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13uswntimagines · 3 months

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Spiral (Alessia Russo X MMA!R)

Request: Could you maybe do something where less isn’t around to help r through something and r is spiraling more and more while needing someone to bring her back. One of Alessia's teammates has to kind of shout at r and tell her to kneel or something for her to be grounded featuring Mary (and Lucy slightly)

Part of The come Down universe

Warming: D/s elements. Blood and violence (mentioned but nothing graphic- R punches a wall several times).

It was easy for people to believe that you had an easy life, filled with nothing more than champagne problems and affluenza.

All they saw were the press conferences and interviews after fights where you were riding high on your success. They didn’t see the weeks where you trained upwards of 18 hours a day and ate so strictly that even your water content was measured.

They didn’t see how difficult it was to balance your career and Alessia’s, and the weeks you sometimes went apart.

They didn’t see the nagging injuries that followed you like old ghosts.

And they thought the 1% of your life they saw was enough context for them to make assumptions about the rest of your life, including your relationship with your girlfriend.

You had never been big on social media, but that didn’t mean you were entirely shielded from it.

Especially not when the date for your title fight against Justin Gathje was announced.

Dana wanted you to hype the fight, to make a comment about how wild Justin was in the cage, and how your far more technical style would be a good match.

And you thought the spare moments you had sitting in Alessia’s national team cubby while she did her final lap around Wembley for the fans was the perfect moment.

But as you flicked through your Twitter app, you, realized very quickly that it was a terrible idea.

Justin had already commented on the fight and accompanied his post with pictures of you in the stands a Wembley dressed in your girlfriend's jersey and one of him sweating in the gym.

I think a championship contender should at least be putting in the work instead of fucking off with a bitch who deserves better. #gonnasilencethegolddigger

You knew that it was a stupid post. It made no sense because the fight was 20 weeks away, and starting training camp now, three days post-fight, would only lead to burnout and injuries.

You knew that it was completely untrue considering you had met Alessia at UNC where you had a nice wrestling scholarship and she had a soccer one. There had been no gold to dig.

But that didn’t stop the general public from hopping on the hate train.

There were thousands of replies, and mentions and posts clogging your feed about how undeserving you were.

About how awful of a fighter you were.

About how Alessia deserved someone who could support her.

But it wasn’t the comments from the general public that bothered you.

It was the ones from her former teammates that dug into your brain and stuck.

Her own family didn’t want her so much they shipped her off to America, so it’s sad she’s dragged a stand-up baller like Lessie into her mess. She didn’t deserve her state championship either. #alwaysridingcoattails.

Her own family didn’t want her

Dragged Lessie into her mess

The words burned into your mind, so you saw them every time you closed your eyes, getting more and more bold each time the number of interactions went up.

1000

15,000

300,000

2,000,000

You launched your phone across the room, uncaring how it smashed into a million pieces on the stone like it would smash the image on the screen.

Like it would shatter the tweet and the shots coming from people who had never met you.

Like it would change how right they were.

You breathed in deeply, trying to quell the growing ache in your chest and soothe the feelings bubbling in your stomach.

Alessia’s scent surrounded you, filling your lungs and coating all of your senses. It was normally like a balm on an open wound or ice for a burn, the remedy to your anxiety and a promise that she was there for you.

That she would always be there.

That promise was part of the reason your relationship took the dynamic it did.

Except this time, her scent didn’t loosen the knot in your chest.

It just reminded you how much you took from her. How much better off she would have been if you had never run into her at UNC.

You shoved yourself out of Alessia’s locker, you didn’t deserve to sit in it and paced the small room.

The walls felt like they were getting closer together, and the air felt too heavy.

You couldn’t breathe.

You needed release.

You paused at the far end of the room, staring at the white concrete.

Your fist hit the cold concrete before you even thought about it, and you relished in the pressure of the hard surface on your exposed knuckles. It was more than when you hit pads, more than when you hit someone else.

It was perfect.

You did it again.

You weren’t enough. You hadn’t been for your parents. You wouldn’t be enough for Alessia either.

Your fist hit the wall again.

That’s what everyone had been saying for months. That’s what your father told you when you tried to make amends.

You could see how right they were.

Stupid worthless

You hit the wall again.

How much better off they would be without you.

“Y/n?”

You didn’t even blink at Ella’s voice.

You weren’t good enough. How could you ever be?

You had been birthed by two drug addicts more interested in their own highs than in raising a child. Your neighborhood MMA gym was the only place you had ever found food and safety. How could you ever be enough for Alessia who had been raised by loving parents? Who didn’t have to scrape and claw for food scraps?

Who didn’t crave the freedom you found in total violence. In the destruction of a human.

In the destruction of herself.

“Y/n stop,”

Hands gripped your shoulder, trying to prevent your arm from moving as you launched it again at the slightly pink wall.

It didn’t work.

Your hand slammed into the wall again.

It wasn’t enough. It didn’t hurt enough to ease the volcano in your chest.

You needed more.

“Y/n please,”

Ella’s voice sounded very close to your ear and stinger arms wrapped around your stomach, trying to force you away.

A guttural sound left your lips as the arms were finally able to pull you away, and Lucy stepped between you and your only solace.

You needed it.

“Calm down,” Mary hissed, her arms tugging you again.

You were too out of it to wonder when she had gotten there.

“Go get Alessia,” Lucy said, looking over your shoulder towards who you assumed was Ella. “Now,”

You fought against the arms restraining you.

Keeping you from the only thing that would make the ripping feeling in your brain go quiet.

The door slammed shut and you were forced back another step by strong arms.

“Y/n you need to relax, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Lucy held her hands up as she took a step towards you like you were a wild animal.

And you supposed you were.

Wild and out of control. Spiraling into oblivion.

Lucy Met Mary’s eyes when you fought harder in the keeper's hold, your eyes wildly flickering as your limbs flailed.

This was well out of their ability to fix.

“We have to do it,” Lucy said, and Mary instantly knew what she meant.

Mary nodded once.

She knew you better than Lucy did, so she knew it had to be her if they wanted it to work.

It was the only thing she could think of to help you.

The thing that Alessia would do for you

They had only seen it happen once.

It was the only time the keeper had seen your dynamic's heavier side. The only time Alessia looked truly dominant, and you looked submissive.

Mary squared her shoulders, drawing up to her full height, picturing in her mind the way Alessia had touched you and the tone that she had used. Soft, but dripping in authority that had shocked Mary.

She tried to remember the words your girlfriend had used, the way her fingers pressed perfectly into your skin to make you melt.

She pulled away from you slightly, drawing her hand from your stomach to land heavily on the space where your shoulder met your neck.

“Y/n,” She said mimicking the sheer dominance that Alessia’s voice held that night. “I think that’s enough darling. Kneel for me,”

You froze.

A shiver ran the full length of your spine at the familiar words, and your shoulders rolled like a physical weight had been added to them.

You blinked as the order filtered through the fog in your brain, registering that though it was familiar, the voice that had given it was not.

Her arm loosened around your middle as all of the fight left you, but she kept the grounding hand on your neck.

You leaned into it, breathing in through your nose and very slowly releasing it through your clenched teeth.

You sagged with each exhale, sinking very slowly until you were kneeling at Mary’s feet.

Your head bowed, and you rested your hands palm up on your knees as another rattling breath left you, pressing back into the hand still on your neck like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away into oblivion.

Mary stood frozen, staring at you as you fixed your posture (Alessia hated it when you slouched) and all of the tension, her eyes darting up to meet Lucy’s.

She hadn’t been sure that it would work. That you would listen to it because she wasn’t Alessia. But now that it had, she wasn’t sure what to do.

She didn’t know what came next, or how to navigate it without crossing your boundaries.

“Good job Y/n,” Lucy said, keeping her voice as soft as Mary’s. “We’re just going to stay here and calm down, alright?”

You let out another shuddering breath, more ripples quaking down your spine, and Mary very gently ran her thumb in circles at the back of your neck, hoping it would help to keep you settled.

She knew it was the touch Alessia always took when you were anxious or nervous, but she was also very much aware that she was not Alessia.

“And then we’ll get one of the trainers to look at your hand after Lessie gets here,” The defender continued, her eyes trained on where your jeans were slowly turning red with the blood from your hand.

“But for now, we’re going to just stay right here,” Mary repeated, letting her thumb graze the nape of your neck.

*******

“Less,” Ella’s voice cut through the sounds of the fans calling for Alessia’s attention, the panic in it drawing the strikers eyes before the midfielder skidded to a stop beside her.

“What’s happened?” Alessia asked, passing the shirt she was signing back to the young girl who had handed it to her.

“Y/n,” Ella panted, her eyes wide, afraid despite the cameras pointed their way. “I’ve never seen her like that,”

Alessia frowned, turning away from the fans and wrapping an arm around Ella’s shoulder to give them some semblance of privacy.

“Seen her like what?” She asked, her tone low with something… darker lingering under the surface.

Ella shook her head, unable to describe it with words. “I need you to come, quickly,”

“Ok,” Alessia agreed, following after the midfielder with little question.

She knew that whatever had happened had to be bad to cause that look. To have Ella say it in front of the fans.

Ella sprinted back towards the tunnel with Alessia on her heels, weaving between equipment people, and players until they reached the locker room.

Leah stood outside the door, directing players to the other showers.

Alessia’s frown deepened. “What’s going on?”

“We thought a smaller audience would be better,” Leah murmured, stepping aside for them. “Looks pretty brutal mate,”

Ella patted her back and she stepped towards the door, steeling herself for whatever was inside as she pressed it open.

Her breath caught in her chest as she took in the scene in front of her.

It looked like something out of a slasher film.

Red covered one of the white stone walls, dripping onto the gray floor in dime-sized circles to where you were sitting. No kneeling between Mary and Lucy, a dark patch forming from where it had soaked into your jeans.

Her jaw clenched at your position.

It was hard for people to understand but kneeling was something… intimate between the two of you. It was a show of the trust that you had for her to take care of you. A way to reinforce the power dynamic in your relationship.

It had taken you a long time to feel comfortable enough to let yourself be vulnerable enough to kneel for her, and she treasured how willing you were now. How you seemed to… crave the position.

For someone else to put you there didn’t sit well with her.

Neither did the way Mary’s hand was holding the back of your neck.

“What happened?” She grit out, her eyes flitting between your form and the two women on your either side.

“we’re not entirely sure. We just caught the tail end,” Mary murmured, her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto your skin.

Your eyes were closed, but Alessia could see the tension in your posture. She could see how on edge you were.

How close you were to subspace.

She snooker her head. “And you thought that this was the solution?”

She wanted to scream at her friends. To give them a lecture about consent and safety and trust (even though you wouldn’t be kneeling for them if you didn’t trust them).

They didn’t know your boundaries. This hadn’t been discussed. What if it went wrong and they didn’t recognize the signs of you passing the point of consent?

She knew you often leaned into the dynamic you shared to calm down. To let go, but she knew your limits. She knew your safe word.

She knew all of the signs to look for, because you craved pain when you felt unstable (a habit that had lingered from your childhood), and you wouldn’t always vocalize your limits.

She worried how far backward you would slip after this.

