little family you take it upon yourself to begin the day’s chores before it’s time to head to work. It’s been a long week, what with Zuko’s sickness and the hassle of moving into the Upper Ring, and you’re beginning to feel worn out from the emotional turmoil, but you do your best to keep these feelings to yourself in order to not ruin Iroh’s excitement for the opening of his tea shop. At least one of you gets to live out the life you dreamed for yourself in the city.

You eventually end up outside hanging the freshly washed clothes to dry, brows furrowed in thought as you pin the fabrics to the clothesline and hum a song Iroh used to perform for you during your day’s on Zuko’s ship. You’re too engrossed in your work to notice you have company, and it isn’t until you hear someone gently clear their throat that you turn to see Zuko standing before you with a smile on his face and two bowls of pongi in his hands.

“You’re up early,” you note with a raised brow before accepting his offering of breakfast.

“I wanted to have breakfast with you,” he says with a gentle smile as the two of you seat yourselves on the steps of your apartment. “It’s a beautiful day out, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose,” you reply carefully, unused to his positive demeanor. “You’re not still feeling sick, are you?”

He laughs at the way you press the back of your hand to his forehead and feel for his temperature before carefully lowering it down. “I feel better than I ever have before. I’m really starting to like it here, and I wish I could have realized sooner how peaceful life is with you in Ba Sing Se.”

“Uncle was right, you really have undergone a metamorphosis,” you note, half teasing and half serious as you take a bite of your pongi. “But I’m happy you’re finally deciding to give the city a chance, my love.”

“It’s something I should have done sooner, and I plan to make up for all the time I wasted being miserable instead of enjoying my new life with you. I love you, y/n, and I’m going to make things right for us.”

You’re pleasantly caught off guard by the sweet kiss Zuko gives you after tenderly cupping your face in his hands and pulling you forward to meet his lips. You easily melt at his touch like you always do, and for a moment you’re able to forget all the hurt and insecurity you’ve felt for the last few years. Your relationship had suffered a few rough patches recently, and you worried that you’d never be enough for Zuko no matter how hard you tried, but it seemed that things were finally beginning to fall into place, and you could live the life you’d always dreamed of since running away with Zuko.

Finally parting from the kiss, he gifts you a sweet kunik before pulling away and taking your empty bowl of pongi with him. “I have to start getting ready for the grand opening of the Jasmine Dragon. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

“Of course. Miss Tai is letting me leave my shift early today so I can be there,” you assure him with a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I love you,” Zuko utters earnestly in response, “and I’m happy you’re still here with me.”

You longingly watch his form retreat inside, already beginning to miss his touch. But you have work to do before your shift at the dress shop, so you rise from your seat on the steps and resume hanging the laundry to dry.

Life is going to be perfect now, you can feel it.

~~~

The opening of the Jasmine Dragon was a success, so successful, in fact, that the Earth King himself has invited Iroh to serve tea in the palace.

The Earth Kingdom palace is certainly different from the palace you grew up in, and though you yourself are technically royalty you feel as if you don’t belong in such a grand space. The dress Miss Tai had loaned you and the way she had styled your hair for you at least makes you look the part, and you make sure to be on your best behavior as you wait with Iroh and Zuko for the king to arrive.

You neatly set out the cups as Iroh begins pouring the tea with a pleased smile on his face while a restless Zuko surveys the room for any sign of the king.

“What’s taking so long?”

“Maybe the king overslept,” Iroh suggests, prompting you to raise your brow at his unlikely explanation.

“He’s a busy man, Zuko. I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” you assure him, but the former Prince isn’t convinced so easily. The sudden appearance of Dai Li agents only furthers his apprehension as they begin to close in on your little trio.

“Something’s not right,” he utters anxiously, and as your gaze falls upon the shifty eyes of the agents before you you find yourself slowly pulling the tea pot towards you in preparation for bending.

“It’s tea time,” a familiar voice chimes prompting Zuko to immediately rise to his feet. The mere sight of the Princess is enough to prompt you to bend the tea out of the pot, and though it isn’t much you’re able to close your fists and produce small blades of water that shoot sharply from your palms. It’s a move you’ve seen Zuko perform countless times with fire, and it’s a move that you’ve managed to perfect just as easily with water.

“Azula!” He scowls only for her to smirk in response.

“Have you met the Dai Li agents yet? They’re earth benders, but they have a killer instinct that’s so fire bender. I just love it,” she punctuates with a clenched fist before her eyes shift to your makeshift water daggers. “I see that’s something you’re trying to mimic, Princess. Such a cute little trick.”

“It isn’t so hard,” you reply with a relaxed shrug much to Azula’s dismay.

“But of course,” she sneers disapprovingly at your lack of fear for her.

Breaking the silence, Iroh suddenly says, “Did I ever tell you how I got the nickname the Dragon of the West?”

“I’m not interested in a lengthy anecdote, Uncle,” she scoffs with a bored expression, but Iroh merely smiles.

“It’s more of a demonstration, really,” he explains before taking a sip from his cup of tea. Before you can even process what’s happening, the man quickly pulls both you and Zuko behind him before exhaling a breath of fire around the room. With the Dai Li temporarily disabled, you’re able to make your escape out of the palace.

Using a blast of lightning to break through the walls, both Iroh and yourself make the jump through the hole and land down below in the the shrubbery. However, Zuko doesn’t follow behind, and instead you’re forced to watch him chase after Azula.

“We have to help him!” You cry only for Iroh to stop you.

“Even with our abilities combined we will not be able to outmatch both Azula and the Dai Li agents on our own,” he utters carefully.

“Then what are we to do? We can’t just leave him behind,” you express worriedly. You have no idea what Azula has in store for her brother, and you don’t want to leave Zuko in her clutches long enough to find out. You know Iroh’s right, but you can’t just sit and do nothing.

“We’ll have to get help,” Iroh notes thoughtfully, and you’re left with no choice but to blindly follow the man as he begins to head back towards the city.

“Help from who?”

~~~~

It’s safe to say Iroh and yourself are the last two people the Avatar and his friends expected to see at their doorstep, but you’re not left with many other options.

“Princess?!” Sokka exclaims in surprise at the sight of you as you gift him a meager wave of hello in return. The last time you’d seen each other had been during the siege of the North, so it was safe to say he was more than surprised to see you here in Ba Sing Se. “What’s going on? Have you finally come to your senses and decided to leave Zuko?”

