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distantdarlings · 6 months

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BY THE FIREPLACE // t. nott

RATING: PG-13 / 2.9K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* You have been an Animagus for around a year now. You have quite a knack for learning everything you need to know about it quickly and Professor McGonagall really likes you. However, a fellow classmate, Theodore Nott, does not like you. And you couldn't care less. Both of you are in for a surprise when you accidentally meet in the library. (Fluff?, sort of Comedy)

+ WARNINGS - Language, nothing else really

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Fantasy - Mariah Carey (don't judge me)

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“And, ladies and gentlemen, please remember: ten inches of parchment on the side effects of incorrectly transfiguring a toad back into a human!”

Professor McGonagall’s voice pierced the slight murmuring that had started amongst the crowd of students. You suppressed a groan at the assignment, knowing well enough that you’d be putting it off as long as possible. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful to be here, it was just rambling on about the properties of toad warts left over on humans after unfortunate experiments didn’t really get you going, at least, not like they did Professor McGonagall.

You had found a kind of special liking for her after you had put yourself through the very exciting—albeit brutally difficult—process of becoming an Animagus. It had been your absolute dream since accidentally discovering that your mother was also one. You had been wandering around the garden during the summer between first and second year and had come across an absolutely beautiful doe. You had stopped in your tracks, taken aback by the creature’s beauty. Just as you were going to hold your hand out to the creature and offer it some of the grass blades clutched in your fingers, the creature before you changed entirely. Its long, graceful body curled into a small flash of light and then, without so much as a breath, your mother was back. Standing in the place of the deer. You could hardly believe your eyes.

Your mother was an Animagus and you thought you should be as well. She had warned you of the difficulties and hardships of the process and how annoying it was to have to get registered with the Ministry of Magic but you didn’t care. The wonder that had been in your eyes when you’d seen your mother transform surpassed all the cons of becoming one. You were going to be just like her. And now you were. Well…sort of. You were an Animagus but, much to your disappointment, you did not transform into a beautiful doe. You were a cat. Not a sleek black cat or a graceful Sphinx. No. You were a large, overgrown, long-haired European Maine Coon. At least, that’s what you were pretty sure you were. You hadn’t exactly performed a DNA test on your Animagi identity. You wondered if that would even work.

The crowd of students urged you towards the door and out into the grand hallway just outside the Transfiguration classroom. The light poured through the gorgeously carved stained glass windows along the stone walls and illuminated everything in its wake. You absolutely adored the castle and its beauty and reckoned you didn’t stop and admire it as often as you should.

A body bumped into you roughly, nearly making you lose the books clutched in your arms. You gasped at the sudden shock that went through your body when you realized you’d nearly missed a step down the staircase, your heart dropping through your ribcage.

“Hey,” you shouted. “Want to watch where you’re bloody going?”

The culprit turned with an annoyingly charming smile printed on his lips. His darkened eyes found yours amusedly and sent you a single wink. Your blood boiled.

“Sorry, darling, I’m in quite a rush,” he smirked.

“Doesn’t mean you can break through crowds like a giant,” you retorted, rolling your eyes. “Maybe you should take a second to think about the other people in this school and not just yourself for once, Nott.”

“Bite me, love.”

Asshole. You watched the back of his head disappear amongst the rest of the students as they waded around you as if you were an island in the midst of an ocean. You could not stand that boy. He and his stupid friends had been nothing if not the most obnoxious people you’d ever met. Even from your first day, he was rude, loud, and annoying. No matter how handsome he was, he couldn’t just steamroll over people. And yet, because he wasn’t ugly in the slightest, everyone just let him do whatever he wanted. Him and all his friends. It made you so angry.

Your eyes found your watch. You probably—erm, definitely, needed to get started on the paper for McGonagall’s class. That’s what pointed your feet toward the direction of the library. The thoughts of the warm hearth and those plush green chairs that hovered around it were calming the worries for this assignment. The library was—in your opinion—one of the most comfortable areas in the entire castle. It oozed comfort and warmth, much like your dorm room. It just felt soothing. You had noticed the amount of time you were spending in there was increasing as the days got colder. The fireplace in the dorms and common room were just as warm, of course, but those areas tended to be more populated during the day. And if you were going to get this paper done, you likely shouldn’t be surrounded by friends. You could be quite talkative when it came down to it—especially when it came down to procrastinating an assignment.

One of the large wooden doors to the library came into view slowly as you sauntered down the stairs just before the entrance. You could practically feel the warmth radiating from the vast room. Sweetened chills broke out over your arms and a small shudder passed down your spine. You clutched your books a bit tighter to your chest as you pushed past the threshold and felt the warmth on your skin.

You smiled gently as you made your way toward your usual fireplace. The smile on your face seemed to grow exponentially as you realized nobody was even in the general vicinity of your favorite spot and…thank Merlin…the tea cart had been brought around. The silvered, intricately designed cart that the librarian left out for wandering and cramming students sat right beside the fireplace. On it sat a few tea cups, a large, enchanted teapot that filled itself back up as soon as it was emptied, two sugar bowls, a large cream pitcher, and a few crumpets and cream horns. You might have died and gone right to the afterlife.

You set your bags and books in your favorite armchair—the one on the left—and made your way over to the wonderful cart. You shivered in delight as you prepared yourself some tea, just the way you liked it, and grabbed a cream horn—or two. Wandlessly, you conjured the wool blanket that sat upon the foot of your bed and snuggled in amongst the cushions. This was absolutely delightful. Between the tea, the snacks, the warmth, and the dim lighting, your homework was the last thing on your tranquil mind. Your books and bag remained untouched.

Once finished with your snack and beverage, you found yourself closely watching the curls of flames dance in the fireplace. Soon enough, absolutely without your consent, you were gently lulled to a deep sleep. Your eyes fluttered shut and your breathing stilled, your hands were curled against your chest and your knees were brought up against you.

Theo rounded the corner of the main stairway just before the library. He had an enormous amount of work to do and figured he wouldn’t get anything done if he stayed with his mates. He watched his feet as they jogged down the stone steps, his bag jostling on his shoulder every few moments.

Once past the doorway, his eyes found that set of green armchairs in the corner just in front of the fireplace. There appeared to be no one in them and he smiled a bit. Hopefully he’d be able to complete all of his work without any interruptions.

He set his bag down beside the armchair on the right. He reckoned he should start on the paper for McGonagall’s class since it was likely going to be the most difficult way. He should probably just get it out of the way, then everything else would be a breeze.

As he began to rummage through his bag for the appropriate materials to get started, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A white wool blanket lay spread across the other armchair and an empty tea cup, plate, and school bag were discarded beside it. He figured someone had been working there only moments ago and had slipped away for a quick bathroom break or something of the like. A groan began to build up in his throat as he realized he likely wasn’t going to be alone after all. Whatever…as long as they were quiet.

Finally, his fingers brushed his quill set and the Transfiguration book. He pulled everything out and settled himself in the chair, preparing to get to work. A thought popped into his head as he spread everything out comfortably. He wondered who had been sitting there. If it was someone he didn’t know, he’d likely have no issue ignoring them. He kind of hoped it was none of his friends, though he could have sworn he’d seen that bag before. Maybe it was Enzo’s?

An hour or so of straight working went by before Theo came to a pause and set his things aside. He stood from the chair and pulled his body into a sweeping stretch that popped a few joints along the way. He groaned at the pleasurable release, grateful that he wasn’t so stiff anymore. His hands shoved in his trouser pockets and he began shuffling in place to try and work some feelings back into his legs.

The person who had been there previously, he realized, had never come back. Being as curious as he was, he glanced around the library, spotting only a few fully concentrated students with their heads down. Whose stuff was this? He nonchalantly wandered over to the items and squatted down next to the bag. He picked it up gently and rolled the fabric around in his hands. He wasn’t trying to be too nosy, just wanted to see if there were any embroidered initials or names. Quickly, he flipped the top flap open only to discover a messily scrawled name imprinted over the white tag near the top of the bag. It was, much to his dismay, your name. That obnoxiously uptight girl in his Transfiguration class. Every day, in and out, rubbing everyone’s nose in the fact that you were bloody awesome at McGonagall’s class and everyone else was just shit. He wondered if you were cheating or doing some favors for other students. No way you were that good at that boring class.

A slight movement out of the corner of his eye shocked him away from the bag. His hands frantically dropped the material and he backed away quickly, not wanting to be caught snooping. Yet, he saw nothing. He glanced around wildly trying to find the culprit of the movement but not seeing anything. He could’ve sworn he—

Another movement. From the center of the white blanket. A cat. A rather large one, at that. Yawning slightly and stretching its little limbs out. His heart nearly melted.

“Aw,” he smiled, “hello there, love. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

He slowly slid his hand over the edge of the chair’s cushion and rubbed the back of his first two fingers over your head. Unbeknownst to him and your sleepy state, both were blissfully unaware of who was touching whom. You yawned once more and curled into his touch. He laughed softly at the movement and began petting your head with a full hand. A deep rumbling purr radiated from your chest at his movements.

You weren’t sure what about this dream was so real, but bloody hell was it comforting. An unknown character in your dream was ever so gently sliding a hand over your head and occasionally scratching under your chin. Maybe it felt odd for them to do that, but it was so relaxing you didn’t care.

He stood back up and gently scooped your curled figure up, keeping the blanket wrapped softly around you. He took a seat in your armchair and placed you on his lap. His fingernails ever so slightly scratched over your head and smoothed the hair along your back. Your thick, bushy tail curled lovingly against his chest ever so often.

Something that you didn’t know and something that Theo didn’t know, either, was that you had the subconscious tendency to transform into your Animagi identity when sleeping. Whether as part of a dream or mumbling in your sleep, every once and a while, you would slip down to your smaller self and remain curled up as such. It had been going on for a couple of months now and you had yet to notice it. Your roommates most definitely had but they had said nothing as they assumed it was a purposeful action. They figured it would be nice to sleep as a cat as well.

The purring emanating from your soft chest rolled against his leg as he continued to brush his fingers through your fur. Your head occasionally curled further into his stomach at these gentle actions. This might have been the most relaxing dream you’d ever had.

“Hey, man, been looking everywhere for—”

“Shush!” Theo berated the loud voice. Mattheo came around the back of the armchair with a look of confusion plastered on his face. He glanced down to see the feline stretched across his lap, an eyebrow raised.

“The baby is sleeping,” Theo whispered, smiling gently. His hands never stopped brushing you.

“Did you find him—?”

“Oh my god, shhhhh!” Theo repeated. Pansy and Enzo followed the same path that Mattheo had. And just like him, their eyebrows cocked awkwardly. All three of them glanced at the other.

“I told all of you I was going to the library to get some homework done,” Theo whispered.

“Yeah, it sure looks like you’re getting a ton done,” Pansy rolled her eyes.

“I was...,” Theo insisted, “before this baby wandered up. Isn’t she just the cutest?”

“Yeah, adorable,” Mattheo mocked, a smile building its way onto his face. “I’d love to have McGonagall Jr. sat on my lap, if you know what I mean.”

Enzo and Pansy’s faces blended from blank to confusion to realization to stifled laughter. Theo was extremely confused and becoming a little irritated.

“Ew, what is that supposed to mean? I don’t think all cats are related to Professor McGonagall—wait, she’s not even really a cat, she can turn into one. I don’t think she’s really related to any cats,” Theo argued.

“Yeah, man—not what I meant,” Mattheo laughed. His two companions began to laugh with him. “Whose bag and stuff is that?”

Theo glanced down at the bag and snack plate that had been left behind as he refrained from rolling his eyes. He probably shouldn’t admit he knew who the stuff belonged to as he totally figured it out by snooping, but they didn’t necessarily have to know that.

“That’s that really irritating girl that’s in McGonagall’s with us, you know? The one I ran into this morning and was like ‘Why don’t you watch where you’re going, blah, blah,’ do you remember?” Theo spoke.

“Yeah, I remember,” Enzo giggled. “It’s almost like she's still in the room with us.”

“I know, that’s her stuff,” he nodded in the direction of the things left behind. “I was wondering when she was going to come back and get it but it’s been like an hour and she hasn’t come back.” Theo shrugged and returned his focus back to you who still remained curled comfortably in his lap. His thumb brushed over your closed eyes and ears.

“Did she ever leave?” Pansy laughed. “Maybe she's still here.”

“Maybe so, I didn’t go looking for her, though,” Theo responded, brushing a finger down the slope of your nose.

“Yeah, she was acting kind of catty earlier,” Enzo spoke. The three students burst out laughing, clutching their stomachs and flicking tears from their eyes. Anger rose up the side of Theo’s neck.

“What is your deal? Is something funny? Anybody want to fill me in on the joke?” he asked. They remained laughing as hard as they could, almost as if they wanted to annoy Theo further.

“Whatever, me and my new friend are going to study elsewhere. At least she doesn't laugh at me,” he harrumphed and grabbed his things, keeping you cradled tightly in your blanket in his right arm. The three students didn’t stop laughing the whole way as Theo stomped off, taking you with him, and touching his nose to yours with a smile.

“Oh, Merlin,” Pansy chuckled, a tear falling from her eyes. “So we all knew that she's an Animagus, right?”

“Yeah, she told me last year when her acceptance letter from the Ministry came in. She was pretty excited about it.” Enzo struggled not to start laughing again. “She's really nice and really smart, I think Theo can be a bit much sometimes.”

“Yeah, I agree with that….” Pansy responded. There was a few moments of silence before Mattheo tilted his head towards the other two.

“So, we’re sticking around for when she wakes up and realizes she's sitting on Theo’s lap wrapped up in a blanket like a child, right?” he laughed. The other two chorused a variety of ‘yes’ and ‘absolutely,’ as they made themselves comfortable at a table near the one Theo had assigned as his. This was quite possibly going to be the best thing that ever happened.

Part Two!

#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #reader insert #slytherin #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott #enzo berkshire #mattheo riddle #pansy parkinson #gender neutral reader

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stormhearty · 16 days

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✨ pairings: eris x reader

🔮 preview: (Y/N) Vanserra was cunning, ambitious, and confident, all wrapped in a beauty that could rival Lady Autumn’s. For forty-nine years, she had been hidden away, in Autumn Court, much like a diamond, waiting for the day she could come out and shine. And so, when the threat of a Death-God loomed over Prythian and Beron slowly became a concern, (Y/N) uses her beauty and intelligence for a ploy bigger than herself — one that included sitting her husband down on the Autumn throne, Eris Vanserra.

📣 trigger warnings: Inner Circle bashing (I love the IC guys, but we’re in Autumn Court territory now)

🔎 rating: PG-13 | 🔏 word count: 5.6k+

💜 masterlist | series masterlist + notes: I thank my lovely nonnie from here for suggesting a Roxana-inspired reader from the manwha, How to Protect the Heroine’s Older Brother! I loved Roxana as a character and I found it very difficult (as many of you know, whom I’ve talked to about this story) to write a character who is cunning and intelligent as my character reference. This series was a beast to write (and I am still writing the other parts of it, so please do be patient) — I wanted it to stay canon as much as possible, but also give a story that would reveal the mysterious nature of Autumn Court. Please do give feedback about the first part of this series! I would love to hear your opinions and thoughts for the next part!

And I thank both @prythianpages & @thesunloveschips for their amazing help with this first part (I apologize to them profusely at times for bothering them)

“Be my eyes, be my ears. Be the wallflower that lurks in the breeze. Be the viper that stings all my enemies. We shall become one, to conquer our shared destiny.”

The burn of the bargain tattoo seared onto your skin, a ring of fire that surrounded your left ring finger. It took you a moment to look at it, admiring the dark ink that stained your skin before much larger hands enveloped yours. Looking up, you stared at familiar amber hues as he slipped the golden band on that finger, hiding the tattoo. Lifting your hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss on your knuckles his smirk widening slightly.

“You will be my secret, (Y/N)… My weapon within the walls of Autumn Court…”

“Do you know who she is, Az?” his High Lord’s voice echoed in his head as hazel eyes focused on the female that seemed to have garnered many lingering gazes.

“I unfortunately do not, Rhys… My shadows do not whisper anything about her. I—-” there was hesitancy in his words, “I didn’t even know she existed.”

The Spymaster was stumped, to say the least.

In his centuries of being Night Court’s Spymaster, wielding shadows to his very will, Azriel had every confidence that he knew everything that happened in Prythian. Nothing was able to pass him nor his shadows — he knew all the intel, the gossip. He knew everything that might be deemed a threat to his court and used that knowledge to his advantage.

But it seemed like something slipped, because there was something… more like someone, that passed his shadows; and that was you who was on the arm of the Autumn Court Heir.

Azriel felt like he should have known you, should have heard the whisper of your existence at least. You were accompanying the Autumn Heir to Winter Solstice, for Mother’s sake! How could someone as vital as you slip passed his shadows.

He waited, waited for those slivers of darkness to whisper something… anything about you. Even just your name, the Spymaster would have been pleased to know.

But nothing.

His shadows lazily moved underneath him, not a care in the world about the female that seemed to have warped his mind in chaos.

You had become an enigma to the Spymaster.

And it was something he would go to the ends of the world to unravel.

He continued silently observing you from his position next to his High Lord on the dias, watching as you pressed yourself close to the Heir side, your hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, leading you through the throughs of people that packed themselves into the grand ballroom. He watched as your rouge dress, a stark contrast to the endless sea of black and blue, swayed around you — like a fire that danced in the darkness of the night. Even Eris stood out in his regality in a similar shade of rouge, Autumn Court colors seeping out from every inch of him.

The two of you maneuvered through the halls like flames blazing through the darkness — and Azriel was worried that you would burn his home down.

And when he watched you lean up to the Heir, whispering something into his ear before a boisterous laugh escaped the Autumn Heir, he sent his shadows across the floor, motioning them to listen in — and all the Spymaster hoped was to get a tidbit of anything relating to you; even just the sound of your voice would have been better than nothing.

However, hazel hues watched as his shadows retreated quickly as they had flocked. And it was only then did Azriel had seen it.

A barrier.

One that was so powerful and so thick that his shadows couldn’t even penetrate. He watched as the tendrils of darkness slithered away, retreating back to their master, hearing their cries of pain as they had attempted to break through the barrier.