“It was the only way I could think of to get her to calm down. She wasn’t responding to anything else Less,” Mary explained, her voice very soft and gentle. “I tried to do exactly what you do,”

“We also stayed away from honorifics,” Lucy added. “We knew we were overstepping a bit as it was and didn’t want to push further than we had to,”

Alessia wanted to snort that overstepping was an understatement, but she didn’t.

That wouldn’t help you.

Avoiding honorifics had been a very thoughtful touch.

That would have sent you careening into sub-space, and she doubted either of them could have handled that.

“Alright,” She said, taking a deep breath.

She would need to talk to them later, but right now, her priority was you.

And getting to the bottom of what happened.

Of what changed in the 10 minutes you had been left alone.

She settled herself on the bench, placing her sweatshirt on the ground near her feet to act as a cushion for you, and taking a deep calming breath before she let her eyes fall on you.

“Babygirl,” Her voice came out stern, but not angry, and for the first time, you raised your gaze from the floor to meet hers. “Come here,”

She gestured towards the spot at her feet, and without hesitating, you carefully pulled out of Mary’s grasp and crawled to her.

Her fingers weaved through your hair, and she guided you to rest your cheek on her thigh once you settled on the sweatshirt. “What’s going on sweet one? Talk to me,”

You nuzzled into the soft skin of her leg as her nails dragged against your scalp, trying to remember how to speak.

How to form words that would accurately describe the tearing feeling in your chest.

“Not enough,”

The words were horse as they left your lips, heavy and wet like they had been pulled from the depths of your soul.

Alessia hummed, her nails digging more deeply into your hair. “What’s not enough?”

Your breath rattled in your chest, shaking through you to your core.

At the depths of it, you were not enough.

You would never be enough.

“I’ll go get a doc,” Lucy murmured before you heard the sound of the door.

“What is not enough,” Alessia asked again, more insistent.

“I’m not enough, Miss,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alessia tutted. “We both know that’s not true,”

You groaned.

It was true. The whole internet believed it.

“It is,” You insisted, pulling away from her warm hold to meet her eyes. “Everyone believes it,”

“Who is everyone?” Alessia pressed, staying calm and even. Being your stability.

“I think this has something to do with it,” Mary said, and your eyes snapped to her, where she was holding your demolished phone, the tweets still lighting up the screen.

You had forgotten she was still here.

“What is it?”

Alessia held her free hand out for it, using the other to settle you back against her thigh.

“Bullshit,” Mary answered, passing the phone to your dominant, moving slowly around you, like she was afraid to spook you.

Alessia hummed, flicking through the images on your cracked screen.

The room was silent as she read the words that had set you off, and you let your eyes slide closed, enjoying her closeness.

Enjoying the ability to let go, and trust that she would take care of it.

You ignored the sound of the door opening again, and feet approaching you and Alessia. You didn’t care if people saw you. You knew that she would defend you if you needed it.

“Sweet girl,” Alessia said, fingers tightening in your hair, and you opened your eyes to meet hers over the phone. “Let them look at your hands,”

Your eyes flickered towards the medics, kneeling in front of you, Lucy standing protectively behind them with Mary.

You hummed, slowly lifting your dominant hand and holding it out towards the medic.

He took it gently between his own and began to examine it with a frown.

“I think she needs x-rays,” He said, looking over you towards Alessia who was still scrolling through your feed. “And I can wrap it after that,”

“Alright,” She said, putting your phone down. “We’ll meet you in the training room in just a moment. Can you three give us a second?”

The medic nodded, retreating with Mary and Lucy.

“Take your time,” Mary paused in the doorway. “Me and Luce will get cleaned up and meet you,”

Alessia let out a sound of agreement.

She waited for the door to close before she very gently pulled you up from your knees and into her lap.

You rested your cheek on her chest, tucking your nose into her still-sweaty jersey.

This time her scent didn’t set you on edge. It joined the feeling of her warm arms wrapped around you and her chin on your head, making you feel safe and warm and cared for, even when you didn’t think you deserved it.

“You know all of those tweets are bullshit right?” She asked after your breathing had evened out. “They’re just trying to get under your skin,”

You made a low noise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“You are deserving because you are amazing. You are an incredible fighter, and a good human despite the shit hand you were dealt,” She continued. “I love you, and I will always be here for you. Whether you are the world champion, or we’re eating spam and crackers on my bedroom floor,”

Your eyes slid closed and you buried your face in her chest, your lips lifting just a bit at the mention of your favorite snack from college.

From when you were too broke to afford dinner on the weekends.

It didn’t entirely fix the crumbling feeling that accompanied each beat of your heart, but her words were like a tether holding you to reality.

She had loved you before you were a UFC star and she was England's Star Girl, and she would love you after.

That was all that mattered.

She squeezed you tightly and kissed your head. “Let’s go get your hands fixed and then we can go back to the hotel and watch Love Island before bed, alright?”

You hummed again.

You knew a talk about your coping mechanism, about the wall you had destroyed, would also be included after you had come down.

But you didn’t mind.

You and Alessia would get through it. Together.

#woso imagines #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #the come down universe

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aspirationalpeony · 3 months

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Dark Horse

Summary: As a cameraperson on the Abbott documentary crew, you've always had a good working relationship with Melissa Schemmenti. One flirtatious night at her home sends you spinning as you try to figure out if this is really real—not to mention how everyone at Abbott seemed to know about Melissa's crush on you, long before you ever did. (See author's note at the end for prompt credit.) Content Warnings: Lots of smut, a bit of emotional confusion, and me having absolutely no idea how filming anything works. I just faked my way through it, very horribly. Oops! :) AO3 Link

It all starts with a late shoot.

It's just you and the mic guy and one other crew, and your camera trained on Melissa Schemmenti. She talks, in a way she's done rarely so far. A season and a half and she's always conscious of the stare of the lenses, quick to dart around a corner or cut herself off if she knows the opps are listening.

She takes big sips, almost gulps, from her wine glass. She leads you back and forth across her house, reaching over tables or pointing along walls to find a photo here, another there, and talks. "Me'n Kristen-Marie... This one—" pause for more wine—"from my college graduation." It's the two of them, almost mirror images of each other at that age, with a tall man whose lean face makes you think he has to be their father; on the other side of the girls is their Nana.

There's no trick in this photo: no wedding dress, no blood, no hint of drama between the sisters at all. They just look hopeful and desperately young. This feels private, that Melissa could have been so young—something that shouldn't be content for the show—and you feel an impulse to duck the camera away, hide her secret. When you look at Melissa again, she’s watching you; there’s a glitter in her green eyes you can’t interpret: not hostile, and not the look she gets when she’s hustling someone, either. The gaze she’s giving you is strangely soft.

“Whaddaya think?” she says, to you, not to the camera.

You swallow. Nothing you say will make it to the final cut, but the editors will hear your answer, so you can’t tell her she’s beautiful in that picture. “I think I’m lucky you’re showing me this,” you say at last.

Her eyes move over your face. You feel it almost like a touch, intimate and slow, and you aren’t making it up: her gaze stops at your mouth and hovers there. She bites her lower lip before she lifts her wine glass again for another pull. “Maybe I like ya,” she says. “Maybe you’ll get luckier.”

You’re still blushing when you wrap for the night. You sit on your couch at home—you’re always insomniac after shooting at night, your brain and body still buzzing with the work—and put on Netflix on low volume and you don’t watch, just feel your cheeks still burning, thinking about her lipstick on her wine glass.

Of course, the whole crew knows the story by the next morning. When you turn up, Pedro, your best friend on the crew, says, “Look at you! Dark horse!” and it makes your face sear with heat all over again. He lowers his voice, leans in and nudges you. “C’mon, nothing in the contract about that. You deserve a little fun. Let your Italian mama take care of you.”

You cringe. “Please,” you say, “never say ‘Italian mama’ to me again. Okay?”

“Just sayin’,” he says, and leaves it alone.

Of course, it doesn’t leave you alone. You’ve learned the best way to sneak up on a conversation with Melissa and Barbara is to come at it around a corner, so you’re hovering down the kindergarten hall, camera on the two women, when you hear your name, making you stiffen.

“You said that?” Barbara’s voice is incredulous, sharp. “What did she say?”

“Nothin’, really,” Melissa says, “she was on the clock, y’know.” The smile starts in her voice before it grows on her face. It’s a Cheshire smirk bigger and deeper than you’ve ever seen. “She got all flustered. It was cute. You think she knows I was shootin’ my shot?”

“I think you could have ‘shot your shot’ with a little more dignity,” Barbara says crisply. “Like an adult does. Politely. Pleasantly.”

“Soberly,” Melissa says. “Listen, if it works, it works. I just gotta find out if it did, y’know. Work. She’s kinda shy.”

“I didn’t know you cared for that.”

"What, the quiet ones?"

You have to pull away. You're going to miss the rest of the conversation, but your face is burning again, your heart is pounding, and you're grappling with the reality that Melissa and Barbara are talking about you, that you're subject enough between them to be chatted about so casually, that all this footage is... God, are you ever going to live this down?

You'll go shoot some Janine and Gregory. That's always a crowd-pleaser; the audience loves the sweet tension between them, the way the space between their bodies turns tangible the longer their eye contact holds. You try not to think about Melissa's gaze on yours last night. You try to do your job.

That goes as well as you might expect. Fifteen minutes into some uninspiring quiz-grading ("oh, I never fail anyone," Janine says, "I just give 'em a different colored star—they like the gold ones best, so—") Pedro comes to find you.

"Hey, listen," he says, "I need you to come take care of your Calabrian chili pepper."

"What?"

"You know, your spicy linguini. Your Italian ma—"

"Stop." Your head whips toward Janine at her desk and then back to Pedro. The only thing you can think of to say, your heart thumping all over again, is "She's Sicilian, not Calabrian."

"She's giving us nothing. You got to come do her talking head. She keeps trying to square up to Kai and he doesn't wanna fight her."

"What makes you think she won't fight me?"

He gives you a look over his glasses.

The change in Melissa is instant when she sees you approach. Those folded arms, her squared shoulders, her broad, foot-planted stance—it all melts. She leans into the wall, her head tipping, one booted foot lifting for her toe to play in idle lines along the floor, and, yeah. Whether you picked her or not, this is your Sicilian chili pepper, and you swallow hard as you approach.

"Heya, hon," she says, "who's this clown they got me workin' with? Don't they know I only do this with the professionals?"

You mumble a little as Kai looks between the two of you, rolls his eyes, and backs off.

"We were talking about her Friday night plans," Pedro says. "It's school game night and she's not going."

"Yeah, the kids are too easy to hustle," she says, "it ain't even fun. What, do I look like I wanna spend all Friday winnin' their, I dunno, their Yu-Gi-Oh cards?"

Now's when Pedro should prompt her, ask a question. You glance at him; he nods his permission. "Not sure those are a thing anymore," you say.

"Their Pokemon cards," she says. "Whatever. Point is, it'd be like taking candy from a... Jacob."

You don't look at her; you focus on the camera. It's easier than holding her green gaze. "Is that where you draw the line?"

"Gotta draw it somewhere," she says.

You can't help it. Cautiously you look up, try to make your voice neutral: "So how are you going to spend Friday night?"