“What? No!” You cry indignantly much to the boy’s disappointment. “It’s the opposite, actually. We came to ask for your help.”

“Princess Azula is here in Ba Sing Se,” Iroh explains gravely.

“She must have Katara!”

“She has captured my nephew, as well.”

“Then we’ll work together to fight Azula,” the Avatar expressed firmly, “and save Zuko and Katara.”

“Whoa, there,” Sokka interjects immediately. “You lost me at ‘Zuko.’”

“I know how you must feel about my nephew, but believe me when I tell you there is good in him,” Iroh insists earnestly, but Sokka doesn’t budge.

“Good inside him isn’t enough!” He insists. “Why don’t you come back when it’s outside him, too, okay?”

“Sokka,” you call gently, eyes full of sincerity and a hint of guilt as the Water Tribe boy meets your gaze. “Please understand. We just want him back safe. I need him back safe. I know Zuko has done horrible things to you and your friends, things I don’t expect you to forgive, but we don’t stand a chance against Azula and the Dai Li on our own.”

“Katara is in trouble,” Aang reiterates to a contemplative Sokka, your words swimming in his thoughts. The mere look of sadness on your face is almost enough to make him cave in, but not quite. “All of Ba Sing Se is in trouble. Working together is our best chance.”

After a moment’s pause, Sokka finally relents. Relief immediately washes over you now that you know the Avatar and his friends are going to help you get Zuko back. “Thank you, Aang. Your kindness means more than you know.”

“I’m just returning the favor,” the boy says with a sheepish smile, prompting you to recall fondly your first meeting with him on Zuko’s ship long ago.

With the Avatar’s help, you stand a chance now, and as your group heads to the crystal catacombs you once again feel that sense of hope grow in your heart.

Once this little bump in the road is over, you can resume your perfect life with Zuko, all you need to do is just get through the day.

And you will.

~~~

You journey underground with Iroh and the Avatar to the crystal catacombs, tuning out their conversation as your mind reels over your worry for Zuko. It figures that after having such a perfect day the universe would throw something like this at you. But that’s just the way your relationship was, and anytime a hurdle had been cast your way you’d always been able to overcome it. This time would be no different.

After finally arriving in the crystal cave, you’re quick to lift the skirt of your dress and sprint towards Zuko before flinging yourself into his arms.

“You’re okay!” You exclaim, voice coated with relief.

“What are you doing traveling with the Avatar?” He asks, almost as if he’s insulted by Aang’s mere presence.

“Saving you, that’s what,” Aang replies testily, prompting Zuko to lunge forward only for Iroh to hold him back.

“We wouldn’t have been able to find you without him,” you explain truthfully. “Please don’t be upset.”

Zuko had never really gotten over your little stunt back on his ship when you’d helped the Avatar escape, so seeing you by Aang’s side again felt like rubbing salt in the Prince’s wound. He was trying to be better for you, but the conflict within him still remained.

“Zuko, it’s time we talked,” Iroh says before encouraging Katara and Aang to move ahead without your group.

“Why, Uncle?” Zuko asks softly, hurt clear in his voice. Your gentle eyes meet his own and he looks away in shame, unable to return your gaze. He knows he’s disappointed you too many times to count, but he’s not sure how much longer he can keep up this charade of pretending to be happy in this dirt prison you now call home. He doesn’t want to admit this to you, but the conflict within him continues to fester.

“You are not the man you used to be, Zuko. You are stronger and wiser and freer than you have ever been,” Iroh says proudly. “And now you have come to the crossroads of your destiny. It is time for you to choose. It is time for you to choose good.”

A hopeful smile plays upon your lips at Iroh’s words, but it is quickly wiped away by the sudden rumbling of the cave. Before you can even process what’s happening, Iroh and yourself are encased in crystal.

“Y/n!” Zuko exclaims, but he isn’t left with time to free you once Azula appears with the Dai Li at her side.

“I expected this kind of treachery from Uncle and your little girlfriend,” she says sharply, “but Zuko, Prince Zuko, you’re a lot of things, but you’re not a traitor, are you?”

“Release them immediately!” He demands firmly, his hardest gaze focused on Azula. The crystals dig uncomfortably into your sides and pin your limbs in cramped positions, but you have enough movement in your wrists to bend should you need to.

“Are you sure? I think the crystals are quite flattering on y/n, don’t you?” Azula goads playfully to an unamused Zuko.

As his sister tries to fill his head with promises of redemption and honor in exchange for his help, and as Iroh tries to persuade him in the right direction, you focus your attention on looking for any source of water to help you. Your eyes land on a trickle of water that drops from the roof, but you don’t make your move until Azula has left the room.

“Zuko, you have to help Aang and Katara. If Azula and the Dai Li catch up to them they won’t be able to fight them off on their own,” you express urgently as you use your free hands to pull the droplets of water towards you. “Iroh and I will be right behind you.”

You’re too engrossed in your escape plan at first to notice that Zuko doesn’t budge, but when you lift your gaze to see he hasn’t moved at all a frown quickly pulls at your lips. “Zuko?”

A sense of dread washes over you at his lack of response, and for a moment you fear that perhaps Azula had gotten to him, but then he finally moves to meets your gaze. The green crystals of the catacombs reflect beautifully in your tired eyes, and Zuko can’t help but try to commit the scene to his memory. It will probably be the last good one he’ll be able to keep of you.

He finally gives you a silent nod in response, but not before urging you to stay behind.

“You’ll be safer here,” he says, and he doesn’t give you a chance to argue as he runs off in search of Aang, leaving Iroh and yourself behind.

After gathering enough water, you cover the crystal in ice until the intense cold prompts it to crack, and with a firm flick of your wrists the ice and crystal shatter so that you are finally free from the trap. You move to do the same for Iroh, but he quickly shakes his head to stop you.

“You must go and help the Avatar. I will catch up with you shortly,” he assures you. “There isn’t time to waste.”

You give him a firm nod before rushing after Zuko, hoping you’re not too late to offer your help. The crystals had ripped through the skirt of your dress, and though you felt guilty for ruining the clothes Miss Tai had lent you, you’re grateful for the range of motion the tattered fabric now gives you. Hopefully Zuko won’t be too mad at you for disobeying his request.

The commotion in the catacombs has you pushing yourself to run faster, but when you finally reach your destination you’re quick to skid to a stop at the sight before you.

Katara has Azula in her grasp, and it’s clear that the Fire Princess is at a disadvantage. Zuko’s back is turned to you, and at first it looks as if he’s about to help the water bender. But when his blast of flames cuts through her water arms and frees his sister you’re left with a dreadful conclusion.

Your heart sinks to your stomach as you realize Zuko hadn’t come here to help the Avatar- he’d come to defeat him.

“Zuko…” you utter softly, your features riddled with heartbreak and disappointment as he finally turns to look at you after hearing the sound of your voice. The eyes of the boy that stare coldly at you now are not the same ones that once used to look upon you with nothing but love and adoration.

There is no remorse or guilt on his features, but there is anger and resentment. He’s never looked upon you this way, fury blazing along his irises as if you’re the enemy, as if he hated you.

“How kind of you to join us, Princess,” Azula calls with a taunting smile. You swallow harshly and stand frozen in place, too in shock to move. But then she gestures to Zuko, and a sickness settles in your stomach as he slowly begins to approach you.

“Zuko, stop. This isn’t you,” you beg desperately, cowering away from his menacing figure. “Please, don’t do this.“

“This is me,” he says gravely. “You just didn’t want to see it.”

You can’t help but let out a scream as he shoots a blast of fire towards you, and you’re barely quick enough to form a wall of water to block his attack. His moves are relentless, but no matter how many times he strikes you don’t dare fight back. Your moves are defensive, for even though he’s turned against you, you can’t bring yourself to hurt him.

“I don’t want to fight you!” You insist, narrowly missing the fire he whips at you.

“Are you sure about that?” He retorts harshly, eyes hard-set on the water swirling in your palms. “You’re afraid of me, you always have been. You think I’m a monster!”

“That’s not true!” You cry desperately as you block another attack.

“You only stayed by my side to try and fix me so you could feel better about yourself. You’re no different than the rest of your people.”

“Zuko,” you gasp in disbelief. “How can you say that?! I love you!”

“You’re just a spoiled little Princess who thinks being a water bender makes her special.”

“Stop it. That’s Azula talking, not you.”

“You left your people to fulfill your own childish dreams of love. What a joke,” he scoffs harshly before hitting you with another blast of flames. “You’re selfish! You’re weak! You’re-“

You don’t want to hear anymore. It’s as if he has your heart in his hands, squeezing it apart with each insult he throws your way. Your Zuko is gone.

He isn’t able to finish his assault as the tsunami like wave of water you send his way sweeps him off his feet and throws him across the catacomb. The water roars deafeningly in your ears, drowning out the sound of the anguished sobs that wrack your body as you finally turning your bending on the one you love.

The rest of the fight seems to be a blur as you do your best to hold off Dai Li agents, but once Azula shoots Aang down with a blast of lighting it’s clear that the battle is lost. The fire siblings are beginning to close in on your group, and in a last ditch effort you find yourself standing protectively in front of Katara and Aang ready to fight for as long as you can. However, you find you don’t need to when Iroh swoops in and saves your group.

“You’ve got to get out of here. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can!” He insists before blocking the Dai Li from reaching you.

You hesitate in your tracks, unsure about leaving behind the man who had become family. As if reading your thoughts, he gives you a firm nod of encouragement. “Go, Princess.”

Swallowing harshly, you urge Katara to her feet and guide her to the waterfall. As she holds Aang’s limp body securely in her grasp, you use your bending to reverse the flow of the water so that it sends your trio upwards. Tears stream steadily down your face, but your gaze remains firm and set straight ahead.

Your relationship with Zuko is over.