That was the reason no one knew of your existence — why Azriel never heard of you, why his shadows never picked up your name.

You were a secret — Autumn Court’s well-kept secret.

The shimmer of the barrier caught the corner of your eye, watching it reflect different colors under the dim lighting. You raised a brow, eyes darting around before noticing the lonesome shadow retreating back to its master. You watched as that lonesome shadow slither through the crowd, slithering back to the Spymaster’s side.

“Did that bastard just —-”

You fought back a chuckle, gently squeezing Eris’ forearm — a silent confirmation about the attempted attack from the Night Court Spymaster. You felt him stiffen underneath your touch and you didn’t need to look to know that the Heir was pissed.

Beneath his mask of well-practiced composure, you felt his body thrum with rage and fire — it swirled and bubbled underneath his skin, radiating up to your palm that rested in the crook of his elbow.

Eris had always been quite overprotective over you, thus the millennial old barrier that had kept your existence a secret from all of Prythian — including from the nosy Spymaster of Night Court.

You were not surprised by the Shadowsinger’s actions — curiosity killed the cat, as many would say. And who wouldn’t be curious about you, the female that hung on the arm of the Autumn Court Heir? You had expected something similar to happen, but it seemed that the Spymaster sending his shadows to investigate you did not sit well with Eris.

No one dared to attack you while in his presence.

“Eris…”

The whisper of his name from your lips paused the rage that bubbled from the Heir — amber hues glancing your way. A delicate smile tugged onto your features, another melodic hum escaping your lips as you reached up and caressed his forearm — a gesture that showed you were perfectly unharmed — the barrier had done its job, keeping you safe. It was a gesture that always seemed to calm Eris down — especially when it came to your safety, a silent confirmation you were safe. You felt that bubble of rage and fire simmer, the Heir calming underneath your touch, and felt his hand slip on top of your own, his thumb gently caressing the gold band on your ring finger— a tall tell sign that he was holding himself back from confronting the Spymaster.

“Ah, Eris!”

Annoyance rolled off from the calm of Eris’ demeanor and you fought all urge to tease the male as you watched from the corner of your eye Keir making his way to the two of you, behind him his daughters in tow.

With a well-practiced smile, Eris gave a bow of his head towards the Steward, you mimicking his actions as surprise tugged on the Steward’s features, his steps paused to a halt at the sight of you at Eris’ side.

“Ah, Keir, pleasure to see you again. I thank you for inviting me to such festivities…” Eris greeted the male with a light smirk tugged onto his features — the normal look of arrogance from the Autumn Heir.

Keir had stiffened at the sound of his name, without any lordship from the Heir, as he bit back a reply with a strained smile, “Of course, Lord Eris. We are indeed partners… I had wanted to introduce you to my daughters—-” the male gestured to his side as his daughters gave a bow, their cheeks pink with a light rose color, evident even in the dim lighting.

You bit back a laugh, glancing up at Eris to watch that smile twitch at the corner of his lips — the annoyance very evident despite his mask of pleasantry.

“Unfortunately…” The Autumn Heir had cut off the Steward, giving the ladies a bow of his head. Eris, no matter what was taught to be a gentleman, especially to females. His mother taught him that. “I do not need a partner tonight for the dance… As you can see, I do have a lovely lady on my arm, and it would be such a shame to ignore her presence… don’t you think, Keir?”

A pleased smile tugged at the edge of your lips at the quip — not only did the Steward ignore greeting you, he had ignored the fact that you… without needing to be announced, would be the one accompanying the Heir for the evening’s festivities. And yet, there he was attempting to set up partnership with one of his daughters.

Keir’s eyes shifted from the Heir to you, his hues shaking as he looked at you.

“My apologizes… my lady, I was not informed that the Autumn Heir would be bringing a partner with him tonight—-”

“—-She has been with me the whole night, Keir… and she has not stepped away from my side. I would think, with your… keen eyesight, it would make it clear that I did not need a partner tonight.”

“—- Ah, yes… I apologize…” the stutter was evident in his tone as he quietly shooed away his daughters, watching longing gazes at the Eris before moving through the crowd. Keir straightened up and gave you a formal smile, before clearing his throat, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady —- before the festivities start…” What a quick change of subject, “My High Lord would like to speak to you…. if you do not mind following me…”

And with that the Steward turned around, his cape bellowing behind him as he maneuvered his way through the crowd… towards the dias where the Inner Circle had perched themselves for the night.

You watched as Eris rolled his eyes, an annoyed sigh escaping his lips, while you let out an airy laugh, bracing yourself on his arm as you leaned up, your breath against his chin, “Tired of being the most eligible bachelor, Autumn Heir?” you teased him.

It had always amused you on how many marriage proposals Eris had throughout the time you were together, and how many he had thrown those letters into the hearth of your shared bedroom at Autumn Court. You had always teased him about it, much to his own dismay after being with you for several millennials — you always found something to tease him about.

Eris raised a brow, turning his head so that your breaths intermingled, “I had not been a bachelor for centuries, my butterfly… It pains me to pretend that I am every time I step outside Autumn Court.”

You gazed up at him, staring in those amber hues through your lush lashes, “Well… tonight we’ll make that clear, once and for all, won’t we?”

A wide smirk tugged onto his lips, as he let out a satisfied sound before straightening up and guiding you through the crowd, steps behind the Steward to the dias. The two of you were a perfect picture of Lord and Lady, graceful and regal in every way.

Pull… pull… pull…

Eyes snapped towards the dias, your body going ridged for a few moments as you felt the familiar magnetic tug — the call of the blade. Eris paused in mid-step, feeling you go still, his head snapping towards you as eyes betrayed his indifferent expression — worry pooling at its depths. No words needed to be communicated between the two of you, you had known each other for centuries… you were honed into each other’s emotions, habits, gestures… you two could read each other so easily, despite the mask you have learned to put on for centuries.

Your eyes shifted from each member of the Inner Circle, trying to find where the magic pull was coming from, landing on the velvet box that was in the lithe hands of a familiar fae — the eldest Made Archeron sister, Nesta. You felt your magic flicker underneath your skin, answering the pull from that velvet box. You knew that the blade was in that box — the whole reason why you had decided to accompany Eris to the Winter Solstice, stepping out of Autumn Court into the wider world of Prythian, risking your identity, and exposing your person to the Night Court. That box, that blade was your sole reason.

Regaining your composure, you pressed yourself against Eris’ arm, placing your hand on top of his own as you silently motioned him to continue moving forward. The Autumn Heir hesitated, but when he glanced into your eyes and saw the resolution in them, he couldn’t argue. He gently squeezed your hand and started to move forward again before leaning down, pressing a kiss on the side of your head to whisper, “Did you find it? The blade?”

You glanced up at him and just gave him a light smirk, gently squeezing his hand. Another laugh escaped him, drawing attention towards the two before he pressed another kiss on your cheek, “You are magnificent, my butterfly…”

The Autumn wind blew a chilled breeze through the large windows of the Forest House. The sky was still in orange, red, and yellow hues as the moon started to peak over the horizon — the seasonal courts never saw true nightfall, the skies still glittering with their court colors. It had just grown dark enough for sleep to fall on its inhabitants.

Slipping onto the large balcony of your shared bedroom, you pressed your hands against the cool marble railing as you watched a monarch butterfly flutter down from the skies. Magic wrapped its fragile wings as you allowed it to gently perch on your left eye, a sigh escaping your lips as you closed your eyes — allowing its magic to seep into you. Visions passed behind your eyes, your all-seeing gaze shifting from Autumn Court, zipping through the seasonal courts and into the depths of one particular solar court — Night Court.

A rusty hammer struck metal, sparks of light flying into the air as the loud ring echoed in your ears. You watched delicate, yet calloused fingers grip the hilt of a forged blade — a power from those very hands seeping into the metal, one that mimicked the ancient Cauldron, which was lost. The blade breathed fire, one so similar to your own that you felt it pulse, no… push against steel — calling out to you, as if it knew you were waiting, watching from afar.

Shifting your gaze from the mysterious Made blade, your eyes wandered to those fingers, traveling up their arm to their features — the eldest Made Archeron sister. You had heard of the eldest sister of the High Lady of Night, once a human, doused in Cauldron power that made her into fae. Her powers were unknown to all, and yet — here she was, creating a weapon from her unknown powers.

“It looks like she isn’t quite as lovely as the winds have whispered…” you murmured, mirth in your tone as you continued to watch the vision unfold before your eyes.

“Who isn’t as lovely?”

Arms wrapped around your middle, large sturdy hands pressing you against a much sturdier front. Another sigh escaped your lips, eyes fluttering open, breaking the connection of magic as you watched the butterfly disappear in a waft of red and orange mist. Your hand raised, swirling the colors in the air before it dissipated. Twisting your neck, you glanced up at the Autumn Heir, his features illuminated by the colorful autumn sky.

You had always thought he looked ethereal.

His complexion glowed something dark that always stirred something inside of you. How his auburn hair beautifully framed his chiseled features and how his amber hues glowed — his innate fire burning through those irises.

Those amber eyes caught your own, his brow raising as his question was left in the air. A chuckle was pulled out of you at his look, “The eldest Made Archeron…”

Eris’ brows scrunched in confusion, as your comment did little to answer his question. He knew that there was much more hidden behind your simple words about the Made fae, much more than you were willing to tell him without him prodding you more. You lifted a hand to gently smooth Eris’ brows, a feeble attempt at a distraction — for both you and him.

“What did your butterflies show you, (Y/N)?”

Eris was able to read you so easily, no matter how many walls you had put up, the Autumn Heir was able to see right through them. He had learned how to read you for centuries, ever since the two of you were children — ever since that fateful day.

You felt him grasp your hand, tugging it away from his face, giving your palm a caress, causing a sigh to escape your lips.

“She forged a blade that breathed fire, one similar to our own… I do not know the purpose of said blade, but I am quite sure it has to do with that bloody bargain you made with that High Lord…”

It was no secret to Eris that you had despised that bargain between the High Lord of Night — a bargain to help him claim the Autumn throne from his father. You understood that it was under stressful circumstances — the looming doom of war with Hybern, needing allies during the war. However, you had known that Eris didn’t need that bargain, not with anyone within the Forest House walls, especially not with pesky Night Court bats — not when he had you to help with the coup within Autumn wards.

You needed no help from overgrown bats with what you had promised Eris all those millennials ago.

“(Y/N)…” he called your name, pulling you from your thoughts. Eris held your waist and turned you in his arms, pushing you against that marble railing, forcing you to look up at him.

Raising a brow, you tilted your head up at him.

“If they made a blade for us… then we’ll use it — take advantage of it,” he asserted, “Let’s play into their little game for now. Make them think they’re on higher ground, that they have control — but when in reality, we’ve always known. And you never know…” A smirk tugged on his lips as he leaned down, his breath brushing against the apples of your cheeks, “That blade might be useful for our plan…”

A light, airy chuckle escaped your lips, “You’re asking me, Eris… out of all things… to act dumb in front of those bats?” amusement laced in your tone.

He chuckled as well, pressing his lips against your cheek, “I’m asking you, my butterfly… is to act dumb with me. We do better everything together, right?”

You hummed, eyes fluttering close, your lashes brushing against his cheeks. Your arms slid up his more muscular ones, hidden beneath his sleeping tunic, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him, “Then that means, Autumn Heir… you will have to bring me to that Winter Solstice ball if you want me to act with you.”

Eris froze underneath your touch at the mention of Winter Solstice. He had mentioned it a few times to you in the past several weeks — especially when Keir kept sending secret correspondence, begging him to join the festivities. The correspondences had annoyed Eris completely, any chance the Heir had was to verbalize his annoyance to you about it — and you had been very amused to hear it each time. You were to let him go on his own to the Court of Nightmares — it was something you didn’t need to be a part of. You could remain in Autumn, continue to secretly monitor his father and brothers, gain followers, and be the wallflower that you have always acted as.

But, with this newfound information and the idea of the Night Court using the bargain against Eris, you knew you couldn’t just be passive with the invitation.

Opening your eyes, you looked up at Eris who had a conflicting look — you knew why he had been so hesitant.

You had never stepped outside of Autumn Court — no one knew of your existence outside of the Court. Despite being in Autumn Court for millennials, Prythian didn't know, the other Courts didn’t know of you. And yet, you were willing to sacrifice your identity, your role in his bigger plan to gain something as simple as a blade that a Cauldron Made Fae made.

Eris didn’t like the idea, it didn’t sit well in his thoughts.

Reaching up, you pressed your thumb between his brows, smoothing the skin there, “You will get wrinkles at this point, Eris…” you mumbled, eyes focusing on the skin there before catching his gaze, “I have done everything I can here, Eris…” your words were cryptic, you knew Eris would understand — you couldn’t risk it, not when the walls, trees, the winds in Autumn would listen and give away your plan.

“… I have asked you to use me, Eris. All those millennials ago, on that day… so use me. Make me the weapon I made myself into. I can't help you now if I'm in Autumn —-”

Sure, you had been the one to limit your influence solely on Autumn Court, but if Prythian called, then you are willing to step into the larger world.

Your eyes showed your determination, your willingness to devote your entirety to him as you've done for years.

A reluctant sigh escaped his lips as he forcibly pressed his lips on your forehead, “Alright. I will bring you… but you must remain by my side the whole night. No one will rip you away from me..”

An amused chuckle escaped your chest, leaning up to press your lips against his pulse, “So overprotective, Autumn Heir. It sounds like you're too fond of me…”

You felt Eris shake his head at your teasing, tugging you closer before maneuvering you back into your shared room for the night.

The bellow of Keir’s introduction pulled you out of your thoughts, watching the older male give a sweeping bow — overdramatic and with flair — his words of congratulations echoing throughout the large ballroom, the citizens echoing the same sentiments. As the elder male stepped aside, you stepped up along with the Autumn Heir, giving an elegant curtsy, while Eris gave a regal bow at his waist.

“And allow me to extend our congratulations, High Lady of Night, on behalf of my father and the entirety of Autumn Court…” Eris bellowed, his voice of regality, “A Fae child being conceived, what a miraculous announcement to give during Winter Solstice…”

You drowned out the conversation between Eris and the High Lord, barely focusing on the pageantry between them. It was rare for you to be so out of focus on the situation. Normally, you were in tune with your surroundings, focused on the now; however, all you and your magic could focus on was the call of the blade that thrummed inside that velvet box. You watched as lithe fingers grip the box tighter, and your eyes shifted to the eldest Archeron sister

“—- Before you go, Eris…” your delicate ears perked up, eyes shifting back to the High Lord who waved his hand allowing a dark wind to carry that velvet box through the air, handing it into Eris’ awaiting hand, “I offer you a gift, a solstice gift. A friendly token… between a High Lord to a future High Lord…”

Eris’ gripped the box tight in his large hand as you felt the muscles underneath regal clothes grow taunt.

A quip, from the High Lord. A disguised reminder of the bargain between the two of them.

Gently squeezing Eris’ forearm, you urged him to open the box, to ignore the jab from the older male. You felt those muscles relax underneath your squeeze, his mask of indifference returning onto his features as he opened the velvet box.

Inside that box, laid on plush pillows, was an ornate dagger — it was roughly the size of the Heir’s forearm, its handle weaved from iron as if it was cloth, an intricate design of wood and fire etched onto the metal.

One that was similar to the vision that you had seen weeks ago.

Eris picked up the blade by its serpentine handle, raising it, and watched the silver and jewels shine in the dim lighting. It was a beautiful blade — much more than you had seen in that vision. From the corner of your eye, the two of you locked gazes a light smirk tugging on his lips before the air around him flickers.

Eris’ magic throbbed in the air, as you watched flames appear around the blade — surprised screams echoed around you, as all eyes were on the pair of you — the center of attention. Eyes glanced at the Inner Circle, watching the guard dogs step in front of their masters to protect them, your keen gaze watching how the Captain pulled the eldest sister in his arms. A curious brow raised before you gazed back at Eris as he poured his power into that blade, disappearing into the silver in a flash of bright light.

A groan escaped the Autumn Heir, his head tilting back, a long breath escaping grinning lips. It took a moment’s breath before he regained his composure, rolling his shoulders back before his gaze returned to the blade, turning the blade in his hand as the metal changed, the color from a simple silver to a dark black — an obsidian color that swallowed up the light. A mixture of auburn and saffron tinted the onyx-colored blade, changing the way the light hit it — a blade mimicked a dark fire, swirling underneath the dim light.

Eris flipped the blade, holding it by the blade as he turned his body, facing you and staring at you with those brightly colored hues — flame and light within those irises — handling the blade to you, a nudge of his chin, gesturing you to take the blade.

A light chuckle escaped your lips, fighting the urge for your knees to buckle at the look on the Heir’s features — it was an alluring look on him, the power that raged in his eyes, in his veins — as your gaze shifted down the column of his throat and followed the patterns of his auburn suit to the blade in his hand. With lithe fingers, you grasped the hilt and you felt a shiver run up your spine — the mix of Eris’ power along with the power that already surged through the metal, Nesta’s power — no… the Cauldron’s power — was intoxicating. The call and pull of the magic that pulsed in the blade was strong and you felt your own magic answer the call, causing you to tilt your head slightly as you stared down at the blade, your magic pulsing underneath your skin.

What a dangerous weapon… You thought as you shifted slightly out of Eris’ hold to move the slit on your skirt, where an empty sheath was strapped onto your leg, sliding the blade into its new home — a perfect fit.

“I had been meaning to ask…” The High Lord’s voice reached your delicate ears as you glanced up, fingers trailing up your thigh before pressing yourself close to the Autumn Heir again.

“Who are you?”

Eris gently squeezed your waist, as you stepped out of his hold and you gave a sweeping curtsy, one as dramatic as Kier’s earlier.

“Late introductions, I apologize, High Lord of Night…” your tone had mirth and sarcasm tied underneath a layer of elegance and regality, “My name is (Y/N)… (Y/N) Vanserra.”

You glanced up at the High Lord through your lashes, watching his façade of arrogance and boredom shift into surprise — his face showing his thoughts:

Vanserra? Beron does not have any daughters.