She lolls her head to one side and looks at you. She sticks her tongue into her cheek. "Prob'ly practicing tricks," she says.

"Tricks?"

"Yeah," she says. "With my magic wand."

You don't really remember the rest of the interview. You sure you babble some other questions, and she gives you some smirking answers, but your head is full of white noise and a singular image: Melissa Schemmenti with a vibrator between her legs.

You're sure other things happen that day. Pedro definitely ribs you some more, you and Kai go get lunch and he complains for a while, Gregory and Janine have one of their not-flirting conversations where he draws up a tightly-plotted itinerary for game night, trying to prove it's possible to run a children's event without delays (it all goes back to his father, of course), at some point you go home and numbly resume your post on the couch in front of your TV screen, trying to make sense of it all.

That picture won't leave your head. You think of the look she gave you that night at her house—intimate, caressing—and how she'd look deep in her pleasure, drunk eyes half-open, her face pink, her hair wild. Does she get naked when she touches herself? She seems too impatient—more like a jeans around her thighs kind of woman—but for a night she's planning ahead—a night she's set aside, just for her pleasure...

Your head drops back and you shut your eyes to see her more clearly. You can imagine the scattering of freckles over her shoulders and chest, the shift of her heavy breasts and the hard peaks of her pink nipples—how does she like to be touched there? Maybe she grabs one breast while she uses the vibrator, plays with a nipple, imagining the rough, confident hand of a lover. You can see the soft field of her belly, the abundance of her hips, her thighs, picturing her cunt, the head of the vibrator against her clit—she doesn't tease, can't tease herself, you imagine, not Melissa.

You can almost smell her sex, you think, until you realize it's yourself you're smelling. Your cunt throbs. You could shove a hand into your underwear now and just take care of it, but...

Your small toy collection lives in a box under your bed. It's nothing fancy, but you do have a small wand vibrator. You peel off your trousers and underwear and drop onto your bed, back against the pillows, holding the purple toy in one hand. Does Melissa have one this size? Or a big, classic one, the kind that could buzz your clit right off? You click the toy on and draw it up your thigh. As it nears the sensitive crease between your leg and your sex, your thigh twitches without meaning to, your clit aching, and you think, okay, no foreplay.

You can't help but wonder as you delve the thrumming head between your folds: does she know you're doing this? Was that the idea—plant herself in your head, grow over everything, including your common sense and your inhibitions, until your whole world flowers Melissa? Could she be doing the same—getting a head start on Friday's plans—thinking of you, right now? You're normally quiet when you do this, but that makes you groan aloud. Your clit pulses.

How does she do this, on a school night, like tonight? Back to the image of her with her trousers halfway down her legs, her hand and her toy crammed into the space between the fabric and her body. You can't help but see her in the outfit from today, that green, clinging top, the black blazer discarded somewhere, slacks caught just above her knees, her hair mussed and tangling against the pillows as she works the vibrator over her clit. No playing games for her, either; just getting the job done, hard and fast.

You come, watching her in your head, her name on your lips; you hope she comes tonight, too, thinking of you, of what she’s doing to you.

The next day, Janine, Gregory, and Jacob are in hushed conversation by the supply closet. You pick an angle from just inside the nearest classroom and train your camera on the slight crack of the open door and you can hear them, even though they think they’re being quiet—classic them.

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Janine is saying. “I think it’s kind of nice.”

“I think,” Gregory says, “it’s like…” He pauses, picking his words. “Like watching a dog shake a chew toy.”

“I think it’s very brave of Melissa,” says Jacob, and your heart drops into your stomach. “Considering the historical era in which she grew up and started her teaching career, being openly bisexual in the workplace must be a very—”

“Please don’t let her hear you call her ‘historical’,” Gregory interjects.

“It’s cute she has a crush on the camera lady,” Janine says. (“Cameraperson,” Jacob corrects.) “I just want it to turn out nice. You know, the vending machine guy didn’t work out, so. And now he doesn’t stock Gushers anymore.”

“Maybe she’ll be a little more relaxed,” Jacob says. “A little more… Open, fun—”

“She’s not going to start liking you because she’s dating somebody.” Gregory, with characteristic bluntness.

“One can hope,” Jacob says.

“The camera lady—person—is so quiet, though,” Janine muses. “Melissa is so intense.”

“Bet that’s what she likes,” Mr. Johnson says, making them all jump. He steps out from the supply closet; he’s holding a Teachers Without Borders coffee mug you know has to be Jacob’s. He takes a long, slurping sip, making sure everybody sees the logo on the cup. “Melissa gets a sweet little thang to take care of. Camera lady gets an Italian mama.” He says it eye-talian. (Where is everybody getting this phrase from?)

“Please don’t say ‘Italian mama’ again,” Gregory says, giving you a little flush of vindication.

“Why not?” Mr. Johnson says. “When I was on tour in Rome—”

That’s enough for you. You decide the rest of the conversation can go unrecorded. You check the time and it’s nearly lunch—thank God, because you don’t want to make eye contact with any of them for a while; you don’t know how to feel about them all talking about you. You know it’s not you, really, they care about. It’s Melissa, her caginess at odds with how boldly, openly she’s been flirting with you, an attraction so obvious even the younger teachers that she’d never confide in can see it.

Something light and effervescent swirls in your stomach, but there’s a leaden weight there, too. Nerves. And desire. You let Pedro know you’re taking lunch and leave your camera behind, finding Kai a block down, away from the school, hitting his vape. He passes it to you and you take a pull, letting candy-scented vapor out of your nose. You don’t really smoke anymore, but anybody would need a little comfort under these circumstances, you think.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“What?” You didn’t know Kai cared about that. “I mean, I guess I’ll talk to her, maybe give her my number, then see—”

“For lunch.”

“Oh.”

You get hoagies together, eating them over a public trash can, standing up. Back at the school you scrub your hands clean in the bathroom and duck Pedro and your camera and you find your way down the second-grade hall to the classroom that's usually the noisiest. It's quiet now: the kids are at the library doing a reading circle with the librarian. Maybe it says something that you know their schedule.

She's in there, glasses low on her nose, working. You pause just on the threshold of the open door. You try to piece together everything you know about her, to make it all fit into the person you see, just a small woman with a love of pleather and a never-ending supply of high-heeled boots, a baseball bat taped under her desk (you've seen it), a guitar propped in one corner of the classroom (does she ever play?), how now she's focused and reading with scrupulous intensity, doubling back on a sentence from time to time, her manicured hand coming up to twitch away a lock of red hair.

You knock on the open door. You see her hand pass under the desk toward the bat before she realizes who's standing there. She cracks a grin, lifting her glasses up to the top of her head. Her eyes travel up and down your body in another look that feels like a touch.

"I was wonderin' when you'd stop by," she says.

You give a little hum. You cross the room to lean against a student's desk, just opposite hers.

"No camera?"

"No," you say, "I wanted it to be just us."

"Huh." She taps her pen on her paper a few times. "You here to let me down easy?" She lifts her chin. The look she gives you isn't intimate now: it's far-removed and challenging, like the gaze of a duelist across a plain. You've seen this before, the way she starts closing herself off, armoring up.

You shake your head. There's a shift in her expression, but the walls don't quite come down. "I guess I wanted to ask what you want."

"That ain't obvious?"

"I mean..." Your arms come up, folding over your chest. "You know, I was here last season, when you were dating that guy... Hulk Hogan."

It surprises a laugh out of her. "Yeah, Gary."

"You asked him out and it was... Different. I mean..." You can't think of how to say it. At last, you say, "Do you take me seriously?" No, that's not it. "I mean, are you just trying to hook up with me? Because, I..." You're starting to burn up again. You rub the back of your neck. "That's not the kind of... Listen, you're beautiful, and sexy, but that's not what it would—I mean, to me, it—"

"You're so cute when you're all shy," Melissa says, sounding equally mystified and amused. She stands. "Look... Maybe I did this all wrong." She circles the desk. "Kinda treated you like a piece of meat."

"Just a little bit," you say.

"I take you serious, hon." She doesn't cross the gap between you two, but mirrors your pose, leaning on the edge of her desk, arms crossed over her chest. "Look, Gare was a nice guy. But he didn't have, you know... He didn't make me wanna..."

You think of Gregory's metaphor. "Shake him like a chew toy?"

Another laugh. "Yeah, that. And I guess I felt... You know, I'd kinda uncorked the bottle, datin' him, when I thought all that part of my life was done, and when you were at my place the other night, you just looked so good, and I just wanted..."

You smile, eyes down. The cold uncertainty is trickling away and there's warmth pouring into the spaces it's left behind. "Okay," you say.

"Okay?"

When you look up, she's moved a little closer. You can smell her perfume again, warmed on her skin over the course of a long day. You've had the privilege of seeing her in detail, so many times: the fine, thin skin around her eyes, the creases at the corners of her mouth that forecast her smile, the tiny hint of gray growing in at her temples, the mellow warmth of her green gaze, the slope of her nose crooking slightly to her left. It's different with no lens between the two of you, when you're close enough to touch.

"Yeah, okay," she says to whatever she sees in your eyes. She lifts her chin and drops her gaze to your mouth. It's a clear request.

You answer it. You dip your head; there's a moment where your noses nearly bump, but you change your angle, catch her lips with yours. There's a tackiness from her lip gloss and an incredible softness underneath. The warmth of her almost shocks you, vivid past your imagining. Her hand pets at your jaw; you feel the other curl into the collar of your shirt. She pulls you closer by the fabric and you gasp.

You renew the kiss, lips sliding over hers. Your hand rubs down her lower back. You can feel the divot in her spine where it meets her pelvis, just above the generous curve of her ass. Before you can overthink it, your palm is gliding over that curve, your fingers digging into its lushness, Melissa gasping against your mouth as you squeeze.

"Oh," she says faintly when the kiss is over and you're catching your breath. "Huh." Her look is glazed and a little bewildered.

"I, um, I don't want to send mixed messages," you say, "but about Friday..."

"Friday?" she echoes.

"Yeah." You bite down on your smile, watching her try to remember what the hell you're talking about. "I was thinking... I know a few magic tricks of my own."

"Oh," she says again. You watch her eyes spark with understanding, her smile appear slowly, then all at once. "I guess you could come over and show me your stuff." Her hands tighten in your shirt and pull you back in for another kiss.

"Hey, gimme your phone," she says, much, much later, when you're wearing more of her lip gloss than she is. "I want to give ya my number." You don't think before you're unlocking it and passing it into her hands. She lowers her glasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose and thumbs her way around your phone, creating a contact for herself.

You have a flash of nerves—what if she opens your Instagram and sees all the stupid accounts you follow? A vision comes of her seeing all the dog-using-buttons-to-talk videos you've liked, her libido instantly withering... Then she's giving you back your phone and smirking at you, wiping at your lip with her thumb. "Might wanna stop in the bathroom before you get back to work, hon," she says.

When you leave her classroom, it's like floating; you've never felt so light. You stop in the bathroom and you wipe all the lip gloss off your smiling mouth. You catch yourself humming as you and Kai catch some footage of Ava pretending to organize game night, Gregory trying to involve himself, Janine admitting to a little competitive streak.

