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elexaria · 2 months

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Simon Riley who had been on a lookout for a particular peer of his after high school, sweet little girl who normally did all of the schoolwork for him. Even behind the teachers back. Even when their handwritings never, ever matched up; but the teachers only let her off because, at the very least, he was passing with an A.

Sweet, somewhat nerdy!Reader who actually felt bad for a guy, in general just a person, going through such a rough time when in reality school would only fuck up people into being robots for the government and absolutely do no help for the post puberty and traumatized Teenager!Simon. She tries to have sweets on her for whenever he pops in, also tries her hardest to be nice to the other Riley. Sweet young lady Reader who somehow becomes well known around their high school after winning a last minute game in volleyball, followed by basketball, tennis, track, and soccer. Medals and whatnot. Even earned a goddamn picture in the Coach’s office — the female coach, the male one who seemed to be more like a father to sweet Reader.

Sweet!Reader who is suddenly gone. Desk of hers absolutely empty. No pens, no pink notebooks mixed with pastels. Not her signature backpack in sight. No scent of hers, no constant chirping, no glances that arrived at Simon once she caught glimpse of him in the hallways right before first period. Third period feels… loud. Ironic since there’s a pin-drop silence, even breathing. He normally has the rest of the periods with her from then out, until seventh period. He could recite her entire schedule.

Simon can’t help fidgeting, biting his tongue from asking where she is. Not to be nosy, not to be teased, outwardly and fucking pushed into the lockers teased. Perhaps she was coincidentally absent?

Years pass on, evidently screaming she was, in fact, gone. Even on missions, Simon can’t help but glance everywhere. He’s more fucked up, a bitter version, working exactly for the monarchy (almost forgot he’s British, for God’s sakes) and saving his people.

And just one day, one day that everything seemed normal for Johnny and the rest of Simon’s boys, he catches a goddamn glimpse of her. Her face, specifically. Rushing around, apron around her waist and down her thighs. Appropriate attire of a waitress serving a man with a comically huge cigarette and in a suit whilst speaking to another duplicate of his.

His grip on his whiskey tightens.

(Andddddd you continue!!!)

-🍓

ohoho, strawb anon you genius >:)

simon feels his chest tighten up, his grip on his drink tightening as he glances at the mom and pop diner across the street. no… could it..?

before he can indulge himself with another thought, gaz nudges simon gently. “you alright there lt?” he asks sincerely, an eyebrow raised as he tries to figure out what simon was glancing at. he just grunts in response, relaxing his shoulders as he downs the last remaining drops of whiskey. “thought i saw someone. ‘scuse me—“ he murmurs in response, standing up from the pub booth as he saunters past gaz and up and leaves. when one of the lads asks where he’s going, simon grumbles out a ‘goin for a fag’ while lifting up a ciggie and his lighter.

simon leans against the alley wall that faces the diner, deep in thought as he exhales plumes of smoke while glaring right at the restaurant. come on, he thinks to himself, show yourself. he begins to wonder if he was just seeing things, like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert or something. wishful thinking, he muses to himself.

and just when he pushes himself up from off the wall, his lips drawn into a thin line in disappointment— he spots her.

she’s absolutely beautiful, breathtaking even. the faint crows feet around his eyes crease as his gaze softens. it’s funny how time has treated them both. one of the only friends he had considered himself to have during school has found herself working as a waitress, cute pinafore hugging her curves in all the right places— while he’s just a bigger, meatier version of the boy he once was. he’s just a husk of a man now. war’ll do that to a bloke.

he fidgets nervously with the zipper of his windbreaker, chewing the inside of his lip as he contemplates popping over to say hello. would that be weird? hell, would she even remember him anymore? his feet are itching to move, but he’s cemented right there— forced to stare at the diner, and the siren within that seemingly tempts him.

with a groan, simon pulls out his phone to text the group chat— “gonna head off, see you back on base” before shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. and with a clear of his throat, he steadily paces across the road to the mom and pop diner. simon feels sick with anticipation, a feeling he’s never really felt before in his life. even when he had found the bodies of his family, even through the torture— he’d never felt quite a strange amalgamation of emotions before. and that really freaked him out.

the diner’s door bell rings, the dulcet tones of doo wop music playing in the restaurant greeting simon when he steps inside. he waits patiently in the small foyer, calloused fingers reaching out to smooth over the creased laminate menu on display. and his heart damn near falls out of his ass when the waitress greets him with a friendly smile.

“hi there! welcome to pop’s EZ diner! my name is ____ and i’ll be your waitress today!” you greet enthusiastically, beaming up at the stranger stood in front of you, awkwardly glaring right into your soul with hauntingly beautiful stormy blue eyes. it was kind of creepy, but weirdly endearing. you just wrote it off, assuming he was socially awkward— after all, he clears his throat and struggles to find the words to say for almost a minute before finally opening his mouth.

“uh… hello. you don’t—“ simon pauses, clearing his throat again as his hands continue to fidget with the menu, his gaze nervously flitting from the menu back to you. “you don’t happen to recognise me, do ya? simon? simon riley? from st matthews?” he says, the timber of his voice itching the back of your brain in a pleasing way. st matthews? how did he know where you went to school?

you shake your head politely, nervously tucking your notepad and pen back into your pinafore pocket. “oh, um. sorry, i don’t—“ you reply, offering him a sympathetic smile. the man, simon, turns bright pink— again, nervously clearing his throat as he nods, lowering his head as he turns on his heels to head back out the diner. “oh, sorry. nevermind.” he murmurs, raising his hand politely to you before his hand reaches for the door handle.

and then it clicks.

oh. my. god.

it’s been YEARS since you had thought about simon riley, and suddenly your mind was being overwhelmed with all these memories of helping a teenage simon out in school. your eyes widen, a hand reaching out to gently grip on his windbreaker sleeve. he freezes, half glaring and half shocked as he turns to face you. but the expression on simon’s face eases when he realises that he was right, it was you.

“simon riley? oh my god—“ you gasp out, eyes wide as you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression, one that sends a shiver down simon’s spine.

what an interesting reunion this would turn out to be..

#elexaria writes #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader

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naavispider · 4 months

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Merciless, part 3

Part 1, Part 2, AO3 link (incomplete)

Fireworks fizzed and soared inside Mercer’s chest as he put the phone down. He had not expected that, especially so soon after Ardmore’s reassurances that Quaritch would need to be pacified. He tried to calm his thumping heartbeat, but it was no mean feat. The boy…. The boy, all to himself! Finally, a chance to prove himself after the catastrophic embarrassment that was TAP’s ending.

No more mindless overseeing of drilling operations. He’d be heading back to the base in the Western Frontier in two days, taking the kid with him. Thoughts about preparing the base and the medical team swirled around him as he anxiously bounced his pen against the file he was reading. It would be more difficult this time, having only one subject and without his second in command. He pushed away the thoughts of Alma Cortez before he could start to dwell on them.

“Do you think he wants to know you like, at all?” Fike asked, ever sensitive.

“Hell if I know Fike.”

“As if he was with Sully’s kids,” interjected Zdinarsk, who was leaning casually against a wooden pillar. The squad was supposed to be enjoying their downtime, but instead felt it necessary to congregate around the Colonel and air all their questions that unfortunately Quaritch couldn’t answer. “What are the goddamn chances of that?”

“D’you think Sully like… adopted him?”

“Shut up Fike!” Brown grunted.

“They definitely got their claws in deep,” Z-dog mused, shaking her head.

“Yeah, well,” Quaritch felt his voice darken. “We’ll see if there ain’t anything we can do about that.”

“What are you gonna do with him?” asked Ja.

“It’s not up to me. We can probably help each other out, but Ardmore’s calling the shots.”

“Do you think he’ll open up to you?” questioned Lyle, who was resting his elbows on his knees, a look of great concentration on his face.

Quaritch let out a long sigh. “Maybe. Given time.”

They both knew that time wasn’t something they had endless amounts of.

“I better go check on him,” Quaritch said suddenly. Ardmore had had him in that machine again today. The kid obviously hadn’t revealed anything new because there was no way the squad would be sitting around on their asses if he had. Something deep down was starting to worry Quaritch though. If yesterday’s efforts were anything to go by, the boy - Spider - wasn’t giving up soon. Quaritch had to hand it to Spider, he admired the shit out of him for that. But he knew they were entering dangerous territory with Ardmore. There was only so much crap she’d take before cutting her losses with the kid, and now that Mercer was snooping around, an uncomfortable feeling was starting to settle in his bones.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Lyle offered.

Quaritch waved him off, heaving himself to his feet and making the journey across the city’s vast compound.

Fifteen minutes later, his heavy boots were thudding down the familiar row of cells, approaching the one his boy was in. His heart was starting to thunder in his chest; he didn’t know why the kid had such an effect on him, and he didn’t like it one bit. As he got to the right cell, the first thing that struck him was that Spider’s name was missing from the electronic display. Quaritch frowned, stepping forward to see inside.

What he saw made his heart stop for a second.

It was empty.

The cell was empty; vacant and unoccupied.

Something was wrong, he knew it. If Spider was still being interrogated then his name would still be on the door. In fact, there was nothing left of Spider’s presence here at all. The fucking cleaners had been in and all.

Where was Spider?

Without wasting a second, he barged into the adjacent observation room, only to find it empty as well. His heart in his mouth, he sprinted back down the long corridor and made it to the command centre in record time.

“Colonel-“ one of the clerks stuttered upon seeing him.

He was quickly silenced by Quaritch’s glare of fury and no one else dared say a thing as he found the door to Ardmore’s office and flung it open without so much as a knock.

“Where is he?” he demanded, upon seeing the General sat calmly at her desk, glasses on and reading a file.

“Colonel,” she said, looking completely unsurprised to see him.

“Don’t play with me Ardmore. Where’s Spider?”

Lesser men that Ardmore would have cowered under the glare Quaritch cast at her.

“He was becoming… a distraction. He’s been removed from Bridgehead while you focus on your mission.”

Quaritch was ready to pick her up by the front of her uniform and slam her so hard down on the desk that she’d be forced to answer. His fingers twitched. His lip curled up into the beginning of an animalistic snarl.

“Once your mission is completed, the boy will be returned to base. Your mission last week cost us dearly. Four recombinants dead in less than twenty minutes. Billions of dollars down the drain.” She rose to her feet, and although she didn’t nearly compare to Quaritch in height, he could feel her power. She stepped around the desk, silently letting him know that she wasn’t afraid of him. “You want that boy? Bring me Jake Sully.”

Quaritch’s mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour. He could attack her right now. He could kill her, even. Force her to give the kid back. But what would that do? Get him court-martialed and risk the RDA taking it out on Spider. He dominated her physically - he was so ready to use his strength - but logistically, she had him by the balls. If he attacked her now, he’d probably never see Spider again.

She was asking him to catch Jake Sully. He could do that. He was capable. This is what he wanted. His chest heaved with the effort of not reacting.

The seconds ticked by, and eventually he levelled his voice enough to reply. “Where. Is. The boy?”

Ardmore raised her chin, eyes narrowing slightly. Still, she showed no signs of fear.

“He’s being taken to a separate base. One of our facilities close to the Western Frontier.”

The next word felt like poison on his lips. “Mercer?”

She nodded, sending Quaritch’s heart plummeting a hundred miles into the floor.

He had to reason with her. “The kid knows where Sully is. How can I find him without the boy?”

“The boy won’t talk. You and I have both seen it. You’ll have to think of other means. I have two samsons with pilots at your disposal, ready and waiting. I suggest you get out to Sully's last known location, and track him back from there. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

Fury and fear were coursing through Quaritch’s veins in equal measure. He was frozen, trying to work out what to do. What was the best thing for Spider? What was the best thing for himself and his squad?

Ardmore smiled up at him, before sighing and moving back around the desk to take her seat. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, Colonel. But rest assured that as soon as Jake Sully is off the playing field we can talk about the boy.”

“You know what Mercer will do to him?”

She registered the tone of his voice, and levelled him with a flat look. “That is no longer your concern.”

*********

Spider hissed as he was shoved into a new, whiter cell. “How long you gonna leave me in this one for then?” he jeered as the two soldiers who’d marched him in retreated. He was putting on a show, but inside he was scared. He thought he’d had the worst of the RDA’s treatment when they strapped him into that demon machine for the third time. Now, he’d been flown leagues across Pandora with no explanation of where they were going or why. They had touched down in the forest, which explained why Spider was now nursing a sprained wrist from attempting to run, but he’d been wrestled inside a much stranger, more clinical appearing base than anywhere he’d seen at Bridgehead. He supposed he should be thankful they hadn’t taken him out here to shoot him. Everyone they passed inside wore labcoats and carried holotablets around their necks, pressing themselves back against the walls in alarm when Spider and his entourage passed. In some of the rooms there looked like machines Spider had just been strapped to. In others, tanks and botanicals. He recognised the deadly Txumtsä’wll plant growing in a sealed terrarium and wondered what the hell the RDA was doing with a plant so toxic it could take out any Na’vi with just a single drop of poison.

“Don’t touch me, asshole!” he hissed at the soldier who pushed him on.

The whole place felt different to Bridgehead in a very non-reassuring way. He leaned his head back against the confines of his latest prison, closing his eyes and trying to lock out the harshness of the overhead lights.

Even the brightest optimist could tell this little outing wasn’t for a release party. And where was Quaritch in all this? Spider hadn’t seen him since he’d thrown Mercer out of the holding cells. For whatever reason, his father’s clone had been furious and refused to explain why. Spider thought back over his conversation with the strange Mercer figure. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time - plenty of sky people had oggled him since he arrived - but now he wondered if that conversation didn’t have anything to do with his current predicament.

If you’re not going to talk, then you’re useless to him and them. They won’t keep you around for long.

The crisp-shirted RDA schmuck had also been keen to impress upon Spider that unless he gave them what they wanted, Quaritch would have no choice but to ‘terminate’ him. Was he here under Quaritch’s orders?

After a short while of waiting anxiously, the sound of footsteps outside the glass door alerted Spider to another’s presence. He jumped to his feet immediately. There, just as he had suspected, was the well dressed, oily haired RDA leader who’d visited him yesterday.

“Hello Miles.”

“Why are we here? Where is this?” He took a step closer to the glass, his body pumping with adrenaline.

John Mercer smiled in that ugly way of his. In all of Spider's life, he had never seen a smile as chilling as Mercer’s.

“We are in a facility to the West of Bridgehead. Fifty clicks away from the city.”

Spider blanched - he couldn’t help himself. Fifty clicks? That was over a week away on foot.

“I’m waiting for the why,” Spider stressed.

“Welcome to Kinglor Base, Miles. This is a specialist facility built purely for scientific research. You may have seen some of our tech on the way in.”

“Research on what?” Spider hissed. A sinking feeling was making its way through his stomach, clenching his intestines in a tight, cold fist.

Mercer looked at him like he couldn’t wait to answer. Like he was feeding off Spider’s fear. “On you.”

#miles spider socorro #recom quaritch #atwow #john mercer #avatar frontiers of pandora #atwow fanfic #avatar the way of water #frances ardmore #my stuff: merciless #avatar 2 #spider socorro #miles quaritch #james cameron avatar #avatar fanfiction

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aemondslefteyeball · 9 months

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Sic Transit Gloria Mundi (8)

Masterlist

[Modern!Aemond x Fem!Reader]

[Warnings: Death, gore, aftermath of animal attacks]

[Summary: Let's gather 'round the campfire and sing our campfire song. Our C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E S-O-N-G song!]

Word Count: 4.6K

Chapter 8

Small cursive lettering filled the pages of the journal, and intermittent doodles marked the page, words overflowing around all of it. A discordant look at your inner thoughts, Aemond mused.

Dear Dad,

I met my fiance today and he is the absolute fucking worst. You would have kicked his ass. I wasn’t expecting him to sweep me off my feet but the first fucking thing he did was shove a prenup in my face. Nice to meet you too, asshole.

He couldn’t have been that callous, could he? He had to have given you some form of acknowledgment. Was his first impression that bad? Aemond frowned as he skimmed over the pages, looking for mentions of his name until landing on the next passage.

Dear Dad,

Today has been the worst birthday I’ve ever had. Aemond started my day off by barging into my room at five in the goddamn morning to interrogate me about Sunspear. He apparently saw my post and demanded to know why I was spending “his” money taking vacations. He literally just stood there bitching until I walked into the bathroom. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that I have my own fucking money and my own means of travel. After that the Kazoo preacher was back on the subway screaming about 'the children', and if all that wasn’t enough fucking Jaydee didn’t put the boiling chip into the test tube and it blew up on my goddamn arm. I wanted to take Vaeryx for a quick flight but the wheels were too chewed up after my last landing. Your jacket doesn’t smell like you anymore. I really wish you were here.

Aemond swallowed suddenly. He didn’t even remember doing these things, but the pen marks dug into the page afterward. Another wave of guilt hit him at the realization that he didn’t know when your birthday even was. The journal hadn’t been dated, and he never asked.

Dad,

I got accepted for a summer workshop at Storm’s End Tech!!! If that isn’t exciting enough we’re studying bacteria at the thermal vents off the coast of Cape Wrath!!! Professor Webber really pulled through for me, she was saying that this will really help me when I apply for grad school. Do you remember the house we lived in when you were stationed at Qaehrys? The one with the big window that led onto the roof? I really miss laying there and looking at the constellations with you. I took your telescope out tonight and searched the moon until I found Vaegon’s Crater. Dr. Lee said that’s the most likely spot they’d put a base and it’s apparently less than a decade away. When it goes up I’m going to be there, and I’m bringing your telescope.

Wait, what? Aemond knew that you were a student, but he always assumed you were pursuing business or something. Guilt crashed over him at the realization he had never taken the time to ask you what you were studying. He had never taken the time to ask you anything about yourself, really. He never really had much interest in microbiology, but maybe you were like Helaena and her entomology. Beyond that, never in a million years would he have guessed that you were planning to become an astronaut. You? Did they even send microbiologists to space? Aemond sighed as he put the journal down. He told himself that he was doing this to get to know you better. To support you. But he felt like he knew even less than before and at the cost of your privacy.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The trilling of insects was the only source of noise, save for the torch. A melancholy silence was cast over the circle surrounding the pyre. Aly held the torch, dried blood and tear tracks staining her face. Silent sobs started to erupt from her as the kindling beneath Sabitha’s feet sparked. She next lowered the torch towards her girlfriend’s knees, following it with her shoulders. Aly wiped globs of snot off her face with one hand, using the other to cast the torch into the burning base of the pyre. Tears fell as you squeezed Nettles’ shoulder. She turned her gaze towards you, her massive brown eyes brimmed with tears. Your gazes shifted back to Sabitha, and the sight of teeth peeking through her torn cheek. “Mother above,” Myri exclaimed, her gaze fixed on Sabitha’s twitching hand. “She’s alive.” Panicked looks shot out across the group. “She’s alive! She’s-”

Aly ran towards the pyre, repeated “No’s” being exclaimed as she wrenched Sab off the pyre by her belt loops. Sabitha fell with a heavy grunt, and Aly immediately set out to put out the flames that had cropped up on Sabitha’s jeans. The redhead just lay there, intermittent grunts and gurgles emerging. You lowered yourself to the ground as quickly as you were able, lifting her head so that Myri could rest a blanket under it. “I got you,” Aly whispered, grasping her girlfriend’s hand.

“Really?” Sabitha groaned, “Fire?” The gurgle couldn’t suppress the sarcasm in her tone. She let out the smallest chuckle she could manage. The rest of you were still too keyed up from adrenaline to do anything but pant and stare.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just one more, Aemond told himself. He stared at the journal ahead of him and pulled it back onto his lap. One more, and that was it. He would put the journal back and he would leave it this time. His fingers brushed over the indents in the page, smudges bleeding out to the right.