Nor did he take up a second wife.

Vanserra? On the arm of the Autumn Heir…

Bright violet hues glanced between you and the Autumn Heir that stood behind you, before locking onto your gaze — your colored hues staring into violet hues. In defiance, you tilted your head up, as you straightened from your curtsy.

And that’s when you felt it — those tendrils of his powers creep near your mind, you couldn’t help but frown, your body stiffening, your hand gripping your gown tighter.

In your entire lifespan, you have never encountered a Daemati — especially one as strong as the High Lord; you had thought that the barrier would protect you from such intrusion of your mind, but it seemed, even that was futile against the power of a High Lord Daemanti.

Not breaking your eye connection with the High Lord, your eyes glowed an eerie ruby hue as you focused on that tether, that connection that he forged between your minds, to those coils of darkness that invaded your mind.

How. Dare. He.

And with a flick of your wrist, your mind grew walls of flame, surrounded by fire hounds who growled and attacked those shadows — successfully pushing him out of your mind. You heard a faint yell from the High Lord, and you saw his hands sear with flames, his hands combusting as he frantically tried to pat it down on his leathers. However, the feeling of lightheadedness started to cloud your mind, and you teetered on your heels before you felt Eris’ arms wrap around your waist, pressing your back against his chest. Eyes pinched close, panting, fighting off the heaviness you felt throughout your body.

It had been simple enough, you had thought, to push the High Lord’s power from your mind — but it seemed you had used too much power, in such a quick second that your delicate stature was giving up. Your mind grew hazy, spots of darkness appeared in your vision and you fought every urge to just pass out right there that you barely noticed the commotion that surrounded you.

Feeling Eris’ grip on you tighten as you heard him growl, “Did you just try to get into my wife’s head, Rhysand?! How fucking dare you!”

That had fully ticked off the Autumn Heir. Not only did the Spymaster attempt to attack you from afar, but now the High Lord tried to invade your mind. Two attempts at your life were too much for one night for Eris — and he threw his well-practiced self-control out the window.

Shrieks from the onlookers reached your ears as you peeked an eye open, noticing a bright light that illuminated the dark room. Heat radiated onto your skin, feeling Eris bring you closer to him, protecting you from the ring of fire that surrounded the both of you, separating the two of you from the Inner Circle. Blinking the haziness from your mind, you watched through the flames as the General and Shadowsinger stood in front of the High Lord and Lady, weapons drawn against the two of you.

“Eris…” you breathed out, grasping his Autumn colored suit, “Calm down…”

His head whipped towards you, that fiery gaze staring down at you, “But he tried to invade your mind, (Y/N)…”

A confirmed hum escaped your throat, straightening yourself in his hold, “I know… But I got him out. That’s all that mattered… And don’t blame the barrier,” you panted, blinking away the spots at the corner of your eyes, “His power is immune to it I guess…”

You stared up at him, your scarlet hues dimming back to your normal colored ones. Amber hues stared into them, assessing your condition, hesitation marred his features.

“Bring down the flames, Eris….” you softly commanded him.

His eyes flickered between you and the Inner Circle before he followed that command, the ring of fire flickering until it had gone out. You did not bother to appear composed — you could appear fragile — play into the heartstrings of the citizens of Hewn City.

The High Lord of Night Court attempted to invade the mind of Autumn Court Heir’s wife.

Word would spread throughout all of Prythian — sympathy and pity would be whispered your way while scrutinizing words would be thrown towards the High Lord.

Even if you despise showing such vulnerability to anyone let alone the Inner Circle, you can use it to your advantage.

You pressed yourself closer to Eris, playing the soft wife that just got attacked by a High Lord. Eris’ arms wrapped around you, as he bared his teeth against the Inner Circle.

“You attempt to attack my wife in your Court, Rhysand, and yet you have your dogs try to protect you? We have not laid a finger against you nor your Court, and you have weapons drawn against us,” anger vibrated in Eris’ tone. He knew how to play your games, he knew exactly how to play them with you — and yet the anger, the fury that lurked in his features were genuine, “You have no damn right to try to lurk in our heads, even if you are a High Lord.”

The General and the Spymaster shifted in their stance, their eyes foggy before stepping aside to reveal Rhysand, cradling his now scarred hands — that was what he got for trying to attack you in front of his people.

“…I…”

“I do not accept your apology if you ever were to have one, High Lord…” surprise tugging onto his features at your declaration, “Myself and my husband arrived on Night Court soil as guests, and yet we are treated as enemies. I have done nothing to you to cause you to try to invade my mind.”

Whispers surrounded you, words of ill-intent for their High Lord reaching your sensitive ears.

She’s right. They have done nothing to them, and yet he tried to hurt her.

The Autumn Heir had every right to act the way he did. It was to protect his wife from Rhysand.

I never did like him… He has trapped us here in the Mountain while he and his people live in Valeris.

He’s nothing but a hypocrite. He says that he welcomes all, but he hurts others as he sees fit.

You fought back a smirk, staring at the High Lord as his features flickered — his mind racing on trying how to turn the situation back to his favor. But you knew, both of you knew, it was too late for him to do anything.

Things have turned in your favor, much like you had hoped.

“I have no need to stay for the festivities any longer, Rhysand. You have attacked my wife twice in one night, your Shadowsinger earlier tonight and now you. I do not feel safe within the walls of your Court and I do not feel safe for my wife’s safety either…”

With a growl escaping his throat, he gently maneuvered you into his arms, lifting you bridal style, turning on his heels as he stepped out of the Court of Nightmares, the crowd parting to make way for him as flames surrounded the both of you. You felt him pause mid-step, and you glanced up at him with a raise of your brow. Eris looked down at you, his face contemplating for a moment before he looked over his shoulder, back at Rhysand.

“—-And the bargain between us is over High Lord… Especially after tonight. No one dares to hurt my wife in my presence.”

The Autumn Heir winnowed the both of you out of Night Court in a flash of fire and light.

And back into the depths of Autumn Court.

👑 General Tag List: @prythianpages @strangelygreat

🕯️Series Tag List: @imma-too-many-fandoms @assriels @kiarathace

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vandaddy #autumn court #( .series : bleeding crowns )

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i-am-a-fan · 9 months

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So remember in the episode “The first Ring” from season 3 where Mei and Redson bump into each other and share a vision of Mei getting the samadhi fire? Okay, well something's been bugging me. (Here's the full image btw. )

First off please appreciate how beautiful the artwork is because damn. Second, what does it mean? While the different color fires could be an homage to how the Samadhi Fire was first created, we would need to see the 5 elements, not the 3 fireballs we see in the photo. (pg. 575)

Therefore, I'm going to assume this is more foreshadowing, since the LMK team is amazing at planting seeds that will only grow within future seasons. (ex. Macaque's relationship with Wukong, the lady bone demon, Mk's nature, etc etc.)

So... I'm going to dissect the hell out of this frame.

The main focus is someone in the center taking in the power of the 3 fireballs. Their form isn't clearly defined, but we can tell it's most likely someone with the standard Lego build: Mk, Mei, Redson, PIF, Tang, etc. I always assumed this was Mei, but I feel like if it was they would have shown it. The next frame shows us Mei with the fire (and once again look at the artwork's beauty.) I have more thoughts on this, but I'll circle back.

Next up we have the balls of fire. I saw somewhere that these might represent the traffic light trio. Although Redson has mostly been sidelined, I like the sound of that theory, so I am going to piggy back off of it.

Mei would obviously be the green color, MK seems to be the yellow fireball, but then that leaves a blue flame. Yet, not one of the traffic light trio has their signature color as blue. The only character that comes to mind is Sandy/ Mo, but he doesn't have the standard Lego build.

Of course, this can be Redson, since the original samadhi fire was blue. However, at no point do I remember that Redson has had any teal/ blue markings. In her flashback, Redson is shown with dark red and black, the same as Mei when she eventually gains the fire.

Unless...

Maybe they character isn’t teal yet..

Ring a bell????

That's right, the blue/teal might actually end up being Mk. Thus, giving each character a flame. (Redson = Red/yellow, Mei = Green, and Mk = Teal)

Doing some color drops, you can see that these colors are very similar, but they aren't exactly the same. That being said, they’re close enough that it raises alarm bells in my mind.

Now, circling back to the main image and the person at its center. I think we might see Mk gain the Samadhi fire next. In the image, there is a red background, green under the person's feet, and blue fire emerging from the person's back.

Personally, I think it might be the framing of a timeline using background, middle ground, and foreground. The red background would be Redson, the person who (in this universe) was born with the fire and created it as a whole. Next up would be Mei, who gains the fire in season 3, but seems to lose it at the end of the fight with the lady bone demon. So, that only leaves the future...

A future that I am personally hoping for...

Edit: I fixed some grammatical errors. Sorry y’all, dyslexia never rests.

#lego monkie kid #lmk #my art #monkie kid #speck rambles #lmk mk #long post #lmk theory #lego monkie kid theory #lmk redson #lmk mei #Of course.. I honest doubt this is the case because redson is sidelined so often #Unless Redson becomes weirdly more in the season 5 plot.. this is simply just a theory #A GAME THE-#not me adding to Mk’s trauma.#also this would make Mk ridiculously op. but shhhh shhhh #lmk analysis

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dancingtotuyo · 4 months

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Home | Part 1

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Frankie returns to you and your daughter.

Tags: Frankie Morales, Triple Frontier, Canon compliant, Frankie’s baby & his lady, fluff, angst, Dad!Frankie

Warnings: breaking & entering, gun, briefest illusion to drug use, illusions to death, some brief angst, let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: this is my first attempt writing Frankie. This idea came out of nowhere and I love it. Thank you to @wannab-urs for beta reading, adding commas, and the sweet comments! 🫶

Words: 938

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since he left. He told you a week. It’s verging on three. You stare at his side of the bed. You’ve had to wash the sheets since he left, but you’ve left his pillowcase. You bury your face in it, seeking the traces of him. Frankie’s scent is beginning to fade.

Tears threaten to form in your eyes. You fight with them. You can’t cry. He’s coming home. He has to come home. You can’t do this without him. You curl around the pillow. You need to sleep, but you can’t. Every time you close your eyes, you see Frankie dead in a ravine, on a mountaintop, or in an alley somewhere.

Layla stirs in her crib, drawing your eye. You’re quiet as her eyes blink open. Her tiny fists curl beside her ears. You expect her wails to fill the room, echoing how you feel inside, but to your awe, she stays quiet.

The full moon streams through the bedroom window, shining off of your daughter’s dark eyes. They remind you so much of her father’s. She stares back at you. Your little girl. Your perfect little girl, so much like her daddy with her big brown eyes and soft curls. His little Layla Grace.

He has to come back. He can’t leave you. He can’t leave her.

Layla blinks. Each interval grows slower until her eyes drift shut. Her breathing evens out. She has a soft snore. Just one more thing she picked up from her daddy. You’re not sure she has any of your DNA and you love it.

You’re tempted to scoop her up and lay her in the bed beside you, but that’s Frankie’s spot. You can’t give it up, even to your daughter. You have to make sure he has his spot when returns home.

Eventually, your eyes flutter shut and your breathing evens out as Frankie’s comforting scent fills your nostrils.

You’re startled awake by the rattling of the storm door Frankie was supposed to fix months ago. Your heart rate skyrockets as you shoot up feeling dazed. The red numbers on your alarm clock read 3:09 am. The storm door rattles again, and then the backdoor squeaks open.

Your bare feet hit the hardwood. Layla is sound asleep. You open the nightstand drawer, quickly punching the gun-safe code. The metal is cool under your hands. It’s been a long time since you’ve held the gun, but the mechanics come back like riding a bike. You check the chamber and load the magazine.

The backdoor slams shut. You spare a glance at your daughter before quietly closing the bedroom door behind you. You use your bare feet to your advantage, avoiding all the creaky floorboards in your old home.

Something hits the wall in the kitchen making you jump. You catch a dark figure, presumably male, wrestling through your cabinets. It doesn’t make sense, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins doesn’t allow for critical thinking.

You click the safety off, entering the kitchen. “Don’t move. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

His hands fly out, resting against the cabinet door. He lets out a tired sigh, something familiar in it.

“When I bought you that gun, I didn’t think you’d pull it on me, Sweetheart.”

Your chest tightens at the familiar timbre. The gun almost falls from your hands as you drop your stance. “Frankie?”

He turns around, eyes shining even in the dark. “It’s me, baby. I’m home.”

He eases forward, taking the deadly weapon from your shaking hands and disarming it. Placing the gun on the counter, he takes your hands into his, pulling you closer until his arms tighten around you. He holds onto you for dear life, both of you shaking.

Tears you’ve been holding in for weeks fall, soaking through Frankie’s jacket. His chest shakes, his tears mingling with yours.

“I thought you were gone.”

“I’m here. I’m here.” He repeats it over and over like an oath to you and an assurance to himself.

“Please don’t go again. Don't ever leave me again.”

“Never.” He kisses your salty cheeks, your forehead, and finally your lips.

You feel like home. You are his home. His hand runs through your hair, keeping him anchored to reality. He’s here and no longer in the jungle of South America.

You pull him back to the bedroom, both of you in a daze. You’re still in disbelief he’s here and whole. You fall into bed. Frankie pulls off his clothes, hat landing on the dresser where it belongs. You catch his movements stiff from the exhaustion of traveling, but he’s smiling at you the whole time, drinking you in like water in the desert.

Layla's small cries emanate from the crib pulling Frankie’s attention. Immediately, he’s at her side, cooing soft Spanish to her as he picks her up with the familiarity only a parent has. Goosebumps travel over your exposed skin. Layla quiets immediately, looking up at her daddy with wide eyes.

He moves over to the bed sitting next to you. His Spanish continues to spill in a comforting cadence. You caress Layla’s brown curls, head resting on Frankie’s shoulder. It’s all the perfect moment of peace and rest.

It won’t last long. Layla will remember she’s hungry soon enough. Frankie may sleep tonight, but the nightmares will come. There will be tears and grief and fights, but Frankie, Your Frankie, is here, and he’s intact, at least physically, and your daughter will grow up to know her father. That is what matters. The rest will wait.

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction

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stardewremixed · 10 months

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First Kiss with Shane

@hellhoundmaggie requested a first kiss scene with Shane. He was the first guy I romanced in SDV, mostly because it was easy to in the beginning and I wanted that first-year flower dance so badly. 😂 🌸

🎈 In case you missed it - First Kiss with Harvey. 🎈

While Harvey holds a special place in my heart and is generally my go-to husbando, I didn’t want to leave my “first SDV squeeze” in the lurch. I’m trying to expand my experience with writing romance in general. Hope you enjoy. It’s a freakin’ novella. Haha. I don’t do short, and I wanted to show how he fell in love with the Farmer, and she with him.

This is female farmer x Shane = first kiss. This one might be a little more PG.

😉❤️‍🔥🔥

Sweaty palms. Greasy hair. Chubby cheeks and legs. Is this what she sees in me?

Shane stared bleakly at his own reflection in the refrigerator door. It was quiet. Nearly noiseless in the back aisle of the stark JojaMart. A lull in the daily traffic around 4pm on the dot. When his shift ended.

Shane pressed his forehead against the glass, grumbling to himself about his infinite lack of progress on losing weight. Ever since he started going to therapy and quit drinking, he felt confident that his life would turn around. Like magic.

However, life outside the rehabilitation center was much harder than he remembered. He was still stuck in the same dead-end job. He was still bumming a room off his aunt with his piddly rent And he was still rather plump around his abdomen.

Every time Morris ordered him around, in that pompous high London accent, Shane wanted to give up. To give in. To snatch a beer outta the cooler and gulp away his frustrations.

Instead, he settled for cussing under his breath, and resolving to keep his head down. At least until he could find another job. No one seemed to be hiring in this dying town. The recession was still hitting hard. And he knew he was lucky to get his old job back after nine months in detox and rehab.

It was worth it. It would be worth it. He convinced himself as he puffed a lazy strand of hair out of his eye and continued stocking cartons of overprocessed milk, nothing like his aunt’s fresh bottles or the farmer’s delicious cheeses.

While he was still grossly underpaid, Shane worked out the math. In six more checks, he could repay her. The Jolly Rancher. Just thinking about his silly little nickname for the farmer lady to the north gave him a warm feeling. The kind that alcohol used to give him, only better, more real. Her smile was sweet.

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When she first arrived in town, Shane genuinely disliked her. All her bubbly, bouncy, jolly persona encroaching on his flat, boring, grumpy existence. He had cultivated a philosophy of "me myself and I" and was perfectly content being alone, sulking into a pitcher of beer at the end of the night. But not really…

Her jovialty grew on him, especially when he would see her around town, helping people out. At first, he figured she was just another city do-gooder come to convert the backwater people to a more modern lifestyle. But her joy and kindness was genuine. Even when he yelled at her to go away, she still murmured a heartfelt apology for disturbing him and then brought him freshly grown peppers or tomatoes the next day like nothing had ever happened.

The Farmer purchased cows from Marnie so she could make her own specialty dairy products. He was seriously impressed. Because what city girl just ups and buys cattle?

Sometimes when he was restlessly tossing and turning in bed (and if was honest, lonely), Shane would wander around in the wee pre-dawn hours. He always seemed to make his way to her ranch. Most of the time, she was out in the barn milking the cows and talking to them like they were her babies, with just a lantern illuminating her soft face. She was so beautiful.

Raising cattle was no simple task. He knew this from watching his aunt. And Marnie had horses, pigs, goats, rabbits and chickens to think of too. He wasn't sure if the new rancher in town, with little to no experience (save her degree in veterinary medicine), was stupid or brave. Over time, he determined she was the latter.

Out searching for a lost cow in a thunderstorm. Not thinking about her own welfare. Only wanting to reunite a terrified animal with its herd.

Fixing fences after wolves knocked down the back posts time and time again. Her fingers bleeding and scarred because of her lack of self-awareness sometimes. And chasing of “’dem there wolves” with sheer willpower... and... a big stick.

Rebuilding the barn from scratch when a wildfire spread down from the mountains. She saved every single one of those animals. And needing treatment for smoke inhalation because she went back in for the tiniest frightened newborn.