Your phone buzzes, chimes. "Sorry," you say to Janine and Pedro, who's leading the interview. You wait until you can lower the camera lens to check the notification. You always keep it silenced during the day—did Melissa turn the ringer on?

Italian Mama iMessage

Your face burns. You take a corner away from Pedro and unlock the phone.

Italian Mama You made me real happy

Your blush intensifies; something flutters in your chest. The phone vibrates in your hand as another message comes.

Italian Mama Don't know how I'm going to wait until Friday

The echo of your own thought in her words makes your heart flutter again. You bite your lower lip and type back, Me neither. An electric spark of daring moves you, makes you send her, Maybe I'll practice some magic just to make sure I'm on top of my game.

Is that too much? You hope not. You've basically made a sex appointment with her for Friday—sex appointment, you think, and wince at yourself, your own awkwardness; it's a date—and you don't—your breath hitches as three dots appear on your screen, showing that she's typing.

Italian Mama Oh yeah?

Italian Mama Better practice hard

You feel a pulse low in your belly. You're ready to type a little more flirtation when another message arrives and makes you gasp aloud, quickly clamping your hand over your mouth before Pedro or somebody else can hear you.

She's sent you a photo. It's herself pulling down the scoop neck of the hot pink blouse she's wearing today. You can see just the tip of her nose, her chin, the proud line of her soft neck, her freckled sternum, and, holy shit. She's showing you her breasts cradled in a bra made of black lace. And you stare. And you stare.

Italian Mama Little incentive for you

Your mouth is watering. You can see the rosy shadows of her nipples against the lace. You barely register yourself typing back, You're perfect.

Italian Mama Thought you'd like em

You're typing before you can stop yourself. All I'll be able to think about now is what I'm going to do to you.

Three dots appear, then disappear. Appear, then disappear. Your confidence wavers.

Italian Mama I want you to tell me

You've never imagined you'd be turned on in the halls of Abbott Elementary, but suddenly you're so aware of your cunt, you can't stand it. You're throbbing. You peer around the corner; Pedro isn't even looking your way, he's talking something over about the schedule with another producer. You have time. You glance up and down the hall; nobody except an aide going into a room at the far end.

Your fingers fly over the keys. If you stop to think, you'll psych yourself out, so you blurt out every thought, the iMessage equivalent of babbling—what you'd be doing in Melissa's ear if you could have her right now, in your arms, again...

You're so fucking sexy

I've thought about you so much

I touched myself thinking about you the other night

I'm going to kiss you until you go crazy and you're so turned on you can't take it

I'm going to undress you and I'm going to kiss every fucking inch of you

I'm going to play with you until you're begging

Do you like it rough or gentle?

Three dots.

Italian Mama Little of both

You're typing again in a flurry. You can feel your heart pounding, your breath coming in harder. You probably only have a couple minutes left to really make her feel it.

I'm going to be so gentle with you until you beg me to be rough

I want to bite you

Do you like being bitten?

Italian Mama Yeah

I know you do

On your neck, on your breasts

I'm going to bite your thighs before I eat you out

"Homie, you coming?" Pedro says, with the best and worst timing—and phrasing—he could possibly have.

"Yeah, one sec," you say, and you're proud of how your voice doesn't wobble at all. "Let me just send this. Sorry."

I have to get back to work

Italian Mama Fuck you

Italian Mama How am I supposed to teach like this

Italian Mama Come here and finish what you fuckin started

You laugh, breathless and surprised. You text her, YOU started it! If she hadn't sent you that picture... You scroll back up and look again. In the bit of her face you can see, she's smirking, because of course she is. The luscious curve of her breasts—you can almost feel them, what it would be like to drag your nose down between them, mouth at the soft skin...

Pedro's waiting. You send her a bunch of blowing-kiss emojis and put your phone away again. You're still buzzing with arousal, but you feel a strange satisfaction, knowing that Melissa is a few halls away, squirming behind her desk, thinking about all the promises you've made.

The day passes, somehow. It's a strange mixture of slow, syrupy boredom and electric, frenetic activity as more preparations are made for game night, and your phone periodically buzzes with another message from Melissa. Thankfully (for your pussy—you think it might fall off if it keeps aching like that), the two of you leave the subject of sex, and just talk.

She asks you your birthday, your favorite food. Where did you grow up? What's your favorite color? Each one makes you smile. You feel like you're on the receiving end of a Schemmenti interrogation, a mob boss with her goons behind her. You get her answers back in turn: July 19. (You respond in shock, You're a water sign??? and you can almost hear her voice when she dryly responds, I got no clue what that means, hon.) Pasta con sarde. Grew up here in South. Pink.

Your heart flutters with every new thing you learn. Even though you go home (and rub one out) alone, she's a presence with you, not just in your fantasies; you find you're texting her until you fall asleep, phone sliding out of your hand onto the bedspread. And when you wake up the next day, preceding your alarm by a bit, you find a text from her waiting for you, just a few minutes ago: Good morning, baby.

You levitate all the way through Thursday. You spot Melissa a few times that day, but it's a packed day for her two classes, so mostly it's in the hall as she marches lines of students to and fro. She gets you back for yesterday, though: pauses in the doorway of her classroom as she's filing the kids in after lunch, and gives you an up-and-down look of such searing intensity that your body heats, scalp to toes. She smirks before she vanishes into her room.

She makes you crazy. God, she's incredible. You're texting her every chance you both can get, though she's sparser while she's with the kids; it's all light stuff. Get lunch here today, she tells you, Shanae made beef patties, and when Shanae slips you a couple of golden-crusted pastries, you bite into them, smelling warm, floral curry, savory beef on your tongue, and think of how Melissa it is, feeding you from a distance.

That afternoon, just after dismissal, she calls, "Hey," to you from her classroom door. You try not to jump to attention. "I gotta do a lot of work," she says, playing with the strap of her Apple Watch, "or I'd ask you over, but..." Strangely, her eyes drop. It's a hint of shyness and it makes your heart patter, tenderness and affection for her pouring into your chest. "I was thinkin', why don't we go out and get, like, food or a drink or somethin' tomorrow? You know, before you come over."

"Okay," you say. Her eyes flick up and as soon as she sees your goofy grin, her shyness melts away, turns back into the smirking self-assuredness you're more familiar with.

"You pick the place," she says, knocking the wind out of you at once.

Oh, crap. You remember what it was like with her and Gary: he tried to take her to a shitty spot for their first date, and she flicked him away from her like a bug. She's challenging you, you think, asking to be impressed.

You can do that. Dark horse, right? "Okay," you repeat. "I'll pick."

She leans back against the doorframe. All at once she's in that lolling, casual, flirtatious posture that she assumes for you and only you, her face tilted up, gaze intimate and a little sly. "You headin' out? I get a goodbye kiss, or what?"

"Okay," you say a third time, and you can barely kiss her, you're smiling so widely. You take your fill of her, in every sense, one more time before you leave for the day, nerves and excitement and that thread of arousal all tangling together, like a knot of live wires.

You're texting her later, because of course you're texting her later. Do you want it to be a surprise?

Italian Mama I dunno

Italian Mama Surprises never seem to work out for me

That gives you a little twinge. You find yourself running the tip of your finger up and down the side of your phone, the way you'd touch her hand or her cheek, if you could. How about just this one? you ask. And if you hate it, I'll never surprise you again?

You wish you could see her face. It would help you know if she's resigned or wary or scared. You don't want her to be antsy or nervous going into tomorrow; you want her to feel like she makes you feel: like you've got balloons and not bones, like a wind could catch you and carry you off, you're so light and so happy.

Italian Mama Ok

Italian Mama I'm gonna trust ya

It makes your heart do its now-familiar flutter in your chest. It's like there's a bird in there, some delicate fledgling thing eager to start flying. It wants to soar, holding its precious cargo: Melissa Schemmenti's trust.

The next day. Friday. Friday. Somehow, the school day rockets past you. Game night preparations have gone disastrously, and it's time for a patented Ava save, with the help of Janine and Gregory.

"Wow, who could've guessed," Kai mutters to you, and fidgets in the pocket you know holds his vape.

Your hand fidgets in your own pocket, around your phone. You and Mel exchanged good morning texts, a few kiss emojis, promises to meet up before dismissal to solidify your plans, but you haven't had a chance to see her at all.

"I don't know," you say, "I think they'll get it figured out."

"I think she's probably going to use it to mine Bitcoin somehow," Kai says.

Honestly, that sounds plausible. You shake your head anyway and make an excuse and scoot past Pedro. He's not encouraging Ava to stream game night live on Instagram, per se, but everybody knows that will guarantee some Coleman-style silliness, so he needs to get her there somehow. (Can you mine Bitcoin through Instagram?)

You don't need to send any directions to your feet; they're already walking you toward the second grade classrooms. Mel doesn't have lunchroom duty today, so you know she'll probably be catching up on two classes' worth of quizzes, or restocking art supplies, or prepping the next lesson's props and tools. Her door is shut and you peek in through the window.

She's writing on the whiteboard, looking back and forth from a worksheet in her hand, glasses on her nose. You knock. When she sees you, the narrow-eyed look of interrupted concentration melts away; she gives you a smile that shows her teeth, the kind that changes her whole face, turning her girlish, almost a little goofy. It makes your heart melt.

You open the door. "Hey," you say as she puts her glasses on top of her head and caps the marker. Being in the room with her, after not seeing her all morning, feels like coming out of the cold to a blazing fire. "Uh, hi. You look beautiful today." Then, for the third time, stupidly, adoringly, "Hi."

"You missed me, huh?" she says, putting down the marker and paper. "C'mere."

As soon as you're in grabbing distance, she takes two handfuls of your ass and pulls you in for a kiss. You're lost in it for long, long seconds.

She pulls back after giving your lower lip a bite that makes you squeak. She tucks her hands squarely in the back pockets of your jeans, holding you against her. "You look beautiful today too."

"Thanks," you say, barely registering the compliment, the way you're chasing more contact, kissing the corner of her mouth, nosing at her cheek. She's so warm in your arms. She's wearing one of her tough-girl outfits, a blazer and matching top in military green, and you sneak your hand under the jacket, finding a little stripe of bare skin between her shirt and her slacks. You touch her there with a teasing trace of your fingernail.

She shivers. Is she sensitive on her lower back? You file it away to investigate later tonight. The thought of being able to have her all to yourself tonight—hours and hours—sends sparks skipping through you. You have to kiss her again.

"You think it's unprofessional, doin' this at work?" Mel asks you breathlessly when you part again.

"I don't know," you say, "but whatever Gregory and Janine have been doing is worse, kind of."

"Yeah, that's for sure," Melissa says, and gives you a third kiss; this time, the delicate muscle of her tongue laps at you, little frissons of heat that go right between your legs.

"I came to talk about dinner," you say at last, when you think you can survive without kissing her.

"Oh, yeah," Mel says, "right. What am I wearin'?"

"Uh..." You hadn't considered it. You're just going in your usual date outfit—a button-up, a nice pair of trousers. "Business casual?"

"Okay, easy. Do I get a hint where we're goin'?" One eyebrow goes up. Her gaze acquires a competitive glint, one you've seen a hundred times through your camera. "I bet I can guess it."

"Here's your hint," you say, "it's not Italian."