~~~

The tide is calm as the Fire Nation ship sails towards the Capital City. After three long years, Zuko is finally returning home. It’s all he’s ever wanted, but for some reason it feels as if something is still missing. There’s a relentless ache in his chest that won’t leave him be, and he can do nothing but stare contemplatively out at the water.

“You seriously can’t still be worried about finally coming home,” a voice calls playfully as cold hands rest upon his tense shoulders. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, you’re practically a hero now.”

“I know that,” Zuko snaps irritably. Mai simply rolls her eyes in response.

“Then what is it?” She retorts only to be met with silence. Her eyes harden suddenly, and she yanks her hands away from him as if revolted by the Prince. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that water Princess.”

“Of course not.”

“Sure,” Mai replies flatly, obviously unconvinced. “You don’t need her, Zuko.”

“I know that! She was just a distraction,” he tells her, trying to convince not only Mai but himself of it. “She never really meant anything to me.”

“I wish I could say I feel sorry for her,” Mai says unsympathetically with a bored wave of her hand, “but she must have been an idiot to expect you to live the rest of your life as a peasant.”

“Yeah…” Zuko murmurs quietly, remembering the way your eyes hard sparkled in the catacombs. They shined brighter when they were full of tears, and the image haunted him.

He’s pulled away from his thoughts by Mai’s hands gently guiding his face towards her own. A rare smile plays upon her lips as she pulls him in for a kiss. Zuko returns the gesture, but it’s empty.