He remembered the time she got kicked in the head by one of the cows. Shane was so worried about her, even if he wouldn’t admit it when he carried her to the Clinic. Thankfully, it was only a minor concussion. (And it was an excuse for him to deliver Marnie's special basket of goodies to her twice daily so she didn't have to worry about feeding herself during her recovery).

The rancher struggled for a whole year, after arriving in the Valley. But even when things went wrong, she was up and back at it the next morning with a lightness in her heart and step. It. Was. Admirable.

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Shane resolved to do better. To be better. She made him think about how things could be different if he wasn't a self-sabotaging jerkwad. The number of times she dragged his sorry ass home after getting plastered at the Saloon was too high to count, even if it was out of her way, even if she said she didn't mind. She wanted him to be okay. To be safe. She said so.

And she half pushed, half dragged him to the Clinic the night things got really dark. When he faced the edge of the cliff and thought "No more!" When he thought death would be a welcome reprieve from his pathetic life.

She never judged him. She didn't enable him like his aunt. She didn't fall apart into a puddle of tears like Jas. She didn't lecture him on the evils of his ways while twirling his moustache like Harvey. Okay. Shane chuckled to himself. Maybe that last part was an exaggeration and unfair to the good doctor.

She. Simply. Cared.

Through her actions.

In the beginning, it was little things. A happy hello. A robust handwave. Then she started pulling up a barstool next to him in the Stardrop. She would ask him about his day and he would always answer the same way. But "go away" somehow morphed into a sarcastic "just peachy" and then eventually a half-hearted "fine, you can sit there." Once she jokingly called him Peaches.

He didn't want to be bothered with her questions and idle chatter. He didn't want to listen to her ranching successes and woes, retold in a much-too-chipper voice. He didn't want to know about Bluebell and Daffodil and Daisy, how Mister Munster was nursing a hoof injury and how Mrs. Butters was expecting her second calf. Why did she think he cared about such details?

But it grew on him. Those rosy, ruddy cheeks, enjoying a hard-earned glass of whatever Gus had on tap. The way her eyes lit up and sparkled when she talked about her animal friends. The way her pale pink lips pouted when she lost a game of Journey of the Prairie King in the saloon arcade. Again.

Shane found himself drawn to her energy. And he found himself missing her on the nights she didn't stop into the Saloon. Which was a rarity, but did happen.

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Shane knew she was someone special when he would watch the entrance door, breath caught, hoping she would breeze through, and then she didn't. Two days in a row. He started to feel disappointed, but brushed it off. Three days. He started to get concerned. On the fourth night, he went looking for her. And that's when he learned she was sick.

He practically broke down her door when she didn’t answer.

“Aww you were worried,” she laughed weakly, and coughed.

She looked rather pitiful, bundled under the blankets, hair sticking to her cheek, eyes droopy and dark. She thought Marnie would have told him. His aunt had sent a few of her ranch hands to help their neighbor out while she was under the weather. so her cattle weren’t forgotten

No, Marnie never did. He suspected it was because she didn't know it would matter to him. But it did matter. She. Did. Matter.

Without a word, Shane went to the kitchen and returned with a cool towel. He didn't even think. He laid the back of his large hand against her delicate forehead. He could've sworn the little Miss Jolly Rancher blushed. Or maybe it was the slight fever she was running. She audibly sighed as he placed the wet cloth against her burning cheek, closing her eyes and mumbling her thanks.

He wanted to know the last time she ate. She grunted and said something about some cereal earlier that morning. She didn't know for sure. She had slept most of the day. He promised he would be right back.

She told him not to bother, as she struggled to lift her body off the bed, propping up by a shaky elbow. He insisted she lie back down. She was a stubborn one. Her protestations didn't last long as her head was too foggy to think straight. He microwaved a bowl of soup. She tried to sit up again, and he fluffed her pillows so she could prop up.

Her grip on the spoon wasn't firm, her trembling hands an indication of just how weak she was. So he caught the escaping silverware and lifted the soup to her lips. She turned red as a hot pepper, but he eased her with a surprisingly tender words, "Please. Let me take care of you for once, Miss Jolly." His own face and ears were probably red too. But she accepted.

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Since then, he began the habit of calling her "Miss Jolly." She flushed every time, but he enjoyed flustering her. It was nice… to care… about… someone.

She returned the “favor” and called him Peaches. At first, jokingly, just to annoy him. But over time, even the ridiculous fruity nickname grew on him. She was invading his thoughts and heart and he couldn’t stop her.

He knew he had to change. He had to get better. Alcoholism was a disease that had ravaged his life and he was ready for something better. He couldn’t live like he had been any longer. She had changed everything for him. And he wanted to change in return.

Disappointment smacked cold. He had researched so many places. But the one place that seemed to fit his needs and desired treatment plan was out of reach. Prohibitively expensive. He sold his dad’s watch. His car. He worked longer hours. Maybe in a few years he could make up the difference.

She knew how much he wanted this... and how badly he needed this. Every glance at his savings account wanted to drive him to the bottle, the hopelessness of a solution just out of reach because of his crappy medical insurance. They wouldn’t cover it. Even though he was pretty sure Joja was the reason he drank so heavily.

No, that wasn’t true. It was his own insurmountable guilt. Of surviving the accident. When they didn’t. Of leaving Jas without a respectable father figure. Or a mother. He didn’t even fight when the courts wanted to give him jail time.

His aunt got a lawyer and gave him a place to stay when he got out. She helped him put together a resume and practically shoved the application for overnight backroom clerk in his hands. He had to face the music. He wasn’t cut out for any other job. And it was basically a glorified “stock boy.”

Approaching middle-age, recently released from prison, and overwhelmed with a crushing lack of self worth, Shane interviewed and got the job. He should be grateful. But the hours were grueling and monotonous. Customers were rude. Employees were ruder. Except that Sam kid. He was a ball of sunshine. And his boss was sucking the life outta him.

So he drank. He drank to forget. Because he couldn’t forgive himself. And every time he looked at Jas’ little pained expression, he drank more because he felt... so... damn... worthless.

The Rancher changed things for him. He felt more positive. He got up earlier. He brushed his teeth. He combed his hair. He put on his uniform for the world’s lousiest low-paying job and went to work hoping things would be better.

Faced with the inability to actually “get better” was... frankly... terrifying. What if he went back to being that same old pathetic blob of a human again? After ten agonizing days, he finally confided in the one person he knew he could trust. His “Miss Jolly.”

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He couldn’t believe he had been moved to tears. She surprised him... again. With her thoughtful generosity and selflessness. She promised to pay for the difference. Whatever he couldn’t afford. She told him it wasn’t a big deal. It was a VERY BIG deal! She still had some of the inheritance money from her grandfather. What she hadn’t spent on fixing up the farm.

“So I don’t get those gingham curtains I’ve had my eyes on for the past month,” she quipped.

It was serious. He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t accept it. It was too much. He didn’t like the idea of being indebted. He was stubborn. He could refuse.

But she was more stubborn. She insisted it would be a loan, not a gift. He could pay it off over time. Without interest. Or he could work it off - sweat equity - on her ranch. Maybe with those chickens he liked so much.

In the end, he caved. He packed up what little he could take with him. And she walked him to the bus stop. Kissed his cheek. Squeezed his hand. And said the words that simultaneously made him laugh and warmed his heart.

“Go get ‘em, Peaches.”

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That was a year ago now. When he came home, she threw a big surprise party for him. A few people from town, his aunt, Jas. And she never looked more beautiful. She even found chicken shaped balloons. Because... what guy doesn’t want balloon animals from the girl he’s crushing on?

Crushing on? He smirked. I sound like a middle schooler.

He split his time between the market and her ranch. Gradually spending more and more time on her farm. Gathering eggs before his shift. Feeding chickens on the way home from work. Sipping peach iced tea in the shade of her porch and thinking this life wasn’t half-bad. But he wanted more.

She started bringing by lunches on his longer shift days. Homemade sandwiches and fresh-pressed juices and handpicked peppers. The kind that burst with sweetness or that spicy kick he needed to get through the rest of his day.

She learned to roll her own dough. Once a week, on hot summer evenings, she would make him pizza with her own special spicy red sauce. Wearing that cute little red and white checkered apron around her jean shorts and just below the edge of her tank top. Too hot to be standing around the stovetop making pizza sauce or the oven to bake the dough. But she did it for him. Shane looked forward to it after a long and grueling Saturday shift.

He still stopped at the Saloon most nights, but now it was just to drink soda and share a pepper poppers appetizer. Gus started bottling root beer, made from bark and flowers and herbs from around the Valley. It wasn’t alcoholic. And it was an acquired taste. Getting better with time.

She would breeze in and offer suggestions and feedback. Shane enjoyed watching the two “play” squabble over the choice of leaves. The kindly saloon owner and the girl he liked collaborating to make him a refreshing drink became a welcome nicety.

Most nights, they didn’t stay long. Heading out for long walks around town. Shoes scuffling along cobblestones. Kicking up dirt on wooded paths. Kicking off on the beach to feel the mushy sand. Talking about nothing important, but always special. Any time with her was special.

He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have a friend like her. To have a woman of her rare caliber show him any attention at all. She got past his defenses and he welcomed it. And deep in his heart, Shane knew - this was love.

With today’s paycheck, he could finally take her on a proper date. Somewhere out of the Valley. Someplace where they could have fun together. He felt the excitement and nervous anticipation rising in his chest. Somehow he fumbled through an “ask” on her front porch this morning, managing to invite her to join him... if she wanted... at the bus stop... around 5pm. He had tickets to see the Tunnelers play.

Shane finished his shelf, glancing at his watch. Ten past four. Just enough time to get home, showered, and changed. He disposed of the empty boxes in the dumpster and delivered the cart to the back room. Opening his locker, he hung his apron on the hook. Instantly, he felt lighter. Like that thing was a noose around his neck. A ball and chain. He really needed a new job. And in fifty, no, forty-six minutes, he could see her...

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"SHANE!"

The shrill obnoxious tone pierced his moment of peace. The voice could only belong to one person - a holllow husk of a corporate shill, even more unlikeable than him, if that was even possible. Shane frowned, his eyes clamping on the store manager barreling toward him at full speed.

“A whole second shipment came in just now,” the man grunted. “Like I need this when I’m short-staffed, as always,” he offered an exasperated sigh.

I can’t imagine why... Shane thought to himself, bemused. The boss was insufferable. Always barking orders. Never praising his team. Paying peanuts. Polishing his baby - a silver Rolls Royce in mint condition - parked in the only covered spot in the entire Joja lot - every night - instead of doing paperwork like he should. How was he still employed? No one at corporate cared.

“Not my problem, Morris,” Shane replied.

“No, no, no,” Morris fluttered his short arms. “It is your problem. I need you to stay late and help Sam empty the truck.”

The man continued to ramble something about “this is why I pay you” and “you think you can do better somewhere else?” He badgered Shane about his “work ethic,” even if Shane had been a near model employee since returning from rehab. Even if his former colleagues actually welcomed him back, much to his shock. Shy little Claire even commented on how he was “different” than before.

Shane had been nominated for employee of the month, no doubt, angering Morris. The man had it out for him. Sticking him on graveyard shifts. Making him mop baby puke in the aisles. Forcing him to attend a “hospitality” seminar so he could learn to be nicer to, in Morris’ words, “bored housewives who somehow like your prickly personality.”

Morris, a man who prided himself in appearance, with his neat little bow tie and perfectly ironed jacket, couldn’t believe how the ladies bought more after a rough encounter with Shane. It was good for business, of course, and Morris would take all the credit. That hospitality seminar wasn’t cheap, he constantly reminded Shane. Like rehab hadn’t made him a better person already. Or his relationship with little Miss Jolly.

“They just fawn over your monotone delivery of the daily sales,” Morris droned on. “Yoba only knows why. You haven’t been educated at the finest university this side of the Pond with an impeccable taste in... well, everything.” Morris puffed his chest.

“I just don’t understand why they giggle at the register about the ‘handsome’ stock boy when they could have me recite the daily sales in Shakespearean English for heavens sake. Well, no matter. I can use what I’ve got. You.”

The man thinks I’m a frickin’ pack of meat.

“Now in order to have sales, we must have stocked shelves. And in order to have stocked shelves, I need to have you stay longer. Because shelves don’t stock themselves... and what are you staring at?”

Shane rubbed his jaw, catching his reflection in Morris’ little glasses. Could I really be that handsome? Morris wasn’t wrong. The market had been a little busier than usual in the mornings and around lunchtime. Shane came back from breaks early sometimes because customers “requested” him. He could reach the “tall” shelves.

But he wasn’t that tall. And most times, he needed a ladder. Unlike Sam. But even Sam told him he had been relegated to “cute” because the female patrons wanted to check out the new guy (on the ladder) because Shane possessed a look of danger and mystery, and had that "hot dad bod."

Like that’s really a thing I wanted! Shane rolled his eyes. It's all a little disgusting. Being oogled. Because what? Dangerous? Dad bod? I’m just me. There was only one gal he wanted checking him out. And he needed to get going if he was going to meet her.

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“No can do, Boss,” Shane removed his Joja cap and hooked it alongside his apron. “Got plans tonight.”

“No, no, no,” Morris’ voice grew tight, his eyes becoming tinier. “That won’t do. You must cancel your plans.”

“Do I get overtime?” Shane asked, half-distracted by the photo occupying the inside of his locker.

It was the only thing he had ever decorated with at work. A photo of him and Miss Jolly at the Moonlight Jellies festival about a month ago. It was the one time he actually thought he was photogenic. How could he not be happy? With a gorgeous gal by his side, smiling and laughing as the photo was taken, a woman who believed in him, rooted for him, and cared for him. Shane’s expression softened as he thought about how much she had impacted his life.

“You know what?” Shane ripped the photo from his locker wall with gusto. “I quit.”

“Are you even listening?” Morris was saying. “And no, I’m not going to approve overtime. You left early by one minute the other night. One minute!"

"And one time last week, you were late by three minutes. I will not approve overtime for someone who nearly runs over a flock of geese with his bicycle and is late to work."

"If you’re going to keep up with this lazy attitude of yours...” he huffed and straightened his jacket. “I may have to reconsider my decision to rehire you... even if you bring in the ladies... I mean... sales...”

“What?” Morris’ eyes grew wide as saucers beneath his horn-rimmed glasses, and then his expression darkened, as if Shane poured bitter coffee all over the plates. “You cannot quit. Are you joking?”

“Well I do, and I’m not,” Shane shoved the old rusty lock that never latched properly into the other man’s hand, a smile crossing his face. “With pleasure.”

Shane waltzed out of the soul-sucking store, leaving a dumbfounded former boss as the double doors whooshed behind him. He closed his eyes and took a big gulp of sea-salt air and sighed. He felt free.

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When she met him at the bus stop, his heart skipped a beat. She looked radiant in the setting sun. Her eyes sparkling like stars. And her sexy little denim skirt was a nice touch too. The way her hips swayed ever so slightly on approach. He forced his gaze upward.

"Hiiii... Miss Jolly. I'm glad you decided to come," he greeted, his tone a bit stilted and formal.

What am I doing? He rubbed the back of his head.

"Of course, Peaches. I'm excited," she grinned. "This will be my first game."

"You'll love it!" he replied, wrinkling his nose at her childish nickname for him. And I will too with you by my side.

"Is that cologne?" she asked when she reached his side.

Her fingers curled around his hoodie strings as she closed her eyes and took a whiff. "I like it." She grinned and winked at him. "A bit spicy."

"Yeah yeah," he murmured and ushered her onto the bus, but he hopped up the step behind her, feeling a little lighter on his feet.

"You're in a good mood," she remarked as they wandered toward the back of the bus.

The atmosphere was charged. Rowdy. Everyone seemed excited for the Tunnelers game. He nodded to a few familiar faces before settling in next to her seat. The back was better than the front. Cool kids sat in the back. What am I? In the sixth grade?

Still he was relaxed. Smiling even. She repeated her statement as if he didn’t hear her the first time. Damn straight I’m in a good mood. Because I get to spend time with you… maybe even tell you how I feel tonight… He decided the overcrowded bus wasn't the best place for that confession. The vehicle lurched forward and so did the conversation.

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"I quit my job."

Her eyes widened and a slow smile played at her lips, drawing his attention to them. I bet they're juicy. He had fantasized about kissing her, ever since she planted one on him at this very bus stop twelve months ago when he shipped off to rehab. Out of respect for their “business arrangement” and friendship, he held off on the liplocking, but it didn’t mean he still didn’t wonder what it would be like if he had just turned his head to meet her mouth that night.

“Good for you,” she laid a hand on his shoulder.

Her gentle touch bringing him back to reality and away from his lustful la-la land.

“I knew that place was killing the light in you. I just wish I could've seen Morris' smug face when you finally told him."

"Light in me?" he repeated, ignoring the statement about his ex-manager.

"Yes," she slowly slid her hand up to his cheek, blushing a little while she moved. "You look better. Brighter."

"That's just the shower talkin'," he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"No, it's you, Shane," she replied, dropping her hand far too soon for his liking.

He wanted to beg her to keep it there, against his cheek. But present company dissuaded him, and he remained silent, nodding his thanks. The way she said his name... he bounced his leg a bit in nervousness as the bus bumped along the road... it made his knees weak and his head clouded.

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"Did I miss anything?"

Shane descended the last step, returning to their seats in the stadium, snacks in hand. The game was tied up, the teams neck and neck in their scoring with each other. It was one of the most thrilling games he had ever seen in person. Even more exciting because she was there. With her incessant questions about the rules. Her exuberance at the Tunnelers' first goal. Even the little wrinkle around her eyes when she didn’t understand what was happening. He loved every minute of it.

And he loved explaining things. Even if he worried about boring her to death with his encyclopedic knowledge of gridball, he couldn’t stop talking. This was something he loved and he was sharing it with the woman he loved... even if she didn’t know it yet.

"Only the announcer making bad jokes," she smirked. “And that guy...” she pointed to one of the pros. “...doing a silly little dance for the fans.”

“Yeah, he’s known for that,” Shane laughed awkwardly, feeling a small twinge of jealousy that another man had caught her eye.