"Smart cookie," Melissa says, which leads you both into another kiss, and then another. "It ain't a sandwich shop, is it?"

"No," you say, "I can't beat cousin Rocco."

"Soul food," she says.

"No. I'll come pick you up, is that okay?"

"Yeah, come, like, at five. I gotta change and do my face and stuff." She leans back, giving you a squint-eyed look of scrutiny. "Tell me it ain't French."

"It ain't," you promise, and seal it with a kiss. "I have to go. I'm pretending to be in the bathroom."

"Oh, shit," she says, eyes going wide, "we gotta catch up on this freakin' math unit and I forgot, I haven't peed in, like—"

"Go, go," you say with a laugh, letting her extract her hands from your pockets.

When you return, Kai narrows his eyes at you. You shrug at him and you're ready to get back to work, when he reaches across and plucks something off your shoulder: a single red hair. Crap.

"Damn," he says. "Dark horse."

"What's up?" Pedro glances over at you two. Fuck, you don't know if you can take his teasing today—you know he'll want all the details, and you love him, but you want to just get through work and get to Melissa...

"Nothing," Kai says, and drops the hair. He gives you a nod.

You nod back, warmth and gratitude making you smile. He doesn't smile back—you don't think you've ever seen him smile, actually—but you think you see the corner of his mouth curve up, just a little, as he peers into his camera.

Dismissal, a quick goodbye kiss with Melissa, home to get ready. You're normally an all-black kind of girl—it's just easy—but you pause in your closet and find a pink button-up. It's a mellow, soft shade, the same color as a silky blouse you've seen Melissa wear.

You put on your cologne, you style your hair. You look at yourself in the mirror. It’s funny: this is the same face you’ve always had, but three days of Melissa have done something to you. Your eyes look larger, softer; there’s a smile on your lips, small but persistent, that’s been there all day.

You haven’t always been lucky with women. You have love in your heart—God, a lot of it. Sometimes it feels like the water of an ancient lake, going down almost infinitely deep, and yet somehow about to overflow. You spent years going around offering it to anyone who would take it, and once they’d drunk their fill, they just moved on, satisfied, never giving a thought to you, never thinking you might want something back, even just gratitude.

So you pulled away. You just hurt too easily: keep them at arm’s length, never close enough to bruise. The quiet one, the shy one; that’s who you became over time, knowing that if you gave out of your abundance, you’d only be depleted. No one’s ever filled your cup.

You find yourself chewing your lip, staring at yourself. You want this to be different. You want this to be something else. Can it be?

You park your car in front of Melissa’s and find yourself wondering: text, or knock? You’re starting to get out of the car when the front door opens, and a rush of surprise and pleasure comes at the thought of Melissa waiting, watching for you. Then your breath catches hard in your throat.

She’s wearing a little red dress that… “Wow,” you say, before she’s even close enough to hear. The square neck of the dress is cut lower than her usual wear, and shows an abundance of skin that makes your mouth water. There’s a princessy quality to the cap sleeves, a delicate detail that’s perfect for Melissa: blazing, challenging red, with a hint of sweetness. The hem stops just above her knees. The fabric shows her body in intimate detail, the delicate rounding of her stomach and the flare of her hips, straining across the perfect shape of her thighs.

Her hair is down. Even late in the day it has a bit of curl. Her green eyes are like gemstones in the early evening light. Her heels have got to be four inches, but she walks with the steadiness of a queen. She’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

You circle the car to get the passenger side door. “Hey,” she says, surprised, coming closer, “it’s pink,” and touches your sleeve. It’s not even contact with your skin, barely contact, period, but it sends tingles up and down your arm. “That’s my favorite color.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, grinning like a fool.

Her eyes drop—that hint of shyness again, that tenderness that makes your heart strain against your chest, trying to reach her—before they flick back up. “How do I look?”

“I could look at you for hours,” you tell her honestly.

"I'd kiss ya, but you'd mess up my face," she says. "Here, you get one." She turns and offers her cheek.

You're smiling as you lean down to kiss the offered skin. She's soft and warm, and you get the powdery scent of her makeup, the richness of her perfume.

"Now, c'mon, feed me," she says, and you laugh and open her door.

You drive. She's exactly the kind of passenger you expected: "Hey, check it," every time she sees a car nosing out past a stop sign, or "On your left," when you're trying to merge. "Hey," she barks when somebody cuts you off, a gesticulating, accusatory hand in the air, "cazzo, you wanna watch where you're fuckin' going?"

Melissa. Abrasive, loud, bossy, and you don't feel bulldozed at all. You feel charmed. The smile won't leave your face. You don't know if she could be more herself than right now, in your ancient Volvo, wearing the sexiest outfit you've ever seen on her, looking simultaneously bold and delicate and delicious, and hollering out the window like an angry truck driver.

She's checking her phone as you pull up outside the restaurant, and doesn't look up again until you're opening her door. "Oh," she says, surprised, looking at the place: it's a red brick building, no sign; just a single hanging red lantern beside a white door. You can see her trying to puzzle it out, glancing at you and back to the door.

"It's a bar," you explain. You open the door to your favorite izakaya. Low, golden light and warmth spill out with the Jrock playing over the speaker system.

Melissa cocks her head and looks at you curiously. You only notice that her hand's in her clutch purse when she draws it out again; you hear the rattle of her keys dropping back to the bottom. "Thought you might'a been about to take my other kidney," she says. "I was gonna fight ya."

You blink. It's one of those Melissa-isms, delivered in her dry voice, that you think might be a joke, but it might not be, either. "I wouldn't win if you did."

"You sure as hell wouldn't, baby," she says, and lets you hold the door for her as she steps inside.

You love this place. It feels a bit like your first apartment after you left home, a lot of exposed brick, shoddy white paneling creating an accent wall, and decor that's a little vintage, a little silly: a big, ornate mirror that might have once decorated a cheap theater, brass sconces for lights, Gojira posters in the style of classic ukiyo-e. There's booths on one side of the room and a mirrored bar on the other, with a wall of sake and Japanese whisky.

The hostess recognizes you, waves hi, gestures toward the room for you to seat yourself. It won't start filling up until a little later, so you have your pick of the booths; you take the side that puts your back to the door, letting Melissa have the sightline to the exit.

The low light flatters her. Any light flatters her, but there's something about the dim, intimate, golden warmth of it that makes you stare as she studies the menus, first the drinks, then the food; her eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheek, the curve of her lips carving lines there.

She looks up and catches you. The thoughtful twist of her mouth turns into a smirk. The question, though, isn't what you were expecting. "What made you pick here?"

Huh. "I..." You rub the back of your neck, dropping your gaze. "I really like it." That's a start, but not all of it. "I thought you might not have this kind of food all the time. I never see you eating it and I wanted you to have a nice change. And..."

"I come here alone a lot." You shrug. "I have... Good memories here." They are good memories: people-watching, trying new drinks and food, chats with the bartenders, a karaoke night where you fell in with a group of laughing, drunk women who all worked at the same office, who tried to persuade you to bar-hop with them until last call.

But it's always been you, alone; sometimes folded in with somebody else out of goodwill, sometimes noticed for your familiar face and your generous tips, spared a few more minutes of a busy mixologist's time, but always a separation, a glass wall between you and the rest of the room. No one's been on this side of it with you before.

"I wanted you to have a good memory," you say, finally. "I wanted to share it with you."

You glance at Melissa. She's watching you with a look you recognize. It's the one she gave you that night at her house—just earlier this week, but it feels like a lifetime ago. It's tender and intent. It's encouraging. Like she's watching a flower bloom.

"It's already a good memory for me, hon," Melissa says. Something nudges your ankle. It's her foot in its killer heel, gently insinuating between both of yours. You feel her knee against yours, your calves aligned together. She smiles at you. "We're here together."

Your heart does one of its aerial flips.

"You sure get shy for somebody who was talkin' about suckin' my tits before, though," she says.

You choke on nothing. Your face and ears burn. She laughs, her head dropping back, the light glinting on her saints' medals.

"Biting," you squeak, when you can get air. "We were talking about biting."

"Biting," she says, "right. How come you can say all that to me but you're nervous tellin' me you like a bar?"

It's not a bad question. You trace the grain of the wooden tabletop for a second or two, eyes down. "I'm used to giving other people what they like," you say. "I don't mean—it's not that I was lying or faking. No way. I meant it, I mean it, everything I say to you. So much, Melissa." You dart a look up to make sure she understands. "I mean, it's easy for me... For other people, I can express..."

Her hand finds yours on the table and stills it. Her manicured finger gently swipes along the curve below your thumb, down to the sensitive inner skin of your wrist, and traces slowly there, back and forth. She's giving you that look again, gentle and focused and intimate. "I get it," she says simply.

A rush of relief fills you, settling the rattle of your anxious nerves. You turn your hand over and hers settles into yours.

The server appears for your drink orders. You order the house sake, and Melissa says, "Yeah, me too." With your small glasses of sake, the two of you pore over the menu, picking a few things Melissa knows, a few things she's never had before.

The first few plates come out: shumai, hamachi, a bowl of spicy pickle. She gets pieces of toro, unagi, and salmon, and you get a roll and a plate of chashu buns. She gives those a look of pure lust.

"Take one," you say, and push the plate toward her.

She doesn't hesitate. At her first bite, she lets out a guttural moan that goes right between your thighs. You're suddenly much more aware of her ankle still caught between both of your own.

"You think I could get this recipe?" she says of the chashu after the bun has vanished.

"I think you can get whatever you want." Especially from you, especially if she keeps making those noises.

"I sure can," she says with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes.

You've seen Melissa eat before, scraping the last bite of salad out of a tupperware or sipping from a Stanley Tucci mug, but it's different like this, sharing a meal. You love watching her small, plump hands with her chopsticks, her drinks; you love her expressive eyes, the way they widen or flutter shut at a perfect bite. Everything she tries she makes you try—insistent, "Here, you taste," like you're not the one who's had the whole menu before, and you oblige, trying to taste it for the first time, like her, letting each one blossom over your tongue, letting yourself fall under her spell.

The bar is packed by the time you're through and she's nibbled her way through a couple of frozen mochi. "We gotta come back here," she declares as the two of you leave, hand in hand. "I wanna try more. You got good taste."

"Yeah, I do," you say, looking at her. It's full dark now, but the streetlights and the moon illuminate her, outlining her red hair in silver, the shape of her hips.

"You gonna take me home now?" she says. She moves closer. "You made a lotta promises, you know."

"I know." Your hands settle on her hips. She tilts her head up; you catch her lips, tasting the plum wine you two shared. It's your first real kiss of the night, and she's mellow, soft, delicious. Still, you tell her, "We don't have to, tonight. I want to, but I don't want you to think..."

"I know," she says, and gives you another kiss. "If I thought you were buyin' dinner to make me put out, I would'a had way more food." Another kiss. "Come on, let's go. Or maybe you don't wanna get lucky?"

You drive back to Melissa's place, her hand on your thigh the whole way. Back over the welcome mat that reads GO AWAY, into the picture-lined place where it all started over a glass of wine.

Melissa takes your coat and her own and gives you her back, hanging them up in a closet by the front door. "I can get you another drink," she's saying, but all you can see is the back of her dress: the silver line of the zipper running from collar to hem, almost invisible.