He feels absolutely nothing.

~~~

Sokka is hesitant to approach you, unsure if his presence will make things worse for your emotional state. The tears haven’t stopped since you escaped from Ba Sing Se, but he feels awful just sitting there without attempting to comfort you. He never really understood just how someone like you could love Zuko or why you were ever with him in the first place, but all of it meant something to you, and he couldn’t ignore that.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks gently, well aware of how stupid the question is. Obviously you aren’t, but he isn’t sure what else to say.

“I should have known I’d never be enough for him,” you weep miserably. “I was foolish to think he would ever put me before his need to restore his honor and please his father. How could I have been so naive?!”

“It’s not your fault,” the water tribe boy consoles while placing a comforting hand on your trembling shoulder. “It isn’t naive to want to see the good in people. You tried to find it in Zuko, but it just wasn’t there.”

“I gave up everything for him,” you murmur dully, exhaustion and defeat clear in your features. “And now I have nothing.”

“You have us,” Sokka corrects you with a careful smile. “Trust me, you’re better off without that jerk.”

You carefully wipe away your tears and give Sokka a meek smile in return for his kind words. “Thank you, Sokka. I’m more than grateful for your compassion. I promise to do all I can to help you and your friends defeat the Fire Lord.”

After all this time, after all the hurt and the guilt, all the running and the hiding, you’ve finally left Zuko. And you don’t intend to ever look back.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @chronic-daydreamer-blog @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin

| fire lilies tags: @titaniafire @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @noodlesfluffy @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch

#fire lilies #zuko #atla #zuko x reader #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko #zuko x princess!reader #atla x reader #prince zuko imagine #zuko imagine

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fatesundress · 1 year

Text

⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader

part ii here.

summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...

tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.

note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡

word count. 5.1k

Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.

He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.

It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.

You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”

It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.

Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.

Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.

But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.

“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”

This, now, is sacrilege.

Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”

You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.

Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.

You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.

“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”

“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”

“My head hurts.”

“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”

He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”

“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.

You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.

“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.

You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.

Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.

“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”

“Pity about Godefrey.”

You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.

Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.

You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.

“Sorry?” you ask.

“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”

Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.

“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”

His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”

… Oooookay?

“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”

The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”

You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.

You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson.

There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.

“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”

You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”

“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."

You freeze.

Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?

One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.

“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing.

It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.

But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.

As the lesson proceeds, he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.

You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.

“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”

Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”

“Calarook’s Method.”

“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”

“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”

“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”

The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.

And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)

Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.

“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.

You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.

“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”

You shake your head. “I should have known.”

“And you?”

“Studying again.”

“Ancient Runes?”

“Mhm.”

“...With Godefrey?”

“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”

He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.

“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”

“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.

You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.

“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”

“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”

Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”

“And I am asking you.”

He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.

“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.

He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”

“Rapport?”

“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”

We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.

“Yes, we do.”

He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”

You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.

It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.

Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.

But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.

You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.

And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.

“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"

“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”

His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”

You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.

To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.

“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.

“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.

You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you.

You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.

“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.

It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.

Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.

He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…

Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —

And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.

He must know.

He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.

Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition.

Want.

And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.

His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.

He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying.

You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you.

His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.

“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.

Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.

Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.

“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.

You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it.

You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else.

He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.

“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"

“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.

You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.

He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.