Dad!!

I think I met somebody recently.

Happy doodles filled the margins of the journal, little flowers crammed into each individual corner.

She’s in my lab. She’s Westerosi, but I think you would really like her. R’hllor, what do I even say? She’s so fucking smart, Dad. She’s kind of shy but it’s actually really adorable. She’s just… a ray of sunshine. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say something mean about anybody else. Just really, really uplifting. Gods, it feels so good getting on the train knowing I’ll see her dorking out over S. aureus with that adorable ass grin on her face. I don’t know if her being so different from Aemond is what makes me like her, but it’s such a breath of fresh air.

Aemond stopped reading the entry after the last mention of his name. While his stomach turned at your Hallmark-worthy descriptions of Emerson, he was grateful it provided a natural stopping point for him. He felt a small pang of pity. Here you had written a dissertation about how much you liked her, only to have it repaid with a whole two months of devotion. No more. Aemond put the journal back into the nightstand and shut the door behind him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your teeth grit as your foot hits the ground. Rhaena shot you a comforting smile, and you responded with a brief one before putting one foot in front of the other. Sabitha grunted from behind you, leaning against Aly. The two of you paused for a moment so the pair could catch up to you. “When we get back we’re gonna need clean water and thread to stitch them up.” Aly nodded while you shifted your weight onto your left leg.

“Leave me.” Blood was soaking through the bandage Rhaena had wrapped around Sabitha’s face, her voice coming out muffled. Between that, and the eerie sound of her sucking air in through the hole in her face it was a wonder anybody could understand her.

“Sab, stop it.”

“It’s-” Sabitha’s head lolled into Aly’s cheek, her auburn hair stiff with dried blood. “Not… Safe.”

“Don’t say that! We’re almost there!” Aly looked like she was about to start crying again, her powder blue jacket darkened with brown stains.

“Let them go,” Sabitha said, one hand coming up to weakly clutch at the vertebra around her neck. “Let them go.” She turned her gaze towards the rest of you then, grunting quietly before Aly acquiesced.

“Go back to the cabin as fast as you can.” She turned towards you, Nettles, Rhaena, and Myrielle. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but you had kept a decent pace so far. Thankfully it seemed like the wolf didn’t fuck up your muscles. There was still a mottled wreck beneath the cloth bandages, but it was superficial. It would heal. You would be fine.

“Aly?” Nettles whispered, worry furrowing her brow.

“Go.” Aly ordered.

The four of you got back to the cabin after what felt like an entire day, pain slicing through you with each step you took. For your part, all you could really do was be grateful that you could walk. This godsforsaken place put a lot of things into perspective. The four of you finally stumbled onto the porch, as panicked gazes took in the massive bloodied bandage on your thigh. “By the seven.” Sara got up off the porch as you moved to sit. “What happened?” Looking around the group, the blonde’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Where are Aly and Sabitha?”

“She… she told us to leave them.” Rhaena panted out. Floris took her hand and Baela scrambled to your side, tears brimming in her eyes.

“We were attacked by wolves.” But with how big they were, they might just be direwolves. Who knows, maybe a snark would cuntpunt you next. Anything was possible in this shit-ass forest. Fuck this country. Barba rushed out of the cabin, her icy eyes widening in panic. A hand clapped over her mouth as she looked at you, her jaw trembling for a moment. Gathering herself, she grabbed Rhaena by the arms. “Show us where to go.”

You grunted as the hot needle punched through your skin. Exposed to the open air was a horrifying sight. The flesh of your right thigh was mottled with black bruises, puncture marks on multiple spots. The cherry on top of it was the massive chunk of skin that had been wrenched from your leg when you kicked the wolf off you. Clenching your jaw, you hummed through your grit teeth. Seasick Sarah, had a golden nose. Hobnail boots, wrapped around her toes. The needle pierced through each layer of gored skin, fiery pain erupting as it happened. The parts of the wound that could be sewn up were. The chunk of skin that had been torn off could not be sewn shut. So as of right now, you were biting down on Floris’s belt, preparing for Nettles to press the heated knife onto your wound. You looked away, staring off into the darkness outside the window. The first burn lasted for a few seconds, and you bit into the belt hard enough that your jaw ached. After that, the next session started. You started to feel hazy about what seemed to be halfway through, and when she was done you were drifting in and out of consciousness. Sara sat at your side, stroking your hand. You pulled the blanket up more tightly over yourself, shivers wracking you. “You hanging in there?” She questioned, her tone soft. “Need another blanket?” You nodded abruptly.

“I thought it’d be warmer.” You murmured as her face drifted in and out of your field of vision. Her silvery hair flickered in the light, darkened roots showing at the crown of her head. When she placed the blanket over you, you curled into it. Turning away from her, you sank into the warmth of the cot and the blackness of sleep.

Muffled screams roused you, and you turned to the source of the noise. Disorientation clouded your mind until you caught sight of Sabitha lying on the table. The same hooked needle that went into your thigh was currently being plunged into her face. Baela’s expression wavered as she held Sabitha down. Please pass out. Sabitha continued to writhe in pain, thrashing against Baela. Please just let her pass out. Muffled shouts echoed through the cabin, and you found yourself covering your ears. Barba stared at Sabitha, a conflicted expression on her face as she grasped the weirwood pendant around her neck.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aegon sat across the table from Aemond, one arm on the back of the booth and the other dipping a fry into ketchup. He ate that, chewing for a moment while grabbing the massive, greasy burger and dunking that into the pile of ketchup afterward. Aemond held back the urge to physically cringe. His brother’s disgusting eating habits had always irritated him, and Aegon weaponized that. “So.” Half-chewed burger rolled around in Aegon’s mouth, and Aemond clenched his fist under the table for five counts before releasing it. “Moat Cailin?” He grinned, taking another slobbering bite of the dripping burger.

Aemond rolled his eyes. He cut into his chicken vesuvius carefully, picking up a piece of chicken and potato before properly chewing it, placing his silverware down, and staring Aegon in the eye while doing so. When he finished chewing he finally spoke. “I’m going out on one of the search rafts.” He said flatly, cutting another piece of chicken. “Maybe you should come.” A pointed stare was shot Aegon’s way, and he shrank back at the retort. It was no secret that he moved on from Sara a while back, but something shifted in Aegon’s gaze. His brother fidgeted in his seat. Aemond narrowed his eye as he ate, what was he hiding?

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Aegon asked suddenly, taking another bite of his burger.

Aemond sighed. What would you be doing right now? He hoped you were dipping your feet in the Greywater, laughing with your friends. “I don’t know, trying to culture swamp bacteria,” Aemond said with a shrug, spearing a potato. “Whatever microbiologists do.” He finished.

“What?” Aegon said, his head quirked to the side like a puppy.

“Microbiologist. Somebody who studies ba-”

Aemond was cut off by barking laughter from Aegon. His brother set the burger down with a gross slap. Aegon leaned back in the booth, one arm cocked over the top of it. “She’s not a microbiologist.” He let out another guffaw.

Fury rose in Aemond as he clenched his fist. “She’s not an astronaut yet ei-” Another round of laughter cut Aemond off as he slammed his fist down onto the table, a couple across the restaurant shooting them a nervous look.

The action did nothing to faze Aegon, who continued laughing as he popped another fry into his mouth. “You’re guilting me about not going to Moat Cailin and you don’t even know your wife is an astrobiologist. Oh fuck, I knew it.” He lifted the burger back up to his mouth and took a messy bite, smacking it around. “I knew your marriage was bullshit.” He cackled, shaking his head before swallowing.

Aemond paled, looking around suddenly, grateful that nobody seemed to be paying attention to anything other than their own meals. His eye narrowed as he took in Aegon’s smug face, his fist aching as he clenched it. “You don’t know anything.” He hissed.

“Aemond.” His brother sat up for a moment, setting his burger down. “I’m a fuck up, but I know people.” His usual candor came back to him again a moment later, taking a loud slurp of his milkshake. Aemond stared off to the side, angrily following the insipid breathing exercises Dr. Greenwood had given him. “Is that what this is about? You feel guilty because you were a dick to her?”

“I just want her to be happy once she gets back home.” He stated flatly, hoping his idiot brother would finally drop the question.

“So when are you moving out?” Aegon needled. “Seriously, what makes you think she’d want anything to do with you when she gets back? You don’t even know what she's getting her Master's in.” When Aemond tensed to get up he paused. “Wait. I shouldn’t have said that.” He admitted. “Hey.” Aegon made eye contact with him, an uncharacteristically serious look flashing over his face briefly. “I have a secret too.” Aemond stared back at him, nodding at him to continue. “Me and Floris have been fucking for the past year or so.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I have an announcement.” Said announcement fell on deaf ears, with most people turning over. Barba grabbed a metal ladle, clanking it on the wooden table. “Hello!” She banged it repeatedly, and you groaned as you sat up. “Hi! Excuse me!” Rubbing your eyes, you looked around the cabin. “Thank you,” Barba said quietly. “In light of the expedition having ended how it did, I’m going to take the dead guy’s plane and fly south. I’m going to find us help and I’m going to get us out of here.” She nodded as if hyping herself up.

Fuck. “You’re gonna fly that thing?” Barba nodded at you, and you shook your head. When you talked back in your clearing you didn’t think the expedition would end this way. This shit was still crazy. No. There is no fucking way. “You don’t know if that plane is operable.”

“I’ve been looking over it for weeks, and the gas tank is full.” She threw her hands up suddenly. “I’m a pilot, I grew up watching my Grandpa fly. I have two-hundred flight hours. I know that I can do this.” Your heart sank, throat clenched tight as you stared at her pleadingly. “You can’t deny that Sabitha doesn’t need serious medical attention.”

“She’s not the only one.” Sara piped up, her gaze flickering over to her best friend emotionlessly. “Floris, tell them.”

“I- I really don’t.” You shot a glare at Sara, in disbelief that she really just derailed this so she could force Floris into telling everybody.

“Tell them.”

“What is it?” Luke asked, his doe eyes confused.

“Yeah, what is it?”

You gave Floris the most supportive look you could muster, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m pregnant.”

Rhaena immediately stood up, bounding over to Floris. “How far along are you?”

“Wait, did you get knocked up out here?” Myrielle asked, an eyebrow quirked in Jace’s direction. Baela’s eyes bored holes into the back of Myri’s skull.

“No, I…”

“It doesn’t matter when it happened,” Sara said, a sanctimonious look on her face. “Okay? It just matters that we get them both help.”

Rhaena tried to grab at Floris’s stomach, and she swatted her hands away. “Rhaena, not right now.” She snapped.

“Alright, can everybody just.” Ser Criston ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Barba, you can’t do this.” He commanded. “No. It’s not even close to safe.”

“There is no ‘safe’ anymore, Ser Cole.” Barba retorted. Her face was hard, different. “It’s going to be winter soon. If I don’t do this, we’re…” She paused for a moment, shaking her head. “We’re all gonna fucking starve.” You fidgeted with your hands, holding back tears that pricked at your eyes. It didn’t feel right. There was something you were missing.

“Alright, well, I’m still the oldest here, so, no.” He flatly responded, gesticulating with his one free hand as he leaned on his crutch. “I’m not gonna let you do it.”

Barba’s face hardened even further. You barely recognized this person, icy eyes narrowed to a point. She took a step forward. And another. “What are you gonna do to stop me, Ser?” Her face twisted into a sneer as she gave him a once-over. Tension filled the cabin as the two of them stared off.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aemond thought that he should feel more nervous. He sent you on a plane that crashed, it seemed only right that he should be subjected to the same fate. But he didn’t and he wasn't. Shockingly enough he felt freer than he had in months. He told Dr. Greenwood everything. Everything that Aegon told him, everything he himself had done, everything he could think of in the session came directly out of his mouth. He thought that another person knowing his sins would destroy him, but Dr. Greenwood hadn’t judged him. All she did was give him a plan to avoid the urge to do those things again. The only thing that weighed on him were Helaena’s words. ‘What if you’re looking too far south?’ When he told Dr. Greenwood about it, she had simply stated that everybody was bound to have their own theories and that he should trust the experts. Logically he knew she was right, but he still couldn’t shake the lingering worry that Helaena was. What if they were wasting their time down here and you were up near Winterfell? The plane ride was uneventful, and Aemond spent the entire time catching up with some work. He technically had until Tuesday off, but today was only Thursday and he wanted less to catch up on. The ride to his hotel was… interesting given that it was essentially a private hut floating on the water. The boat sailed through choppy gray water, and insects flew at Aemond from every direction. When he finally got to his hut, he was relieved to find that his secretary hadn’t booked a hovel. Setting his things down, he moved to enter the shower. When he got out he set about his usual routine. He opened his laptop to get some more work done before shutting it and turning the TV on before eventually settling on a documentary series about Valyria.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You set about helping the best as you could with your leg still in the condition it was. Mauling or not, work still needed to be done if Barba was going to fly the plane out of there. You tore up another plant as you watched Sara and Floris talk. There was obvious tension there, but Sara played coy and watched while Floris yanked roots out. Eventually, Floris walked off in a huff, and you set your gaze back downward. You would find her later tonight.

When a runway was cleared and all vines were taken off you all stood in front of the plane as Barba arrived. You crossed your arms over your chest and tried to suppress the feeling of dread that grabbed hold of you. She had her backpack on, tugging on the straps as she smiled nervously at Jace. Jace in response pulled her in for a hug. They stayed for a minute before she embraced Nettles, and then Sara. “Be safe, okay?” Barba nodded at Sara’s request. She smiled as she pulled Floris in for a hug, and a few more crowded around her in a group hug. All you could do was watch, a sense of foreboding stirring off in the distance.

When she reached you, you pulled her in as tight as humanly possible. You tried to burn everything about her into your memory, down to the scraggly feeling of her black hair against your face. Squeezing her for a moment more, you pulled your lips over your teeth. “Stay.” You whispered pleadingly. It didn’t feel right, and Barba was the one who had encouraged you to follow your gut.

“Remember your vision,” Barba murmured in response, “Fire and light, it’s a blessing from the Gods.” When she pulled away an austerity had passed over her. You recoiled, increasingly uneasy as you pulled your arms back over your chest. Barba stepped back and opened the door to the Cessna, climbing in and unzipping her backpack.

As soon as she sat down, Criston wrenched the door back open. “By the Gods, Barba. Please, don’t do this.” You hadn’t seen this side of Ser Cole before. Desperate. The last ditch effort of a man who knew his days of authority was behind him.

Barba shot him a nervous smile, swallowing before she spoke. “Thanks for worrying about me, Ser, but…” The sternness flashed back over her face like a mask, her icy gaze flattening. “This is my purpose.” She reached a hand out to pat him on the shoulder before she pulled it back and shut the door with a heavy clang. Barba ran her fingers over the weirwood pendant, her gaze emotionless as she placed her stuffed bear into the copilot's seat. Her gaze passed over to you quickly, before she locked eyes with you and smiled. Discomfort arose in you, as you watched something stir in the very back of her eyes. She held your gaze long enough to make you squirm before the propeller started to spin. Wheels squeaked through the dirt as cheers rang out, you stepped forward and prayed to whatever Gods there were above that your vision was a blessing. The plane was flying as it should, and Barba successfully lifted off. A relieved smile broke out across your face, but you knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet, quite literally. The landing was the hardest part of a flight, and you didn’t entirely trust the brakes on it. The Cessna soared clear over the lake, and you ran forward with eyes pointed to the sky.

“Oh my Gods, she’s doing it!!!” Laughter sounded, Sara clapping as you all ran to the lakefront. She shifted the plane to face due south, and you let out a sigh of relief. It had been a blessing from the Gods. Tears brimmed your eyes as you silently thanked them for seeing her through this. The plane grew smaller as she flew further away, shrinking in the mountains off into the distance. You began to cheer with the others, turning to grab Baela’s hand in excitement.

“Is that smoke?” Sara asked suddenly. Your gaze snapped skyward, and your heart dropped into your stomach. The fuel line. Angry fumes shot out of the bottom of the plane, and it started to shake. A bright flash of flame balled out as the explosion shook the treetops. A halo of light shone, a second sun in the bright sky. Sara screamed and clapped her hands over her mouth. Your body moved automatically, tears streaming down your face as you sank into the water of the lake. Rhaena tried to pull you up, saying something about your leg. Your body went limp as the sobs wracked your body. That fucking vision. And you had been stupid enough to trust it. A banshee’s wail rang out, but it didn’t register as being yours. You stared off into the distance, where sunrays broke through dustclouds and smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fuck, this chapter was really really hard to write. I had no idea I would become so attached to Barba when I started writing this wtf. R.I.P Barba.

Taglist: @chainsawsangel @neenieweenie

#aemond x reader #hotd x reader #aemond x you #hotd imagine #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #aemond the kinslayer #aemond one eye #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #hotd aemond targaryen

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jfouler · 5 months

Note

TRICKED‼️

glimpses of the past. / acceptin'

TRICKED (for a scene from my muse's past in which they misled, tricked, or lied to someone)

jamie's dad jumpscare! i dont think this needs any warnings except mentions of death/blood bc of jamie's dad's whole horror author thing. also hes kinda mean but nothing wild

-🌲🌲🌲- The hum of the air conditioner is the only noise in the quiet house, droning on in the background as a young Jamie stands in the kitchen, the tile floor cold through his socks. The boy grabs a small bag of chips with careful hands, struggling to quietly open it without too much crinkling. No luck.

The wooden stairs creak beneath the feet of who could only be his father, and he freezes - Mom's footsteps are light and precise while Helena's are quick, and she always skips the bottom step. The wind rustles the branches outside, as if to signal his father's presence.

"Why aren't you in bed?" Mitchell asks. His voice is a low, tired rumble; a voice of a man who doesn't often put it to use unless to scold or command. Anything else is confined to pen and paper, preserved for its value.

"I was hungry," Jamie responds, voice as soft as the wind outside. "And I couldn't sleep."

Mitch replies with a noncommittal grunt, trudging over to him. He towers over the boy.

"And? You know the rules. You stay in your room, doors locked after ten." Without a warning, Mitch steps forward and snatches the bag from Jamie's hands. "What are you even doing in there to be up at one in the goddamn morning?"

There's a flicker of an idea in Jamie's eyes. He peers up at his father through his untrimmed bangs that Mitchell keeps telling him to cut.

"I was reading the book you gave me."

Mitchell cocks an eyebrow. Jamie can see a faint smile creep up beneath his beard. A reaction he expected, and yet, to see his father smile is almost eerie in itself - Like something uncanny. Like feeling something in the woods staring back at you. Yet he can't quite parse why.

"Oh really? Which part?"

"The one where the lady, uh… kills her husband. Like, she buries him alive or whatever." Jamie shrugs. He'd flipped through the pages and skimmed, and that's what he gathered from his father's characteristic grotesque imagery. Reading his words, blood and guts arranged in a poetic bouquet, you'd think he'd lived it; seen a corpse, held a bleeding heart in his calloused hands, buried someone alive, killed a man.

Mitchell snaps his fingers in approval. "Ah. Yes. That's a good one. Did you read what-"

He's cut off when Jamie's stomach audibly growls. With an exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes, Mitchell tears open the chip bag with ease. He grabs a sizable handful for himself and shovels it into his mouth before handing it back to his son.

"Don't tell your mother."

#i kinda popped off with this one actually #✖ writings.#like father like son - stroke their ego and they'll be nice to you #mitchell vc never let them know your next move [chomping noises]

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subtle-edge-of-rot · 2 years

Note

They can share a partner without being partners which is good.