You move closer and she stiffens when she feels you there, your chest to her back. You gather her hair, move it aside. Above the collar of the dress you can see the line of her nape and the muscle where her neck and her shoulder join. You lean down and kiss it.

Breathing in, you can smell her perfume again, her makeup again. Now, her skin. It's a scent you couldn't begin to describe, something living and animal and sensuous. And her hair: warm, intimate, a little bit of hairspray. You kiss the side of her neck.

"You have no idea," you say quietly. You nose against the shell of her ear. Its soft cartilage is cold from the night air outside, but warming quickly, flushing pink as you kiss it. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are. You don't know what you've been doing to me."

You lift your hands and find the tongue of the zipper. Her breath hitches. You slowly draw it down. The rasp of it is loud between your bodies.

The band of her bra. Red lace. Down her back to the luscious curvature of her hips. You're holding your breath. Her panties are red lace, too, a high-waisted thong that hugs her belly and hips but, oh, fuck: leaves her ass almost totally fucking bare. Of course, in that clinging dress. Couldn't risk panty lines.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you say, and slide the dress fully off her body. It's a puddle of red fabric on the floor. You push her chest-first against the closet door and drop to your knees.

"Oh my God," she says weakly as you hold her hips and kiss your way up the back of one thigh, then the other. The flesh here is dimpled with cellulite, a mark of her perfect abundance. You nose over the curve of her ass and bite one cheek and she squeaks and gives a weak, "Huh," afterward, like she'd surprised herself, and you bite the other cheek and her hips rock back into you.

She's still in her heels. You're starting to smell her sex. You think about having her bend over and put her hands against the door and let you eat her from behind until her knees shake and give out. Fuck, you want to, but you've been making promises; you have plans.

You straighten back up, brushing kisses up the line of her spine. "I want to see your bedroom."

"Fuck," she says dizzily. "Okay. Uh..." She starts to step away from the closet door and for the first time all night, she wobbles in her heels. She gives a little growl of frustration that's so Melissa you can't help but laugh, making her glower your way as she toes out of the shoes.

She leads you up to her bedroom. The big bed is made, but there are plenty of signs of life: the vanity against one wall, scattered with makeup; the bedside table with a dog-eared book and a pair of her glasses; there's a bra tossed over the cracked closet door.

She turns to face you, unself-conscious, and grabs you for another kiss, deep, dirty, her tongue licking into your mouth. "Can't believe you wore my favorite color," she says breathlessly, and starts fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. "God, you look so hot."

Your shirt's halfway open when you get your mouth on her neck. She groans, hands loosening on the fabric. Soft, right along the line of her jaw, under her chin, down her throat where you feel a moan vibrate through the skin. "Harder," she says.

You stay soft. The hollow of her throat, her clavicle. You nose one strap of her bra. She whines, "Harder," and grips your hair.

"I told you," you say. "I'm going to make you beg." She gasps. Your cunt pulses. You wonder if the same thing happened in her classroom that day, if she sat at her desk squirming, little hitches of her breath betraying her.

You squeeze her ass and she sways into you. Your hands shape her hips, up her sides, over her back, feeling the landscape of it, the valley of her spine. You trace the band of her bra. It's so pretty, you almost don't want to take it off.

"Where's your vibrator?" you ask.

"Huh?"

"Your vibrator," you patiently repeat, and lean back. You see in her eyes when it clicks. She leans away from you toward the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer. Inside, there's a pack of melatonin gummies, a lavender and chamomile room spray, a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, and a hot pink wand vibrator. Her sleep aid drawer, you realize.

You pick up the toy. It has a good weight, and the silicone is almost as soft as her skin. You find the power button, click it on, and cycle with a few presses through the three strength settings. You settle back on the first one and test it against the inside of your wrist, feeling the rumble against the sensitive skin there.

You look up again and Melissa's sitting on the edge of the bed. She's breathing hard, staring at you, and she's blushing.

"Lay back against the pillows for me, baby."

She scoots back, gives you a challenging look, and spreads her legs. You can really smell her, a thick, rich, saline scent that makes your mouth water. The drawer's still open and you spot a small bottle of lube; you take it out just in case, then slide the drawer shut.

"You gonna get naked?" she says as you join her on the bed.

"Not yet," you say and kiss her again. And again. The vibrator sits on the mattress, turned off, and you want to make her forget it's there. You take your time, licking at the serrated edge of her teeth, sucking on her lower lip until she's whimpering.

You couldn't have imagined that sound coming from Melissa Schemmenti. You chase it, have to have it again. Her lipstick is smeared, almost gone. She keeps tugging on your hair as you kiss her, starting to squirm beneath you, saying things like "More," and "Harder," but not please—not yet.

She slides down against the pillows, laying herself more fully under your body, and the motion makes the vibrator roll down the mattress to bump her side. Her breath speeds up all over again, and her eyes flick from it to you.

You pick up the toy and click it on. "Keep your legs spread."

"Oh, fuck yes," Melissa says, then whines aloud when you touch the vibrator not to her clothed pussy, but to the inner crease of her thigh. "Fuck, c'mon."

"C'mon, what?" You trail the vibrator up the inside of her thigh, toward her knee, and back down again.

"You know—" her breath stutters when you switch legs. "You know what I want."

"And you know what I want."

That makes her moan. Her head drops back, her chest heaving. You lean down to kiss her sternum, to finally nose against one perfect breast, the way you've hungered for it since that photo. The lace of her bra scratches your cheek. You can feel her nipple through the cup, taut against the fabric. You bring the vibrator up and tease its rumbling head over that peak, making her shudder, then replace it with your mouth, letting her feel the heat and wet, just barely, still separated from you by her bra.

"God, fuck," she says, "fuck you," and you switch breasts, teasing her other nipple to aching stiffness. You nuzzle the skin that her bra offers up, the plump perfect roundness of her breast, part your lips, drag your teeth over it. She's so soft here, so much, and it's perfect. Your hand drops with the vibrator and you trace it over her hip toward her sex, making her squirm, as you busy yourself with soft bites and sucks.

You change your angle a little, propping a hand against the pillows so you can lean over her. Your body casts a shadow and her green eyes look up at you from beneath it, somehow both pleading and mutinous. You idle the vibrator back up along the waistband of her underwear and then slowly down toward her cunt, playing it over the plumpness of her mons.

"Fuck," she says, "fucking fuck you, okay, please," and you smile. "Please, I said please, will you fucking please—"

You bring the wand down over her pussy. Her head rolls back and she groans, starting to squirm. "Pull down your bra for me," you say.

"What?" Her voice, face, are foggy and vague, but after a few seconds she understands, lifting her hands to tug down the bra's cups, showing you her perfect breasts. They're begging for your mouth, and you promised her you'd give her what she wanted when she begged, didn't you?

You drop your head. Kiss over one breast, then the other. Mouth at the flesh—so fucking soft, so good against your lips, sucked into the wetness of your mouth. The tops of her breasts have a small scattering of freckles that you have to dust in turn with adoring kisses. Her hard nipple brushes your cheek and you draw it past your lips as you trace the wand vibrator up and down, from her clit to the entrance of her cunt, back again, never letting it linger.

You switch to her other nipple, leaving her breast damp and reddened from your mouth. Her head tosses back and forth against the pillows as she whines, squirms, moans, says, "Fuck," and, voice breaking a little, "You're still fuckin' teasin' me—please, please, I said it, please—"

The words, her need, are electricity surging straight to your aching clit. Your voice is a rasp to match her own when you lift your head and breathe in her ear, "You sound so good like this, Melissa." She gives a broken whimper. "You're so perfect. I'll give you more. I promise. I'll take care of you. Take your panties off for me, sweetheart."

With a grateful sob she lifts her hips and shoves her underwear down her thighs, no further. You flash on that fantasy you had of her, getting off after a school day, slacks and panties around her knees as she fucked herself. Looks like you were right.

"You might need," she starts to say, but you're already reaching across to pick up the bottle of lube. You click off the vibrator and let her watch you drip the lube over your fingers, slicking them up. She's panting harder and harder just watching you.

With your other hand freed from the vibrator, you can pull the thong all the way off her legs, leaning back on your knees to do it. You push one thigh then the other wide apart. Her pussy is plump and gorgeous, red and swollen, her own wetness gleaming from between her spread labia. You add to it: the softest touch of your fingertips against her sex, trailing up and around the peak of her clit, not touching it directly.

She makes a noise you can barely describe, a groan of misery and arousal and desperation. Sliding your fingers back down toward the heat of her cunt, slipping one slowly inside, watching her as you do it. Her eyelashes flutter, her lips parting. Once you're sure she's wet enough, you add a second finger. The lube and her own gathering wetness makes a slick, dirty sound as you begin to stroke inside her, all delicacy, all torment.

"Oh, fuck," she says, "don't stop, Jesus Christ, please, don't stop, I need it, I, I..." Now she's babbling, the way she's made you do, one hand fisted in the bed covers, the other grabbing your wrist. "I need it so bad, I need you to fuck me, I've been waitin', please..."

"You've been waiting?" It occurs to you that this version of Melissa, already begging, might be willing to tell you some embarrassing truths. "How long?"

"Since we met," she gasps. "Since—oh, fuck..."

Since you met? That was the very first day of shooting—getting all the establishing shots, the very first moments and interviews. She intimidated you—her and Barbara both did—but Barbara, at least, gave a little, showed a bit of herself to the camera. You remember how Melissa was, arms folded over her chest, cool and hostile with Pedro as he tried to coax her out, get her to introduce herself.

Her eyes had moved from him to you, looking past the camera. "You Sicilian?" she'd asked you. She smiled at you that day and it transformed her sullen, cagey face, turned her, however momentarily, sweet. "Italian?" she'd continued, then her eyes darted from you to Pedro, over to the boom mic guy, trying to get a read on all of you. "You from South?" Her smile vanished. Her voice tightened up again: "Okay, you guys workin' with the cops? 'Cause you gotta tell me."

You reward her for the honesty with a press of your palm against her clit. Her hips jerk up. "I remember that day."

Her head drops back again, her eyes squeezing shut. The words leave her in a breathless rush: "You were so cute'n I hated the cameras but whenever you were there I would just—and you were always so, you were gentle, and—I always knew when you were lookin' at me—"

"I was looking at you every chance I got." You watch her face as you begin to ease a third finger inside her. This one has to burn a little; you can feel her body, resistant at first, starting to stretch to take it, and you don't push; you wait to see her eyes open again, their needy, yielding look. She lets go of the covers to grab one leg under her knee and pull it wider apart to help you. You add a little more lube, just in case, not wanting to hurt her.

"I was always looking at you, Melissa." She stares up at you. There's a crease between her brows, her swollen lips parted; she looks stunned, overwhelmed, face pink, as you slide that third finger inside her.

"I was always looking at you," you repeat, and begin to gently fuck her. Her cunt opens for you and desperately clenches against your fingers, grasping and irregular, trying to keep you. "You're so beautiful. I always wanted you. I thought you were the sexiest, meanest—" that surprises a panting laugh from her—"woman I'd ever seen. You were so smart, so funny—you protected everyone, and you took care of everybody—" her eyes squeeze shut. "Let me take care of you now."