He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.

You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild, lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.

“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.

Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.

You are so completely, utterly fucked.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #for now...#harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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roosterforme · 4 months

Text

Beer Boy and Sugar: The First Lost Year (Bradley Bradshaw x Reader)

Part of the Lost Years series for Beer Boy and Sugar

Warnings: language, longing, angst (series fits chronologically between Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time)

Banner by @mak-32

Year One

"Bradshaw."

Bradley was pulled out of his comfortable daydream when he heard Natasha Trace call his name. He looked over at the only friend he'd managed to make since he moved to Rhode Island for flight training five months ago. It turns out, nobody much wants to talk to you when you're a bit of a miserable prick.

"Yeah?"

She nodded back toward the hangar and said, "Captain Price wants us to use the simulator."

"Right," he replied softly. Once she was gone again, he turned to look out at the rough Atlantic Ocean and shivered in the late October air. He was freezing cold. He was always fucking freezing cold here. He missed Virginia. He missed being warm in his bed in his fraternity house. He missed you.

"No," he whispered, closing his eyes and focusing on some deep breathing. "No. You can't." Every thought of you was painful, and he needed to get past this. He kept promising himself that one day, he would wake up and be on the other side of this ache, but he was such a damn liar. Deep inside, he knew better.

How was it supposed to stop hurting when all he could think about was you, equally cold in Chicago, wrapped up in his Grateful Dead shirt and listening to their songs? It had already snowed there; he checked the weather frequently. He memorized the University of Chicago campus map and thought about where you might be, always afraid you were in a library study room. With someone else. Because the only thing worse than thinking about you cold and alone was thinking about you moving on with someone new. But you were perfect. Bradley's perfect Sugar. Of course you didn't need to be with him to be happy.

Eventually he turned toward the hangar and walked through the frigid wind. He completed the simulation perfectly in almost no time. Trace was every bit as good as he was, and Bradley silently rejoiced whenever they were paired together. She was serious but not too serious. She was smart but never cocky about it. She didn't waste a lot of time talking if she had nothing to say. She reminded him a lot of you.

He wasn't interested in her as anything more than the friend he desperately needed right now, but it was hard to open up to someone new when he could only think about one thing. There were a handful of really attractive women here, but Bradley found himself unable to focus on them. Besides, he finally understood that quality always beats quantity. You started teaching him that lesson as soon as he felt the urge to paint his bedroom door white.

He avoided the tables full of students in the cafeteria, picking one off to the side instead. He figured if he gave the appearance that he didn't want anyone around, then they would leave him alone. He was only mostly successful.

"Can I join you?"

When he looked up at Trace's dark brown eyes, he nodded and pulled his tray a little closer to him so she could sit on the other side of the table. "Yeah, sure."

She ate half of her food before she said anything. "Hey, thanks for not being creepy."

He looked at her calm face in confusion. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged and said, "Some of the other guys are a little creepy towards me, Hayes, O'Malley and Butler. They think it's funny to mess with the girls."

"Seriously?" Bradley asked, setting his fork down. "Which guys?" He wished he didn't feel the sudden urge to break something; he'd been able to manage this feeling for a long time, only letting it surface when he wanted to pound Jeff to bits for touching you. It would probably feel good right now if he let this emotion take over for a little bit.

"Don't worry about it," Trace replied easily. "It's nothing I can't handle. I just don't like eating alone if I can help it, because then they come over."

Bradley nodded, picking up his fork again. If there was anything you wouldn't like, it would be Bradley losing his place in the Navy because he couldn't manage to stay out of a fistfight. "You can eat with me whenever you want."

Her muttered, "Thanks," was so soft, he barely heard it. He wanted to tell her not to thank him, but the silence between them felt pretty nice. She took a few more bites before she asked, "So what's your deal, Bradshaw? You're awfully quiet for someone who can pass all of the exams on the first try and makes the simulators look easy."

He laughed. "I could say the same about you."

"I guess," she replied, "but I'm always the one initiating conversation with you, not the other way around. It's a girl, isn't it? You miss your girlfriend?"

She didn't ask it unkindly, but it felt like a slap to his face. He swallowed hard, once again wondering why this hurt so fucking bad after five goddamn months. But he'd never tried to actually talk about you with anyone else. Maybe it wouldn't be as hard as he thought it would.

He cleared his throat and looked down at his tray. "There used to be a girl. I think maybe she thought she was doing me a favor when she dumped me. Or maybe she was just trying to protect herself. And I can respect that."

"Ouch," came Natasha's soft voice, and Bradley had almost forgotten he wasn't alone. "You were in love with her."

It wasn't phrased as a question, and once again Bradley felt like she physically hit him. He had never admitted it out loud before right now. "Yeah. I was in love with her." He set his fork down one last time before he met her eyes. "I'm still in love with her."

Later that night, he cried himself to sleep, dying to hear you call him Beer Boy and push your fingers through his hair one last time. Dying to ask you why he couldn't have two dreams.

---------------------

You were twenty-two years old. You lived in one of the most exciting cities in the country. And you were single. But you never really felt like going out when the other graduate students invited you. Every time you did go, you ended up at a bar that was way too loud or a frat house that was way too uncomfortable. Nobody knew how to play beer pong correctly, and every guy was wearing a backwards cap.

It made your heart ache.

"Hey."

You looked up from your computer to see Jared staring at you with a smile on his face and his hat spun backwards on his head. "Alex and I are going to one of the library study rooms and then out to get a beer. You coming?"

Both of those things sounded amazing, actually. But not with him or Alex. Not with anybody at this school or in this city or even in the central time zone. You shook your head. "Thanks, but not tonight. Maybe next week?"

Jared looked dejected. "Aww, come on. You're too pretty to be sitting here working alone." He probably though he was being charming, but he was nowhere close to the level of sweetness you were used to.

You sighed softly and shook your head again. "Thanks but.... maybe next week."

When he finally left, you tried to return your attention to what you had been working on. There was no shortage of classwork or research to keep you busy seven days a week here, and that was a very good thing. Because it was days like this one where you started to think about Bradley and you couldn't stop. As soon as you let the memories creep in, you were done.

You closed your computer and sucked in a ragged breath. Through the blurry tears filling your eyes, you pulled up the bottom of your hoodie and ran your fingers along the soft, tie dyed cotton of the shirt you were wearing underneath. If you closed your eyes and thought about Virginia, you could almost believe the shirt still smelled like him. You could almost hear him sing what had become your favorite song.

"Shit," you muttered, standing and shoving your computer into your backpack. You would finish working from your dorm room. You just needed to get out of here right now.

The icy cold air smacked you in the face as soon as you walked outside. Apparently it started snowing in October here. It had been snowing steadily for days. You missed Virginia. You missed the stupid Beta house. You missed the way Bradley felt like your own personal furnace when he cuddled with you. Sometimes you thought you'd made the worst decision of your life.

The urge to cave and call him as soon as you got to your room and cranked up the heater was so intense. Then you remembered that you broke his heart and your own with a handful of sentences and the admission that you loved him. Well, you still loved him, but he almost certainly hated you. And that was fine. That was completely okay as long as he was focused on keeping himself safe instead of thinking about a long distance relationship. He had a dream bigger than you, and he deserved to live it out.