Sex together with them would be good 🧎🏻‍♀️

Obviously you'd have your sit down, one on one sessions if you still wanted too but on the nights where they both need some extra attention it could work out. For my AFAB babes one of them takes the front and one of them takes the back as long as you're okay with it. If its still the beginning of the relationship you would hear off handed threats from Vincent in front of you directed to Bo,

"If you hurt them I'll...."

While Bo is just the cocky ass mf he is, off setting the pace to show off he gets to be a part of this and it's not just Vincent.

If you're not the duel pen type, there's a lot of possibilities too--suggesting spitroast so Bo can get his oral fixation in and Vinny gets to enjoy how well you're taking him.

-💙

Oh my god it would be incredible to take them both.

You’re right, you’d need one on one sessions where it’s just you and Bo, or just you and Vinny—they both have needs that can’t be met when the other is present.

Bo has a subby side that he needs to let out that he doesn’t really want his brothers to know about. Sometimes he just wants to be mama’s good boy, to be bossed around a little bit, to be babied and wrecked.

Vincent needs one on one sessions because he wants to take his time, make love to you properly. He wants to kiss every inch of your body and worship you. And in return he wants to know that at least sometimes you’re all his—his lover, his love, and his muse. He often likes to sketch you after you’ve made love 😌

But yes spitroasting with them would be goddamned perfect. I love it, might include this in a fic.

#payton’s asks #Bo Sinclair #vincent sinclair #💙anon #blue my beloved

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gustafsnightangel · 2 years

Text

Muse Part 2

Helena spun him around and pulled his insides out in the most delightful way, made him feel things he had no right feeling for her but did regardless. Michael had hurt her and those scars ran deep, he could see it under the surface as he spoke with her. She was also shy, painfully so. Her beautiful soul spoke to his tortured one like no other before her. Could he be the person she deserved, he thought, and would she accept him? “Will you give me a chance? Will you trust me enough for me to show you how you should be treated?” He murmured as he sat staring at her Floki drawing. “You’re someone special, so very special.” Then show her, the tiny voice inside him said. Show her how special she is.

********************

He was on set a few weeks later and still hadn’t heard from her. It bummed him a little, and decided he’d visit her next week if she hadn’t called in the meantime. They weren’t done. Not until she told him they were done. As in, get the fuck away from me, you’re dead to me, done.

“Mr Skarsgård?” A messenger called out as he stepped from his trailer and felt himself deflate as his eyes fell on the package the guy was holding.

“Package for you.” He said as Gustaf took it from him.

“Thank you.” He said trying to sound sincere as he knew what it was by size and shape alone, she’d sent it all back.

That night back in his hotel room he sat the pen set on the counter and opened it as he pondered what his next move would be. To his surprise there was a letter inside. It was beautifully written, the penmanship exquisite. “Is there nothing you can’t do sweet girl?” He mumbled to the empty room and began to read.

Gustaf,

Please let me start by saying how incredibly grateful I am to you for the return of my drawings. That kindness alone was more than enough. As to the pens and pencils, you flatter me thinking my work is worthy of these remarkable tools. I know the considerable expense to you in the purchase of them and on that count alone I cannot accept them, beautiful as they are. I have spoken to the store owner and they will accept them back for a full refund. I wish you all the best.

Helena

He sat chewing her words over, the tone unmistakably saying we’re done. Should he walk away now or push, he wondered? He most certainly wasn’t done pursuing her. There was something between them, he just didn’t know what. He’d felt it when they met, that undeniable pull to her. “We’re not done.” He murmured softly, his eyes drinking in every letter etched onto the page. “Your soul speaks to mine, I feel it.”

With determination and a plan he headed to her studio, he wasn’t letting her go just yet. “If she tells me to fuck off I’ll leave her be, but until then, I need to see where this goes.” He muttered to himself as he booked an Uber.

********************

It was the second knock at the door in the past few minutes and it irritated her. The only reason she’d come to the studio today was to collect supplies and go home. She’d been delayed and interrupted each time she was almost out the door, and now completely out of patience.

Whoever it was wasn’t going to leave her in peace until she dealt with it. She wrenched open the door ready to spit fury at being interrupted yet again and saw the man of her fantasies standing there in jeans and a crisp white dress shirt. Why was he here, again? And why did he have to look and smell so goddamn perfect?

“Hi.” He said softly.

“Hi.” Her tone was abrupt and he decided he liked seeing her fired up. It was better than the defeated kicked puppy look he’d seen a few weeks earlier.

“Can I come in or are you busy?” He asked, knowing full well she was working.

“You can and yes I’m busy.” She said shortly and held the door for him making sure it closed securely before turning to face him. It also gave her time to compose herself. Pfft! What a joke, he did things to her just by existing.

He stayed standing for the moment as she watched him place the messenger bag on the table. Her eyes flicked to it and back to his, fear with a touch of exasperation. “They’re yours Helena.” He said gently, but there was a firmness there as he held up his hand at her attempt to argue. “I bought them for you, and you and your work are beyond worthy of them.” He saw it then, the doubt, the soul crushing self doubt. Stepping closer to her he was surprised she didn’t shrink away from the advance. Good, he thought, she wasn’t scared of him at least. Just shy and awkward, he could deal with that.

“I just know how much they cost and...” She started and locked eyes with him as he cut her off.

“And that doesn’t matter. I wanted to buy them for you, so I did.” He said softly, he was within half a foot of her now, close enough to touch, to kiss. Oh how he wanted to. “I felt like an asshole after you walked away that day. And seeing your work ruined I had to make it up to you somehow.”

“Returning my drawings was enough.” She said and tried not to let her emotions get the better of her, or her fantasies. Gods he smelled so fucking good, looked just as delicious. She wanted to touch him, let her hands roam over the massive chest in front of her. Have him rip her clothes off, bind her, and fuck her until she screamed.

“For me it wasn’t.” He said softly. “And I hoped I’d get to see you again.” He’d chosen his words carefully so not to completely freak her out.

His voice was deep and low and so sensual she went weak at the knees. How did he do this to her? He’d moved closer which forced her to look up at him.

“You’ve bewitched me Helena.” He whispered as he brushed his fingertips along her jaw. The soft touch sending an involuntary shiver skittering over her skin.

Her thoughts were racing along with her heart, his touch scrambling what was left of her brain. She was barely breathing, here was a man that knew seduction. Here was a man that could truly hurt her, so much more than Michael ever could. Gustaf could destroy her soul, because she felt it now. The longing, the pull to him, both souls speaking to each other. The overwhelming need.

He lowered his head and for a brief moment she thought he was going to kiss her, his grin said otherwise.

“Can I see you tonight.” He whispered near her ear, letting his lips brush her jaw.

She had to snap herself out of whatever spell he’d put her under, this was ridiculous, as was his question.

“I have a meeting at six.” She said and was proud that her voice betrayed none of the arousal she felt. “It won’t finish until seven thirty.”

“So meet at eight?” He asked and smiled against her cheek at the slight tremor that rippled through her at his touch. “Here?” He added not wanting her to think he was saying it to pry her personal address from her. There were boundaries even he wouldn’t cross.

“Ok.” She managed to breathe out.

“I’ll see you then beautiful.” He whispered and kissed her temple gently. “Keep the pens.” He added and locked eyes with her. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She watched him stride away with a dumb nod of her head. What the fuck just happened, internal alarm bells screeching as she blew out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding? What. In the actual fuck. Just happened? He’d asked her out, he’d called her beautiful, and he’d kissed her cheek. Was the guy high? Had he stroked out? Was he playing her? This was not real, it couldn’t be.

She pulled it together and placed the messenger bag in her cabinet and locked it up clearly not ready to accept they were hers, this whole situation was still too surreal. “Just rediculius.”

********************

Gustaf was constantly on her mind as she sat through her dinner meeting with the bride and groom she was creating three hundred wedding invitations, menus, and place cards for. She could still feel his finger on her jaw, his lips on her temple. He’d been standing so close to her that her fingers had ached to reach out and touch him, but she was so shocked he was in the same room as her again she hadn’t moved a muscle, not even a twitch. Her shyness didn’t help, and neither did her track record with unavailable men. They were either married, emotionally unavailable, or only interested in a quick affair with no commitment. The former she’d not known about until after they’d done the deed, the rest summed up the entire male population. It would be the same with Gustaf. He’d be with her for a week maybe two at the most for some fun and then he’d ghost her just like everyone else before him. He’s not staying, she reminded herself, so don’t get attached.

At eight forty five she walked through her office door and expected to find it empty as she was late, purposefully so, only to see Gustaf was again folded up on her tiny sofa reading, quite content to wait for her. Odd she thought, no one had ever waited for her before without a lot of bluster and complaint, it was, strange.

“Sorry, I’m running late.” She mumbled dumping her bag on her desk, not entirely sure how she felt about being in the same room as him again. Even his presence was as gigantic as he was.

“It’s fine, you had work, so did I.” He said and unfolded himself to stand, curious at the flustered woman in front of him.

“Give me five minutes ok? I have to setup some stuff up for Monday.” She said quietly and opened her laptop to set a reminder in her calendar for invitation supplies, quickly making notes of color and paper weight.

“Take your time, no rush.” He was content to watch her. I’m still here sweet girl, you won’t shake me loose that easily, I’m a patient man.

“You first.” She said eventually, pointing to the door as she stowed her laptop back into her bag. “I have to lock up.” Her mumble coming out more like a grumble.

“You lock your studio?” He chuckled. “Even when it’s inside the shop?”

“I do when there’s over twenty thousand in pens sitting in there.” She said sarcastically and he couldn’t help the grin.

“Have you used them yet?” He asked as they walked to the front door.

She shook her head. “No, haven’t been brave enough.”

“Use them.” He whispered standing close to her and smiled when her breath hitched.

“So where are we going?” She asked as they stepped into the street, anything to change the subject and keep her mind off the body that was so close to hers.

He held out his hand for her to take. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

She took it tentatively giving him a wary look. Now she was a little frightened of him, he thought, the unknown didn’t sit well with her at all.

“I don’t bite.” He whispered and kissed her just above the ear as his hand engulfed hers. “Not unless you ask me nicely.” His gentle squeeze of her hand eased the tension in her shoulders a little which was what he was after, the slight smile better than the slap across the face he’d half expected.

Hand in hand they walked a few blocks to her favorite ice cream parlor. “You’ve been talking to Henry.” She said softly as he handed her the waffle cone with three scoops of chocolate and dark cherry.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He winked.

“I hope he didn’t grill you too much, he’s a little protective.” Henry was the only friend she had and more like the father she’d always wanted.

“He’s a good guy, he cares about you.” Gustaf took her hand again as they walked toward Santa Monica pier. He wanted this date to be out in the open, for her to be at ease with him. She was skittish enough without the pressure of him getting her alone.

“How much did he tell you?” She asked quietly, her nerves making her voice tremble.

“Barely anything, just that it was your story to tell.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them tenderly.

“We’ll there’s always Google.” She said flippantly, not wanting to dive into it, she’d much rather wipe that debacle from history and never speak of it again. It was one of those moments that would follow her for the rest of her life, something she could never be free of and she hated Michael for that.

“I’d rather hear the truth from you, not gossip fodder from the tabloids.” He said carefully. “But, it’s your decision, one I’ll respect. It’s none of my business unless you want to make it my business.” He kissed her fingers again and let her have the silence, knowing all too well how precious privacy was. It was bad enough she’d had all her personal dirty laundry aired in public by that asshole. He wasn’t going to add to the humiliation she’d been through by asking her to relive it. Once had been enough.

His words not only calmed her anxiety, but had her looking at him in a different light. Maybe. Just maybe he was different than all the others.

“Walk along the beach?” He asked softly.

“Sure, just not near the pier. It gets a little loud this time of night.”

“Good plan, you know the area better than I do.” His chuckle had a smile tugging her lips.

“I come down here a lot, to draw, to think.” Like she was thinking now. Thinking about the man beside her, holding her hand, and wondering if she should put her heart and soul on the line. To let him in. To hand over the shattered pieces of her soul for him to see.

“The ocean, or any body of water for that matter has a resounding calm. Where true peace exists.” He murmured absently as he stared out at the ocean.

“Spoken like a poet.” She said honestly. “You have a way with words.”

“As you have a way with a pencil.” He squeezed her hand gently as they made their way to the waters edge.

“Touché.” She chuckled. They stood there in silence, the waves crashing to the shoreline soothing her further. Looking at him discreetly she saw the painting slip into her mind, the silhouette of a man lost in thought as the waves crashed against the shore. Longing and pain etched into the lines of his face. It had been years since she had inspiration come to her like that. An itch to create with paint and color again.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” He asked, his tone hopeful.

“I work tomorrow.” Which was only partially true. She did have work in the morning, preparing for the art market held every Sunday. And she needed time, time to think about Gustaf and what this was between them.

“Bummer, are you free for dinner at least? I leave for a location shoot Sunday afternoon and I won’t be back for a week or so.” He stopped as he felt her body tense and gazed down at her. There was enough light from the pier to see her, beautiful and anxious. Those walls around her heart had locked in place once more. “I’d like to spend time with you.” He added tenderly, his fingers toying with the soft curls that had escaped her ponytail, the light breeze tossing them.

“I... I don’t know...”

“The offer’s there and you have my number.” He wouldn’t push, especially at seeing her so guarded. “When you’re done with work and if you’re feeling up to it I’d like to spend some time with you and take you to dinner.”

“I’ll... ok.” She nodded, too anxious to form a complete sentence, her lungs threatening to shut down and rob her of oxygen.

“No pressure Helena.” He could see the anxiety, feel it radiate out. “If you haven’t already figured it out, I like you. A lot, I’m glad we met.”

All she could do was nod, her mouth had dried up and her skittish thoughts had her words stuck in her throat. She liked him too, but was this real, could it be real, and more importantly could it last? “It’s late, I need to get home.” She said quickly.

“Can I walk you home or do you need an Uber?” In all honesty he didn’t want to leave her, he wanted to have her sleep in his arms and wake up to her tomorrow morning. But he knew that would make her run, it had to be her choice if this was going to be something more.

“I’m not far, but you don’t need to walk me home.” Her voice barely heard over the crashing surf.

“I do when it’s nearly midnight.” He kissed her fingers and walked toward the road. “It’s either that or I’ll put you in an Uber to get you home safely.” He added when she went to argue, her safety was something he wouldn’t budge on. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.” She’d stopped walking and he could see the fire in her eyes bank at his words. I care about you sweet girl, please try and see that I’m not like him, he pleaded silently.

“I’m sorry I just...” Fuck she sucked at this. “Knee jerk reaction.”

“I understand. We walking or Ubering?” He asked again with a soft smile.

“Walking if that’s ok? It’s just a few blocks.” She turned to head home but he stayed where he was, tugging her to him gently.

“You’re in control here Helena.” He said gently. Although he wanted to whisk her up in his arms and protect her, be with her, it needed to be her choice. She needed to decide whether to let him in and let him love her. “I’ll walk you to your door and wait for you to get inside and lock the door, that’s all.” Her shuddered breath out in relief cracked something inside him. Michael was a dead man, unequivocally dead.

“Ok.” Her voice barely audible. She had to take a chance. Deep down she knew Gustaf was nothing like Michael and she shouldn’t compare the two. But he was a man and a famous one, he had the funds and exposure to ruin her all over again. The walk to her apartment building was quiet. Was he giving her room to think or was he done with her? The thanks for tonight, I’ll see you tomorrow and ghosted, type done with her? I guess I’ll find out, she muttered silently.

They came to a stop outside an apartment building and she fished around in her bag for her keys. “Thank you for tonight.” He said softly. “I had a good time. Text me when you’re inside?”

“Sure.” Her nod was brief and he knew she was not comfortable having him this close to her sanctuary.

“Helena?” He kept a hold of her fingers and placed her hand on his chest while the other tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “I won’t hurt you, not intentionally.”

“I know.” Did she though?

“But?”

There was a long silence before she answered, his gaze intense. “I’ve been told that before and like a fool I believed him.” She was blunt with him, more so than she’d been with anyone before and it poured out of her. “He not only stole from me, he ruined my career and my reputation in the fine art community, hell my reputation period. It’s why I no longer paint, it took me years to get to the point where I could pick up a pencil and draw again.”

“What did he steal from you?” He kept his tone calm, all the while white hot rage simmered beneath his skin.

“He stole six of my paintings, swindling the auction house and buyers out of nearly two million. Chump change to most, a nest egg to further my career to me. He was forced to give up the paintings and pay back the money but I never saw a dime because of the lies he told.” He could see her anxiety spike, her entire body tremble. “Google my name and Twilight.” She choked. “The facts are correct, just not the gossip. It was the one painting I never found out where it ended up as the buyer wanted to remain anonymous. It’s sister painting Dawn was sold too, the buyer refused to let it go.” His fingers slipped into her hair and he held her to him, lips grazing the top of her head and lingering. Comfort was all he could offer.

He felt the breath shudder out of her, the tension ease in her petite frame as she rested her head against his chest and took a moment. “For what it’s worth Helena, you didn’t deserve that and I’m sorry.” The quick shrug of her shoulders conveyed the defeat he had no doubt she still felt to this day. “Thank you for telling me.”

All she could do was nod. It was the most she’d told anyone outside of the investigation, she hadn’t even told Henry that much. She hesitated slightly before wrapping an arm around his waist and letting her world find its equilibrium. He held her closely and for the first time in years she actually felt as if she was worth something to someone, even if that someone would be gone in a few weeks and she’d never see him again. She tried desperately not to just burrow into that expansive chest and lose herself in the feel of him holding her. “Sorry, I should go.” She mumbled and collected her thoughts enough to pull away from him, if she didn’t she’d be begging him to come inside and stay the night.

“No actually I should go, it’s late and you have work in the morning.” Her brow creased in confusion. “I’d love to have you in my arms all night Helena, but trust is earned, and I haven’t earned yours yet.” He kissed her brow and lingered, her scent wrapping around him. “Text me when you get inside so I know you’re safe.”

“Ok.” She nodded and stalled, her feet not wanting to take her to the door. “I’ll think about dinner.” She said and hoped it didn’t come out too harsh. The disconnect from his hand was a brutal slap in the face and suddenly felt as if all the light had been sucked out of the world. Alone again, that spark of hope she’d felt earlier slowly diminishing. Opening the door she stopped on the stoop and looked back at him, damn she was in way over her head.

“Goodnight Helena.” He called softly, fuck he didn’t want to leave her.

“Goodnight.” Her soft smile had his belly flip. He watched the door close behind her, heard the automatic lock click in place. Walking the few steps to the sidewalk he stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited for her text, he’d wait out here all damn night if he had too.

Helena got inside her apartment and went to the window, sure enough he was still outside pacing, waiting for her to text him. “Who does that?” She sighed. “Obviously he does.” Taking out her phone she sent him a text.

I’m in my apartment.

She watched him take out his phone and read it, the lamp light enough for her to see his unguarded smile. She’d paint that smile for it was something to be cherished. A moment later her phone chimed.

Then I’ll leave you to sleep. Thank you for tonight Helena, I had a great time.

So did I.

She sent back. “Even though I completely freaked out.” She blew out. “Again.”

Call me tomorrow? Even if we don’t go out for dinner?

What did she say to that? She looked down at the tall man she’d let slip under her defenses and as if by fate his eyes locked onto hers. “Like calls to like.” She breathed. “Who hurt you?” She asked herself absently, she knew that look. The please handle with care look. She was sure she had the same look plastered across her face every fucking day. “Who put you through your own ninth circle of hell?”

I’ll try.

Goodnight Helena. Get some sleep.

You too.