“Not that he’s any good at it,” she laughed too. “Not like our little grooves in the Saloon.”

“Oh?” he quirked a brow. “By the way, I got us some nachos. I asked the vendor to add some hot peppers… just like we like it."

"Like we both like it," she said in unison. "Thanks,” she snagged a chip and did a deep dip into the sauce. “You should've let me pay for snacks since you paid for tickets and the bus fare."

"Naw, we're on a date," he shrugged. "The guy pays. Plus, I wanted to."

Shane averted his eyes, suddenly self-conscious. "Did I tell you how much… I l…love…. Gridball?"

She stopped and looked at him as if surprised by his old-fashioned thought. I shouldn't have been so careless, he grimaced. Then he immediately wished his face wasn't so readable.

It was a date. A real date. But somehow they slid from acquaintances to friends to best friends and then... somehow something more, without ever defining the relationship.

Did she want parameters? Did he need a label? Were they... ever going to be what he hoped to be if he ever got his head out of his ass and asked her for real?

"Yes, only the thousand or so times on the bus," she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And I knew you played in high school.”

Just like that, she slipped back to a more neutral topic. And he mentally flogged himself for the missed opportunity.

“Yeah, blowing out my knee pretty much killed my chances at playing pro,” he said. “Doesn’t stop me from enjoying the games though.”

“Have you ever thought about it?” she inquired. “Going back. Maybe the minors or even just a pick-up team. I bet you looked great in a uniform,” her eyes twinkled mischievously. “And I wouldn’t mind the view of you in those white pants.”

Red flooded his cheeks. Is she messing with me? How does she do it? Go back and forth between friendzone topics and flirtation? She made it look effortless. She was toying with him. She had to be. Dancing around the subject. Hoping he would ask. Or was he imagining things?

Her hand hovered dangerously close to his side. Brushing the hem of her skirt. Nearly touching his shorts. He gulped, feeling flattered, but strangely unprepared for her seductive little smirks. He handed her the soda he fetched, and she thanked him, gulping back the liquid as if it were a small instead of a large. Saying something about all the cheering making her thirsty.

He was the thirsty one. Eyeing her up and down and wanting to close the distance between them. Taking it from flirty friends to... faithful lovers. He never wanted a woman more than he did right now. To devote all his love and passion and energy and goodwill into being there for her just like she had for him.

For the whole second half of the game, he nursed his cola. Distracted by her every move. The way she would raise her heels in anticipation of a score and lower them back to the ground when they didn’t quite make it. The way she spoke with that happy voice of hers, the kind that could lull him to sleep or rally him to make his best efforts. The way she repeated back facts she was learning about the sport, that he had literally just taught to her that night. He was completely mesmerized... so much so... he forgot to actually watch the game. For once, he liked the distraction.

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When the Tunnelers scored again, she nearly flew off the ground, wildly cheering for their unexpected interception. He caught her hand as she was jumping back down. She squeezed it and continued whooping and shaking her fist victoriously in the air, never taking her eyes off the game. It was now or never.

"Hey," he said loudly to be heard over the stadium noise. "I've been meaning to tell you… thank you.”

“For what, Peaches?” she said, teasingly. “Did you see that? How many yards was it? Seventy-five? Eighty?”

“I mean it, really,” Shane cleared his throat, leaning closer to her ear. “ For sticking with me through everything."

She turned to face him, her expression growing more serious.

"My… anxiety… depression… you know," he continued, fumbling over his words. "The alcoholism… I mean, I wasn't exactly the funnest person to be around back then."

Did I just use the word funnest? He rubbed the back of his head, hoping to read her expression, but for once, he couldn't.

“You do that... when you’re nervous,” she remarked. “That head rub thing...” she reached up and ruffled his hair. “It’s... cute.”

“Uh...” Shane trailed off. She was not making this easy. But he needed to say the words aloud now or he never would.

"You… uh… still helped me. You've been a really… good… friend to me," he shared, and then immediately regretted his word choice.

"Oh," she said, quietly.

Was that a flicker of disappointment in her eyes?

He hurried his words. "Anyway this is your first gridball game, huh? Well? What do you think?"

Smooth, Shane. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Changing the subject again, you frickin’ chicken.

"Oh…" she said, glancing back to the field, sounding a little confused. "Fun. I guess, Pelican Town seems pretty boring in comparison. Unless you count Sam's punk rock blaring at 11pm, breaking noise ordinances." She forced a chuckle.

Is she…? Am I imagining things?

"I'm surprised," he replied. "Didn't you move to the Valley to escape the noise of the city?"

She's looking at me again with those beautiful heart-melting eyes. He rushed through his words.

"I mean… don't get me wrong. I totally understand. My life in Pelican Town is pretty bland, you know. And now that I don't have a job, I gotta find something meaningful to do with my time again. A guy's gotta eat, right? Heh?"

"I was thinking about that," she replied, without looking at him. "I think it would be nice to have you around full-time."

"What?" he blinked.

"I've got one ranch hand now to help in the back pasture and one that helps out with the milking and all, but if I'm looking to expand, and if they ever take a sick day, I could use some extra hands," she continued. "Maybe your hands?"

I couldn't. Possibly. Was she blushing?

"You've already… done so much for me," he hated the hesitancy in his tone. "I… uh…"

She ignored his last comment. "This would be a business thing. We could do it temporarily to see if you like it. And if it's a good fit for both of us. I can be a bit of a…" she narrowed her eyes, mischievously. "Hard taskmaster."

"Oh? Yeah I've heard that from your current employees," he smirked. "But you are still a jolly one."

"Yeah…" she smiled, almost shyly, tucking a hair over her ear. “Your Miss Jolly.”

The noise level in the stadium increased near ten-fold. All he could think about was how she said the words. She was begging him, wasn’t she? Walking right up to the brink and leaving him there? He reluctantly ripped his gaze away from the farmer to the field.

"Gah!" he screamed, his volume matching the crowd. "The Tunnelers are on the attack."

"Yes! Yes!" she shrieked. "Oh my Yoba! Final seconds. They're gonna…" she jumped up and down and clapped her hands. "They're gonna break the tie."

"GOAL!" they yelled in unison.

He never felt so happy. He was going on six months sober. He quit his horrible job. The farmer was offering him another one so he could see her every day. And he got to watch his favorite team in the world in the closest game in history with his favorite person in the world. Sharing this moment together meant everything.

"Thank you Shane!" she said, trying to catch her breath. "This was the best evening ever with you!"

"I know, I know!" he exclaimed. "Probably one of the best moments of my life."

Before he could stop himself, his lips were against hers. Surprise flickered in her eyes. All he could hear was the thudding of his own heart. She was flushed. The warmth of her lips. The taste of root beer. The delight overwhelming the alarm bells. He took a step or two back, stumbling as he came to his senses.

"Oh?" he gasped for air. "Uh… um… sorry. I guess I got carried away there. Maybe I had one too many... sodas. All that sugar. Ha!"

Shane reached up to rub his head like he always did when he was nervous, just like she had noticed. Except this time, she strutted toward him, confidence in her eyes as she grabbed that hand and tugged him down. As they kissed for the second time, he felt her melt into his arms as she offered a faint “finally,” barely audible amidst the roar of the crowd.

Encouraged, Shane grinned, hoisting her off the ground. She giggled and kissed him more fervently. Maybe he didn’t need words. Maybe he only needed actions to show her how he felt.

And she was reciprocating. A dream come true. Their eyes remained locked in a loving gaze as he pulled back from her lips. When he finally set her down, he breathed heavily.

"You really do love the Tunnelers?" she teased, disentangling her hands from his hair.

"No," he shook his head, determined not to let this moment go by. "I really do love you."

"Come on, we'll miss our bus outta here," she grabbed his hand and pulled him through the exiting crowds.

“Wait,” Shane pulled her back for one more greedy kiss.

She happily accepted, but he felt a fleeting ping of sadness even as they kissed in the stairwell, people pushing around them. He wondered if she even heard his confession. Maybe it's too soon? We just had our first kiss. She probably didn't hear me.

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When they reached the parking lot, the reality of what had just happened still sinking in, they were too late. The bus huffed away with a puff of smog. They had just missed their ride back to the Valley. And there wouldn’t be another one until morning. If he hadn’t been so carried away and enamored by his date, maybe they would’ve left the stadium sooner.

“Guess we should call a taxi,” she broke the silence first. “Or... actually... find a hotel.”

“A hotel?” he repeated, his ears perking at the thought of sharing space with her.

"Yes," she replied, without skipping a beat. "I mean, if we're gonna be stuck together in Zuzu overnight, we should get a hotel. A taxi ride would be really expensive and I don't think we have enough time to get across town to catch the train."

"Oh right," he said softly. "Uh… I can't let you pay for a hotel too."

"It's no trouble," she pulled out her cell phone and started scouring the internet for places. "And a hot shower sounds nice after all the sweat and grime of us in there,” she nodded back toward the stadium. “...jammed in like sardines."

"Uhm…" he blinked rapidly. You're a grown man. Get it together.

"This place looks nice," she showed him a picture after a minute or two, while he awkwardly plopped on the edge of the sidewalk. "And it's got a 4-star rating." She sat next to him, dropping her hand on top of his. “Oh look it’s got an in-suite jacuzzi.”

"Uh… sure," he shrugged, uncertain about what to do with his hands that so desperately wanted to kiss her again. "Well, that definitely was a good game."

"Yes, and it's going to be an even better night, because it doesn't have to end here," she smiled sweetly. “Since we’re getting a hotel,” she winked.

“Oh yeah... and we won too,” he stammered. “The Tunnelers, ya know?”

“No... no, I didn’t. Really? They did?" she smiled sarcastically, and leaned closer. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What?” he gasped, feeling shocked as her blase attitude toward his favorite team.

“I mean, it was great... and all... and their win was pretty spectacular,” she acknowledged. “But I feel like I won the lottery with you here.” She interlocked arms with him. “Did you mean it? Shane? When you said you loved me?”

So she did hear me! And the way his name fell from his lips caused his heart to soar and he found his confidence.

“Yes, I meant it. I love you,” Shane replied. “But I wanted it to be special. Better than this... stranded in a parking lot with trash all over the place.”

“It is special,” she replied.

“But it wasn’t perfect,” he grimaced. “I was planning on telling you when we got back... when I walked you back to your place tonight.”

His head felt hazy with love and desire as she kissed him again. This time, she draped a leg over his, pressing against his chest. He audibly moaned, leaning into the kiss. His hand naturally slid down her back to help her balance, and he squeezed softly, like he had wanted to for a long time. She matched his intensity with a clutch of her own, and he groaned again, reluctantly breaking their touch.

“I don’t need perfect, Shane. I just need you."

His heart leaped from his chest as she continued.

"I love you too. I want you.”

“Ahhhh... then let’s get to that hotel,” he said, the heat of her breasts against his chest creating a near uncontrollable fire within him.

“Fine,” she playfully pouted. “I’ll behave... Hot Stuff," she fanned herself. “...for now... since we’re in public.”

“Believe me,” he replied with a heavy sigh, feeling a healthy growth between his legs. “I want you all to myself.”

She giggled and tapped her phone. "Done. Got us booked.”

“That fast?”

“Yes, It’s only a two and a half block walk. Now… shall we?" She jumped to her feet and darted away briskly.

“Someone’s impatient!” he smirked. “What if I had said no?”

“I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh really?” he liked teasing her as she brought out his confidence. He started into a jog away, passing her on the sidewalk. “Well, I’ll see you soon.”

“Shane!” she laughed and chased after him.

Of course, he let her catch him. She playfully punched his arm, but then lingered. She was beaming. And he was too. Shane took her hand, looking down at the woman he loved, and smiled, brighter than he ever had in his entire life. She loved him and wanted him… just as he loved and wanted her.

“Shane?”

He wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulder. Tonight, he was going to make her fully his, and he would be fully hers.

"Yes, my Miss Jolly.”

471 notes · View notes

heavyhitterheaux · 5 months

Text

Call Her Daddy (NSFW)

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: 🤭🤭🤭

Synopsis: Jack goes on the Call Her Daddy podcast and of course has to talk about his wife

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

First Lady of Private Garden Masterlist

DO NOT ENGAGE IF UNDERAGE

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“Jack, it's about damn time you showed up for an episode of my podcast.” Alex said after the both of them sat down and got comfortable where the podcast recording would take place.

“What can I say? I'm a busy man. And it's good to be here.”

“Definitely busy seeing as you just recently put a total of three babies in your wife, but we'll get to that later. We're focusing on you, first.”

“Look, I can't help it if my wife is fine as hell. Might as well go hard or go home.” He replied while shrugging and of course Alex laughed.

“Don't worry, you'll get to talk about how much you love your wife in due time because we know that’s a running theme with you. But first, I want to know more about Jack Harlow. Did you always want to be a rapper? And where did that drive come from?”

“Always wanted to be one and I remember selling my CD's back in middle school. My mom was a heavy influence on that and she would freestyle with me in the car when she would drive me to like soccer practice and different things like that.”

“That's so cute and adorable that your mom influenced you. Now when people think of rap, Kentucky isn't really the first place people think of.”

“Not at all and I'm from Louisville and a lot of people don't know that it is literally an entire city. When people hear Kentucky, the first thing that they think of is some back roads country ass shit when it's not.” He answered as he thought about when he first started and some people would tell him that he would never make it out Kentucky let alone Louisville.

“And did a lot of people support you? Or did they try to discourage you? How was that growing up there?”

“It was about half and half. A lot of people were confident that I was going to make something of myself, but others weren’t. But I’ve been serious about this shit from day one and it’s slowly but surely paying off. My girl wouldn’t let me quit for nothing even if sometimes I wanted to.”

“Now, what were you like in high school? Were you the popular jock, the nerd, part of the science club? Did the girls fall out over you?” Alex asked while getting comfortable in her chair and adjusting.

“I mean I always had friends and I wasn’t the one who would be stuffed into lockers or some shit. Like with certain things people knew not to mess with me. And it always seemed like girls always liked me, but when I set my eyes on one, that was it. It was a done deal. We weren’t even together yet and people knew that she was mine and they would respect it.”

“So, I want to ask you since you said that about people knowing that she was your girl and respecting it. Now we are talking about the First Lady, correct?”

“The fucking one and only. Had my eyes on her ever since I was fourteen.”

“A little birdie told me about you hiding a boy’s clothes after gym was over because he liked her and wouldn’t leave her alone? Not baby Jack getting jealous.” Alex said while laughing and Jack soon joined in along with her.

“Look, he asked for it and I didn’t have a problem with him after that. Like dude get the fuck away from my girl.”

“And what did she do when she found out?”

“She never found out until we moved to Atlanta after we graduated so she had absolutely no idea. But, she definitely got on my ass. But she’s not so innocent either, but you’ll have to ask her about that.”

“Yeah, she’s definitely the next person I need to have on here. Now what is the album that you think is your best work or the one that you are most proud of?”

“Hmm, Jackman hands down. No features, just me talking and getting my feelings out. I was able to be home in Louisville with my wife for about a year and a half and I took that time to reset and get my mind right because a lot of shit had been going on and happening around us and I felt that it was important for me to do that, but now we’re back to making the catchy shit that people can really vibe to and feel good music so I’m excited for this new era.”

“Lovin’ On Me! Now I am loving your new song and I notice that it says I don't like no whips and chains and you can’t tie me down. So no whips and chains in the Harlow household?”

“I… look I have a story about that. It’s not the fact that there’s absolutely none because at one point in time there was.”

“Damn, do I need popcorn for this because I feel like I need popcorn for this.” Alex added while busting out laughing.

“So, I tie her up, blindfold her, we got the nipple clamps, all that shit, and I handcuff myself to her to get her to stop moving and I lost the key in the process. So, she notices that I get quiet and she’s freaking out asking me what’s wrong and when I finally tell her she’s like call Urban. He’s our best friend who lived with us at the time and he has seen some wild shit and I know he’s so fucking tired of us. So with my free hand, I use my phone to call him and he comes and sees what the situation is, finds the key and leaves us there and goes to sleep because we had woken him up and he was pissed. So he just left us there until the morning.”

“I LITERALLY CANNOT! But, was it really a punishment though? Handcuffed to your wife so I can imagine a few more rounds came after that?” Alex asked while wiggling her eyebrows.

“More than a few.”

“Now talk to me about the other wild shit that he has seen.”

All Jack did was hang his head as he busted out laughing.

“I… I don’t even know where to fucking start. Urb is always getting pulled into the middle of shit that he absolutely had nothing to do with.”

“That’s what best friends are for. Now, how do you feel about choking?”

“Anything she wants, I will do it. Nothing is off limits for her. I admit that it’s not my favorite thing in the world, but if it’s going to make her orgasm faster, I’m all for it. She definitely comes first. Pun intended.”

“Oh, so you’re all about putting her needs first in the bedroom?”

“And in life, that’s my baby and her needs and wants are always going to be met. Been doing that since we were fifteen when we were officially together.”

“Now you said nothing is off limits when it comes to her, so she’s just like ‘babe, let me peg you’.”

“No, absolutely not, no one is sticking anything up my ass. I love my wife through and through, but no. That’s a little too much for me. Come on Alex, I’m not that adventurous, my lyrics literally say ‘I’m vanilla baby’.”

“Well, I might have put an idea in your head that you’ll want to try with her later.”

“Nope.”

“Favorite sex position?”

“Do you…. Do you not know what they call me?” Jack curiously asked her in disbelief.

“No, what do they call you?”

“Missionary Jack.”

“Please shut up because literally no one calls you that, you call yourself that.”

“I swear that’s what they call me!”

“And who gave you that nickname?”

“If it was someone other than my wife then that’s a problem. She’s called me that since forever.”

“What do you like about it?”

“It’s underrated on so many levels. I swear my triplets were conceived in missionary. Because here’s my thing, I’m face to face with her, at one point her ankles are going to be behind her head or on top of my shoulders and I’m going the fuck in.”

“Well damn, what’s her favorite position? I’m going to get her on here, but I want to hear it from you.”