You curled up in a ball on your bed and listened to Easy to Love You by The Grateful Dead exactly eleven times in a row while you cried. You did the math in your head; that was just over forty minutes of crying. Last week when you broke down, it was closer to an hour. Maybe things were on the upswing now. Maybe the pain would start to fade. It had already been more than five months since you left his room while he sat on the edge of his bed, agony written on his face.

"Why?" you asked yourself angrily, certain nobody else would ever make you feel as good as he had for the handful of months you'd spent together. He taught you a lot about yourself, and now you understood the importance of giving someone a second chance. How crucial it was to look past the surface.

You buried your nose in the fabric of the colorful shirt, turned the song on one more time, and fell asleep with unshed tears and a tightness in your chest. When you woke up the next day, you found more snow on the ground when you put on your boots and jacket and headed outside. You remembered exactly where to go, because you'd seen it so many times before. You headed for the tattoo parlor near campus with a pocketful of cash and the hope that this would make you feel better and not worse.

Once you were lounging back with the Grateful Dead shirt pulled up, you pointed to your math tattoo. "I want it just below this one. It's a specific song lyric. And I want it in this font."

The tattoo artist looked at your skin and then the words you'd written out before checking the font you were pointing to in his binder which happened to look a bit like Bradley's tidy script.

"The Dead," he said with a smile. "I dig it. I can do it for a hundred bucks."

You nodded and handed him the cash, and just a few minutes later, he got to work. If he thought you were crying softly because of the pain from the needle digging into your flesh over and over again, then that was fine with you.

-----------------------------

I'm fine. We are all fine. Year two is up next.

PART 2

@beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @sorchathered @mamachasesmayhem @attapullman @bobgasm @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @shanimallina87 @sylviebell @wkndwlff @horseslovers2016 @sadpetalsstuff @schoollover @jessicab1991 @lex-winchester @bellaireland1981 @sagittarius-flowerchild @marvelouslyme96 @trickphotography2 @goldenseresinretriever @rascallyrascalreads @auroracaroline @nerdgirljen @redbarn1995 @theweekndhistorybook @moon42flight @eli2447 @lyn-js @na-ta-sh-aa @mygyn @je-suis-prest-rachel @kcloveswrestling @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @callsign-magnolia @eternalsams @lynnestra44 @shinzowosasageyoooo @tgmreader @princessofglitterland @backupbrii @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @averyhotchner @hookslove1592 @schoollover @callsigns-haze

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #rooster fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #beer boy and sugar strike again

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turnnblurb · 21 days

Text

Don’t Fear the Reaper, Part One

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Pilot!Reader, Ex situationship!jake seresin, platonic!phoenix, platonic!rooster, Callsign: Reaper

Summary: meet cute with bob turned love at first sight turned oblivious idiots

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, mentions of death, grief, drowning, childhood trauma, abuse, alcohol, alcoholism, scars

Note: this part is very platonic heavy because I love nat and rooster and reapers dynamic with them. Love you, mean it. Thank you for reading!!!

You wake up differently every day. Strewn into a different position each morning from your restless sleep. An ache here one day, and an ache there the next. But, without a doubt, each time you close your eyes to lullaby yourself to sleep with useless ideas of hope, you wake up there.

Head Beach. Brunswick. Maine. One of your father’s last deployments.

It’s easier to feel the damp air on your skin than it is to hear Nat’s call for you from your now-shared kitchen. Easier to feel the plummeting weight on your lungs and your baby brother’s cold hand in yours than it is to feel-

No, now you definitely feel someone shaking you awake. You hear the call of your name right in your ear now.

“Dude, I’ve been calling for you for five minutes,” She stands there in her morning glory, Natasha Trace, your best friend of hell- you don’t know how many years. You stopped counting after you two graduated from the Naval Academy. Time had lost its track after that, pulling you from base to base.

“Sorry, guess I underestimated how tired I was,” You had spent the last week pulling a 4x8 cargo trailer from your pickup down I-95. New Orleans to Fightertown. Well, that drive only took you nearly a full day. It was more so unpacking the last four years of your life into a shared rental with an undefined lease that had pressed on your exhaustion.

“Don’t stress, it’s only half past 9,” Nat laid on the right hand side of your now mused and unmade bed. For someone who was so adamant on waking you, she was now a hypocrite. She let her eyes wrench shut, a soft sigh escaping her mouth.

“Never in a million years would I think that we’d be back here.” You turned to face her as she spoke comfortably. You had never had many girl-friends growing up. You relished the femininity behind shared moments like these. Moments you couldn’t find in your memories of wrestling with your brothers, or sleeping in tents with other pilot’s sons at the age of 8. Because they were always sons.

Sometimes you would thoughtlessly wonder if Natasha Trace was your soulmate, or at least your guardian angel.

At the Naval Academy, her bunk below yours. Comforting you with kind words when your frustrated hands fussed with your gelled hair, taking the brush from your hands silently to do the work for you. Your mother left after the ‘accident’ and your father only ever knew how to work a high and tight.

A few months later, her coming out to you as she weeped into your hands, scared of the love she felt for others. Moments later when you weeped into her’s because you had never known romantic love of your own.

Years later at Top gun when you had a glimpse of that love and the hope that came with it. Pledging to you that you were worth more than some ripped out of the plastic Ken doll who chose to call himself ‘Hangman.’ He had miserably led you on after flirting with you relentlessly. “I guess we know what his callsign stands for now.”

Now, even more time had passed and by whatever thread fate had placed into your hands, you tied yourself to her once again. From ash to flame, Natasha “Phoenix” Trace was your best friend.

“Hey, at least this is actually a home. Not some Navy funded apartment complex where we have to deal with Roos’ banging on the wall at 2 in the morning,” You two share a chuckle, the vibrato of it fading back into a comfortable silence.

If Natasha is your best friend, then Bradley Bradshaw was your third brother. He was the pilot’s son asleep next to you in the tent. After Uncle Goose died, Carole found comfort in your family. She held everyone a little closer, until your family was torn away from her and her son too. She never blamed your dad for moving out of Miramar, not even one bit. She held you in your hospital bed after it had happened. Saw the pain in the boy’s eyes as they looked at their angel helplessly. She helped wrap the dishes in the newspaper the next week.

You had not seen or heard from a Bradley Bradshaw until your first time being invited to Top gun. Your head shot up at the familiarity of it all. All you heard as a reflection of that name was your dad’s fake-angry voice ringing through your home as he chased after the boy and your older brother Elliott with a penis shaped mark on his sleep written face.

You recall chasing after him after briefing, tears in your eyes. There wasn’t much chasing to be done as he had the same turmoil of emotions bubbling in his own stomach at the call of your name. His hug was no longer weak, it was fully supported by years upon years of training, and a grief only felt by a childhood best friend. His grip could have left an imprint on your skull.

Even at the age where boys and girls began to separate, Bradley and you had always had one thing in common. The dream, if not the need, to be exactly what your father’s are and were. That’s why when he had asked if you knew what your Uncle Mav had done, you feigned confusion.

You were there of course, on Thanksgiving day, about a week after Pete had decided on his action. You watched as your father, who sat across from him, clenched and unclenched his fists at the confession slipping from his closest friend’s mouth. Felt the acid form in your throat at the fire forming on his tongue as he fought for a kid who was not his.