You reach over and pick up the vibrator. You click it on. Her eyes open again at the sound of its buzz. You press the button again, then a third time, bringing it to its strongest setting. Melissa's eyes are huge. She's panting, staring, knowing what you're about to do, and the look of vulnerability and desire on her face, her smeared lipstick, her messy hair, she's perfect, so perfect, and you need to make her come now.

"I need it," you tell her, holding her gaze. "I need it. Let me feel it, Melissa." You bring the vibrator to her swollen, begging clit.

A moment of nothing but her breath caught in her chest and her wide-eyed gaze on yours. Her pussy clamps down around your fingers and you feel the ripples of her orgasm start before she drops her head back and gives a wounded, animal cry.

You chase the waves of her climax, fucking her through them, coaxing them toward you; you rub the head of the vibrator along her slippery clit. Her head tosses back and forth on the pillow like it's too much, but her hand still grasps your wrist, keeping you right where you are, and her hips are working, riding your fingers.

"I can't," she starts saying when she can heave a breath back into her lungs, "I can't, I can't, oh, please—" you click the vibrator off and throw it aside; it nearly rolls off the mattress. You spread the lips of her pussy wide and you lean down and bite one shaking thigh, then the other, then seal your lips over her swollen, tender clit.

Fuck the vibrator: this is your new favorite toy. You play with it and play with it and Melissa comes again, or keeps coming, you're not sure which. One leg goes over your shoulder and her hips twitch and writhe until you have to hold her down.

"Oh my G—oh my God, oh, baby," then, just chanting over and over again, like you could ever tell her no again, like you can deny her anything in the world: "Please, please, please..."

Anything she wants. The whole fucking world, if it were yours to give. You suck and lick at her cunt as her hands find your hair and yank.

How long can she go for? How many times can you make her come? You want to know. You want to fuck her until she faints. But that's not for tonight—not without planning, not without her consent—so when she starts making airy noises that are weak and almost pained, you ease off, slowing your mouth and fingers, letting her come down.

You rub her hips and thighs and her soft belly, and give light kisses to the mound of her pubis. She stops pulling on your hair, grip going slack at first; then, as she comes back into herself by slow degrees, she scratches her nails gently against your scalp.

Kisses for her stomach, her ribs. "Here, baby," you whisper, and reach under her body; she lifts up so you can unhook her bra, sticky fingers brushing her skin. You ease it off and drop it to wherever her panties went. She's nude under you now, flushed all over, body loose and relaxed against the mattress; you pet every inch of her you can reach.

You cup her cheek. Her head turns into the contact. There's sweat gleaming along her hairline and her upper lip. Her eyes, mascara and liner blurred, open to meet yours; her gaze is bleary at first, then sharpens.

You expect another fuck-you, or a joke, or even a "thanks, I needed that," but what she says is, "Now you sit on my face."

Your mind whites out. It's possible you forget the English language for a second or two. When you're back from wherever your soul departed to, she's pulling on the buttons of your shirt, brow knit and wearing an impatient little scowl, yanking the last ones open. "What?" you say weakly.

"I said," Melissa says, fully herself again, no longer the begging, needy, squirming creature of minutes ago, "now you sit on my face. C'mon. Get this off." She grabs the buckle of your belt and works the tongue out of it with a metallic clink.

"I," you say, "I," and she drags your trousers down your legs. You have to lean back off her to get them and your underwear all the way off. Your shirt still hangs open, showing your bra, your bare stomach. She leans up to kiss your sternum with an open mouth, tongue flickering hot against your skin.

"I told you," she growls against your neck, "to sit on my fuckin' face," and there's no more of anything in your world but her, you scrambling up onto your knees, spread wide, her sliding down the bed to get under your cunt.

You falter for a moment; she grabs your hips and yanks you down. There's no playing, no teasing. She drags the flat of her tongue up the folds of your pussy and takes your clit into her mouth and sucks. Her green eyes are open and staring up at you and you see your own dazed pleasure reflected in them.

It takes about five embarrassing seconds before you come in her mouth. She moans loudly against you and tries to hold you where you are, but your legs are shaking badly; imagine if you broke her nose the first night, God—you lift one knee so you can get off of her and drop onto your back.

She follows you. Clambers on top of you intently but unsteadily, still wobbling from her own orgasms, and kisses sloppily down your stomach to get back to your pussy.

"Melissa—" you're gasping, and she's putting her tongue inside you, angling her head to get it in as far as she can. She licks, sucks, wraps her arms around your hips and holds you against her as you try to buck away. The wet noises of her mouth against your cunt are obscene.

You come again, and maybe one more time, you're not sure; your mind blanks again. When you can think, feel, process again, she's giving little kitten licks to your sensitive sex that send shudders up your whole body.

"Okay," you say. Your throat hurts a little—how much noise were you making? You clear it. "Okay. You win." You tap out on the mattress like a boxer. She's wearing a look of supreme satisfaction as she lets you go, her face covered in slick wetness, her makeup a disaster, her hair a messy tangle. She's so beautiful. Your heart does a now-familiar backflip.

She crawls up your body and flops onto her side next to you, curling onto your chest. There's long minutes of just you two breathing, the sound filling the room, a tingling starting in your pussy that you know is the herald of after-sex soreness, her damp fingertips tracing idly on your skin.

You start to smooth out her hair. It'll take a shower and a comb to really fix—maybe you'll suggest it. You trail your fingers down and follow the freckled curve of her shoulder, the roll of flesh on her side along her ribs, the dip of her waist before it opens onto the perfect field of her hips and ass.

Her eyes flick up to yours. They're softer and happier than you've ever seen them; the look on her face is gentle and content. You bring your questing hand up to cup her cheek. She kisses your thumb.

"I'm hungry again," she declares.

A laugh bursts out of you, full of affection. "What?" she says, clearly about to be offended, but before she can go any further, you pull her fully into your arms, wrap around her and squeeze.

You press your face into her neck and inhale, smelling her sweat and skin and sex. "You're perfect for me," you say into that warm curve, muffled against her skin. "You're just perfect." You peck a kiss onto her jaw and lean back to touch her cheek again. "Should we make something? Do you want pasta?"

She grins at you. It's that big, Cheshire smile you saw on her face a few days ago, telling Barbara about how she shot her shot, full of preening satisfaction. She leans in and brushes your nose with hers.

"I knew I picked right," she says, simply, happily. She laces her fingers with yours. "Come on, I got a robe you could wear. You like carbonara?"

She leads you off the rumpled bed. You can see you've left a blurry pink bite mark on one cheek of her perfect ass. She brings you a fuzzy shortie robe ("I like your legs, baby, lemme see 'em") and puts on a silk one herself, and takes your hand again as she opens the bedroom door.

You feel good. You're happy. You realize as she brings you to the kitchen, to the very heart of her home, that you're not alone anymore.

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

Author's Note:

I received the following prompt from an anonymous reader on Tumblr:

"can you write some fluffy smut for Mel x reader where everyone thinks Mel would be in charge in the bedroom because she’s so tough and reader is so shy. but actually reader takes care of Mel."

Back when Season 2 was airing, I saw a few fan posts saying that Lisa Ann had suggested there was a cameraperson on the crew that Melissa thought was cute, which led to the rare scenes where Melissa opens up to the camera. I'm not sure if this is accurate to what she said, but that idea has stuck with me. When I received the above prompt, it went into a blender with that thought, and this is the smoothie that resulted.

I hope I've done justice to this lovely prompt!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #as an FYI: this is my longest fic yet and may be easiest to read on AO3 :)

646 notes · View notes

ugotcooneycrossed · 8 months

Text

get her back! • leah williamson

w/c: ~1.2k

leah williamson is the most frustrating person you've ever met in you're entire life- and you are without a doubt, 100% infatuated with her

a/n: inspired by the idea that boyfriend leah would be so toxic and iwl id happily accept it

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you’re on a trip with some of the united girls in ibiza- an after-season holiday before the world cup, which turns into you being dragged through crowds and running into what seems like the entire super league.

you properly meet leah there- you’ve crossed paths before in the season of course, it’s hard not to, when you’re trying to score and the blonde absolutely bodies you out of nowhere.

and much like during games- she crashes into you, only this time her drink spills all down your front, and her hands reach out to grip your arms to stop you from falling back.

“sorry ‘bout that sweetheart.”

she’s smiling at you while she says it- eyeing you up and down, her eyes twinkling with something. and your brain short circuits at the sound of her voice- your mouth going dry at the sight of her abs on full display.

“hey- you play for united yeah?”

all you manage is a nod- brain too preoccupied with the way her thumb brushes your arm occasionally.

“cool- i’ll see you around.”

she winks at you and disappears into the crowd again.

you stare after her- mouth open slightly and cheeks flushed.

“what are you doing standing there like a fish mate?”

Tooney jumps on your back- her arm wrapping around your neck.

“ewww- you’re all sticky too, what’s wrong with you?”

“Tooney- i think im in love.”

you’re out at dinner with the girls later that night- and they’re all having the time of their lives making fun of you for your little crush on the England captain.

“you know- if you wanted to make the senior team so bad, sleeping with the captain is a sure-fire way to do it.”

Ella and Mary high-five- their laughs booming, as they fall off their chairs, while you slink further down into your own.

“you know- i really, really regret telling you this.”

the two ignore you- too busy laughing, getting louder and louder the more you complain.

Alessia pats your thigh, smiling at you sympathetically.

A voice calls out over Mary and Ella’s laughing.

“right- what’s so funny then?”

Leah appears on the other side of the table- arms folded over her chest, and eyebrow quirked up in question at the two rolling around on the ground.

“nothing!”

you’re quick to interject, shouting way too loudly and averting your eyes from everyone when they stare at you.

“hey lee!”

Alessia gets out of her chair to hug the older girl, and the others follow her lead.

you stay in your chair though- eyes on your lap, hands gripping the chairs armrests.

you can feel eyes burning into you and you get up- announcing to everyone you’ll be at the bar.

you take a moment to catch your breath as you walk over, giving the bar tender your order and fumbling around for your card.

when you go to tap your card to pay for your drink, a hand reaches out before you can- a sleek black card shines at you and you follow the arm to see the face of leah williamson, smirking at you.

you finally look at her, she’s dressed in a black suit- her shirt barely buttoned, sleeves rolled up, ring clad fingers twirling her card.

“what’s your poison?”

“huh?”

she nods to the drink in your hand.

“oh- uh-“

she cuts you off before you can speak.

“i’m more of a whiskey girl myself, I must say.”

you nod fiddling with your drink.

“what’s your name anyway?”

Leah looks at you up and down- taking a sip of her drink.

“(y/n).”

“cute- look i’ll be honest, i find you very attractive, so, want to come back to my room?”

you wake up the next morning to a shirt being chucked at your head, taking it off you see leah lent against the doorframe, brushing her teeth.

“you should probably go soon.”

she disappears back into the hall without another word, and you throw your hands over your face groaning.

you’ve dug yourself into a grave- and every time you think of Leah- it gets deeper, and deeper.

well, maybe not when you think of her- ‘cause you’d have definitely fallen through to the other side of the world by now. but when you think too much about her- it some-how spirals into you sending her a text, and Alessia’s disappointed face as you abandon whatever you were doing in favour of ‘just one more kiss.’

stupid leah- with her stupid smirk, and her stupid voice, and the stupid way she knows exactly where to kiss you to make you weak in the knees.

stupid leah, and her stupid car, picking up stupid you.