She watched him tap his phone in his palm before ordering an Uber and pocketing it. Curling up on the arm of her tiny sofa she stayed there staring at him while he waited for his transportation. He was inherently different from Michael and although she shouldn’t compare the two the fact they had the same career made it difficult not to. As his car pulled up he glanced in her direction once more before climbing in the car and disappearing from view. Her fingers twitched and for the first time since her world had fallen apart with Michael she had the urge to paint.

********************

The drive back to his hotel was blissfully silent giving him the opportunity to write. He didn’t often get the urge but when it came knocking he listened. By the time he fell through his door it was close to three in the morning, Helena was still on his mind, the way she’d felt against him. It made him feel things he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. He’d also been bitten, not as hard as Helena, but enough to shy away from relationships. Helena was different, his thoughts drifting as he fell asleep, those stormy grey eyes haunting him.

Waking a few hours later not able to sleep anymore due to his own mind insisting he think of every damn thing possible, he got up, ordered room service, and grabbed his laptop. There was research to be done, because he wanted to know what went down and what Twilight meant to Helena. He had an overwhelming urge to right this wrong and see the woman happy whatever the cost. There was more to her story she wasn’t saying, he could feel it, but respected her silence. Trust wouldn’t come easily for her.

********************

She didn’t sleep, she’d gone from her window to her closet and pulled out the box of old brushes and paints she had stashed away when she’d first moved in all those years ago. There were snippets of Gustaf in her mind, perfect moments that she felt the need to capture on canvas. Without thinking, without letting those ever present doubts to creep in even for a second, she framed two canvases and sketched out both scenes. She lost herself, in creating, in herself, in Gustaf. A man who had simply held her, offered her companionship with no strings attached, who was willing to wait and let her come to him. As the painting began to take shape she watched the dawn break and smiled, maybe, just maybe this was a turning point for her.

By four in the afternoon she’d finished the first pass, both scenes jumping to life. She wanted to keep going but the paint needed to dry before she added anything to it. Oils demanded time, patience, and respect from the artist. Gustaf stared out at her, eyes of perfect blue that had captivated her. “Don’t let me be wrong about you.” She said quietly to the drying paint. Cleaning up she took a shower and tried to scrub most of the paint off, it was only then she started to think about food and dinner. Dinner as in should she text Gustaf?

********************

He’d kept busy for most of the day looking through articles and searching for the Twilight reference Helena had mentioned. There were plenty of descriptions about it and the painting in his mind felt somewhat familiar. He’d managed to find the sister painting titled Dawn which was owned by a Paramount producer. It was in that article he laid eyes on Twilight, but not for the first time, and felt his heart stop cold. There was a reason he recognized it, why Helena’s signature was so agonizingly familiar. Twilight was hanging in his fathers living room. “Oh fucking hell.” He breathed out. “Of all the fucking paintings.” He huffed a chuckle and smiled. Maybe this news would give her closure, or maybe it would rip old wounds wide open, it was a tough call as to whether he should disclose that information or not. The fact she’d not received a dime for her work didn’t sit right with him either. He knew his father had paid handsomely for it as a gift for Megan, but the money had never made it to Helena. No, it was all gobbled up in legal fees so that she could defend herself at the injustices Michael had done to her. To be free of any activity that he’d blamed her for, the lies he’d told.

“Sweet girl.” He sighed as he read one article after another. “No wonder you don’t trust or want anything to do with the male population.” He was wrenched from his thoughts by a text tone and he smiled when he saw Helena’s number pop up.

I’m so sorry. I meant to call earlier but got lost in my work. I’d still like to meet for dinner if it’s not too late.

“Never too late for you sweet girl.” He murmured as he typed his reply.

Never too late for dinner with a beautiful lady. Where would you like to go?

“Beautiful lady?” She snorted. “Have you been sniffing turpentine?”

Do you like Thai food?

Love it.

Meet outside my apartment? There’s a great family owned restaurant about six blocks from me, we can walk to it if you want to?

I’ll text you when I’m there, see you soon.

He couldn’t help the shit eating grin that cracked his face. That was solid progress. Closing down his laptop he showered and jumped in an Uber, it was early enough to beat the usual hellacious L.A. traffic. She was sitting on the steps when the car pulled up, figure hugging jeans and a cute top. Thanking the driver he untangled himself from the back seat and closed the door. Turning to face her he noticed she looked as though she hadn’t slept well either.

“Hi.” She said nervously as she got to her feet. This was awkward for her as she’d not been on many second dates lately, if that’s what this was.

“Hi, shall we go eat?” He kept it light at seeing the nervousness flittering through her body.

“Yes, I’m really hungry.”

“Me too.” He held out his hand for hers and she took it with a little less hesitance than yesterday. Bringing it to his lips to kiss he saw the hint of paint under her nails, the slight smell of turpentine and smiled. Maybe their encounter had helped her find herself again. They talked as they walked, keeping it to safe topics and steering well clear of what was discussed last night. The waitress sat them in a secluded corner booth allowing a small amount of privacy which he was silently thankful for. As they waited for their food he reached a hand over and laced his fingers with hers, thumb brushing her wrist.

“It looks as though you had a fist fight with a box of paints.” He chuckled as his thumb caressed a splatter of blue and grey paint.

“Damnit I thought I got it all.” She huffed and went to pull her hand back but Gustaf held it firmly.

“You painted something?” He asked carefully. The shrug of her shoulders was her only comment on the matter and he felt her bristle. “None of my business, but I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. I didn’t go to sleep, inspiration just hit me and I had to paint.” Her mumble barely discernible.

“That’s a pretty big step.” He said gently and all he got from her was a nod. “Would you show me when they’re done? I’d love to see them.” This was shaky ground he was on now and he knew he had to tread carefully.

“Maybe, I’m not sure.” That damn thumb of his caressing her inner wrist was sending her body into overdrive of a sexual nature while her brain was trying to process his words. “I’m not sure they’re good enough.” Which was partly true. They were also of Gustaf and really for her eyes, and fantasies, only. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to be completely honest.

“No pressure Helena, it’s your call, but I’d love to see what you’ve created, for you to show me what you see in the world.” Those eyes of smoky grey locked onto his, the shock of what he’d said evident. “You see things and people differently, it’s interesting.”

“Maybe one day.” She said softly, not quite sure of the man before her, a million questions about his intent zipping through her mind. Was this history repeating? It didn’t feel like it, but she would protect her work at all costs after the shit Michael pulled. “So where is the location shoot?” She asked, wanting anything to get them off the topic of her painting again.

He saw the question for what it was, he’d toed a line, her tone made that abundantly clear. “Lake Powell Arizona. Then it’s out to the Paramount Ranch in Agoura.”

“How long are you gone?” She tried to not sound too disappointed that she wouldn’t see him for a while. This is the business, his job, get over yourself, the little voice in her head snarled.

“A couple of weeks. You could always come with me.” He grinned, knowing her answer would be a flat out no.

“No I couldn’t.” She said quickly, a little too quickly and she saw the barb in her voice strike true.

“I know, but it was worth a try.” He smiled and dropped his gaze not wanting her to see the disappointment.

“You really wanted me to come with you?” She was flabbergasted.

“I did. It would be nice to be with you, but you have work and so do I.” It stung, but he understood her caution.

“I do, starting with the three hundred wedding invitations and fluff I’ve been commissioned for.” Which was the bare bones truth, she’d miss him though, this, just sitting here hand in hand talking. No ulterior motive, no agenda, just two people talking over dinner.

“I’d like to call you while I’m away, chat when you have time.” He murmured.

“I’d like that.”

He paid the bill and tipped heavily as they had not been interrupted all evening which was a welcome change to not have wait staff hovering or asking for autographs. They talked on the walk back to her apartment and the time seemed to go faster than when they had set out earlier in the evening.

“This is oddly familiar.” Gustaf smirked as they stood on the stoop to her apartment building once again and her giggle had his heart exploding. He wanted to hear that giggle again, to hear her laugh.

“It is.”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks.” Fuck he didn’t want to leave her, his body ached to hold her for eternity, make love to her. Show her that she meant something to him.

“I’ll be here. Nothing too exciting for me.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She knew deep down that this was probably it. He’d go to location, get filming done, fly back to LA and then be on the first plane back home, back to his real life.

“I’ll come back to you Helena.” He knew where her mind had gone and had expected it.

It’s ok if you don’t, she said silently, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been discarded. She wouldn’t let that show through, he was trying to let her down easy and they’d made no promises to each other. This might actually be for the best and she certainly didn’t hate him for it.

“Ok.” Was the only answer she could voice and it cut him deep. Show her, said the tiny squeak in his mind, don’t tell her, show her you’ll be back by coming back. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Thank you for picking a great spot. Text me when you’re inside?” The disappointment on her face broke him as she nodded. Was she ready to know how he truly felt about her? The fact he wanted to kiss her, love her, that he’d fallen head over heels for her. He held onto her hand as she went to walk away, the indecision killing him, to kiss her or leave it be. She made the decision for him, a soft squeeze of his hand was all he got before she broke contact and headed inside, she didn’t look back. “Fucking fuck.” He cursed to the heavens as he lost sight of her.

She was almost in tears as she crossed her threshold. He’d wanted to kiss her, she’d felt the pull to him, his intent evident in those soulful eyes, the way he didn’t want to let her go. As she texted him she stood by the window and watched him call an Uber. The picture of him looking up at her burning into her brain until he was forced to get in the car and leave. She collapsed on the sofa and let the sobs tear from her lungs, he wouldn’t be back. No one ever came back for her.

#muse #gustaf skarsgard

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theseourbodiesrp · 2 years

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Goodbye [Raylan and Boyd

My muse has died. Send “Goodbye” for your muse to find a letter my muse has left for yours

The letter was written in ballpoint pen, on unlined paper. The writing is a chicken scratch that Boyd's familiar with; almost everyone of his generation in Harlan County writes like that. Their penmanship teacher didn't know shit.

Boyd,

If you're reading this, then... either I'm dead, or you're too nosy for your own good. If I ain't dead, tell me why the hell you're even reading this. You're too curious for your own good. Goddamn.

If I am dead, well.

Boyd. I'm so sorry. To leave you like this just when we could've been something. You know, every time I look at you I see... you. Who you are now, in all your complicated glory. The Crowder who grew up righteous but frustrated. You could've been... oh. Anything, Boyd. Anything you wanted, if only you could've gotten out like I did. I've always regretted not coming back for you. Or waiting until we could've got out together. The life we could've had.

And I won't lie. Not to you, old friend. When I look at you, I also see the Crowder boy. And in your eyes, reflected back at me, I see the Givens boy. Who we were. Not just that summer down the mines, but every year since. I see every choice we made that drew us away from each other, and drew me back here. To see you and what you've become. To mourn in my heart for those two idealistic boys who wanted more than Harlan could offer.

I look at you, and I see.

I see.

I see the love of my life, the only true North I've ever known. Not Winona, not Ava. Not even Tim Gutterson, bless his laconic heart. Just you, Boyd. I think I've loved you ever since we were 19 and I neber stopped. Fooled myself into thinking so, but in my heart, Boyd? There was only ever you.

I'm sorry you're reading a dead man's words. I was too... afraid, I guess? To say it out loud, while I still had time. But I have loved you ever since that dark summer down the mines, and there never really has been anyone else for me. I think, if you'd asked? I'd've given up my Marshal star and went with you from this place. To live a version of the life we dreamed that summer. To be with you for the rest of my life.

I'm sorry, Boyd. That the only time I can commit these words to paper, never mind speak them, is when Death's knocking on my door. I hope I come back and can say this to you. If not, oh. Oh, my love. I am so, so sorry.

Love,

Raylan (the Givens Boy)

#riiverrun #re: dug coal together #v; dug ourselves out in different directions #s c r e a m s #why aee you like this andi

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littlecatsnotkids · 3 years

Text

good lord Taylor, kill a boy slower

#taylor swift #style #1989 #goddamn the musings I could pen #or rather key #about this section of this song #it’s been stuck in my head #for the whole day #set me on fire

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hertzwritings · 2 years

Text

Yes, professor part 2

A/N: I’m a sucker for this man. That’s all. That’s why I decided to do another part to Yes, Professor – this time with a little side of fluff, just because I truly think this man is a beast in bed, but a kitten out of it. Also, this kind of ran away from me, so whoops on the length. Feedback feeds the soul, my loves, and requests are always open – nothing is too sweet, kinky, weird or angsty for me!

MASTERLIST

HENRY CAVILL + CHARACTERS MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Part 1

Pairing: Syverson x reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, smut (MINORS DNI), fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (female and male receiving), slight BDSM, Dom!Syverson, slight praisekink, slight daddykink, definite sir-kink, age gap (reader is about 22, Sy is around 40) Wordcount: 4.985 (sorry)

Yes, Sir

It had been almost a month since your little rendezvous with Professor Syverson in his office – and you were coming apart at the seams. He seemed like it didn’t really faze him all that much that he had fucked you in his office, given you his shirt and slapped your ass, as you left with his phone number burning in your hand, because he was completely normal. Asshole. Of course, you hadn't really done anything either - you were the one with his number, not the other way around, and you hadn't called or texted him. Not because you didn't want to, but simply because you were absolutely terrified of him telling you no.

You grunted as you sat down in the front row of his class – your preferred spot – and started pulling books and papers out, getting ready for the lecture of today. Syverson was not in the room yet, and it gave you time to sit back and gather yourself before you had another hour and a half of pure torture with him so close, you could reach out and touch his busting pecs. Not that you would. You were apparently into torture now.

Your classmate, Annalise, sat down next to you and glanced at you with narrowed eyes. “What?” You mumbled, not even bothering to turn your head to her. “You’re doing it again.” “Doing what?” She sighed. “That thing. Where you look like you’re ready to choke yourself with the term paper.” “That would surely solve all the issues I’m having with it.” You mused. She groaned. “Dude, just ask him for help. I heard he’s actually really nice about it.” You chuckled. “Yeah, he probably is. I’m just… I got it on my own.” You lied through your teeth. You did not have it at. All.

“Class, keep your gaping A-holes shut, we’re ready.” His voice bolstered before his body appeared and every single voice died down – he could command a room and it made you feel flustered. He caught your eye and cocked an eyebrow at you, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “It’s pop-quiz day, yay!” He said sarcastically and dropped a giant pile of papers on his desk. You heard muttered groans around the room, but he held a hand up, silencing them. “If you’re not happy with it, you can leave and I’ll grade you accordingly.” He walked to you with wide strides and placed a bunch of the papers in front of you, leaning in just a little too close. “See me at my desk after class.” He mumbled, a smirk on his lips. Annalise bit her lip and looked at you with wide eyes as you gathered the papers and started handing them out. “What was that??” You frowned, ignoring the pool of heat collecting in your stomach. “What?” “Oh, you’re dirty. Are you having a fling with Professor Syverson?” She gasped. “Miss Jordan, unless you want to share your riveting story with the class, I suggest you stick to your own table.” Syverson said, glancing at Annalise, who blushed crimson red. “You better tell me everything tonight.” She whispered before leaning back to her own table, turning the paper over and looked it over wit a concentrated face. You sighed and grinned at her, grabbing your own paper and pen, sneaking a peek at Sy. You met his eyes, and he licked his goddamn lips.

You had finished the damn quiz and had waited until the room emptied out before handing it to him, staying nervously by his desk as he took it and leaned back in his chair, arms folding over each other as he looked at you with narrowed eyes. “Miss Y/L/N.” You bit your lip at his honeyed voice. “You haven’t called me.” He said finally. You blanched. “I didn’t know you wanted me to.” He raised his eyebrows. “Sir.” You quickly added. His lips twitched slightly. “I wouldn’t have given you my number, if I didn’t want to hear from ya, Y/N.” His Texan drawl came over him for a moment and it made you shudder; it sparked something in you. “I’m sorry, sir.” He nodded. “What were you talkin’ with Jordan about?” He inquired. He was always on the lookout for intel, you supposed. You shrugged, feeling your open blazer slip slightly down your shoulder, exposing your bare shoulder – it was stupidly hot out today, so you had opted for a light blazer over your tank top and a pair of jean-shorts. His eyes roamed your body. “We’re just going out tonight.” His eyes blazed a little at that; you felt irritation grow – who was he to get annoyed with you going out? He hadn’t laid a stupid claim to you, and you didn’t like feeling controlled. He didn’t say anything for a while, but suddenly leaned over his desk, his shirt stretching to the absolute max. “Can you do me a favor, Y/N?” Your name on his tongue sounded so fucking sinful, you could barely gather yourself enough to nod. “You call or text me if anything happens.” You cocked your head to the side and watched him. Strange. “Why?” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a fucking brat, just promise.” You nodded courtly. “I promise… Sir.” You drew out the last word, letting it linger on your tongue and felt a strange sense of pride as you saw him shift his lower body uncomfortably. Two could play that game. “Good girl. Now get.” You felt yourself grow slick with his praise and hurried out, hopeful you’d have a few minutes to yourself to release some of the goddamn pressure, that had been building since the last time you spent alone with him.

----------

You groaned as you fell back on the couch in Annalise's living room, with Annalise and her boyfriend, Ashton, sitting down on the two chairs in front of you. Annalise was glaring at you as you sipped your drink. “Annalise, if you keep staring like that, your eyes will fall out.” “Spit it out!” She almost yelled, and Aston chuckled next to her. “Chill out, let her drink first.” You sighed gulped down the drink - it was more vodka tan soda and you grimaced as it hit your throat. “There’s nothing to tell.” You finally said. Annalise rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. I saw how he leaned in and how you’ve been acting for the last few weeks.” You groaned. “You’re not going to drop it, are you?” You begged. She raised her eyebrows. “Hell to the no.” Her curls bounced as she leaned in, closer to you. “Spill. It.” You rolled your eyes. “Fine.” You took another sip of your drink and told her the story – she gasped as you finished, and you were sure your cheeks could be used as a stoplight. “Holy fucking Jesus on a stick.” She sat back and looked at Ashton. He shrugged. “Are you not blown away?” She asked him indignantly. “Not really. I mean, I’ve seen the way he looks at her, I would be more surprised if they hadn’t hooked up.” He grinned. “Good on you, Y/N.” You groaned. “And now he wants me to text him if anything happens. Or call, whatever.” You ordered another shot and quickly let it glide down your throat. “And I’m like… Why? We’re not dating and he sure as shit can’t tell me what to do…” Annalise giggled. “What?” You asked, confusion coloring your words. “Come on, you’re not that stupid.” You glared at her. “Oh lord, you are. Okay, here’s the thing.” She leaned in and grinned at you. “I think he wants to hear from you. I’ll bet half my as- cheek that he’d pick up by the second ring.” She said satisfied. “Sure, he would.” You leered. “He’s waiting for a 20-something to call him up and be like daddy take me home.” You hiccupped. Annalise smiled like a fucking Cheshire cat. “I bet you he’d love to be called that.” You rolled your eyes. “I have to pee.”

You slammed the door behind you, hopeful that the two idiots couldn't hear you groan . What the hell were you supposed to do? It wasn't like you didn't want to see him again, but you refused to be that girlTM that screwed her professor and got better grades. Not that you really thought he'd ever grade you because of whatever you did privately, but others might. It was honestly terrifying for two reasons: 1, he was addictive. You felt it in your bones. 2, it could potentially turn into more than just a quick romp every once in a while, mostly because you didn't think you'd be able to stay away, if you went down that road.

"Anna, I think I'm gonna go home. I'm tired, the paper is beating my ass and I'm jsut..." You said, stepping out of the bathroom and grabbing your coat, that you'd slung over the back of a nearby chair. She rolled her eyes. "Sure, you are. Say hi to Professor Syverson from me."