“She likes to think that she’s in control, so she likes to ride me. But she knows who runs this shit. My kids aren’t the only ones who call me daddy.” Jack responded while smirking and all Alex did was playfully roll her eyes.

“Your wife is going to get you for that one and I’m going to let her have at it.”

“Yeah that’s how it all starts and it’ll end with me fucking her brains out like it always does.”

“You’re going to be in for it when this is over. Hmm, kinks?”

“I love praising her because I know it makes her reach her peak faster, but definitely a spit kink.”

“OH! TELL ME MORE! I am intrigued!”

“Alex, you are funny as shit.”

“I’m serious! Out with it.”

“Spitting in her mouth and watching her swallow it.”

“Are you sure you’re as vanilla as you say you are, because? Yeah I’m going to need wifey here to get her perspective. Do you think she’s ever faked an orgasm while you were in her? Would you be able to tell?”

“I know her body inside and out and she better not do that shit and have me find out about it. But, I don’t think she has.”

“Hand jobs, blow jobs?”

“Fuck yeah, I love me a good hand job or blow job.”

“Craziest place that you’ve gotten one or had sex period?”

“On a plane to Australia. We thought everyone was asleep, but of course everyone except Urb. This was what I meant when he is always getting caught in the middle of some shit that has nothing to do with him. It was difficult because I’m so tall, but we made it work.”

“What would an erotic vacation look like for you?”

“Definitely fucking her brains out non stop in some tropical ass location. We’re not leaving our room for the entire time that we’re there.”

“Ooohh, now if you could have sex in any location in the world, where would it be?”

“Hmm, I never really thought about it. Maybe some exotic ass shit like behind a waterfall or something. But, I was also thinking the white house lawn because I don’t mind an audience.”

“NOT THE WHITE HOUSE LAWN!”

“YOU ASKED!”

“Have you ever had or thought about trying tantric sex?”

“I’ve never really thought much about it, but I would have to do my research. If wifey wants it, I’m down.”

“She really does wear the pants in your relationship, huh?”

“Alex, like I said before, you’re funny and no she doesn’t.”

“I literally do not think that anyone will agree with you. If I were to do a poll right now, everyone will probably say that she does.”

“I let her think that she does.”

“Mmm hmm, sure. Now what is your dirtiest sexual fantasy?”

“I don’t even know since I’m pretty adventurous when it comes to it and not many things are off limits.”

You had just gotten to the hotel that Jack was staying at while he was filming for his episode of the Call Her Daddy podcast when you decided to surprise him. He had been going non stop since the release of his new single and getting ready to go on The Kentucky Tour.

Of course Urban was with him and sent you a text saying that he was almost done and you promptly took a quick shower and slipped on one of Jack’s favorite lingerie sets which happened to be black and purple. You threw on your black silk robe in case you got cold and simply laid out on the bed and played on your phone waiting for your husband.

You had fallen asleep waiting for him when you felt him reach down and place a kiss on your lips and your eyes fluttered open.

“What are you doing here?” He playfully asked as he was now kneeling on the bed in front of you and playing with the ties on your black silk robe.

“I wanted to surprise my husband since he’s been working so hard and I figured you would want a little time to have me to yourself.” You answered while motioning for him to lean down so that you could kiss him which he quickly did.

As Jack deepened the kiss, he took the opportunity to undo your robe and took in the sight of you in front of him.

“A sight that I can never get tired of seeing.”

He started to kiss down your neck when you lightly pushed him away from you and flipped the two of you over as you went to undo his pants and slide down his boxer briefs.

“Last night on the phone with you wasn’t enough and I decided that I wanted you in my mouth as soon as possible.”

The night before, Jack was complaining about missing you so just like you had done many times before, you gave him a show which ended up with him cumming multiple times as he watched you.

Jack had now tossed his shirt to the other side of the room and you had gotten his boxer briefs completely off before taking him in your mouth painfully slow making him grab the back of your head and buck his hips towards you.

“Baby, do not fucking tease me right now. All I basically did was talk about how good I fuck you in that podcast and we need to get to it before I fucking bust. This shit is starting to hurt and take that lingerie off.” Jack whined as you were making yourself comfortable.

Before taking him back in your mouth, you did as you were told.

“Patience, my love. You know that I’m always going to make it worthwhile.” You answered him as you went back to pleasuring him with your mouth and your eyes began to water as you felt him reach the back of your throat.

You were taking your slow sweet time and even though Jack was getting annoyed, he was in entirely too much pleasure to say anything at the moment knowing that when he finally did cum in your mouth that it would be worth it.

“Ahh fuck. Come on baby, go a little faster than that.” Jack pleaded with you, but then you took him out of your mouth and went to the edge of the bed and laid down upside down.

“Get over here and face fuck me then.” You said while giggling and Jack wasted no time getting in front of you and sliding himself back into your mouth while throwing his head back in pleasure.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, ohhhh shiiiiit.”

Jack had now taken a hold of both sides of your face and began moving in and out of your mouth as you reached down to play with your clit knowing that if he saw you playing with yourself that he would cum faster.

“Come on baby, open that pretty mouth of yours wider for me. You can take more of me, you’re doing such a good job.”

You did as you were told and inserted two fingers while still continuing to play with your clit with the opposite hand as you felt the spit from your mouth leaking down the sides of it.

“You playing with your pussy for me? Add another finger for daddy.”

Listening to Jack, you added another finger as he reached down to spit on your clit which made you increase the pace of your fingers.

You couldn’t help but to moan while Jack was still in your mouth and knew that you were going to reach your peak soon.

And as if right on cue, you heard Jack.

“Fuck, baby.” He tightly held onto you as you hit your peak and felt the cum shooting down your throat and out the sides of your mouth, but you continued sucking him off not showing him any mercy.

“Hold on!”

You shook your head no as you continued to move him in and out of your mouth, but finally let up when you felt another load shoot into your mouth and quickly swallowed it. Jack slightly moved away from you as you sat up and turned around to face him smirking.

“Wait until I get your ass for doing that.” Was all he said as you reached up to kiss him. You caught him off guard as you reached down and slowly began to jerk him off when he broke the kiss and looked down at you.

“Get your ass to the top of the bed and spread your legs so I have enough room.”

You moved until you reached the top as Jack hovered over you and simply looked down at you to admire you.

“What, babe?” You asked as you were now beginning to shy away from him, but all he did was lightly grab your face and kiss you.

“Nothing, it’s just my wife is so gorgeous and I’m about to have her screaming at the top of her lungs with how good I’m about to make her feel.” He answered as he began to rub small circles along your clit and reached down to kiss you while slipping his tongue in your mouth.

When you least expected it, he slowly entered you making you gasp against his lips which he quickly quieted you with another kiss as he began to move.

“Look at my pretty girl taking this dick.”

Jack then lifted your legs so that they were on the top of his shoulders and began pounding into you making you gasp as he caught you in another kiss.

“Shiiiit.” Was all you could mutter as you wrapped your arms around Jack’s neck as both of your noses were touching.

As Jack continued to keep the same pace, he kept his eyes on you and simply smirked.

“Open your mouth.”

You felt warm liquid slide down the back of your throat as he continued to move and place small kisses along your breasts.

On your right breast, he placed a small kiss and bit down and continued to suck on the same spot as you were letting out a series of curses and whimpers.

That was going to leave a mark, but you would deal with that later.

Jack then reached down to play with your clit and he quickly went to suck on your other breast knowing that he would have you come undone in front of him in less than a minute.

“Fuck, baby. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Jack then felt a rush of warm liquid hit the bottom part of his stomach and smirked as he reached up to kiss you.

As you were slowing down your breathing, Jack continued to rub small circles along your clit while kissing down your neck.

Once you felt that you recovered enough, you reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube that you had brought and handed it to Jack as you moved to get on all fours.

All he did was smirk at you before opening the bottle as you were making yourself comfortable in front of him.

You had only done anal a handful of times, but you found yourself wanting it more and more lately and of course, Jack wasn’t opposed.

“Baby, remember you have to relax so I can get in easier.” You heard him say as he was getting ready behind you.

“Yes, I know.” You softly answered as you felt the tip.

Jack noticed he was meeting resistance so he added more lube and had you arch your back a little bit more before trying again.

He was moving in slowly and didn’t hear anything from you which had him concerned and he simply stopped.

“Baby, you okay? You aren’t saying anything.”

“I’m fine, just keep going.”

After a few minutes, he was fully in and gave you a minute to adjust and made sure that you were okay.

“You ready for me to move?”

All you did was nod towards him as you felt him moving in and out of you.

“You’re doing so good, you’re doing so good for me baby. Arch your back a tiny bit more.”

Complying, you slowly but surely started to notice how good it felt as Jack reached down and you felt him insert what felt like a vibrator in you.

You had no idea when he had time to get it, but you weren’t in any way, shape, or form complaining.

“Babeee, oh fuck.”

“Got a new toy to use on you.”

Between the vibrator and Jack pleasuring you, you felt your legs begin to get weak and the perfect arch that you had once had was forgotten as you were trying to hold yourself up.

Jack noticed this and instead of turning the vibrator down and decreasing his pace, he did the opposite and turned it up while increasing his pace making you scream out.

“Baby…. Mmm… fuck I can’t…”

“Yes you can and you will, arch your back for me. Such a good girl.”

Jack reached down to play with your clit and your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks making you scream out as he slid out and released all over your back.

He then slid the vibrator out of you as you collapsed on your stomach and reached down to kiss your neck.

“You okay, down there? You were so good for me.”

You let out something of a groan letting him know that you were okay and he instantly laughed while sliding off the bed and pulling you by the ankles so that you were at the end of the bed and Jack was on his knees.

“Get on your knees for me because we are nowhere near done.”

This made you do a double take as you looked back at him in confusion.

“You didn’t think you were about to come all this way and I wasn’t going to taste my wife’s pussy, did you? Spread them damn legs.”

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823 notes · View notes

sprout-fics · 4 months

Text

Hellebore

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Five of Snowblind

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 5.5k Tags: Slow Burn, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Reunions, Fluff, Slow Build, Team Bonding, Jealous Ghost, Protective Ghost, Soft Ghost, Crushes Warnings: None A/N: (See Ao3 for full author's notes)

It’s a snowy Tuesday night in November when you come back to the team.

Ghost and the others arrive at the group’s usual haunt well before you do, and Price chuffs a little amused sound when he reads your message about being held up because of a baggage issue upon arrival. It’s not a worry. The team is in no rush. It just so happens that Laswell is chasing leads following the team’s most recent deployment, which means the task force has a rare week of tranquility between grueling deployments.

The pub is lively in the way only local places are- filled with familiar faces of neighbors and friends from the next town over. There’s no soldiers here besides themselves, and Ghost prefers it that way. Most of the younger gents from base tend to frequent the rowdier, louder bars- getting into brawls that spill out onto the streets and singing drunkenly along to the radio. The pub owner here refuses to entertain that type of behavior. Fortunately for the team, Price knows the fellow, and as a result the five of you are allowed an almost private sanctuary well away from the riotous demeanor of the younger recruits in their spare time.

It’s the perfect place to welcome you back into the fold.

It’s been three and a half long months.

Three and a half months of deployments, of irregular schedules, of sleeping in mice infested safe houses or camped out on desert bluffs. Evil never sleeps, Ghost had been told once when he was a younger man, and it meant neither did the 141. In the weeks they weren’t on mission, buried deep behind enemy lines or radio dark, the team had been training new troops to assist them on assignment. It had been a long, slow grind, one Ghost was accustomed too. Yet he, like the others, was grateful for a well deserved reprieve- even if it meant tackling the paperwork leftover from their time away from base.

He did notice, however, the silence in between him and the other three men on the team. Ghost often found himself checking his six, feeling the phantom absence of someone who was supposed to be in front of him. At least once a week he would step into a room with the others and pause, feeling the instinctual twinge of something missing- a presence that he’d never realized had ingrained itself into his awareness.

He noticed it in the way Soap seemed to come bother him more often these days, needing a listening ear, someone to impishly pester when Gaz tired of him. Ghost took note of the way Gaz hesitated on a fifth MRE pack when distributing food on mission. He saw it in the way Price turned just as he did, mouth halfway open to speak to someone who wasn’t there before remembering himself.

In the silence, the shadow of you lingered in them all.

Ghost remembered. He remembered from the first second he had last seen you- the way that your eyes had found his from your hospital bed as he’d lingered in the doorway. He remembered from the strangled call of his name he couldn’t answer, and the deafening boom of your voice as your chest emptied itself at Price, screaming for a recognition you would never give yourself. He remembered the uncomfortable squirming sensation in his stomach, like earthworms digging through graveyard dirt as he tried to absolve himself of the regret for letting you go without saying so much as a goodbye.

“There’s our lady of the hour!” Soap crows as you finally step inside from the winter chill, shrugging off a small smattering of flurries from your jacket. Ghost blinks under his mask as he takes you in, noticing instantly the way the coloring of your face has improved since your gaunt appearance trapped in his memory, the way you’ve added a little bit of weight that speaks of a good diet. Your hair is longer than he remembers, but as you turn your eyes to him he feels a recognition simmer to the surface.

It’s still you.

Simon is the last to rise with the others, hovering back as Soap and Gaz quickly embrace you, smothering you with their larger frames. You instantly return the gesture with a pleased laugh, eyes glimmering. Soap makes a point to squeeze you just a little too tight, and Simon feels an inward curl of amusement as you bat at the Scot’s back, wheezing for reprieve.

“You look good, Fix.” Price offers, quieter than the two sergeants, and something shines in your gaze as you turn towards the captain with a murmur of thanks. Simon observes the look in Price’s eyes as the captain smiles down at you. There’s trust there, in the same way he holds for the rest of his team. The ever-present sternness is gentled, somehow, eyes forever focused but gaze warm in a way that speaks of fondness.

Then you turn to Ghost.

“Fix.” He offers, and despite the curtness there’s a relief there that he allows to bleed through into his voice.

“Long time no see, LT.” You tell him, grinning ear to ear, and Ghost feels the remainder of...something tug distantly in his chest, long forgotten but not yet erased.

It’s gone before he can question it as Gaz tugs you over towards the group’s usual table and Price enlists Ghost’s help in ferrying a round of drinks back towards the booth. Soap distributes them easily, knowing each of the team’s preferences by heart. A whiskey neat for Price and Ghost each, a Guinness for him, a rum and coke for Gaz, and something suspiciously colorful and fruity for you. Ghost watches as Soap teases your choice of beverage, going so far as to taste it and make a face that has you shoving playfully at his shoulder.

“They didn’t push you out of the plane then.” Ghost offers when you turn to him expectantly, leg crossed and one arm slung around the corner of the booth comfortably.

Soaps rolls his eyes. “What Ghost means is that he’s happy to see you, hen.” The Scot supplies, and you only grin.

“You’re the one that oversaw my HALO training, Ghost. Pretty sure it was you that pushed me out of an airplane.”

Ghost shrugs. “You survived.”

You laugh, and once more that strange flickering feeling flutters in Ghost’s chest.

He studiously ignores it, instead opting to observe you as you turn to chatter to Price. There’s a weariness to your shoulders that speaks of jet-lag, and your clothes are slightly rumpled from being contained to your duffle for the long flight, but your smile is warm and your eyes are bright as you laugh at something Gaz says.

The conversation goes on, and Soap gets up for several long minutes, only to arrive back with several carefully balanced plates of snacks that are quickly set upon by the table. Ghost refrains, watching instead as you devour the food in front of you, adding something about how the military plane you were on didn’t have first class service.

“Getting spoiled back in the states, eh?” Soap nudges you.

You pause. Something flickers in your gaze. It’s gone before the others can notice, but Ghost pauses, mulling over the flash of whatever it was in his mind’s eye.

He’s seen that look before.

Ghost observes you idly as the rest of the team focuses on you, blinking slowly and letting his thoughts churn like the slow, amber haze of the whiskey in his tumbler. If you notice his unwavering stare you give no indication, and it allows Ghost to dip into the recesses of his mind, consider the woman before him now, trying to find the thread of memory that speaks of the something he saw for briefest of moments when you were confronted with the thought of home.

So, he starts from the beginning.

It had been two months before the Nepal mission, the one with the proximity of your freezing form forming a memory that itches under Ghost’s skin. He’d been surprised at first at Price’s introduction of you to the team, biting down on a comment of why Laswell would send a goddamn rookie out into the field alongside trained killers with years of experience. He’d withheld the comment, focusing instead on Price’s approval and Laswell’s recommendation, both of which lent weight to his respect for someone who he couldn’t help but think looked so young.

It’d been the eyes he noticed first.

Ghost knows the eyes of soldiers who have killed, and knows that something bright dies inside them at the act of taking a life. He’s spent enough years in the military to discern those who kill enemies, and those who kill for sport. Yet your eyes, facing forward, as if gazing expectantly into an unknown future, were somehow neither of those things. It was a strange paradox, one Ghost chalked immediately up to inexperience and naivety. He’d been half right of course, though neither of those things were any fault of your own. As a medic you’d seen less active combat than some of your comrades, but it didn’t extinguish the impressive set of skills that came with your file. A well- trained sniper, skilled in intelligence analysis, used to operating in areas of high conflict under less than ideal conditions. A note from Laswell stated you’d not only helped save the survivors of a suicide attack on Camp Lemonnier, but had been able to parse clues about the specifics of the attack in the process. Young, promising, with a very good career in the CIA ahead of you should you choose to pursue it.

Yet there was something about your eyes Ghost couldn’t shake in the weeks following meeting you. It wasn’t the lingering innocence there that would soon change, nor was it the focus and drive he had witnessed in your stare. Instead, Ghost wondered if, in your expectant and ready stare into the future, if you had ever dared to look behind you.

As if you couldn’t stand the thought of your own shadow.

Ghost couldn’t help but wonder what was hiding there, the things you refused to speak of.

He wondered, distantly, if they somehow mirrored his own.

Ghost had watched you adjust to your new surroundings with determination yet trepidation- straddling an aleatory balance between pure ambition and fatalistic doubt in your own abilities and self worth. Ghost watched you catalog your own mistakes, swallow down the acrid, bitter taste of failure and replace it with a resolve so deep it cracked at the marrow of your bones. You never complained, never tried to avoid the tasks before you, never expressed an inch of doubt in the team- only in yourself.