“If his father were here right now, he would see for himself just how cowardly of an act this is.” It should be known that a man deemed in the air as ‘Hermes’ would knock the wit out of another man’s dialogue. A knife would not dare clatter at the softly spoken, I promised her Maverick choked back.

That’s why you let Bradley tell you his side of the story. You let him cry on your shoulder as he voiced his fear of being so far behind in his career, all for another man’s fear that he would break a futile promise.

“How is he doing?” Nat’s pondering brought you back to her presence.

“We called the other day, said he was being deployed again, but couldn’t tell me much more than that. Secretive little bastard. Told him the same thing.” You cleared your throat and began picking at your thumb, a nasty habit. In times like this you wished you two had shared a less dangerous passion, maybe you both would have joined Elliott’s band and moved up to Chicago with him when he left.

It was pitiful having the same fear that wracked Mav, but after Carole’s death it seemed to be the only option. You didn’t want to choose sides. You didn’t want to disappoint her. You wanted Bradley to be safe in the air, on land, hell, wherever he was taken.

“He can handle his own,” She put a comforting hand in your hair as you mulled over every way that you could possibly lose Bradley Bradshaw. “As long as he’s not left alone in a kitchen with an evil grilled cheese.”

“Will we ever let him live that down?” The memory of a panicked apron wearing Rooster nearly knocking a hole into your apartment door pulled a hearty laugh from the two of you. After not only setting his, but his neighbor’s fire alarm off, he decided that it was much easier to mooch off the two of you for his meals.

“Negative.” Nat let out a final puff of laughter as she pulled herself from your bed, stretching her long limbs to reach a hand out to you. “Up and at ‘em Reaper.”

Your left knee didn’t ache. The shooting dull feeling that had you at a slight limp whenever you attempted to go anywhere in the muggy environment of New Orleans. The scarring encasing your knee cap was the only physical reminder that the accident had a much more emotional reminder. The feeling had been replaced by, well, nothing. Just a bead of sweat as your skin soaked in the dry California heat. At this moment you were thankful for that. And, Trader Joe’s.

You could have put the whole grocery store in the shopping cart if it wasn’t for Nat’s mom like reflexes.

“When will you ever eat…” She turned the object with questioning eyes, “Dill pickle hummus…?”

“It sounds good.” Your shrug fell on narrowed eyes.

“I knew we should’ve eaten before this. We are getting sandwiches before we leave.” Your lips and stomach smiled at that.

The day was filled with errands, and more errands. Checklists that were scratched onto the backs of very long receipts over last night's shared bottle of wine.

- Living room rug

- Bathroom rug

- Hallway rug

- How many rugs do we need Nat?

- Shut up.

- A good amount of groceries (and alcohol)

You left your roommate to her meal prepping in order to find the snacks that she would inevitably indulge in on the desert isle. Chocolate chip cookies. Cosmic brownies. Nat’s favorite oatmeal cookies were the last box standing. You were praying this got you out of dishes for at least a week.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” A smooth voice rang from beside you, causing your heels to lift off the ground only slightly, you hoped. Instead of cardboard, your hand closed around a much softer and human-like alternative. Might you mention an Adonis-like alternative at that.

He’s all soft smile and ocean gaze as he lifts his hands in feigned surrender, as if you could ever dream of laying your hands on him in any way shape or form. He’s standing at least 6 '2, wire lenses sitting on his nose, clad in a dark blue hoodie with words in yellow letters reading ‘US NAVY’, a small detail amongst small details that won’t mean anything until later in the evening.

“They’re all yours.” You forgot about the box still under your hand as he motions to the cookies. Right, cookies.

“Are you sure? Your hand was there first. They aren’t even for me, I promise I won’t miss them.” You pray your words don’t come out as one embarrassing stumble, but fear they do anyways. The slight smile never leaves his face.

“That’s even more reason to give them to you. I support good deeds.” He waves you off with a gentle hand in the air, you catch the watch on his wrist, wondering silently how much time has passed since you left Phoenix in that aisle.

“I’ll take them, for good deeds. But, the next box is yours.” You match his smile as gracefully as you can. Knowing you probably look like a kid in a candy store eyeing the newest supply. When was the last time you felt this? You don’t even know his name.

“And, if I ever see you in this Trader Joe’s again, I’ll hold you to that.” His laugh fell like music on your ears. Could you get him to do it again? Could you record it sneakily?

“Thank you, hopefully this gets me out of my roommate duties.” He laughs again, with a slight shake of his head. He lifts his hand in another wave, signaling his exit.

“Don’t thank me yet, you owe me.” He passes by you with a friendly wink.

You have to muster up enough strength to get your feet moving from where they are frozen to the ground. You silently tell yourself to shut up as you wonder if you just met the love of your life in a goddamn Trader Joe’s.

You refuse to tell Nat about your meet cute that wasn’t a meet cute and was just a totally normal conversation with a totally normal stranger. You wish you had the confidence around the male gender that you did as a child. The ability to pin them to the ground and make them beg for their life, well in a completely metaphorical way, of course.

If you were anyone else you would have offered your number, so maybe you could gift him the oatmeal cookies sooner rather than later. If you looked like the girl he was probably after you would have kissed him right there. If you were anyone else.

If Robert Floyd were anyone else he would’ve done the same thing.

Who the hell winks at women anymore? Naval Aviators. He felt like a douche. He muttered softly to himself through the Trader Joe’s, to his Tacoma, and in the driver’s seat.

“You owe me??” He finally says it loud enough to where it meets his own ears when he’s alone. His brows furrow at his own clumsiness. He’d never said those words in his life, no one had ever owed him anything. Well, maybe his sisters when they stole from his Toy Story piggy bank in Grade 4.

If I were anyone else, he thinks to himself the whole drive home.

You’re back at home. That word still feels unfamiliar to you, and it has since you moved away from your father. But, you think it’s something you could get used to.

It’s not far from the apartment complex you and Nat were originally housed in a few years ago. A 1960 something one story with white brick and green shutters. Ivy of all sorts climbing the windows, you’ll have to do housekeeping eventually. Inside is all stained wood and tacky tile, but with your best friend, it is definitely home.

It feels more like home with her fussing over your hair in the bathroom mirror. Giving unimpressed looks at you through the reflection everytime you wiggle too much.

“I don’t understand why we have to go to The Hard Deck the night before our first day, and I absolutely loathe that we have to do it in Khakis.” While she gels the wispy hairs on your head back, you busy yourself with your pins and badges. You can never do it right, and always end up poking your thumb.

“It’s tradition Reap, it’s bad luck to break tradition.” She pulls at the bun to make sure it’s taut, and brushes your ironed khaki shoulders, “Plus, we both know we’ve flown with hangovers more times than I’ve had to do your hair.”

You roll your eyes and let her win, she’s not wrong. It’s not difficult to recall drunken nights with her and Bradley, squeezed onto the smallest couch in the world, provided by the shittiest apartment complex known to man. Nights howling over awful Family Feud answers and worse beer.

You pick up a few more things around rooms, at least wanting to be prepared before meeting Nat at the door. Another tradition you have is rock, paper, scissors over who has to drive. Or, more realistically, who is allowed to drink the most. You win.

“Ugh, I’m driving your truck. Better gas mileage.” You shrug, stepping out before her and letting her lock the door with your keys.

Nostalgic is one way to feel about exiting your truck in The Hard Deck parking lot. Another would be less enthusiastic, appalled. You had never seen the place so overpopulated.

Sure, it had been what? 3-4 years since you had last stepped foot through the doors of your favorite bar, but is that enough time for this many people to spawn in Fightertown, USA. You can see a wave of khaki through the door, you spot it the same time Nat does.