You didn't answer, but simply went outside and filled your lungs gratefully. Alcohol ran through your veins and you decided that if you were going to torture yourself in his class, you might as well have a good reason. You found his number and hesitantly called him, closing your eyes. “Y/N?” Goddamn it, Annalise. He had picked up on the first ring. “Yeah.” You drew a deep breath and bit the inside of your cheek, calculating your next move. “You alright, darlin'?” his voice scratched some part of you that made your thighs clench and you felt bolder than you were. “Um, yeah, my ride ditched me." You lied. "I’m…” “Where y’all at?” He asked. You heard shuffling from his end, clearly, he was already halfway out the door. “Uhm, at the collegial living? It's on Johnson and Second?” “Be there in 5, hang tight. Don’t move.” He hung up and you put your phone back in your pocket, pulling your jacket closer around yourself – the day had been wildly hot, but the night had plummeted in temperature, and you were freezing your ass off.

Drunk people walked and wobbled past you, and every once in a wile, some random ass leered at you - you didn't pay them much mind, trying your best to ignore them. "Hiya, gorgeous... Are you here all by your lonesome?" A blonde man had approached you with swimming eyes and a stench of old beer and cigarettes lingering on him. "No." Syveron's voice sounded from your left and you exhaled gratefully. "Now get." “Who the fuck are you to say what I do?” The man must've been more drunk than smart. “Does it matter? I’ll break your kneecaps into dust if you take a step closer to her.” Sy stepped closer and under a streetlamp – you saw the man visibly shrink as he finally saw Syverson fully; the big, broad shoulders and arms would definitely be enough to pulverize someone. “Shit, sorry man.” He backed off and hissed a bitch under his breath. Sy squared up and stalked over to the man, but you called out. “Stop, he’s just drunk and an asshole.” “I fucking hate assholes.” He sneered. "And drunks." You watched the man walk away from you as fast his wobbling legs could carry him.

“Thanks.” You muttered. “Get in.” he pointed to the black SUV by the curb, and you followed him willingly. He started the car and Slipknot roared from the speakers, and he tore out on the road, probably breaking the speed limit. “I’m gonna need to teach you some fucking self-defense.” He mumbled. You rolled your eyes. “I was good…” “Shut up, Y/N.” You sank into your seat. “I’m not fucking around; men are insane and you’re too hot to walk around alone.” You bristled. “I’m not some damsel in distress...” “You seemed in distress to me, girl.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I don’t need saving. I would’ve kicked him in the nuts if he had tried something.” “Sure, you would’ve. I don’t care, just…” He turned a corner and you realized that you hadn’t told him your address. “Where are we going?” You asked. He turned the music down. “My house.” You nodded and felt butterflies in your stomach.

He pulled over, into a garage stopped the engine and got out. You followed him silently, taking in his home. It was sparse with decorations – not that you had expected anything else, really – and it looked like he just put up the bare minimum of what one could need in a house. He didn’t seem to care too much.

“Sit.” He ordered, pointing at a chair in his kitchen. You did what he asked as he poured you a glass of water and set in in front of you. You took it gratefully and gulped it down – you were thirstier than you thought. He was watching your fingers on the glass.

“Why did you want me to call you?” You asked softly. “Why do you think?” He asked, sitting, legs spread widely in front of you. You gulped at the sight of the bulge in his pants. “I don’t know. Sir.” You tested the waters – his eyes shot up at you and a smirk spread on his face. “You don’t?” He sounded fucking dangerous. You shook your head and he leaned forwards, his hands gliding along your thigh. “Really… Pretty girl, tell me… Do you like torturing me?” He asked, his fingers digging into your skin. You couldn’t breathe. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.” He chuckled darkly. “No? So, it’s not for me, the small skirts…? The fucking tops?” he asked, and you knew you couldn’t lie; of course, it had been for him. Every time you leaned over; you’d begged in silence for him to look at you. “It was sir.” His fingertips dug into your skin, and you felt a rush of goddamn lust flood your senses. It was insane, you were insane for wanting this man, this goddamn beast to ruin you until you couldn’t walk. “I wanted you to call me, because I didn’t have your number.” He said, fingers gliding hard against your skin, all callous and strength. “If I did have your number, you would not have gone a fucking day waiting.” His fingertips were dangerously close to your slick center. You bit your lip and hummed. “So you wanted to see me again?” He slapped your thigh harshly, the sound of it echoing around. You gasped. “Sir.” You said through gritting teeth. How could so little make you feel so much? “What the fuck do you think?” His voice was a low murmur, and his face was surprisingly close to yours. You hadn’t even noticed him moving closer. “I’m guessing yes, sir.” He cocked an eyebrow at you and a single finger reached the sensitive skin, where your clothed heat and upper thigh met. “You guessed right.” His lips were on you, demanding and hot and you sunk into the kiss, letting him take full control – you wrapped your hand around his neck, and fell into him as he deepened the kiss. His tongue slid over yours in a heated dance, vying for control – and you’d be more than happy to give it to him. Your legs opened slightly in the heat of the moment and he used it to his full advantage; his slid from his own chair onto his knees, and grabbed your hips roughly, before letting your lips go with a slight tug at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Fucking hell, Y/N…” His Texan drawl made you squirm, and he made quick work of your shorts, inching them down your legs and finally pulling them off completely, throwing them to the side. He growled as he saw the wet patch on your thong and sent you a sinful smile. “All that for me, baby girl?” You nodded with a moan, as his thick digit slid over your sensitive clit through the fabric. “You’ll behave?” He asked in a low rumble, hooking the sides of the thong with his thumb. You glanced at him; it was intoxicating, seeing him on his fucking kneesin front you, cock straining against the rough fabric of his pants. He was a fucking vision. “Yes, sir.” You moaned, desperate for his fingers, anything, to touch you. He chuckled and hoisted the tong down your legs, not really caring if it snapped under his hard fingers. You felt a rush of insecurity as he looked intently at you. That, however, disappeared instantly as he groaned and grinned lewdly at you. “You’re fucking delicious." You mewled. “Eyes on me.” “Yes, sir.” Your eyes were trained on him as he pulled your hips forwards, angling you perfectly for him to slightly bend his head, eyes still on yours as his pink tongue darted out and licked a long, languid strip between your folds. You groaned and had to force yourself to keep your eyes at him, as his tongue assaulted your wet core, the sounds of him eating you out filling the room. You grabbed his shoulder, digging your nails into him, as he added a fucking finger and slowly, but intently, starting pumping in and out of you. His tongue was soft and hard at the same time as it slid over your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your system. He hummed against you, the vibrations creating a new effect that had you buck your hips up – he chuckled against you, and you could barely contain yourself; it was almost painful, the pleasure, as he added another finger and picked up is speed.

You moaned lewdly as you felt your orgasm come nearer, just teetering on the edge, a hard throb in your pussy, that was at the mercy of his fingers and tongue. He slapped your thigh harshly with his free hand and the sting of his hard, calloused hand on your sensitive skin made your orgasm spill over you. You grabbed his head, holding it in place as you came hard, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through you to the sound of him slurping every drop from you – his fingers pumped faster than you thought humanly possible, as you came undone around him. When you let go of his head, he chuckled and gave your hot skin small kisses, until he reached you, and kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue and you felt another gush of pure lust rush to your pussy, that ebbed around nothing.

“You did so good for me, baby.” He said in a soft, dangerous voice. His hand snaked to the back of your neck, gently inching up your scalp until he grabbed a hold of your hair by the roots, yanking your head backwards. You moaned at the sensation. “Undress me.” His voice was commanding, and you absentmindedly thought to yourself that you wouldn’t be able to say no, even if you wanted to. Not that you did, because the fucking joy of seeing him naked, fully this time, was enough to send you spiraling. He lifted you to stand on unsteady legs.

You nodded and your shaking fingers grabbed the hem of his black Avenge Sevenfold shirt (you briefly wondered if that man even wore anything but band t-shirts) and hoisted it over his head. You were breathless as you watched his body; dark hair covered his chest and stomach, muscles flexing unwittingly under your gaze. He was a giant. He could crush your skull seven ways to Sunday, and you did not mind that thought one bit. His chest was heaving as you let your fingers graze his skin, dragging your nails against it, angry, red lines following. He growled as you reached his pants, quickly undoing the belt and buttons, before inching it down his legs.

Somehow, this was more intimate than keeping eye contact with him as he ate you out. He stepped out of the pants, when you were on your knees in front of him and tossed them to the side, standing proud and very erect in front of you. He was fucking sinful. He didn’t wear underwear and his cock was twitching slightly in front of you, bigger than you remembered; or maybe you simply hadn’t had the chance to look at it before now. “Open, baby.” He said, tapping your lips gently with his finger. You cocked your head to the side and decided in the same moment to test a theory out; maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn’t. “Yes, daddy.” You said in a soft voice and opened your mouth, tongue out. A different darkness came over his eyes and his breath hitched at your words – his lips parted as he breathed out, and his cock twitched. So he liked it. “Fucking shit, Y/N.” He groaned and pushed his cock inside your mouth, going as far as he could, still not fully coated in your mouth. You moaned around him, the taste and feel of him making you drip, as he started fucking your mouth with very little regard. “You want daddy’s cock, huh?” He grumbled, his hips pistoning. Spit drippled from your chin as he fucked your mouth and you gagged a little at him, as he hit the back of your throat. “Yeah, baby girl…” He moaned. “Fuck, you want to be fucked by daddy’s cock, huh? Want me to fil you up?” His hand found your chin and held onto you in a vicelike grip, keeping your head in place and your eyes forced on his face; tears were rolling down on your cheeks, and you fucking loved it. The humiliation, the lack of air and the feeling of his hard cock almost coking you, made you reel. Slick was dripping down your thighs and you whimpered around him. “Shit.” He pulled out with a loud pop from your mouth, and you gasped for a breath, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You’re fucking dangerous, woman.” He said with narrowed eyes. He grabbed you and lifted you from your knees with ease, and for a split second, he looked at you. You nodded. He smiled a wolfish smile and grabbed you, lifting you and you swung your legs around his hips, your wet pussy gliding against his hard cock. He rolled his eyes back and growled. “Not fucking yet.” He said, kissing you as he walked from the kitchen to his bedroom – he closed the door and turned, letting your back meet the cold wood of the door. He pulled his lips from you for a brief second. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, baby. You want that, huh?” You felt the swell of his cock and you wanted nothing more than feel him tear you apart. “Yes, daddy…” You moaned, your nails grasping and clawing at his shoulders. He roared at the feeling, burying himself deeply in you, leaving you no room for adjustments. You gasped soundlessly, held your breath and felt every single vein on him; he was so fucking big, you were sure you’d be ruined forever by him. No one would ever compare. “You like daddy’s big fucking cock, huh?” He groaned, his accent thicker now – his inhibitions clearly melting away. You nodded and a hand landed on your cheek. Your eyes flew open, and you moaned at the sting. “Use your words, Y/N, or I’m goin’ to punish you.” The thought of punishment did light a fire in you, but for now, you’d rather just have him fucking move. “Please, please, please…” Your begging spilled from your lips as you rolled your hips as much as you could; there wasn’t a lot of room between you, the door and his hard body. “Yes, ma’am.” He bit the sensitive skin near your collarbone and then…

He pounded you. There was no other way to describe it. His thick cock dragged against your walls, faster and harder than you’d ever ask of him, but fuck it, if you didn’t love it. He rutted against you, teeth grabbing at your skin, your hands all over as he continued to fuck you. You felt the familiar sting of pleasure race trough you, settling somewhere in your lower abdomen and you rolled your hips, demanding him deeper. “Easy, cowboy.” He grinned against your skin but obliged anyway – a part of his rough façade was falling away, and you loved it. He fucked you relentlessly, his pace stuttering every few seconds, desperate to hold of on his own, until you’d at least come undone once more around him. You couldn’t think around the haze of lust and pleasure, your entire body taught like a string on a bow, and every nerve in your body was on fire – you knew you were close, but you almost wanted to hold it off, enjoy this a little longer. He had other ideas.

His lips found your throat, hands squeezing roughly on your ass – he would definitely leave bruises – and he snaked on hand around you, then in between you, and his thick thumb settled on your clit with just the slightest pressure.

You came hard, feeling the wetness spill around your combined bodies, and you moaned his name as your body felt the most intense pleasure, it had ever and would ever experience. Everything felt like it was burning, your pussy pulling him in deeper, desperate to milk him, and he roared, halting his movements as the first ropes of cum shot into you. You felt the warmth of him, as he filled you and rubbed your clit, letting you come down gently. You felt absolutely full and wouldn’t mind staying right here for the rest of your life.

He chuckled lightly, carrying you on steady legs to the bed, still in you and laid you down on your back, him on top of you. You could breathe again, your eyes saw clearly, and he raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk playing on his lips. His cock was softening in you, but he didn’t move away from you. He let a finger glide down the bridge of your nose to your lips and he tapped them lightly. You kissed the pad of his finger.

“You’re goin’ to be the death of me, woman.” He muttered. You chuckled breathlessly. “Says you.” He grinned before his face fell into more serious folds. You frowned and poked at the wrinkle between his brows, smoothing it out.

“Y’know this is bad, right?” He asked, settling gently on top of you, resting on his elbows and trapping you between his arms. You nodded. “Professor-student relationships generally are.” You replied softly. He grunted. “That’s not what I meant. I could give less of a shit about my job right now.” You frowned, confusion rolling over your body. He sighed and buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the skin softly, before looking back up at you. “I meant that this…” He mentioned between the two of you. “Is bad for me.” “How?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck. He guffawed slightly. “For one, I’m just about 20 years your senior, darlin’. I ain’t gonna keep up if this is the pace we’re puttin’ out.” You couldn’t help but smile at the way his accent slipped in again. “You’re a fucking liar. You’ve got the stamina of a 20-year-old, and you know it.” He grinned, his fangs catching his bottom lip. “Well…” He groaned and let his forehead rest against yours for a second. “I’m a possessive man, Y/N. If you want this, we’re gonna have to stay real quiet about it so you don’t fuck up your school, but I ain’t gonna be too happy about it.” He said and your heart picked up. “I’m gonna want to show everyone that you’re mine.” He growled, and you felt his cock stir a little in you, sending another wave of lust cascading over your senses. “Alright.” You simply said. “I’m not one to talk, and I’m pretty sure you do want to keep your job, so…” You waited with bated breath. “So… You want to keep doing this, whatever the fuck it is?” He asked, nudging his hips slightly and you moaned at the feeling of his cock pressing further into you. Goddamn it, he had the fucking stamina of a god, not a 20 year old. “Yes, sir.”

With that, he growled and slotted his lips over yours. Yes, you wanted this, come what the fuck may.

Next chapter

Should this be a series? Let me know!

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fruitcoops · 2 years

Note

hai this is quite late (cuz i only just realized), and maybe someone else already sent an ask about this, but today (jan 30) is lily's birthdayy!! if you'd like, could you please write a fluffy piece of the team (or just james and coops or something) celebrating the lovely woman that is lily evans? no worries if not ofcourse!! love ur fics!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LILY!! PLEASE MARRY ME WHENEVER IT'S CONVENIENT FOR YOU! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

“Ha—”

“Sing that song and I am removing your kidneys.”

“—ppy birthday to—” Remus broke off with a yelp as Lily lunged for him; she caught him around the shoulders and dragged him into a loose headlock, ruffling his hair until it fell into his eyes and he stopped squirming.

James turned to the camera with a sweet smile. “Hello, everyone, my name is James Potter and I’m here to win, once my wife stops maiming our mutual friend.”

“Loops, you okay?” Marlene asked off-camera, laughing.

“No,” Remus grumbled as he sat up and put his baseball cap back on with a glare in Lily’s direction. “You’re not getting a single piece of my victory cupcake.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll win,” she said, amused. Her eyes sparkled as she looked back to the camera. “Welcome back to Lion Pride! My name is Lily Potter and I’m here with my husband and my best friend to see who knows me better.”

“It’s also her birthday,” Remus added. “So everyone needs to go sing ‘happy birthday’ to her as soon as possible, because it’s her birthday, and this very special birthday girl needs a song sung to her.”

Lily jabbed him in the chest with her pointer finger. “If one more goddamn person sings to me today, I’m going to lose my mind. Watch yourself, Lupin.”

“I feel like we’re resorting to physical violence a lot earlier than usual,” James mused as he toyed with the whiteboard in his lap. “Lils, do you want to kick us off?”

She narrowed her eyes at Remus once more before straightening up, though her smile was poorly-hidden. “Yeah, sure. The rules of this game are simple: I will ask a question about myself, and whoever guesses the correct answer will get a point. The person with the most points at the end gets a cupcake of victory. And no, Remus, I won’t wear the party hat.”

“I will give you…” He pulled out his wallet and unfolded it. “Five whole dollars to wear this party hat.”

“No.”

“And a week of babysitting?”

“That’s a reward for you.”

He shook the change out of the flap as James covered his mouth to stifle his snickering. “Five dollars and thirty-eight cents.”

Lily paused. “Where’s the quarter from?”

“Uh, Montana.”

“Deal.” Remus fist-pumped as he passed the party hat over and poured the coins into her free hand. Lily settled the elastic under her chin, then primly tapped her notecards on her lap. “First question: what is my middle name? You have fifteen seconds, and Remus, I’d better be able to read your handwriting this time.”

“I have better handwriting than your husband,” Remus muttered.

“You have doctor handwriting.”

“That is such a lie.”

“It’s like a stand-up comedy routine,” James laughed, capping his whiteboard pen. “They just set each other off like a runaway train. I love it.”

A faint alarm jingled and Lily raised her eyebrows at them. “Ready? Flip!”

“Jade,” Remus read with a satisfied smile.

“Wrong.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Good job, lover.” Lily leaned over and kissed James’ cheek. “It’s Lily Jay Evans.”

Remus blinked at her. “J, for Jade.”

“J-a-y, like the bird. Aw, look at his poor little face.”

“We’ve been friends for almost ten years,” Remus said. “Ten fucking years, and I thought your middle name was Jade.”

“I almost feel bad now,” she laughed. “Well, now you know. Second question: what’s my favorite snack?”

Time ticked by; Remus’ pen squeaked on the board and he visibly cringed. “Oh, god, that was awful.”

The chiming sound came again. “Flip!” Lily announced. “James, I feel like I should take away points for that answer.”

“Come on, you knew I wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity,” James snickered as he erased the ‘me’ written in bold block letters.

“The correct answer is Swedish Fish,” she informed him, accepting Remus’ high-five blindly. “Nice one, Re. Question number three: who is my celebrity crush? And no, Potter, you don’t count.”

“They’ve been married for a year and she still calls him that,” Remus said while he wrote. “Eight years of dating. God knows how long of knowing each other. And still, it’s ‘hey, Potter’ and ‘nice hair, Evans’ and ‘looking good, Potter’ as far as the eye can see.”

“You have no ground to stand on, Mr.-My-Boyfriend-Hasn’t-Said-My-Real-Name-For-Six-Months,” Lily snorted. “Time’s up!”

Both men turned their whiteboards, then reached across Lily for a fist-bump. “Can’t go wrong with Sandra Oh,” James said as Lily gave them both a pleased look. “The number of times we’ve watched ‘Killing Eve’…”

“Is between me, you, and Hulu,” Lily finished for him with a playful kiss to his cheek. “Way to go, you two. Question four: who is my least favorite Lion?”

James barked a laugh and immediately turned to his board; Remus shook his head with a smile. “I wonder who this could be?” he said sarcastically.

The camera crew burst out laughing when they revealed their answers. “That motherfucker triggered my labor and I stand by it,” Lily said, barely keeping down her amusement. “Sirius, I love you, don’t ever do that again. You and your toothpick ribs, Jesus Christ. This next one’s a bit of a softball: who is my favorite Lion?”