Ghost fully expected it to break you, the pressure of your own expectations on top of the crushing weight of responsibility that came with your new assignment to the 141. He’d watched you from afar with an admitted amount of disdain for the first few weeks you had settled in, waiting for the breakdown that would have you confess you weren’t cut out for this, that you were leaving. Yet you refused to speak of your doubts for a single moment, as if voicing your own fears was a failure in of itself. Instead you buried it deep inside, allowing the earth underneath your feet to drag you down with the force of gravity, swallowing you whole in hopes the blinding pressure would someday yield not broken bones, but diamond dust.

There was a small amount of sympathy Ghost held for you, reminded in some ways of the once wounded thing he was long ago, after the thing he’d long since tried to forget. Grave dirt filling his mouth and choking his airway, and the thing that had crawled out from hell had been broken just as well. Yet where you held sorrow, grief, for the secrets inside you, Simon held only fury for the things of which he was robbed.

Why you weren’t furious, blazing bright for all to see, remains a mystery in of itself.

Tightly coiled, shoulders tense, fists clenched at your sides as you’d raised yourself from the dirt of the sparring ring in the glorious temperance of mid September. Dirt under your fingernails, shoulders shaking, and in your eyes then too there had been grief. Ghost had put you on your back again and again on purpose, he’ll admit that. A test to see if you’d stay down after being tossed there one too many times by him- the man you looked towards in the thick of gunfire, of battle, as if he was somehow your northern star that you could align yourself with when you didn’t trust yourself.

Yet bruised, scuffed, you’d stood again with those same eyes. Looking forward instead of inward, a righteous fury tamed only by the reflexive disbelief in yourself.

He couldn’t stand it.

If you could see, if only you could see the things you were capable of, the things Ghost knew you could accomplish, then the shadow you refused to look at wouldn’t nip at your heels and send you hurtling into catastrophic, paralyzing doubt. Maybe you wouldn’t look to Ghost to find the way forward and instead trust yourself to forge ahead without the guidance of your team- emblazoning a trail ahead for them to follow.

If only you could see yourself in the way Ghost saw you.

Never your failures. Never anything else but you.

Just you.

Ghost had allowed you the victory of winning the match in hopes it would bolster your confidence, chip away at the thing inside you that festered doubt like a macabre bloom rotting inside the hollow of your chest. He’d hoped it would have been enough to allow you to see your worth for what it is.

For a while, it seemed it had. You trusted yourself more often, listened to your own intuition, didn’t hesitate as much in the field. Though you still looked to Ghost, your eyes had shifted from the gaze of someone who looked to the future in anticipation of the worst, and into that of a soldier learning to shape the future to your will. Ghost could see the way the team, who had long since adopted you as one of their own, watched your slow journey with pride, remaining by your side if you were to fall.

Would they, if only you would have allowed yourself to be caught.

Catch you he did, as he’d watched your legs crumple beneath your wounded figure, arms cradling you even as you protested his attention to the injury you’d tried to conceal. Biting down all complaints in your paralytic fear of failure, compressing down until you’d shaken and trembled in his arms- begging him to look away from the thing you saw yourself as.

“I didn’t want you to see.”

Him, who had been able to see you since the very beginning.

By all accounts, that should have been the end of it. Terminated from the task force due to pure negligence- an inoperable failure by the soldier designated as their medic. Price had been ready to do so, as he sat by your bedside in the hospital, eyes heavy as they rested on your comatose form.

“We can’t do this to her, Simon.” He’d murmured to his lieutenant, hovering near the door, arms crossed and observing the ashen pallor of your face with a bitter, sour sort of emotion he couldn’t quite place.

Simon listening silently, eyes focused entirely on you. Your shallow breathing had become ingrained in his memories twice now. The first in Venezuela, when a bullet had pierced you through and Simon himself had handed you to the medics with a small, scant prayer to a God he stopped believing in long ago.

Not this one. Not yet.

You’d fought then, pulled through despite the blood, the gore, the desperate lack of air your injury had rendered you. Constantly fighting despite your doubts, trying to claw your way out of a grave of your own design even as earth tumbled downwards onto your striving form.

“She’s doing it to herself.” Ghost told his friend and captain, and Price had looked at him for the first time, suddenly seeing the thing Ghost had witnessed all this time.

Right he had been, for as he stood outside the hospital room listening to Price’s conversation with you, the blazing fury Simon felt inside himself had spilled from your lips as well.

“I HAVE EVERYTHING TO PROVE!!”

Hiding behind the excuse of trying to appease them because you hated yourself, trying to prove your worth to the team even though you were just trying to find reasons to justify your own existence to your fractured soul.

There had been a moment after Soap and Gaz had arrived back to Price and Ghost, despondent and despairing at your rejection, where Ghost had considered the possibility that this time you would stay down.

Yet, in some ways a miracle, and in some way entirely expected, here you are.

Ghost allows himself to take in all the tiny details as you preoccupy yourself with showing off photos to Gaz on your phone. The sergeant crowds in close, and on your other side Soap cranes his head to see properly, complaining about the lack of attention until you reveal the photos to him as well. You’re smiling in a way Ghost has never seen before, and it makes something inside his stomach flip in that strange, foreign sort of flutter he can’t understand.

“Do you want to see, LT?” You ask, and Ghost blinks, nods mutely as he leans in to look at a landscape picture of autumn colors from Virginia. You look at him expectantly, and it takes effort for Ghost to not blink in surprise at the new, glimmering light in your eyes. Honest, yes, focused, but...happy.

He nods again silently, offering a little hum, and it seems to be enough for you as you lean across the table to show Price as well. The captain says something Ghost doesn’t make out beyond the odd thump of his heartbeat in his ears.

That flutter again. The one that makes his chest go strangely warm and tight.

Maybe he’s finally developing a heart murmur. Wouldn’t surprise him, given his line of work.

Yet the more he dwells on it, the more he realizes this isn’t the first time this sort of reaction has happened. No, as Ghost considers, he can recall a dozen different instances of something vaguely similar- an unnamed sort of self consciousness that began from the moment he met your eyes for the first time.

In training, when you’d looked at him after that first successful HALO-jump, hair wild, eyes wide, chest heaving with exhilaration but pride showing through for the first time he’d ever seen it. You’d looked to him for praise at your perfect performance, and Ghost had scarcely managed a ‘That’ll do’ before turning away from you with his chest clenching oddly.

In the field, propped alongside him flat against a rooftop staring through your rifle scope. Completely still, unmoving, scarcely breathing as you’d watched the target from a distance, not even flinching when Ghost instructed you to drop him. A single shot, and the slow exhale you’d released told multitudes of your own uncertainty at succeeding.

In a dim safehouse, where you’d dressed after your shower but your hair had clung damp to your exposed shoulders- an odd sort of sight that Ghost felt almost voyeuristic in witnessing. Vulnerable as you’d tugged a jacket over your sports bra, not seeming to notice the gaze trained on the sloping panes of your back.

Back at base, with your exhausted form crumpling into your bunk without even bothering to remove your gear. Ghost, who should have ignored you, chose instead to methodically remove your knee braces, your helmet, vest, your boots as you’d slept unaware. He’d meant to chew you out for not checking in your gear before falling asleep, but he never got the chance.

When you’d stood beside him after the sparring match, gazing towards the future as you were informed of your next assignment, Ghost had watched those eyes once more alight with something that pulled dangerously inside him. When he’d landed a hand on your shoulder, had offered a rare instance of praise, the strangeness inside him only grew warmer by the way your expression had changed into that of pride.

In Nepal, in the midnight darkness, when your trembling voice had whispered to him in the dark, only to grow pliant in his arms as his rumbling voice had echoed the truth he’d kept tightly concealed since the moment you first turned your gaze on him.

“I see you. Just you.”

Just you.

Ghost realizes he’s been silent for some time in his musings, which garners him a few sideways glances from the rest of the team. When Soap huffs a laugh and spouts some sort of Scottish gibberish, Ghost levels a look at him and reminds him with a small “English, MacTavish.” Which makes the Scot grumble further until you nudge an arm into his side.

“Tired?” Price murmurs, leaning imperceptibly closer to Ghost to question him in a tone the others can’t hear, and Ghost shrugs noncommittally. He could say yes as a means of covering his vaguely odd behavior, but then he’d hear some sort of remark from Price about sleeping properly- of which he doesn’t need a reminder.

“Blackball.” Gaz states solidly as he stands from the table a minute or so later.

“Pass.” Ghost states blandly, and adjusts in the space Gaz has left, spreading his legs wider so he’s more comfortable. Gaz shoots him an almost pouting look, and Ghost only blinks blankly back at him, to which the sergeant shrugs and looks at you.

“I’m rusty.” You confess sheepishly under his gaze, and before you can say anything else Soap is slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“We’ll teach ya.” The Scot offers, and Ghost can tell from the slight sway in his balance as he rises that the Scot is pleasantly tipsy- surprising, given his tolerance.

The three of you shuffle off towards the back end of the pub, and in your absence Price rises with a small groan from his chair.

“I’ll be heading out then.” He announces, gathering himself before placing a card down on the table. “My treat. Keep an eye on them, won’t you Simon?”

Ghost shoots his captain a withering look.

“No promises.” He tells him after a long pause, but he knows just by looking at Price’s smug expression that the captain knows it’s a lie. His second in command, asshole by design yet unable to not watch the six of his teammates.

“If you say so.” Price calls over his shoulder, and Ghost watches as he shrugs on his coat, the door chiming as he steps into the coming snow.

Ghost huffs, turns his attention towards the back of the pub where the younger trio has wandered off. Gaz, with his seemingly endless charm and amicability, has managed to snag the lone pool table out from under one of the other parties, who instead wander past Ghost towards the bar in search of another round. In their wake, Soap rambles the game’s rules to you, demonstrating his long reach with one of the billiard sticks as you nod studiously. There’s a slight scrunch to your brow that speaks of focus.

Loathe as he is to admit it, it’s...disarmingly charming.

He needs another drink.

Rather than rising for the bar, however, Ghost abandons the table and makes for the toilet. It’s only after he’s washing his hands that he pauses, looks up to the mirror placed on the wall and into his reflection.

He chose a simple balaclava tonight, dark eye paint not entirely smudged away from his time on base earlier. Yet it’s gone enough that he can make out the blonde of his eyelashes, the rims of his eyes that speak of pale skin.

Once there’d been a man there, in the mirror. Not much older than you, he thinks. Proud, arrogant, but dedicated and loyal to his duty.

Innocent, unknowing of the things that were to become of him.

Distantly, Simon wonders if maybe one day you’ll wear a mask too.

and silently, he realizes you already do.

Yet the thing hiding underneath your smile, your laughter, the blazing look in your eyes is not the shell of a broken man who has lost everything but has chosen to soldier on for the sake of doing something worth fighting for. No, the thing beneath your mask strives to claw out from the grave of grief you’ve found yourself in, dirt caught under your fingernails and voice choked of air as you fight to become the person you present yourself as. As someone who is free. Happy.

Like watching hellebore unfurl from the frost of a snowy mountain you can never seem to find the summit of.

and Ghost watches from below as the ascending shadow of you eclipses the rising sun.

When he makes his way back to the main room he finds the pub has begun to empty, the late hour beckoning folks home, and the incoming snowstorm hurrying those left behind. Gaz and Soap seem to pay the worsening weather no mind, if the clack of billiard balls is any indication. They talk in comfortable, slurring words, and Ghost distantly wonders if they’ll be hungover tomorrow. Maybe he should have them oversee the rookie drills. Just to be an ass about it.

Yet Ghost instantly notices you’ve wandered from the pool table back towards the bar, perched on a barstool and chatting to some young fellow beside you as the bartender makes more drinks.

Ghost feels his eyes narrow.

The bloke seems younger than you by a spring and then some, confident in the way of men his age. He seems to be doing most of the talking, and while to an outsider it may seem friendly enough, Ghost notices the way the man’s eyes dip to your lips as you politely smile and sip your drink, listening to him make small talk.

Ghost observes your eyes, the ease of your shoulders. You don’t seem uncomfortable, not with the way you smile back at him as Ghost passes behind you back in the direction of the booth. The fellow you’re talking to briefly glances over his shoulder, and does a double take at the skull mask wearing shadow behind his back before turning his attention back to you. Yet there’s a rigidity to his spine now, the sensation that he’s being watched.

Which, he shouldn’t be really. Ghost isn’t entirely sure himself why he’s observing the scene so closely, and even makes a point to tear his gaze away and pull out his phone for a bit. Yet he can’t stop the odd itchiness under his skin, the same instinct he has on the field. Sidelong glances at the bar reveal your conversation partner leaning in, his voice dipping an octave, how he barks a laugh at something you say.

You don’t seem to notice the gent’s clear interest in you, and that makes Ghost’s awareness itch with an odd sensation he can’t completely place. For his credit, the fellow doesn’t set off actual alarm bells in Ghost’s acutely tuned threat perception. In any other context, Ghost wouldn’t spare him a second glance. Yet now, with the way he tilts his head at you and smiles as you talk, Simon feels an odd discomfort brewing in the center of his stomach, like an inky pool of emotion he shouldn’t allow himself.

He should leave well enough alone.

Instead, he surprises himself by rising from his chair and trying to not stalk over to the bar so much as ease by catching your conversation partner’s eyes and murmuring something about an ID dropped in the bathroom.

The man pales, and Simon isn’t entirely sure if he truly believes the lie, or is simply intimidated by the hulking masked soldier grumbling at him. Either way he excuses himself, and Ghost makes a point to lean down into your ear as you watch him vanish.

“He’s bad news.” Ghost lies through his teeth.

You blink, gaze up at him in surprise with parted lips. “You really think so? He seemed nice.”

Ghost is silent, trying to ignore how that pit in his stomach seems to ease with the man’s absence. You seem to take his silence for an affirmation, nodding to yourself and sighing.

“I guess I should probably clear out before he comes back then.” You remark, finishing the remainder of your drink and catching Soap’s eye to gesture your exit. Soap makes a pout, but gives you a thumbs up.

“I’ll see you back at base, Ghost.” You tell him, easing off your stool and swaying only slightly. “Don’t stay out too late, it’s bad for your health.”

Says the woman that works alongside trained killers. Ghost thinks wryly.

Yet before you can make it five steps, Ghost surprises himself again.

“I’ll drive you back.”

You pause, blink at him, before a smile crawls across your face and you nod eagerly.

“Won’t leave me to the elements?” You ask, and Ghost wonders if you too are thinking of your shivering form caught in his arms in Nepal.

“No.” He responds quietly, sliding Price’s card across the bar to clear the team’s tab before following you out into the snow.

The bloke from before rounds the corner to the toilet just as Ghost hovers on the threshold, waiting for you to shrug on your jacket just outside. Ghost catches a single glimpse of recognition, of realization in the man’s eyes before the door jingles behind the two of you as it closes.

Ghost tries to ignore what this clearly looks like. What it actually is.

Snowflakes chase you into the car as you sidle into the passenger seat, catching on your hair. You shiver a little and tuck your jacket tighter around you.

“You should wear something warmer next time.” He finds himself saying over the start of the engine, and you offer him a bemused look.

“Looking out for me, Ghost?”

More than you know.

Yet Ghost doesn’t offer anything, shrugging noncommittally and turning on the radio to fill the silence. Cheery Christmas music instantly echoes through the tinny speakers and Simon reflexively shuts it off as soon as it starts, before the bitter taste of memory can poison his mouth. He expects you to call him on it, but instead you huff, shake your head.

“It’s not even Thanksgiving back in the states yet.” You complain. “I swear they start earlier every year.”

Simon hums as he turns onto the road. “Holiday plans?” He asks mildly, and notices the way you stiffen out of the corner of his eye.

That grief again.

“Probably some mice infested safehouse in a far corner of the world.” You reply after a beat. “Away in a manger and all that.”

That startles a snort from him. You turn to Ghost at the sound, eyes wide.

“You laughed.” You observe in awe, and Ghost gives you a momentary glance before shaking his head.

“Did not.”

“You did!”

“Had a snowflake in my nose.”

“Under the mask?”

“Mm.”

You huff, slumping in your seat a bit, but when Ghost glances at you out of the corner of his eye, he can see you smiling.

The silence lapses, fortunately, and Ghost is relieved to find you don’t try to fill the void. Instead you watch the snowy road ahead with drooping eyes, head nodding with the weight of a long journey and energetic evening. Eventually, he watches your eyes shutter close, and feels himself relaxing in response.

It would be frustrating, how much you trust him. Trusting him to get you back safe, to fall asleep beside him, believing him when he chases off a man with pure intentions only for the transgression of getting too close. You trust him to watch your six, to keep you alive, to drag you to safety. You trust him enough to push you out of airplanes only so he can catch you.

If it were anyone else, Ghost would be furious at you for being so blindingly accepting of them. Yet Ghost, in his seemingly infinite selfishness, soaks it in like the warmth of a rising sun. Like he himself emerges gingerly from the frost.

The lights of the town go by quietly, and in the lingering sound of festive lullabies Ghost is reminded of things passed- of the deadly cold and the searing heat of flames. He’s reminded of the grief he recognizes in your own eyes, wondering silently how it is you’ve found the strength to accomplish it despite it all and to keep smiling.

Silently, in the frost of his own heart, Simon tucks away a quiet warmth that’s begun to unfurl.

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#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #Simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x ofc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix #fic: snowblind

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cyarsk5230 · 7 months

Text

heavyhitterheaux

1d ago

heavyhitterheaux

2d ago

Anonymous asked:

Axle, just so you know, that's my woman you have there, so you better act right to her

heavyhitterheaux answered:

Thank youuu to my Blanca baby for giving me an idea for this! @hoodharlow 🥹💕

"Uh mom, no. That doesn't sound right."

"How come it doesn't? What's wrong with it bubs?" You asked while looking at him dumbfounded.

Axel has asked you for help for his senior project for school and since the triplets all go to an elite performing arts school, he knew he had access to the two best people to help him which were his parents.

"It sounds a little outdated in a way?"