“Don’t hold your breath, actually maybe do, it looks like there might be a stench.” You nudge her playfully as you walk up to the short building. It is a sight for sore eyes, you can admit. You no longer feel dreaded nerves at unfamiliarity, because The Hard Deck is as familiar as it gets.

Beer, sweat, and seemingly your own father’s playlist fill your senses overwhelmingly at once. You have to shoulder past a few people with verbal apologies to even lay eyes on Penny Benjamin at her bar. She quickly spots you with a beautiful smile and a nod, you return it, a nonverbal promise of a hug when you can actually reach her.

Phoenix spots someone else before you do.

“Seresins here.” A scowl falls on her face and yours falls flat. It takes you no time to spot him as well, his eyes already on you before yours are on him. He lends you a smirk and a wink. A wink so the opposite from the one you were gifted earlier in the day. A wink that sends a bite of venom right into your tongue. You look up at Phoenix.

“That’s fine.” She knows it’s not. Knows that if he steps a foot closer to you she’ll have him thrown into the pool table he stands in front of. You know it’s fine. Because she told you once that he was worth none of your tears, and you believed her. You dug the grave for those emotions long ago.

“He’s not the only asshole here,” You’d believe her, but her tone was noticeably lighter. Before you could question her words you spot two more familiar faces.

“Holy shit!” A voice belonging to none other than Rueben ‘Payback’ Fitch graced the air. You were engulfed in a hug before you could get out a response. His WSO squeezes you before you could get a breath from the last hug.

“I guess they really are calling anyone back to Top Gun these days.” You laugh in disbelief, still hanging tight to your old friends.

“Well, you’re here short stack, so I guess so.” Rueben chuckles before pulling you in for another hug.

“Well what do we have here!” It should be difficult to ignore that voice in such a crowded room, but it isn’t. Not when the voice belongs to the most arrogant pilot in Naval history. “Family reunion?”

“Fellas this here’s Bagman.” Phoenix crosses her arms at him, looking back to you for your own comfort. You don’t need it.

You don’t need it because in trying to ignore the situation in front of you, you found a different situation to your right. In a corner, with a cup of peanuts in his hands. Your mouth goes agape, and it would be a lie to say you aren’t shamelessly staring right at him when his eyes finally meet yours.

His facade matches yours immediately, he stifles a laugh in surprise and amusement. You smile right at him, shaking your head in another bout of disbelief. You’re rudely pulled out of the silently shared moment.

“Reaper.” Hangman deadpans your name with the same stupid smirk on his face. Your smile is gone. You give him no reply. Only a tap on Phoenix’s shoulder as a quiet exit sign before you head to the bar. You don’t miss the way eyes follow you behind wire frame glasses.

You let out a huff. Then you pause. Nearly being knocked over by a too-tall man in your state of shock. The night feels like one really weird mixed up dream where people from different places in different points of your life conjoin into one memory. Because at the bar sits no one other than Pete Mitchell.

“Uncle Mav?!” He twists on the barstool at the sound of a voice he’s heard since the owner of it learned to speak. He feels old as he sees the girl he raised in the bar he first blacked out in. He feels grief when he realizes what her being here means. A soft call of your first name, uncommon in a bar full of Naval Aviators.

“Kid, what the hell.” He pulls you in for a hug, tucking your head into his neck like he had always done.

“Does dad know you’re here? With me?” After the fight, they had forgiven each other immediately. There was no use in fighting, there was no use in losing each other.

“No, if I’m being honest, I’m not even completely sure what I’m here for.” He squinted his eyes as if you knew the answer, but you just shrugged, letting him know that the feeling was mutual. A clearing of a throat pulls you both to face the center of the bar, where Penny stands with Mav’s beer in hand.

“I was promised a hug.” She gives you a once over to take in your growth before reaching over the bar on her own accord. If it was anyone else, the wood digging into your hips would be unbearable, but it was Penny. “Your dad called me, told me to take good care of you. To me that means get you good and drunk, so while you’re here you better not lay a dime on this bar top.”

“Oh, so she gets a call and I don’t.” Maverick rolls his eyes at the tendencies of your father. You give him a pat on the back, and another side hug. Your weird fever dream of a reunion has distracted you from the fact that Penny has already set two long islands on the bar, one for you one for Phoenix. And, from the fact that your childhood best friend has already sauntered his way over to the pit of Aviators.

“Love you, mean it.” You bid your goodbyes to both of them. Watching your feet and the drinks in your hands as you navigate the room, making sure you don’t stumble or spill. You hear his voice, and the latter situation becomes much more difficult to handle.

“Where’s trouble?” Of course he’s not in khakis. Of course you can’t see anything but his Hawaiian clad back because he’s so damn tall.

“ROOS?” Natasha must have sensed your slipping grip on the drinks as she swiftly grabs them out of your hands before you are pulled into yet another life threatening hug.

“THERE SHE IS.” Rooster pulls unwanted attention and Phoenix all but cackles at the way you are lifted nearly 5 feet off the ground. You grumble at him before he sits you back down on your feet.

“You are such a liar.” You narrow your eyes at him, but fail to muster up any fake anger because it’s Rooster. You’re back at Top Gun with Rooster. You wonder if this is how your father’s felt, you almost know that he’s thinking the same thing.

“And before you say anything, we’re both liars. I knew too.” Phoenix pulls you to her side, standing closer to the pool table. “More importantly this is Bob, my new WSO.”

You wonder if she has a sixth sense, then you answer your own question because of course she does. Standing at the head of the pool table is presumably Bob, better known to you as someone you owe a box of oatmeal cookies too. You shyly smile at him.

“Hi Bob, I’m Reaper.” You stick out your hand for him, he grabs it immediately. He has a strong grip, you wonder if yours was this strong when you grabbed his hand at the store. “If I had known my best friend’s life was in your hands, I definitely would’ve let you have those cookies.”

“Well, Reaper. Looks like you owe me two boxes now.” He laughs for you once again, and you notice the curl of his lips.

“I’ll give you three if you tell me your callsign.” Your hand is still in his. Rooster and Phoenix share a look, an all knowing look. Like they just solved the world’s first mystery.

“Two works just fine, ma’am. It’s Bob.” He blushes slightly. He’s not a Hangman, he’s not a Payback, or Rooster. He’s just Bob. He lets your hand drop softly with one pat from his free one. You look back at Rooster then quickly back to him.

“I’m jealous. You might have the best callsign in all the Navy.” He chuckles at you as if you are joking, but both you and Rooster know that when you were younger all you wanted your callsign to be was your name.

“Figured nothing suited me better than my own name, well nickname. Robert was my second option.” Robert Floyd. Your eyes flitted down to his badge when they had the chance. You wondered where he was from, you knew he was stationed in Lemoore, but his accent was anything but Californian. It was mature, it was smooth and at times a bit slurred, you’d noticed.

No prior experience with the male gender could have ever prepared you for what Robert “Bob” Floyd was offering you. You come to find out that he’s older, a graduate of the academy five years before yourself, two years before Rooster should’ve graduated.

The night moves through bouts of long islands and shared stories. You team up with Bob for a game or two of pool, absolutely demolishing Payback and Fanboy both times. He gives you a high five each time. You mentally tally each time you two touch, by accident or purpose.

When Phoenix drives you two home, you let her excitement of the months to come lull you into a state of self pity. Because if you were anyone else it would work.

If you were anyone else, you’d fall in a mutual love with one of the most profound men you have ever met. He’d swoon for you, give you the first love you have prayed for over nearly the past 30 years.

He’d hold your hand on top of dinner tables, reach down to tie your shoes, play in your hair as you drifted off into a nightmare, kiss your scar on a path to much a greater expression of love, bathe you when you’re old and brittle.

If you were anyone else.

As Bob drives himself home, he settles into the idea that if he were anyone else he could hold you how Rooster did.

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