They both wrote quickly that time—Remus spent the remaining five seconds after they finished trying to hide his board from Lily as she leaned over for a sneak peek. “Stop it!” he hissed, kicking her lightly on the ankle. “You can’t look yet!”

“But it’s my birthday!” she complained. The alarm went off and Remus rolled his eyes as he handed her the board. She hummed noncommittally. “Bummer, you got it right.”

“Of course I did, I have eyes.”

James looked between them, obviously lost. “Wait, what? What do you mean? Remus is literally your best friend!”

“Well, yeah, but it’s Leo,” Lily said, as if that explained everything. James’ lower lip slid into a pout as he erased his answer and she kissed his nose. “It’s fine, there are a ton of questions left. Number six: what’s my favorite swear word?”

James thought for a moment, then raised his hand. “Is it a single word, or can I write a phrase?”

“Single word,” Marlene answered.

Lily frowned. “Aw, man, I wasn’t going to tell him. Ready?”

“Yep,” they said in unison.

“Oh, good answers,” she mused. “I love the thought you both put into it. I do say ‘shit’ under my breath a lot, but ‘fuck’ is just so multi-purpose.”

“Noun, adjective, and verb,” Remus agreed as they bumped elbows. James looked even more distressed than before.

“Come on, lover, this is your redemption,” Lily teased. “What’s my go-to karaoke song?”

“Oh, fuck,” James muttered.

Remus raised his eyebrows and nodded to the camera. “See? Multipurpose.”

Marlene gave them an extra five seconds to write; when the timer went off, Lily bit her lip. “Jamie, I jinxed you.”

“No,” James gasped. “You love Shania Twain!”

“Yeah, but ‘Man, I Feel Like A Woman’ is reserved for Harzy, not for me. ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ has always been my tried-and-true.”

Remus leaned into his sightline with a grin. “You want to know why it’s her favorite karaoke song?”

“Don’t you even—”

“Because she sings it with her best friend in the whole wide world.”

James kicked him lightly on the ankle. “Next scrimmage, I will beat your ass.”

“You’ve gotta catch me first,” Remus laughed, dodging a second attack by less than inch. “Hey!”

“Stop stealing my wife!”

“No!”

“If anyone knocks my party hat off, both of you are on diaper duty for the next week,” Lily threatened, holding her arms out. “I paid good money for this.”

Remus cocked his head. “I paid you.”

“Is it your birthday? No? Then shut your face. Question number eight: what’s my favorite color? Choose carefully.” Lily waited patiently for the timer to chime, readjusting the party hat elastic. “On three. One, two, three, go!”

“Wrong!” James crowed before Lily could even say a word. “Remus Lupin, tell the press how it feels to know absolutely nothing about your own best friend.”

“Fuck you, purple is 100% her favorite…” He trailed off when Lily covered her mouth with her hand. “Are you kidding me?”

“He’s right,” she murmured, tilting her head toward James and his wicked grin.

“Sage green, motherfucker!” James pumped his fist. “Sage green napkins at our wedding and sage green curtains in the living room and the closest thing to sage green on her engagement ring. I win, you lose, everyone go home.”

Remus turned to Lily. “Please divorce him.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t. He’s cute.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He really is.”

“You have terrible taste in men.”

“He’s good in bed.”

“I still don’t believe that for a second.”

“Unfortunately, it’s true. He’s also super nice, and smart, and basically a human teddy bear.”

“Look at his—” Remus sighed and put his head in his hands. “His fuckin’ face, oh my god.”

James’ pure elation had not dimmed by a single degree throughout their conversation; if he smiled any wider, his face was going to break. “We only have a few questions left,” Lily said with a sympathetic pat to Remus’ knee. “Buck up, Lupin, you know this one. What was the name of my childhood pet?”

Remus sighed, and begrudgingly began to write. James took a visible pause before scribbling down his answer. “Fluffy?” he guessed when their time was up. “It was a cat, right?”

“Her name was actually Snoozles,” Remus corrected, flipping his board. “She was a tabby that Lily pulled out of a dumpster behind Walmart and lived to be 16 and a half years old.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“My parents said that about her a lot,” Lily agreed. “Good memory, Re. What’s my favorite ice cream flavor?”

“I feel like I shouldn’t be losing this badly,” James said. “I mean, I’ve known you longer. I have a child with you. I married you.”

“Yeah, but Remus has sleepovers with me.”

James gave her an incredulous look. “We’ve been having sleepovers, like, every night for five years!”

“See, these are the times when I remember you’re an only child,” Remus said as he capped his pen. “It’s different. You get to know all the gossip about me, and I get to know Lily’s deepest, darkest insecurities while I do a shit job of painting her nails.”

“I know literally nothing about you, Loops.”

“You know everything! You and Sirius gossip all the time!”

“I don’t even know what part of Wisconsin you’re from!” James protested. “Remus, I thought you were straight for eight years and continued to think that while you were actively dating my best friend.”

Remus looked somewhat abashed. “In your defense, the last part wasn’t your fault. That was an intentional secret and Lily didn’t know, either.”

“I kind of did. And he’s from Madison,” Lily added. “Apparently, I’m the wrong person who needs to be answering questions. James, you’re right. Re, wrong answer.”

Remus checked his board and frowned. “But you are lactose intolerant.”

“Lactose-free ice cream, babe,” she said. “Or Lactaid. Everyone knows I’m a slut for sorbet. Oh, I really hope you both get this one. Do I like sparkly or shiny things better?”

They cut the timer early and the two men revealed their whiteboards at the same time with matching grins. “The coin was a giveaway,” Remus said. “Enamel pins, quarters, tiaras, mirrors…”

James leaned over and left a light kiss on Lily’s cheek. “It is so easy to find shiny presents.”

“Are you two ready for the last one?” Lily asked, shaking her head. “Cause if you want to keep making me sound like a crow, I’ll have to invoke birthday privileges.”

“Shoot.”

“What is my favorite lipstick color? You get an extra ten seconds for this question.” A small clock marked their time in the upper corner of the screen as James and Remus wrote their answers; when it finally reached zero, Lily smiled. “I’m really excited to see if one of you got it.”

“I feel a little bit bad about not knowing the name because it lives in your purse,” James said as he turned his board. “But it’s pink and comes in a shiny silver bottle with a clear part on the top.”

“Re?”

“Uh, the dark red one? I also don’t know the name.”

Lily looked between their answers and nodded slowly, biting her lower lip. “Jamie, I love you, so I’m really sorry that you lost.”

James’ mouth fell open. “But you wear it every day!”

“But the red one is my favorite, which is why I only wear it on special occasions.”

“That makes no sense,” he whispered, looking to Remus.

Remus raised his hands. “Don’t look at me, man, I just know her Christmas list. Do we have an official point count?”

“We do!” Marlene called. “James, you have five points, but Remus won this game with a total of eight.”

James rested his face in his hands as Remus went to claim his cupcake. “I am the worst husband in the entire world,” he mumbled, propping his glasses up to rub his eyes. “I don’t even…Lils, you tell me things, right?”

“I tell you lots of things,” she assured him with a pat to his back. “I’m sure you would’ve won against anyone but Remus.”

“But I lost. On a quiz about you, the one thing I actually know stuff about,” he laughed. “You totally would have won if we switched places.”

“Against Remus? I’d wipe the floor with him,” Lily agreed. “Against Cap? Baby, I would lose so fast it wouldn’t even be funny.”

Remus licked a bit of frosting off his lip. “Do you want some of my cupcake, Pots?”

James sighed. “Yeah, that actually sounds really good.”

“Sick, here.” He broke it in half and passed it behind Lily’s head. “Don’t share with your wife, she was mean to me earlier.”

“Oh, Re,” Lily snorted. “Sweet, sweet, Remus Lupin, as if he would deny me a bite of that cupcake.”

“We’re going home together!” James defended as he broke off the top half and handed it to Lily despite Remus’ betrayed expression. “Come on, she’s in direct control of my baby and the bed!”

“Thank you for joining us for my birthday,” Lily said to the camera with a catlike grin as she got the last of the frosting off her pinky. “Holy shit, Marlene, that cupcake rocked. Have a good one, Lions! Find something shiny and tag me on Instagram!”

#lily evans #lily potter #james potter #remus lupin #jily #coops #sweater weather #vaincre #my fic #fanfic #lumosinlove #social media #lion pride #birthday #best friends

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arrowflier · 3 years

Note

I wish you would write a fic where the gallaghers + kev & vee find out about ian's 87% comment and they all give their opinions and ask why mickey, ian's husband who's been a part of ian's life for nearly eleven years only gets 87% of his heart, if the other 13% goes towards his toxic exes and why since they're not in his life anymore, ian explaining himself and ends with ian taking the comment back so mickey has 100% of his heart

I decided this was perfect for Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It! Thanks as always to @gallavichthings for hosting💖. Also on AO3.

Eighty-Seven Percent (Anatomy of a Heart)

It was a normal morning in the Gallagher kitchen.

That is to say, it was chaotic.

Carl and Liam sat across from each other at the narrow table, tossing dry loops of off-brand cereal at each other over Franny’s backpack, which lay open between them. The girl herself was running circles around them both in her pajamas, Debbie chasing after her with a stern face and a frilly dress held in outstretched hands.

“Come on, Franny,” she muttered impatiently as her daughter evaded her again by diving under the table, “just put on the dress!”

Mickey laughed when Franny ran to him instead, trying to hide behind his legs where he stood by the brewing coffeemaker. Ian ruined her attempt by swinging her up into his arms and twirling her around until Debbie snatched her from him, resulting in an angry shriek as Franny writhed in her hold.

“For fuck’s sake, keep it down in here!” Lip hissed, coming in from the living room where Tami had just gotten Fred settled in his play pen. “If you get Fred crying again, I swear I’ll fucking end you all.”

If anything, the kitchen got louder as everyone there chimed in in their own defense.

Mickey just snorted as he grabbed two mugs and got to pouring the fresh coffee. “Good luck with that,” he offered to Lip, amused. “You get one Gallagher going, you get the whole fucking pack.”

Lip glared at him, opened his mouth the say something undoubtedly scathing and most likely regarding Mickey’s place in the family, when Carl laughed and chimed in from the table.

“Funny, man, that’s what Trevor said to me and Ian at the station yesterday.”

The room went quiet.

Or maybe it just seemed that way to Ian, who could see the way his husband’s back immediately tensed at the familiar name, the way he gripped the handle of his mug a little too tight and poured the coffee a little too high before setting down the pot with a hard clack.

“Trevor, huh?” Mickey asked, voice deceptively mild, and Ian winced behind him.

Carl didn’t get the memo.

“Yeah, you remember him, right?” he checked. “He still works at that youth place, came in to post bail for some kid when Ian was bringing by lunch.” He shrugged, tossed a handful of cereal into his mouth. “We chatted a bit,” he mumbled as he chewed.

Mickey gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles going white under his tattoos. “Funny,” he said quietly, “Ian didn’t think to mention that.”

Ian sighed, ignoring the eyes of his family on their quickly unfolding drama. They’d been fighting a lot lately, a lot more than they used to, and today had been shaping up to be better, damn it. Now he had to do damage control again instead of enjoying a quiet day in with his husband.

“We’ve talked about this, Mickey,” he started, a tad bit exasperated. It must have come through in his voice, because Mickey’s shoulders went up. “Trevor’s not a bad guy, and I’m not gonna avoid him if I see him around.”

Mickey released the counter to grab his coffee again, taking a long, scalding swallow. “Right,” he said finally, not looking at Ian. “Not a bad guy at all. Just wanted to leave your ass rotting in jail when you couldn’t be his poster boy anymore, that’s all.”

“Mickey…” Ian warned, but it didn’t stop him.

“Tell me, Ian,” Mickey mused, turning to face him with hard eyes. “How much of that thirteen percent belongs to him?”

Fuck. Not that again.

“Wait, what’s he talking about?” Debbie was the one to ask first, voice cutting through their palpable tension. She’d even stopped trying to force the dress over Franny’s head in the interim, allowing the girl to escape up the stairs unscathed. “What thirteen percent?”

“Oh yeah, he told me about that,” Lip butted in. “Said Mickey got all bent out of shape cause Ian still thinks about his exes, or something, right?”

Ian closed his eyes against the hurt in Mickey’s as his brother revealed that he knew about their squabble. Fuck his family right now, seriously.

“Not quite,” he gritted out, but when he opened his eyes again, Mickey had schooled his face back into disinterest.

“No, that’s just about it,” Mickey confirmed. “Got my nose out of joint because Ian, here,” he gestured at Ian with his mug, ignoring the hot coffee that splashed over the side, “said I only got eighty-seven percent of his heart.”

Someone whistled, low and long. Ian couldn’t tell who.

“It’s not that big a deal,” he insisted yet again. “My whole life is a fucking shrine to you, Mick. If my heart was a room, there’s be posters of you on every fucking wall.” He took a step closer, until Mickey’s mug pressed into his own chest, leaving a wet spot on his shirt.

“You really can’t let the others have a little space in that room? Not even in the bottom drawer of a dresser that nobody uses anyway?”

Mickey was still, and silent. Then he spun around and slammed his mug back down on the counter, shoved past Ian, and stormed off up the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Ian called after him.

“To clean out the goddamn drawers!”

It was quiet in Mickey’s wake, and then—

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” Carl said frankly, and Liam nodded in agreement, eyes wide.

“Did you really say that?” Debbie asked, sounding horrified, and before Ian could answer the back door slammed open.

“Morning neighbors!” Vee greeted as she came through, Kev on her heels. She was holding something, a dish covered in foil, and a carton of juice hung from Kev’s hand.

“We brought you guys some…” Vee trailed off when no one even looked at her, noticing the tension in the room.

“Uh,” she voiced, confused, “what did we miss?”

Carl answered, still looking at Ian in disbelief. “Ian told Mickey he keeps stuff from his exes in a drawer, so Mickey’s up there looking for it.”

“Oh, that’s cold man,” Kev breathed, and Ian exhaled.

“It was a metaphor,” he muttered, and Vee heard him.

“A metaphor for what?” she asked, curious.

“For the thirteen percent of Ian’s heart that belongs to other people,” Debbie revealed, and Vee set down her dish with a clatter.

“You said that to him?” she clarified, and at Ian’s reluctant nod, shook her head and turned to Kev.

“You ever say shit like that to me,” she said firmly, “I’ll cut off thirteen percent of your dick.”

—

A few long minutes later, after he had finally escaped his family’s inquisition about the state of his relationship, Ian made his way upstairs, alone.

When he got to their bedroom, Mickey wasn’t actually going through their things. He was just sitting on their bed, back to the wall, spinning his wedding ring round and round on his finger. Next to him, balanced on their folded blanket, sat the little box with the fancy ones they used in the ceremony just so they wouldn’t have to take theirs off.

Ian’s heart beat harder. That box had been sitting safe in the bottom drawer of their shared dresser.

The one that nobody used.

“Hey,” he said softly from the doorway. Mickey didn’t look up.

“You okay?” Ian asked, and that at least got a response.

“Do I look fucking okay to you?” Mickey returned, eyes on his knees.

He didn’t. Not really. He looked haggard, and upset, his hair spiky where restless fingers had combed through it. Ian couldn’t see his eyes, but he had a feeling they were rimmed in red.

Ian let himself into the room, sat opposite Mickey on the bed with his feet still firmly on the floor. He reached out to trace a finger over the rings in the box, and then the ring on Mickey’s finger.

Mickey let his own hand fall away when he did.

“You know that’s not how I meant it, right?” Ian asked, suddenly desperate to hear Mickey agree. He needed to know that Mickey understood, that just because he remembered his past, it didn’t mean he wasn’t dedicated to his future.

But Mickey just shrugged.

“Not a lot of ways you can mean it,” he said, and shit. Ian had really fucked up this time. “Either I have your whole heart or I don’t,” Mickey continued, “and I don’t. So,” he shrugged again, “whatever.”

Ian took a moment. A long one. He thought of Mickey’s reaction the first time he had said it, when he was mostly just teasing. The way he had been shocked to think that Ian still had fond thoughts for other men. And he thought of his family downstairs, each one more fucked up than the last, all in agreement over the severity of his error.

And to be honest, he still didn’t quite get the uproar. But maybe that was because none of them got his side, either.

“You’re right,” he began, “you don’t.”

Mickey tensed further, pulling away from him on the bed, but Ian wasn’t done.

“You have all the good bits, you know,” he continued. He went to rest a hand on Mickey’s chest, saw his stiffness, and pointed at his own instead.

“You have all four chambers,” he told him. “Atrium and ventricle. You keep my blood moving, keep it useful, keep me alive. And you have my valves,” he added, trailing a finger side to side to point to the right spots as he spoke. “Mitral and aorta, pulmonary and tricuspid.” He smiled. “You keep me going in the right direction.”

Mickey was softening, he could tell, the tension seeping from his limbs as Ian droned on. He kept going anyway.

“You have all my arteries, Mick,” he whispered. “You’re in all my veins. You said I was under your skin, once?” Ian laughed. “Well you’re under my skin, too. And in my muscles, and in my blood.”

“And the others, they’re like…” he hesitated, searched for the right words. Better words than he had used before. “They’re like cholesterol,” he settled on, “plaque. Or…like the scar tissue from a triple bypass, the parts that don’t work anymore.”

Mickey’s lips quirked, despite himself, and Ian counted it as a victory.

“You have a lot a heart surgeries, Gallagher?” he questioned softly, catching on.

Ian smile widened, and he reached out to take Mickey’s hand. This time, Mickey didn’t pull away.

“Maybe a few,” he admitted. “And maybe I’m better for it.”

He lifted Mickey’s hand to his lips, held it there.

“I don’t mind the broken bits,” he told his husband. “The pieces they left behind. Because you pushed through them every time, and made me healthy again.”

Mickey fidgeted, and nudged himself off the wall to settle closer to Ian’s side.

“Alright,” he allowed, “I get it.”

“Do you?” Ian asked earnestly. “Because I want you to, you know.” He dropped Mickey’s hand to hold his face instead, gently stroking a thumb over his cheek. “I want you to know that that thirteen percent, it doesn’t really matter. All that matters are the parts that are you.”

"I chose you, Mickey," he murmured. He reached out blindly for the spare rings in their box on the bed, worked one free. Slipped it onto Mickey's finger without looking away from his eyes. Mickey's hand clenched around it, around Ian's hand, and held tight.

"I married you," Ian added. "Because I love you with every real part of my heart, every little bit that works."

“All eighty-seven percent?” Mickey prods with a soft expression, leaning forward until his nose brushes Ian’s.

“All eighty-seven percent,” Ian confirmed, and kissed him.

#daily speedwrite #gw2021 #fanfic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich #fix-it #gallagher family #albeit briefly

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miss-smutty · 3 years

Text

Forbidden

Chapter 3

A/N- Evey couple of chapters you will get Professor Hemsworth's POV and this is the first one 🥵 I really wanted to write his story and hear his thoughts too.

Summary- He can't get her out of his mind, the girl in the coffee shop. Will fate bring them together again?

Word count- 2.9K

Pairing- Prof!Hems X Reader

Warnings- Age gap (OC is 20) student/professor relationship, swearing, dirty talk

18+ Only!

Disclaimer: This is an entire work of fiction/AU and has no affiliation to real life what so ever! This is a fictional story about fictional characters who happen to share names and faces with some real people.

Posted: 5th Sept 2021

Taglist:- @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @jjpogueprincess @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires @monet-belle @help2700 @presidentpotts

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chris Pov

My Apartment was silent as usual, empty like always when I arrived home from work, throwing my coat and bag on to the sofa and slumping down next to them.