"Well you let me know what kind of sound you want. This is your project and I'm just here to help. I'm so excited for you." You said while smiling at him. You and Jack had always given your kids the choice of what they wanted to pursue and never pushed them to go into music or performing arts. It just so happened that Autumn liked to write, Ivy liked to act, and Axel loved music and making beats.

Everything that you had suggested so far, Axel didn't like and didn't hold back with telling you how he felt about it either. You always wanted for them to express how they felt.

"I just…."

"You just what? I'm trying to make this sound unique and different but you don't like anything I'm suggesting."

"Maybe I should have asked dad." You couldn't help but to roll your eyes and right at that moment, Jack peeked his head in while eating one of your mini sweet potato pies that you tried to hide from him, but it was clear that he found your hiding spot.

"Asked me for what?"

"To help me with this."

All Jack did was give him a blank stare.

"You already have the best of the best in front of you so I'm not really understanding." He said while fully coming into the studio.

"I don't know. I just feel that me and you would vibe better." All you did was stay quiet and Jack saw the look on your face.

"Axel, if it wasn't for your mother my ass would probably still be buttering buns at Chick-fil-A so you better get it all the way together and put some respect on her name and stop downplaying how talented she is. My career definitely wouldn't have turned into what it did without her help. Last time I checked she won a Grammy for songwriter of the year and you definitely don't have one and she offered to help you which she also didn't have to do."

"I…."

"See this is the shit I was talking about. Women not being respected when it comes to the music industry and I've taught you better so you need to stop before you start to piss me off. I guarantee you would get an A on your project if you let your mom help you. But now because if it was me and I heard you say all that, I would make you do it yourself but because of the mother that you have, she's still going to help you because that's the type of person she is."

"I wasn't trying to downplay her. I know she's talented. I just want it to sound good."

"Hmm, it didn't sound like it. Baby, why did you try to hide these from me knowing that I was bound to find them?"

"Ivy told you where they were, didn't she?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Sorry mom, I didn't mean for it to sound like that."

"It's okay, bubs. Still want to help you."

"Hmm, my answer would have been fuck them kids."

"JACKMAN THOMAS!"

"Oh, did I say that outloud?"

"I swear you are my seventh child." You said while shaking your head.

"I mean we can go and make one. I'm not opposed."

"Ew, can we get back to the project please?" Axel said while looking between both of you.

"Axel, just so you know, that's my woman you have there, so you better act right to her. You never too old for me not to kick your…"

"Okay! Jackman, he gets it."

"Step outta line one more time and I will mop the floor with you. I'm coming back, but going to get another pie."

"You were really out here buttering buns at Chick-fil-A though?"

"Yeah, when I wasn't buttering your mother's." Jack tried to quietly say, but of course you heard him, and so did Axel.

"JACKMAN, OUT! Right now, GET OUT!"

"I…. I see why she calls you unserious all the time."

All Jack did was wiggle his eyebrows at you.

"Me and you have a date later."

"Oh goodness." Was all Axel said while you were trying not to laugh.

"Can't wait." You answered as Jack leaned down to kiss you.

"Okay, enough. I don't want to throw up my lunch."

"I… don't you have a girlfriend?" Jack asked and Axel's eyes went wide as you looked at him confused.

"DAD!"

"Oops. Well, it looks like it's a good time to tell your mom."

Axel turned to you while smiling to see your arms crossed.

"So what had happened was…."

1d ago

Anything that starts with “so what had happened was” is about to be a mess🤣🤣🤣

#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfiction #first lady of pg #jackman thomas harlow

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ddejavvu · 10 months

Note

Mei that fratboy!Hotch fic was so good I’m growling 😭 He deserves it I cant even lie to you. If you want to, could you maybe write a part two? Where he grovels a little more and even when he tries to make a move on the Reader, she’s still a little apprehensive?

And you just know Garcias probably already found out what went down between those two in exactly 2 minutes and she just gives Hotch the 😑 every time he walks past her

part 1 // i'm so glad you liked it!! it was definitely a step away from what i usually do hehe // parts of this scene were definitely inspired by the comments on part one! thank you for sharing your ideas with me, i loved writing them <3

When Morgan finally gets to his hotel room that night, dialing Garcia is the first thing he does. He takes off his gun while the phone is ringing, and she answers from her bed instead of her desk chair.

"Hello?"

He's filled with fondness at the fact that she's already groggy, probably watching ASMR videos before bed to rid her thoughts of the case they've been working on.

"Hey, babygirl," He greets her, "I need your detective skills."

"But you said you were done for the night," She whines, shifting beneath her blankets, "Derek, when a lady is told she can get in bed, she's going to get in bed. Especially when you tell a lady to get in bed."

He scoffs, "Hey. Keep it PG, PG."

"Whatever," She huffs, "A girl can dream. And a girl was about to dream, until you not-so-kindly called me up and asked me for more help. What is it this time?"

"It's something with Hotch," Derek hums, his belt buckle jingling as he unhooks it with his phone pinned between his shoulder and his cheek, "Remember that cafe you gave us the address to earlier? Where that woman Y/N Y/L/N was working?"

"Yeah," She hums, and Derek signs through his nose.

"Well apparently she and Hotch used to go out."

Derek has a split second to yank the phone away from his ear before Penelope shrieks into it. He barely beats the buzzer, and he can hear her excited squeals all the way from where he'd thrown his phone down onto the bed.

"Alright, alright," He speaks into the receiver, keeping the earpiece away from his head, "Quiet, sweetheart. If you screech that loud Hotch'll hear you."

"That's so exciting," Penelope gushes as Derek slips his jeans down his legs. He steps out of them, leaving them messily on the floor. He'll step right into them tomorrow morning, he doesn't feel the need to clean up. "Did they set up a date or something? Or- or flirt? Or kiss, did they kiss?!"

"Slow down, mama," Derek chuckles, leaning away from the phone just enough to slide his shirt over his head, "No, they were real awkward about it. When we left I asked Hotch and that's when I found out they'd dated."

"He should go in for breakfast tomorrow," Penelope gushes, "That would be perfect!"

"That's what I said," Derek lets his shirt fall to the floor, "But you're not listening to me, baby. Just stop talking for a sec."

"That is not my forte," Penelope warns, "Get to the point, Derek."

"He got really weird about it when I asked him. He was his usual grumpy grouchy self at first, but I guess I asked one too many questions or something, and he snapped. Stopped dead in his tracks, told me to stop talking, slammed the car door, everything. And I thought he was gonna break the steering wheel off on the ride back to the precinct, I swear."

Penelope mulls his words over, and he continues after taking a short breath, "There's something more that he's not telling me, Garcia, and I need you to find out what it is."

"Okay," She breathes, just as eager as Morgan, "Okay, uh- what kinds of questions were you asking?"

"Well, I asked how he knew her, then he said they were dating." Morgan recalls, "Then I told him to go get breakfast down there, and he said things ended 'poorly', whatever that means. And then I said I bet he could still get a date with her if he tried, and that's when he went all stone cold."

"Wait," Derek can picture the sleepy furrow in Penelope's brows, "You said you bet he could get a date with her, and he snapped at you?"

"Yeah, he said some shit like 'don't say that', real cryptic." Derek remembers with a grimace, "What're you thinking?"

There's a tense moment of silence, then Derek is humbled while standing near-naked in a hotel room.

"I'm thinking that you're lucky you can kick down doors," Penelope sighs, "And that you're handsome. Because otherwise I don't think they'd let you work for the government."

Derek's face scrunches in confusion, and he looks at his phone like it's the one insulting him, "What? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you should get dressed," Penelope sighs, "Get some sleep, and let me take care of everything."

Derek scoffs incredulously, equal parts fond and exasperated, "Alright, pretty girl. I'll get some sleep. But- hey, what do you mean get dressed? Do you- how did you know I'm not dressed?"

Derek rarely feels the fear of god working for the BAU, but now he feels the fear of Penelope Garcia, "Can you see me?"

She delights in his terror, "No! Well, not now, but you're definitely less careful changing on face time than you should be. I just heard your belt, dummy, and I figured you were getting undressed for the night."

"Penelope," Derek signs shakily, "You are one scary woman."

"Why thank you," Derek can hear the cheesy grin in her voice, and he tugs on pajama pants while she speaks, "I'm going to need to be, to straighten things out with Hotch and Y/N."

"Oh yeah? Gonna show him who's boss, babygirl?"

"I'm gonna give him this really withering stare," She promises emphatically, probably practicing the expression as they speak, "My withering stare is lethal, you should be glad you've never been on the receiving end of it, hunk."

"Sounds terrifying," Derek chuckles, finally fully clothed now, "Alright, thanks Garcia. I mean it, I knew you could figure this out."

"Derek, honey," She croons, "A pigeon could have figured this out."

"Rude." Derek's eyes narrow, "Goodnight, meanie."

"Goodnight, birdbrain," She croons, "I'll keep you updated!"

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction #aaron hotchner angst

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shadowtriovibes · 11 months

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Hi! I absolutely love your fics! I have a little request/idea. Sebastian finds out that MC has a little crush on professor sharp and all of a sudden can’t stand his favorite professor. (His small crush on professor garlick is totally different and super justified)

jealousy, you got me somehow

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: Sebastian finds out about your little crush on a certain Potions master and all of a sudden can’t stand the man. (His small crush on Professor Garlick is, of course totally different and super justified.)

“You’re sure you won’t become too affected by Sharp’s dulcet tones and neglect something important?” he asks with a smirk. Annoyed, you huff and abandon your notes at your side. “You’ve been waiting several days to bring this up again,” you grumble. “I should’ve known I wasn’t safe.”

Sebastian first finds out about your little preoccupation when he innocently stumbles upon you studying with a group of your fellow Slytherin girls in a quiet corner of the library. Or at least, it was quiet until Nerida Roberts had started to derail your entirely legitimate conversation about the uses of Dittany for an upcoming Potions exam by bringing up Professor Sharp himself.

“He’s just so handsome,” she sighs dreamily. “How am I supposed to focus on what’s going on in my cauldron when he’s standing right across the room looking all brooding and roguish?”

Violet McDowell giggles and adds, “I could listen to him talk all afternoon and I wouldn’t learn a single thing!”

“I suppose that’s why so many seventh-year girls are still taking Potions even if they don’t need it for their N.E.W.T.s,” you murmur.

“Can you blame us?” Violet sighs. “You must admit, he’s quite nice to look at.”

“Of course I think he’s handsome,” you say with a scoff. “Just because I have a boyfriend doesn’t mean I can’t see the man.”

As if on cue, Sebastian comes around the corner carrying a large stack of books on defensive magic and spots the three of you huddled around your Potions notes.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he says with an easy smile.

Sebastian sets his books on the edge of the table and leans down next to you to steal a chaste kiss while he can. He’s seen relatively little of you this week while you both prepare for exams in classes the other doesn’t have, so not even your late-night study sessions have overlapped.

“Speak of the devil,” Nerida teases.

“Shh!” you whisper. “Enough now.”

“Not keeping secrets from me, are you?” Sebastian asks teasingly as he snags one of the empty seats.

“Of course not,” you demur. “By the way, have you got my Potions notes from last week? I think I mixed them up with yours from Ancient Runes.”

Sebastian chuckles and asks, “Trying to change the subject? I must have walked into something quite scandalous.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Nerida says teasingly. “We were just chatting about Professor Sharp.”

“Oh?” Sebastian asks, surprised. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing,” Violet McDowell answers. “We were just saying that he’s easily the most handsome professor at Hogwarts.”

“He’s certainly your girlfriend’s favorite,” Nerida says with a smirk.

Sebastian raises a skeptical eyebrow at you, and sure enough, you’re blushing.

“Really?” he drawls. “You have a thing for Sharp?”

“No!” you whine. “I just – I really like Potions class, that’s all.”

“Of course you do,” Violet taunts. “So you can moon over Sharp during his lectures!”

You shoot Violet a threatening look and not-so-gently kick the toe of your boot against her shin underneath the table. She yelps and curses under her breath before indignantly burying her face behind her Potions textbook, and Nerida wisely avoids eye contact and doesn’t offer anything further.

After a beat, Sebastian clears his throat and says, “Well then, I, er… suppose I’ll leave you girls to it.”

He helps himself to one more kiss goodbye and you can tell by the significant look he gives you before leaving that this is not the last you’ll hear from him about your crush.

Sure enough, a few nights later the two of you manage to claim a loveseat by the fire in your common room where you can curl up against his side and revise your Potions notes one last time before your exam while Sebastian dutifully transcribes runic diagrams onto lengths of parchment.

“Are you feeling prepared for your exam tomorrow?” he asks you casually.

“I think so,” you answer. “It’s not a practical, so I can’t imagine it will be too challenging.”

“You’re sure you won’t become too affected by Sharp’s dulcet tones and neglect something important?” he asks with a smirk.

Annoyed, you huff and abandon your notes at your side.

“You’ve been waiting several days to bring this up again,” you grumble. “I should’ve known I wasn’t safe.”

“What?” he laughs. “I’m just teasing you, love.”

You narrow your eyes at him skeptically. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Well, it’s just… I don’t really know what you see in him, that’s all,” he murmurs, lazily turning a page in his Ancient Runes textbook.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“I just think he’s rather foul,” Sebastian says plainly. “He’s impatient, meticulous, he’s clearly got a dark past and I truly don’t understand why all you girls think he’s obviously the most handsome man at Hogwarts. To me, he’s simply average.”

Merlin’s beard, you think. You knew Sebastian wasn’t a fan of Hogwarts’ Potions master, but you had no idea his dislike ran so deep.

“I think he’s a good professor,” you offer quietly. “He’s always been quite helpful to me, especially when I needed to master healing potions, and he saved my life in the Repository.”

“How generous of him,” Sebastian mumbles.

Angrily, you sit up a little straighter and pluck Sebastian’s quill out of his hand so he’ll look at you.

“And what about you?” you demand indignantly. “While we’re on the subject of good-looking professors, I happen to know that you turn into a stammering, blushing fool whenever Professor Garlick is nearby.”

You know for a fact that Sebastian Sallow is not an idiot, which is why it’s all the more frustrating when he tries to deny something you’ve known about for months.

“I do not!” Sebastian protests. “That’s – that’s ridiculous.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “You are not a subtle person, Sebastian, nor are you particularly good at being punctual, yet somehow you’re never late to the greenhouses.”

“W-well, I’m rubbish at Herbology so I like to make sure I won’t miss anything important,” he lies.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be quite so rubbish if you actually listened to the professor instead of staring at her chest for the entire lesson,” you grumble.

Sebastian goes bright red. Clearly, he had no idea you could see him doing that.

“Look,” he whines. “It doesn’t mean anything, I just think she’s nice to look at is all.”

“And I’m not allowed to think Professor Sharp is handsome?” you counter.

“It’s different,” he insists. “You actually like him, it’s not just an attraction.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you hiss.

“It means he’s a powerful wizard, a brilliant duellist and he’s a former Auror for Merlin’s sake,” Sebastian angrily confesses. “I couldn’t possibly measure up to that.”

You feel your heart break a little when you realize what this is truly all about – your love’s relentless insecurities, the same ones he’s battled for many years now.

Softly, you ask Sebastian, “Do you actually feel threatened that I might leave you for a professor? We’re seventeen, Seb.”

“It’s preposterous, I know,” he sighs. “But I just… I feel like I could never compete with him.”

“Sebastian,” you croon as you take your hand in his lap. “I want you to listen to me very clearly, alright?”

You wait patiently for him to meet your gaze before you continue.

“As you said, Professor Sharp is impatient,” you agree. “He’s also meticulous, and maybe he does have some darkness in his past. But you also said that he’s a brilliant duelist and a powerful wizard. Do you know who else has all those traits?”

Sebastian swallows nervously and squeezes your hand a little tighter.

“You do, love,” you say softly. “So perhaps the reason I’m fond of him is that he reminds me of you.”

“I’m not an Auror,” he points out a little sullenly. “And I’ve never saved your life.”

“Not yet you aren’t, but we both know that’s why you’re studying for Ancient Runes so much lately,” you say with a fond smirk. “And since I’ve saved your life plenty of times, I’m sure you’ll return the favor someday.”

Wordlessly, Sebastian tugs you against his chest and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m sorry for being such a prat.”

“Apology accepted,” you whisper into his chest. “And I love you too, you fool.”

He holds you close for a while after that, nose buried in your hair while you listen to his slow, even heartbeat through his uniform shirt. When he finally lets you sit up so that he can kiss you properly – not one of those chaste ones from the library – you find yourself halfway in his lap before you even realize you’ve shifted.

For Merlin’s sake, your notes are in a messy pile on the floor now.

You huff and try to climb off of him to gather them up, but Sebastian coaxes you back to him with a single finger on your chin, his eyes firmly fixed on your lips. By the time he’s kissed your frustration away, you can’t even remember what you were supposed to be studying for.

“We should bicker more often,” Sebastian says with a satisfied grin, his lips slightly swollen.

“On that subject, I was just wondering…” you ask him with a teasing smile. “Is there anything Professor Garlick has that I don’t? Should I be worried?”

“Absolutely not,” he murmurs as he flicks open the top button of your shirt. “Truthfully, you both have two very nice things in common.”

“You’re foul,” you tell him simply.

“I meant that you’re both kind-hearted and beautiful,” he says smoothly.

You’re positive that you know exactly what Sebastian meant and appreciate the compliment nonetheless. In fact, he’s being so sweet that you even let him undo a few more buttons while you can take advantage of your seclusion.

The next day during your Potions exam, while your female classmates are undoubtedly slipping in and out of pleasant daydreams about your alluring professor, all you can think about is Sebastian’s lips on your neck and his hand inside your shirt as he’d whispered all sorts of electrifying promises about what he’ll do to you after you turn in your parchment.

It’s a fierce struggle to focus on Dittany of all things with that in the back of your mind, but Professor Sharp is nevertheless pleased when you end up being the first to submit your completed exam and then promptly excuse yourself from the dungeons.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #professor sharp #aesop sharp #i know i'm supposed to be writing older requests and longer fics #but i was in a funk this weekend (hungover mostly lmao) so i needed to finish something short and sweet #so have some jealousy fluff!

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