I couldn't stand the silence, it taunted me and brought back memories I'd rather not remember. I'd thought about getting a roommate but still hadn't gotten around to posting out an ad, the idea made me nervous. Although I hated being alone, living with a stranger would be even worse. I turned on the TV to fill the expanse of the large empty room that I'd work so hard for but ultimately meant absolutely nothing to me.

My mind began to wander back to this morning and the chance meeting with the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on. She'd taken my breath away and made me so nervous that I'd used some cheesy chat up line. I'd known at the time it would come back to haunt me tonight, no wonder she ran out of there as soon as she could. Thats why I hesitated, my hand brushed against the small of her back when I was about to ask her for her number and it took away my sensibility. I leaned in like I was about to kiss her, thank god I stopped myself though, how ridiculous would that have been?

I'd spoke to her for no more than ten minutes but somehow felt like I'd known her all my life. Asking for her number wouldn't have been the most unusual thing but she was in such a rush and I didn't want to make her late. There's absolutely nothing more I hate than tardiness.

I still couldn't get her off of my mind, she was beautiful, long dark hair that flowed down her back and the most piercing green eyes I'd ever seen. I couldn't stop looking into them, framed by dark eyelashes that made the emerald green pop even more. It's been a long time since I'd met a woman that made me feel as nervous as she did. The only thing is, she was young, much younger than me and I'd be fooling myself to think I'd actually stand a chance with her. Even if by some miracle I did, she deserved more than what I could give her, I was a mess, even after all this time I was still living in the past.

**********

I woke up feeling like a teenage boy again, a tent of my erection in the cotton sheets sprawled across my middle. I'd dreamt about the girl all night and honestly nothing about it was innocent. I rubbed at my eyes and stretched my muscles before finally getting out of bed, I had my first Junior Comms class to teach today and of course, I couldn't be late.

To say I was dreading today would be an understatement, I'd made a deal with the Dean to teach the Comms class because none of the other professors were willing and I was desperate for a job. I was hoping that if I exceeded expectations during my first semester I would finally get to teach psychology like I'd planned in the first place. Of course that meant being on my best behaviour and a lot of arse kissing, which I would do, albeit reluctantly.

The air was crisp this morning as I set off walking towards the university, luckily for me I didn't live to far away from the campus and the walk would help distract my thoughts because God knows they needed distracting. They always did.

Before I knew it, I'd arrived at the halls, looking up at the architecture of the building and realising my idea to walk obviously hadn't worked. I'd barely paid attention the entire time and it was only muscle memory that had gotten me to my required destination.

I held onto the door handle of the lecture hall and took a deep breath before stepping in, the room erupting into wolf whistles was not what I expected but admittedly better than what I was thinking. I scanned the room and my students, rolling my eyes at the girls lining the front row, their eager faces taking me in.

The class was full of typical students, the usual cliques you see at every educational institution. The jocks and cheerleaders, the nerds and oh fuck. The air was almost knocked from my lungs when I spotted her sat at the back of class. The girl I'd been talking to in the coffee shop yesterday, the girl that had been on my mind and in my dreams ever since. She was here, right in front of me which meant she was my student and younger than I'd actually thought. Fuck.

Even though she was now out of bounds I couldn't take my goddamn eyes off of her, the way her wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders. I could feel my cock tingling when my eyes fell to her low cut top and that unreal cleavage. I pulled my eyes away from her so as not to draw attention and focused on preparing for the lesson, leaving the students to whisper for a while longer while I recovered my composure.

Like a magnet, my eyes unwillingly kept finding their way back to her and she looked uncomfortable, squirming in her seat. I was making her uncomfortable and I still couldn't stop myself, I frowned as I subtly watched her cheeks blush and realised she's probably embarrassed because she'd been flirting with her Professor. Of course she'd be embarrassed, I was so much older than her but was it wrong that I didn't feel one ounce of awkwardness at the fact I had been flirting with a student?

All I could think about as I watched her tits bounce as she moved In her seat, was burying my face in her cleavage and I knew I had to look away before my dick reacted. The last thing I needed in a class full of students was to be walking around with a fucking erection.

I could stand there and watch her all day but certain students had stopped talking and they were waiting for me to speak and I'd almost forgotten why I was here In the first place. I really needed to get my head in the game, being infatuated with a student would definitely not get me the promotion I was looking for.

I pushed my hands in my tight pockets, hoping to stretch the fabric a little so my semi-hard dick wasn't so apparent, then my eyes were drawn to her again and she was talking to Jake. That pissed me off and I could feel my jaw tensing as I cleared my throat rather forcibly, hoping to get the attention of the whole class at the same time as distracting her from the rather friendly conversation she was having with another guy. A guy her age at that.

"Now I've got your attention, we're going to use our first session to get to know each other a little better. You'll be doing quite a lot of speeches so it's best if you feel comfortable with one another. I'll start by introducing myself." I looked at her again, gulping hard when I saw her with the end of her pen in her mouth and the way her lips wrapped around it. Fuck. "So, I'm Professor Hemsworth and I'm originally from Melbourne in Australia." I looked to her and she smiled, remembering what we spoke about yesterday.

A student started with the typical Australian stereotypes although I'm actually surprised no one told me to throw another shrimp on the Barbie. I laughed along anyway, I'd been expecting it, it's literally the first thing anyone who isn't Australian says when they first meet me. So when I told him it wasn't very original I meant it, I'd heard it a thousand times before and I'll hear it a thousand times again.

I told the class a little about myself before informing them they would do the same, it didn't go down well, the room filled with groans. I looked to her and she looked downright terrified, I sympathized for her, it wasn't easy speaking in front of a room full of people but was the best way to break the ice.

"Claire Abbott." I called, watching the blonde at the front stand, nervously. She giggled and twirled her hair around her finger as she smiled at me, I knew what she was doing. I quickly glanced at the girl from the coffee shop as she rolled her eyes at the blonde at the front, I smirked back at her, amused at her tolerance for predictable girls.

"I erm… I don't know what to say?" The blonde said, looking at me questioningly.

"Just anything about yourself that we might find interesting, the first thing that comes to mind."

"Well I own four horses and I'm the cheer captain." I had to stop myself from laughing when she rolled her eyes again but the smile soon disappeared when I saw Jake lean over to speak to her and the way she laughed at him made my blood boil. I was seething, not because they were speaking instead of listening but because she was speaking to him instead of me.

"You two at the back, we'll wait for you shall we?" I called them out, my voice more stern than I expected. I was pissed off that Jake would easily be able to get to know her and I couldn't. She stared at me, her eyes wide, she was surprised I'd called them out in front of everyone which made me even more pissed off because that probably blew my chances even more. What the hell am I thinking? What chances, I need to remember I'm her fucking Professor.

She sat silently through the rest of the class, I still couldn't keep my eyes off of her and thankfully neither could she. She looked flustered and I liked it, I liked that I could make her feel that way without even touching her. She was so goddamn hot I could hardly concentrate on what the other students were saying.

When I glanced down at the sheet of names in front of me and saw Jake's name my jaw clenched.

"Jake Hudson." I couldn't help narrowing my eyes as he stood up, I just knew he'd say something cocky and I was so fucking jealous of him right now. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath, I needed to keep my cool, especially in a room full of students and her. If she knew what I was really like she wouldn't look at me the way she did.

"Hi, I'm Jake." I bit onto the inside of my gum, that bit of pain keeping me grounded. "I'm also from Australia." He gave me that fucking cocky half arsed smile I'd been waiting for and the adrenaline shot through me. I was thankful no one noticed apart from maybe the one person in here I didn't want to notice. She was watching me carefully. I had to loosen my tie a little as he continued to speak, I was burning up with rage.

I'm glad class was almost over, I needed a stiff drink and I needed it now. I looked at my sheet of names again and there were only a couple left, I wondered which one was hers. I needed to know her name. Fuck. I needed to know everything about her.

"Jessica Watson." She stood up. Fuck, Jessica, it was a cute name and fit her perfectly. I was mesmerized with her and the way she spoke as she tucked her long hair behind her ears. "These last couple of days have been pretty eventful for me." She looked right at me, what was she going to say? "I'm living the life of a romance novels heroine and I'm excited to see what the next couple of days bring." Oh fuck. Was she talking about meeting me? Or Jake? I like to think by the way she studied me as she spoke, she was talking about me. This was wrong, so wrong but why did it feel so right? I forgot there was anybody else in the room, my cock twinging as I pictured myself fucking her on this desk. I needed to stop thinking like this, it's unprofessional and completely immoral. I shook my head and turned back to the class.

"I hope we all feel a bit more comfortable with each other now, some of you shared some pretty revealing things." I looked at Jessica. "Some of you, not so much." Then raised my eyebrows at a group of guys in the middle of class that had used thier time to inform everyone about the party at their frat house this weekend. "I'll have a schedule for you all next time I see you, anybody that has any questions can see me after class, everyone else is free to leave." I looked at her one last time, hoping she'd use this opportunity to come and speak to me.

I sighed when I sat back at my desk and a group of girls took their opportunity, I wasn't in the mood for it but answered their questions anyway. I didn't take my eyes from Jessica, especially when Jake started speaking to her again. The girls in front of me were taking up my time, trying to flirt with me instead of asking relevant questions and I was over it.

"Do you actually have any questions about the course ladies? I have other things to be getting on with if not." I was a little short with them without actually meaning to be. I just wanted them out of my goddamn way so I could see what was going on with Jessica and Jake.

The girls finally left, more like stormed off but I couldn't care less right now. She was still sat at her desk which means she waited until I was alone which has got to be a good sign. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, the silence driving me insane so I cleared my throat and she blinked like I'd woken her from a daydream. What was she thinking about?

She packed up her things into her bag slowly, I could tell she was buying herself time but I felt relaxed now we were alone, in fact I felt excited which was completely ridiculous. I felt like a damn teenager.

"Did you need to talk Miss Watson?" I was amused and I needed to break the ice before the silence got the better of me. I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest.

"I erm…" She walked towards me, down the stairs, looking at her feet. She was unsteady and looked nervous as hell, was she going to tell me to back off? "I wanted to apologise, I had no idea you were a Professor." She stood at the bottom of the stairs, I was glad she wasn't too close. I don't know if I'd be able to control myself around her and lord knows I had to. The atmosphere was tense, neither of us really knowing what to say or do, all I could think about was ripping off her clothes.

"There's no need to apologise Miss Watson, I also had no idea you were a student but I was hoping to bump into you again. Funny how things work out isn't it?" I cocked my eyebrow at her, testing her, seeing how she would react to my comment. Something changed and she didn't look quite so nervous anymore.

"I think fate can be rather cruel Professor Hemsworth." The way she called me Professor stirred something deep inside me, a hunger I didn't know I had and when she moved closer to me I began to feel nervous.

"Oh really? Why is that Miss Watson?" She was so close now, I could smell her sweet scent of coconut shampoo. I wanted to touch her badly, I didn't though. I didn't dare because I knew if I did I wouldn't be able to stop myself and I must restrain, she's my student after all. It's wrong. It's forbidden.

I still couldn't stop myself from flirting, like an uncontrollable impulse and as soon as I opened my mouth to try and be professional I would just go right ahead and flirt. She was so outrageously attractive but the kind of attractive where she didn't know it and didn't flaunt it, which I found even more endearing.

"I was hoping to bump into you again too, only now the thought of what could've happened will have to remain a fantasy." My restraint was really being tested now, she was teasing me, egging me on and the fact she'd also been fantasising about me made it extra difficult to resist. I had to loosen my tie again, I needed my fingers to be busy so I didn't touch her. I had an internal conflict going on inside my mind and it was like torture, if this was day one of class how the hell was I meant to survive the whole semester?

"I better get to my next class, we can't have anyone thinking I'm your favourite now can we?" Fuck sake. I ground my teeth together, I was glad she was leaving, I couldn't take the tension any longer but at the same time I knew, with distance the desire would only intensify. She turned to leave and I couldn't stop myself watching her hips sway as she walked, her ass was so round and bouncy, it hypnotised me and that's when I knew I was in deep trouble.

#smut #chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth fanfic #chris hemsworth smut #chris hemsworth x reader #chris hemsworth x you #chris hems x oc #chris hems x you #chris hemsworth thor #chris hemsworth x ofc #chris hemsworth x oc #chris hemsworth imagine #professor #professor x #professor x student

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Sovereign Talks (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil Genre: Bit of angst sandwiched between two pieces of fluff Rating: T for language Notes: Another partially/selectively mute reader story! Again, this is somewhat self indulgent, essentially being a self-insert story with edits to make it better for a wider audience. PS Daniela says some stuff that's kinda insulting, though it's out of misunderstanding rather than poor intentions, and she tries to make up for it. Also, some of the descriptions of the reader's muteness might not make sense to everyone, as I'm essentially describing how it feels for me, personally. Summary: Daniela's favorite servant is sweet, charming, eager to please, all the things she wants from a romantic partner. But there's one detail she's never quite understood. An argument, a discussion, an inevitability.

Try as you might, it was nigh impossible to please your employer. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong, and Daniela Dimitrescu was more than pleased to point it out to you. At least her intentions weren’t severe. It didn’t really bother her if you missed a spot while dusting, or if you accidentally stumbled upon a ‘private’ conversation. What mattered to her, at the end of the day, was having material to tease you with, or ‘bargain’ with. She’d approach you slowly, musing out loud about your chores. Then she’d point out a flaw, smirking ever so slightly, before placing a finger beneath your chin. You’d make awkward eye contact, desperate to get out of the situation.

And then she’d tell you exactly what she wanted from you.

Most days it was simple enough. Or at least it had been at the start, when she first sought you out. ‘Carry these books for me’, she’d say, beckoning you to follow her. ‘Make a copy of this poem so I can return the book to Duke’, she’d command. Every single time you were powerless to refuse. Hell, you couldn’t even say anything if you wanted to. So you did as she asked. In time, you came to realize the truth behind her actions, the center of her motivations: She wanted to spend time with you.

You had been baffled, at first, to connect the dots in such a way. But Daniela made no attempt to hide her feelings, letting her touches linger on your skin, smiling without any cruelty when you were near. Once, she had even covered for you after you broke a vase. When you had tried to protest, hands waving, mouth refusing to speak, she had shrugged you off with a simple ‘you are worth the price’. Ever since then, the two of you had been rather close. Sure, she had never officially asked you on a date, but she had held your hand while the two of you read. And she had held you, swaying back and forth, as music played in a distant room. Then there were the times she caught you in the corridor, pressing you against the wall for a quick kiss… or a long one, that is. Certainly that meant something? Otherwise you’d look quite silly, blushing as hard as you tended to.

Eventually your concerns subsided considerably. It took a long, difficult conversation, however, and an argument you’d never forget…

-----------------------------------

“Have you read Crier’s War yet?” Daniela asked, looking at you over her own book. The two of you were in her personal study, near the library, lounging in peaceful quiet. Well, it had been quiet. At her question you glance up, ensuring you made eye contact before shaking your head no. “I think you’d like it. Impossible love between two people from vastly different cultures, who start out opposed… sounds familiar, hmm?” This time you nod, laughing a little under your breath. Then you’re returning to your novel, oblivious to the way your partner is watching you, her eyes narrowed. When she catches your attention once more, it’s with a question you had hoped she would never ask. “Why don’t you talk?”

Trying to hide your discomfort, you practically bury your nose in your book, refusing to look up at Daniela. In response she grabs your notepad, slowly sliding it closer to you. For every second of silence she moves it another centimeter. With a slight groan you give in, snatching it from her hands, but sending her a glare as you do. Quickly you grab your pen and scrawl her a note. Not an answer, rather a question of your own.

“Why does it matter?” Clearly that wasn’t what she was looking for, as she leans back and gives a groan of her own.

“Seriously? I’m just curious. You can laugh, groan, make other, nice little noises… I just want to know how you work,” Daniela explained, frowning all the while. Admittedly, you understand where she’s coming from. But that didn’t mean that you were terribly comfortable with this conversation. In fact, it’s a subject you’ve been dreading ever since the two of you started ‘dating’. How exactly were you supposed to explain your condition? Especially without being able to talk directly through it?

“It’s complicated,” you write, angling the paper so Daniela can read it from her side of the table. But she only spares it a quick glance, before staring hard at you again. “Fine, babe. My mouth feels like static. My tongue is heavy, and trying to talk is like walking when both your legs are asleep. There’s never not a lump in my throat.” Now she’s reading attentively, frown vanishing, replaced by a confused expression. Shifting awkwardly, you internally pray that she doesn’t have any follow up questions. Alas, there are no gods on your side this day.

“Did something happen? Or were you… born like this?” Daniela asked, watching you closely. Frustrated, you give her a pleading look, hoping that she’d get the message and back off. Instead she doubles down. “We could arrange for a doctor to come out here, if that’s what you need. All you have to do is tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t expect you to understand. It’s a multifaceted issue, and-” you have to turn the page to continue writing at this point- “a very personal one. But if you must know, it has to do with my anxiety.” There’s a pause, and for a few seconds you think the conversation is over. The relief that floods your chest only lasts a single moment. Then you’re face to face with Daniela, who’s leaning across the table, eyeing you with an expression you can’t make sense of. Now your heart is racing, leaving you trembling.

“So… it’s not a matter of whether or not you can talk at all? It’s a choice?” Daniela questioned, sounding aggravated. Instantly you’re shaking your head, scowling at her interpretation of your words. “What, you’re saying you can’t even relax enough to talk around me? Your fucking girlfriend?” This was exactly the sort of thing you had been worried about. How could you expect Daniela to understand the way your mind locked your jaw in place? How could she ever realize how terrifying the whole castle was?

“Calm down and let me elaborate, please,” you write, as fast as you can. But Daniela yanks your notebook away from you, tossing it to the side. All you can do is stare at her in shock. This was more than just a misunderstanding, this was her actively sabotaging your only reliable method of communication.

“You want me to calm down? Can’t you see why I’m upset? I just found out my partner isn’t comfortable around me. We could have been talking all this goddamn time! Why haven’t you told me this before? Why haven’t we worked on this?” Daniela was practically yelling now, and both of you had risen to your feet. You’ve backed away a meter or so, only for her to close the space between you, one hand cupping your cheek. No matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to look her in her eyes. “C’mon, please,” she whispered, voice barely audible. Tears are starting to cloud your vision. “Say something. Anything.”

Wordlessly, you pull yourself from her grasp, too overwhelmed to do anything other than let your feet carry you out of the room. Half to your relief, half to your misery, Daniela doesn’t lift a finger to stop you.

-----------------------------------

Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since you ‘talked’ to Daniela. Ever since, she had been avoiding you, and you her. Hell, for three days you struggled more than usual to communicate with anyone because you hadn’t dared to go back for your notebook. In the end someone had found you a new one. It didn’t quite feel the same though, considering your normal one had been a gift… a gift from the very person who had taken it away from you. For two weeks it had felt like every single thing was another reminder of your loneliness. You wanted desperately to fix your situation, but had no clue where to even begin. Until an irritated Cassandra hatched a devious plan, that is.

You weren’t privy to the specific details of her scheme, and could only guess as to her motivations (presumably being annoyed by Daniela’s sulking). All you really knew was that one moment you were following the middle child, supposedly to assist her with organizing something, and the next you were being shoved in an unfamiliar room. Inside, Bela was trying to stall Daniela, making up a ridiculous excuse for her to be there. As soon as you entered, the eldest daughter made a beeline (flyline?) towards the exit. Before either you or your girlfriend could process what was happening, the door had been shut and locked, trapping the two of you within.

“What the fuck?” Daniela asked, temporarily ignoring you in favor of pounding on the door. It didn’t budge, unsurprisingly, but someone outside did yell in response. Not that you could make out what the muffled voice was saying. “Ugh, I swear I am going to kill them for this.” Unable to get out, she finally turns to look at you. In an instant the anger drains from her face, replaced with a bittersweet smile. There’s enough tension in the room to weigh the corners of your lips down. It’s getting harder to breathe, and you can’t quite look Daniela in the eyes. “Hey. Hey, c’mon, if they’re going to be assholes, we might as well make the most of it, right?” She asked, voice a million times softer than you would have expected, considering your previous conversation. With that she moves to sit down, gesturing for you to join her.

“Mmm?” You ‘say’, really just making a confused humming sound. For once, you do want to talk. More than any other time you’ve wanted to. But your tongue was caught in the bear trap your teeth represented, preventing almost any sound from escaping. Still, this is a side of Daniela that you do not often see, with how prideful she tended to be. All it takes to get you to move is for her to pat the spot next to her. Then you’re shifting, blushing hard as you lower yourself onto the couch. Not quite ready to meet her gaze, you stare at your thumbs, twiddling them like an anxious child.

“Bela seems to think that I’ve made a fool of myself in front of you,” Daniela mused, more to herself than to you. One of her hands slides towards you, however, eagerly intertwining her fingers with your own. After two whole weeks of isolation… it’s an amazing feeling. “I said something stupid. It’s been driving me mad, and I have no clue what to do about it. Fuck-” she flinches as she speaks, eyes clamping shut- “I just want to fix this. I want you to feel good around me. I want you to feel the same way I do. More than anything, I want to be your safe haven.”

Your eyes meet, finally, as warmth floods your chest. Words fail you, as they are wont to do, so you leave them behind. Instead you reach for your stars- the body of your girlfriend, pulling yourself into her arms. Even as tears drip down your cheeks, you are smiling softly, overwhelmed by the embrace. Soon enough you can feel Daniela rubbing soft circles into your back with her fingers. She presses a gentle kiss to the side of your head, enjoying the hug too much to pull back even the slightest bit.

“Is there anything I can do? Anything to make you more comfortable?” She asked, for a moment not even realizing the difficulty you would have with responding. Finally connecting the dots, she changes the position of her arms, ensuring that you could stay in her lap while still being able to gesture with your hands. Instead of replying, your first concern is to gently cup your girlfriend’s cheek. Then you place a kiss on her forehead. “You’re my everything, you know that, right?” Daniela whispered, sounding almost in awe. Suddenly you’re possessed by a rush of courage, clearly bolstered by her affection, and you move without thinking. You lean back in for another kiss, hand moving to the back of her head for stability.

Both of you are smiling now, even as your kiss gets more intense, the two of you pressing against each other as best as you can. One of Daniela’s hands runs itself through your hair, before taking it in a loose grip. All you can think about is how right this feels. Your heart is racing, especially as your girlfriend switches to an open mouth kiss, letting her tongue slide across your lips. It catches you off guard, and you need to pull back to catch the breath she had so eagerly stolen. Even then you swear you can feel her pulse pounding just as hard as yours is.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” Daniela murmured, embarrassed, worried that you had stopped for a very different reason. In response you shake your head a little, then practically smother her face in tiny kisses. She’s giggling at that, grinning, all of her anxiety fading away. Most of yours does too. Everything feels perfect. So much so, in fact, that you feel something you haven’t felt in almost an entire year: The loosening of your jaw muscles. Clarity unstiffens your tongue, making age-old static clear up. Can I…? You wonder, wanting so desperately to use this opportunity as best as you can. After all, who knew when you’d ever be this comfortable within the castle again. Hell, the thought alone makes you more nervous, and you struggle to think of something, anything, to say.

“L-l… Love,” you stuttered, barely getting the syllable out, mouth feeling incredibly dry, mind racing, hating how it sounds because holy shit you haven’t talked in a year and was Daniela going to hate your voice and forget all about what you were saying and ruin the moment or worse was she going to hate you or thoughts thoughts pounding in your head like a hurricane, because because because-......................... Anxiety, above all else, was an asshole. One that had prevented you from hundreds of conversations, and limited a thousand more. Now, moments after finally speaking, your mind is on the brink of a tear-worthy breakdown. But you’ve said your piece, and by God has it been received.

“Yes, absolutely, fuck baby, I love you so much!” Daniela cried, equally overwhelmed, for a far different reason. She’s holding you as close as she can, burying her face in your neck. Likewise you rest yourself against her, letting your eyes drift shut, happy beyond description. There were still things you had to talk about, yes, and you would once more have to rely on your trusty notebook. Daniela had a lot to learn, to understand, but this was a start. More than that, it was the first step after the mending of a broken bone. Everything to come would be far, far easier, a labor of love done fearlessly.

-----------------------------------

“Should we open the door now? Or at least unlock it?... How long does it take two idiots to stop being mad at each other?” Cassandra asked, leaning against the hallway wall. Meanwhile Bela had her ear to the door, straining to hear what was going on within. Sure, she had gone along with her younger sister’s plan, but she hadn’t been entirely convinced that it wouldn’t end in disaster. Then again, so far so good. No yelling, no (loud) crying, just some quiet words from Daniela. Maybe they’re working things out, Bela thought, starting to smile. And then she heard something she’d never forget…

“Yes, absolutely, fuck baby, I love you so much!”

“We are not opening that door,” Bela replied, suddenly, her ears burning red. She didn’t know how things had gone from so quiet to so potentially dirty in such a short amount of time, and she did not care. Without even a hint of an explanation, she turned to leave, desperate to get certain mental images out of her head...

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #yes the ending is a bit of a joke #ps i know it might not be everyone's cup of tea #especially since the reader does end up saying something #i went back and forth on that part for awhile #but again this is really self indulgent #and personally it worked better for me??#like i can occasionally force myself to say something even when my mouth isn't cooperating #and if anyone can make me do that it's someone i love #like my best friend who i kind of also loved romantically at one point #this is a literal example #anyway enjoy

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neonponders · 3 years

Text

I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself @hoegrove your Bond!au is just too strong.

Based on their post here ~

I hope you like it 🥺 🌹 it’s on ao3, if that’s easier for anyone to read 🌹

• • • • • • •

013.

Fucking 013. Not 00.

Which meant he’d have to wait for whoever got the 00 status he deserved to either die or become incompetent.

“Congratulations, Hargrove. Report to HQ for briefing.”

He’d rather be headed for the private plane that would take him to some tropical location, where capitalist monsters waited for his bullet.

Hargrove stepped out of the elevator onto the spacious floor. He really wished HQ would renovate. The concrete floors, glass walls, and metal beams were urban but not chic.

He found the corresponding desk of his... “partner” of sorts. Every number had a letter. The computer and the muscle. As Hargrove removed his outer garment, though, only the computer desk was present, while the person -

“Could you not dump your nasty jacket on my work station?”

Hargrove sighed and found the loon - on a bicycle. He frowned. “What the hell are you doing on a bike inside?”

“It helps me think,” Q said, riding slow laps in between the cubicles. Granted, there weren’t many of them, and Hargrove was pretty sure he’d only ever seen Q and maybe three other people on this entire floor, unless there was a crisis.

Maybe that’s why he had yet to be promoted to 00. Too much peace.

“Take your jacket off my seat!”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy cursed. He balled up the ruined jacket and threw at the bastard’s head. To his credit, he didn’t crash into anything. “Clean freak.”

“That’s Q to you,” he barked, dumping the raggedy garment into the nearest bin.

“Sure, Steve,” he purred, knowing his partner loathed the fact that he had figured out his real name. Hargrove wouldn’t work for just anybody, after all. And he was a detective first. Hired gun second.

He didn’t actually need Q. So he told himself. But Steve sure came in handy.

“So help me god, Billy. Did you at least keep my pen intact?”

“Your what?” He landed in Steve’s spinning chair, forcing the guy to lean his bike against his cubicle and stand with his hands on his hips.

“My pen, dip shit. You know, the one that’s basically a Swiss army knife. The one sanctioned by HQ to one Asshole Hargrove - ”

“Oh, that,” he said distantly, gazing out at the city around them. “It broke.”

Not surprised, nor impressed, Steve remarked, “You realize that if some nerd civilian reverse-engineers half the shit you lose, we might be genuinely compromised, right?”

“Then make better stuff.”

“Stop losing it, and you might actually be 00 one day.”

Billy glared with all the menace a man could while having his chair rolled out of the way. Steve shoved him aside with his foot and entered his computer password before navigating to the corresponding case briefs. Billy let his head recline on the seat while Steve went through the list.

“Target?”

“Deceased.”

“Car?”

“Totaled, but returned.”

“Pen: lost in action. Suspect?”

“Null. Excellent in bed, though.”

“You’re a cliche.” Steve glared from behind his glasses.

“Stop giving me cases with attractive people, then,” Billy smirked. “Who’s my next target? Tell me they live somewhere expensive and sunny.”

“Like a desert?”

“No, like Marseilles.”

“Oh, Marseilles is nice,” Steve chirped distractedly. “If you like French people.”

Billy snorted, but it evolved into laughter. “What’s wrong with French people?”

“They’re French.”

“Wow. Picky.”

Steve giggled under his breath and said, “I’m sorry I don’t have a gig for you in France.”

“I’m sure I’ll managed,” Billy sighed. “What do you have?”

“Something more domestic.”

Billy exhaled through his nose, warranting a curious peek from Steve. “Yeah, that’s what I’m stuck with. One zero and domestic jobs.”

“You’ll get there,” Steve reassured. Softly. Which was...odd.

Billy’s head rolled over the back of the chair to stare at him. Steve quickly added, “If you stop breaking the shit I loan you.”

Billy looked toward the ceiling, pressing his lips into an impertinent line...

“Q.”

“Hm?” he asked while typing away.

“There’s a bird in here.”

Steve looked at him. “What?” and followed his gaze up to the metal rafters. A grey bird gazed right back at them. “Oh shit - ”

Billy already had his pistol out. One shot knocked the bird off its perch. It landed with a loud, metallic clatter.

Steve's body doubled over when Billy wrenched his arm in the direction away from the device, and not a second too soon. The force of the explosion knocked them both over one cubicle and roughly onto the concrete floor.

"Q," Billy growled when the guy scrambled to his feet and back to his desk. He reached underneath it, uncovering a baseball bat of all things, and swung right over his hard drive. Metal and plastic debris rained over the floor, and then he ran to the router standing on a low piece of furniture along the wall. He wrenched its cables out and smashed the thing too.

Then he looked up at Agent Hargrove. "We're compromised."

Billy was already moving toward the scattered carcass of the spy bird. They didn't have a lot of time. Already, another explosive rumble sounded beneath their feet, on another floor. Billy quickly found the piece he was looking for, and pocketed it before yanking Steve in the direction of the stairs.

"I need a car."

"You know where the garage is."

"You're coming with me. That thing heard both of our names."

Steve defended, "We both lost our original identities when we signed up for this bullshit."

"We don't know what we're dealing with yet," Billy reasoned. "Until then, you're safest with me."

"Well that's pathetic." His words might've landed better if they didn't rattle out of him while they did their best to sprint down several dozen flights of stairs.

"You're really sassing me right now? What are you gonna do with that bat?"

Steve ignored that to proclaim, "We need to get to my place. I have a backup computer connected to the system."

"And how do we know it's not compromised too?"

"Because it's mine. Not the system's."

Billy could only frown at him ever so briefly, but he pocketed that information away for another time. For now, they descended into the belly of their organization, where the garage of vehicles rested beneath the city. There, another argument awaited him.

"You're not taking the goddamn Camaro."

"I'm taking the goddamn Camaro," Billy retorted, already ripping the keys out of the cabinet Steve unlocked for him.

"It's loud as all hell!"

"So are you. Get in the car."

Another explosion shook the concrete columns of the garage. Steve ducked his head and coughed on the dust while he threw himself into the car a millisecond before Billy left tire tracks on the floor. "What are you doing?"

Steve was pressing buttons on the dash. Somewhere behind them, a mechanical part was moving in the car. "We don't know how many birds infiltrated the building. I'm rotating the license plates - egh!"

He collapsed against his seat when the car angled up to speed onto the city streets. Billy mused, "And what can you do for speed trap cameras?" and held up a middle finger to the camera angled over the four-way intersection.

"Nothing yet. We'll have to trade cars eventually."

"Not soon enough."

"What?" Steve all but screeched, and turned around to see behind them. "At least you're not the only stereotype in this business."

He got the words out a moment before the large, black SUV rammed into the back of the Camaro. "Put your seatbelt on."

"IT IS ON!"

Steve provided his own chorus of swears and exclamations while Billy navigated through the city, tossing his partner left and right in his seat, avoiding another collision with the SUV that would spin them out of control. When Steve began digging through the glove box and lowering his window, Billy bellowed, "What are you doing?"

"A PEN!" he yelled before throwing something behind them. A second later, the SUV's front lifted off the road so the whole thing fell onto its side.

It was Billy's turn to exclaim, "Those things explode?"

"YES THEY EXPLODE!"

"YOU NEVER TOLD ME THEY EXPLODE!"

"WHY DO YOU THINK I TOLD YOU NOT TO TAP THE PEN THREE TIMES?"

"YOU ARE SO GODDAMN LUCKY MY DICK HASN'T BEEN BLOWN OFF."

Steve pointed out the front windshield. "BILLY!"

Another SUV narrowly rammed them from the side, but Billy pulled on the brake and swung the car into a 180. Some civilian took the brunt of that particular attack, but Billy officially needed to get them the hell out of here. Whoever wanted their heads for trophies didn't care about national news.

Which was possibly the most dangerous piece of this mess. Arguably the most powerful component of a country was its press, and these assholes didn't care if they earned the media's or internet's attention.

It was another aspect in itself that Billy had ridden in one too many black SUV's. That would also account for someone's ability to install too many explosive birds in the building.

"Billy?" Steve piped when he drove down the stairs leading to the boardwalk along the river. Billy focused on the new car behind them. He looked across the river at the opposite riverbank, where the walls sloped up. He needed to get over there.

The car rattled as he sped up a flight of stairs to the street once more, but did a hard left onto the bridge that crossed the river.

Down the stairs again, this time slaloming over the ramped wall, keeping an eye on his rearview to see how tunnel-visioned the SUV behaved.

A hand gripped the wide bell of his forearm. "Billy," Steve rasped. There wasn't a stairwell at the end of this riverbank. Just a concrete wall.

Billy went up the ramp, and braked with a hard turn on the steering wheel. The SUV tried to brake in time, but the Camaro clipped the back tire, and it spun right over the side into the river.

Billy k-turned back in the direction of the stairs. He drove seamlessly into the midday, traffic, turning on his windshield wipers against the heavy drizzle. He glanced at Steve, who had not let go of his arm. At a stoplight, Billy's other hand overlapped his, earning a pale, ghostly stare.

"We need to get to the subway. Then your place."

Despite his shock, Steve nodded and said, "Two blocks down."

Billy found the station, lodged their car in a back alley between a Polish restaurant and a laundromat, and circled the car to help Steve out. "I'm fine," he said even as his knees gave out and he hung between his arms on the car door and roof.

"I see that," Billy replied. He nestled in close to wrap an arm around Steve's softer waist. "Put your weight on me."

He did, and Billy kicked the door shut behind them. "Do you have a metro card?"

"Do I have a metro card?" Billy snorted on their way to the entrance.

"You can't jump the turnstiles."

"I'm not leaving a paper trail. I don't know if my cards are compromised too. That bird sat right over your desk, pretty boy. Someone wanted a real close eye on you. Maybe even kill you. We can try and figure out who else was under surveillance later."

They did not earn approving looks from vaulting the turnstiles, but they made it to the train, and then forty minutes or so later, Steve's apartment. By then, his color had returned to his face, and Billy couldn't help but tease, "Do you always bring colleagues home?"

Steve sighed and didn't grace that with a response. He unlocked his door, and Billy perused the living room and its bay window. The place was nice. White walls. Light wooded floors. Colorful dish ware. A bedroom off to the right with an unmade bed, and a dining room to the left with an array of folders and a laptop on it.

Billy placed the broken bird piece beside the laptop. "I don't know how much you can get out of this. But it's a start."

Steve maneuvered around him and sank into the chair. "Help yourself to the kitchen."

Billy did exactly that, and only found a few hints at the neurosis of a tech genius: Steve's pantry was entirely filled with bags of chips and hot sauce. His apartment also wielded the same characteristic Steve used at work: cleanliness. There wasn't so much as a lingering cereal dish in the sink.

Billy went about scrambling some eggs, frying up some bacon, and heating up a box of leftover diner hash browns. He poured a bottle of white and brought the dishes to the table. He set the glass of wine in view of the laptop. "For your nerves. Try to eat something."

"Thanks," Steve murmured. He didn't touch his food, but Billy sat opposite him and plunged his fork into his eggs.

After he cleaned his plate, he started tapping the back of the laptop screen, causing whatever Steve was reading to bounce. As if tossed out of a reverie, Steve inhaled sharply and took his glasses off to scrub his face. Naturally, Billy chuckled and plucked up the glasses to see how the other half lived...

"Steve."

"Hmm?" he mumbled from inside his hands.

"Explain to me why your glasses are asking for 004 authentication?"

His hands lowered so he could see Billy wearing his glasses and the nearly invisible screens layered inside the glass. The muscles of his jaw ticked as he reached across the table. Billy let him remove the glasses, but his stare did not waver until Steve relented, "I'm not 004 anymore."

Billy blinked, hard, as he absorbed that. "When were you an agent?"

Steve pushed his fork around his plate. "Right as you joined."

"Am I really going to have to pull your teeth for this? Because someone must know who you are, or were. Knows enough to keep an eye on you. How many other 00s are retired into office work?"

"My whole team," he heaved. Surrendered. "It all happened too fast. I was elevated to 00 status and just as quickly flunked out of it. Then they gave me you."

Steve exhaled as if there was a whole lot more there. Then he added, "Consider this a mentorship."

Billy huffed and relaxed against his chair. "So my guardian angel is the one keeping me from my promotion."

It took a second, but Steve processed that and lifted his head. "What?"

"You. I don't get to be a 00 until a 00 gives me the okay."

Something shy of a grimace flitted across Steve's features. "Maybe you'd be one, if you learned how to say thank you. You're not god. I've saved your ass at least twice without even being in the same country as you."

"You're a P.T.S.D. case with a laptop. That's all."

"And you're a gun with childhood trauma and abandonment issues. Welcome to the fucking club. We have special glasses."

He stabbed his hash browns and started eating. Billy crossed his arms and brooded in silence.

Abandonment issues, my ass, he mused, but could not help but watch the man opposite him eat. He'd never actually seen Steve eat. He'd certainly always been available whenever Hargrove called, regardless of timezone or courtesy of sleep.

It's hypocritical to call him an angel and treat him as disposable...after you hauled him around like precious luggage.

Billy didn't like that thought one bit.

This job wasn't actually a business. It was a lifestyle. One that didn't grant angels or precious items. And the same voice that called Steve, Angel, kept whispering in Billy's mind.

Compromised.

Something moved in his periphery and he had his gun out before he even thought twice. "What the hell is that?"

Steve, to his credit, hadn't flinched. "The cartoons refer to it as a pussy cat. She wants your bacon."

The fluffy ginger that had jumped onto the table stared Billy down until he relinquished his last piece of bacon. "Why am I not surprised that you have a cat?"

"Considering your reaction, I'd say you were petrified."

"Shut up, Steve."

"No guns on the table."

Billy groaned and set the device on the console table behind him. "Yes, dear."

It was going to be a long case.

#they're married already #harringrove #007!au #hoegrove #neonponders #pondermoniums

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