“i hate her!”

thrashing around on top of Alessia’s bed you grab her pillow to scream into.

“do you?”

“yes! i do! she’s so frustrating. one minute she tells me i’m the ‘only one’- then i find her making out with other girls?! she only ever calls me when she wants something! i tried to tell her Lessi i promise- but when she does that stupid little smirk- oh my god! i can’t take it!”

“then why keep going back to her?”

you don’t make the squad for the world cup- it’s not exactly a surprise but it still stings a little. another year of “oh, it’s all right.” and “next year you got it!”

swallowing down the hurt you end up going out with the girls to celebrate anyway- throwing your arms over Alessia and Mary you kiss their cheeks.

you're about two drinks and four shots in- when you’ve been left alone at a booth, with no supervision you pull out your phone and text leah.

you hear a voice clear their throat- and you blearily make out Alessia in front of you.

“don’t tell me you texted her?”

“… no?”

“i hate you.”

your breathy voice wavers- brain foggy with the way leah attacks your neck, the older girl’s hands gripping you- one hand tangled in your hair, the other holding your hands together, pushing and pulling you in any direction she pleases. her lips curl into a smirk against your neck and she stops kissing you, and pushes you completely away from her.

“hate me huh? guess we can stop this.”

“no.”

“no?”

you glare at the shit-eating grin spreading on her face- grabbing the front of her shirt and yanking her closer to you.

“no.”

leah is fuming, and you’re loving it.

with mostly everyone gone in Australia- you’ve gravitated more to the blonde, much to Alessia’s disappointment, when she saw both of you making out in the back of Alex’s story one night.

tonight though- you’ve been flirting with this one girl, running your hands up her arms, giggling and squeezing her biceps.

you can see leah in the back- jaw clenched, her angry pout fixed on her face.

you don’t even know the other girls name- you just know she’s helping you make leah very, very jealous.

when you go to the toilets- leah follows behind you, slipping in and pushing you against the door.

she doesn’t speak- only gripping your face with one hand and shoving it to the side, while the other feels you up, she attacks your neck, sucking and biting.

“shut up.”

you smile.

"i didn't even say anything."

you wake up the next morning alone again- your neck mauled and dignity only slightly gone.

you find a note on your bathroom mirror.

‘you’re mine. don’t forget it.’ – l.w

#leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso

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wileys-russo · 2 months

Note

Idea to add to the Date To Remember universe! Mary notices more and more of her clothes and training kits have been going missing, she confronts reader as reader has a habit of taking Mary's clothes. Turns out Delilah has been sneaking into their wardrobe and taking Mary's kits to dress like her mama.

part of the a date to remember series little squirrel II m.earps

"oh you are fucking joking me where is it?" mary groaned in frustration, rummaging through each one of her drawers and tossing things behind her, determined to find the one shirt she knew she'd seen only last week.

"baby what are you doing?" you caught the next shirt flung from her hand and frowned, your wife looking at you over her shoulder and scoffing.

"looking for my shirt that you've probably stolen!" the older girl accused with a huff, turning back to her search. "and which shirt would that be?" you questioned with a roll of your eyes, throwing the one in your hand back at her.

"the faded grey rolling stones one. i wanna wear it tonight with my leather pants to dinner with the girls but i can't find it!" mary groaned loudly as you smacked her.

"lilah's sleeping!" you hissed in warning, knowing if your daughter woke up any earlier than she was supposed to she wouldn't sleep tonight, having been tired out by going to breakfast with alessia this morning, the blonde claiming she was in need of some 'god daughter time'.

"its probably in the wash or in the wardrobe but throwing stuff around everywhere isn't going to help you find it any faster babe." you sighed with a shake of your head.

"well you find it then!" your wife demanded grumpily, moving to flop down onto the bed with her arms crossed. "fine, i'll look and you put the rest of this away." you nodded to the clothes scattered around the room.

"now mary." you added on seriously when the goalkeeper made no motion to move. "god you're bossy." your wife mumbled as you shot her a glare and she avoided your eyeline, hurrying to gather the clothing strung about.

"you're one to talk! should watch some games back and hear the way you yell and carry on." you scoffed, shifting through the basket of clean laundry on the chair in the corner. "hey! you said you found it hot when i yell on the pitch." mary huffed in defence.

"i do, but that doesn't mean its not bossy." you finally found the shirt she was after and tossed it at her with a raised eyebrow. "not this one!" mary groaned and threw it back as you sighed.

"mary its grey and its a rolling stones shirt. wear it and stop whinging!" you threw it back to her. "no! i want the charcoal grey distressed looking one, it completes the outfit babe." the taller girl shook her head stubbornly and threw the clean shirt into the pile she was making on your bed.

"then find a new outfit! you're being ridiculous." you laughed and turned back to the wardobe. "i am not." the english woman scoffed as she appeared beside you.

"beautiful girl, baby, love of my life, mother of my child. you know i adore when you wear my clothes, the way everything engulfs and hangs off you because you're fun sized-" the brunette started.

"mary!" you shoved her for the last comment about your height but it didn't phase her as she continued. "-and you've always had a habit of stealing them before we moved in together-" your wife span you around and settled her large hands on your shoulders.

"-but my love i would hope that now we share a closet, share a last name, share a house and share a child, that you no longer felt the need to hide from me my items of clothing you want to wear." mary sighed dramatically making you roll your eyes for what felt like the hundreth time today.

"i didn't you muppet!" you scoffed and pushed her hands off of you. "darling, i beg to differ." mary nodded for you to follow after her into the walk in wardrobe as you withheld the urge to groan.

"exhibit a; the missing kits." she gestured to the section of the wardrobe where her most favourite jerseys all hung, and you couldn't argue with her that indeed a few of them were missing, the empty hangers a dead giveaway.

"exhibit b; the stolen hoodies." mary moved on and pointed to where her hoodies normally were stacked up neatly folded, and you knew from putting away her laundry that normally they reached the top of the shelf.

motioning for you to again follow her she headed back toward the bed, moving around to your side and pulling up a few pillows. "exhibit c; the evidence!" mary shouted dramatically, gesturing her hand toward the large t-shirt bundled beneath the pillow.

"congratulations sherlock you found the shirt i wore to bed with you, last night." you shook your head unimpressed with her takeaway. "okay what about the hoodies and the kits? thief!" mary pointed her finger at you with a scowl.

"idiot!" you retorted in the same tone, pointing right back at her making her scoff. "i don't wash your old kits because they get wrecked in the dryer, remember the euros jersey?" you reminded as mary winced with a small nod.

"and i couldn't have worn six or seven jerseys to bed last night nor would i have worn a hoodie considering its the middle of summer mary. case closed, not a thief." you defended, crossing your arms over your chest.

"well i didn't move them. so what are you saying babe, we've been robbed?" mary mocked sarcastically as your eyes narrowed. though before you could snap anything back a new voice sung out and you exhaled.

"mummy! mummy! mama!" your wifes eyes widened at your daughters voice, knowing she wasn't supposed to be up for another two or ideally three hours. "nice one earps. if she doesn't sleep tonight, neither do you!" you warned menacingly before hurrying out of the room as your daughters cries continued.

"lilah! what are you doing?" you had to stop yourself from laughing at the sight in front of you, your three year old half dressed but sat on the floor with her favourite tutu around her ankles and her head stuck in the arm hole of very large t-shirt.

one that you instantly recognised.

"stuck!" was the only reply you got with a huff as you smiled and knelt down, gently grabbing her and twisting the top so she could push her head through the right hole.

"come on bubba, up we get." you sighed in amusement, pulling her carefully to her feet and helping her step through her tutu and pull it up properly.

"what are you doing awake hm? its nap time." you poked at her stomach making her giggle and throw her arms around you in a tight hug which made you melt into a puddle.

"not nap time mumma, dance time!" your daughter sighed as if you'd said the most unintelligent thing in the world, patting your shoulder as she pulled away. "no, dance is on tuesdays, wednesdays and fridays lilah, today is monday!" you smiled as she frowned.

"no dance?" "no dance baby, sorry."

"now, where did you get this from huh?" you tugged at the bottom of the charcoal grey rolling stones top your wife had been looking for earlier. "mine!" delilah beamed happily, patting her chest as you quirked an eyebrow.

"i think its a little bit too big to be yours. we don't lie lilah!" you gently chatsized as she frowned. "mine." she repeated again, grabbing your hand and pulling you over to the playmat in the corner of her room.

you watched with wide eyes as with a grunt she pushed over the chest which contained all of her toys, though it wasn't just toys which spilled out of it.

"see? mine!" delilah chirped proudly, fondly poking at the small mountain of your wifes clothes which she'd obviously hidden away. "baby those are mama's. why did you take mama's shirts, and mama's gloves...and one of mama's shoes?" you frowned, picking up the singular cleat with a confused frown.

"wanna be like mama! so gotta dress like mama." delilah shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world as you hummed and squatted down. "why?" you hit her with what at the moment was her favourite one word question.

"dance to be like you, don't wanna kick the ball so gotta dress like mama so she isn't sad!" your daughter explained as a soft smile curled into your features and you swiftly scooped the girl up, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"my love, mama isn't sad that you don't want to play football. she's very very proud of you, we both are. remember how we bought you flowers and ice cream and all your aunties came over for a big party after your recital?" you reminded as delilah nodded with a happy grin.

"did mama seem sad then?" your daughter shook her head. "you can wear mama's clothes but when she says you can baby, you can't take other peoples things without asking thats not nice!" you warned gently as delilah nodded in understanding.

"sorry." she sighed making you melt all over again as you hugged her tightly, rubbing small circles into her back. "thats okay lilah, just gotta ask from now on, okay?" you felt her nod into your shoulder.

her tiny arms still looped around your neck you stood and hoisted her onto your hip, making your way back to your own bedroom where your wife had finished putting away all the clothes she'd flung about earlier.

"well hello cheeky. decided a nap wasn't on the cards today did we?" mary grinned, the smile falling as your daughter hid her face in your shoulder. "come with me please." you requested, holding your free hand out to your wife who looked confused but didn't question it, taking your hand as you lead her back to delilahs bedroom.

"oh." mary breathed out as she noticed the pile of her clothing on the floor scattered about with your daughters most favourite toys. "lilah is there something we should say to mama please?" you encouraged softly, placing her down on her feet as mary knelt down to be closer to her height.

you watched a flicker of something spark in her eyes as she too noticed right away which top your daughter was drowning in. "sorry mama, should have asked." delilah pouted as you saw mary also melt right away at the gesture.

"thats okay lilah, thank you for saying sorry baby." mary opened her arms as your daughter all but charged into them, knocking your wife onto your ass as you covered your laugh up with your hand.

"god forget ballet maybe we get you into rugby kid!" mary groaned dramatically as your daughter giggled, mary pouncing at her and kissing all over her face as she begged out to stop among her laughter.

"hey lilah." you called out, your daughter sitting up a little to look at you. "why don't you go find mama's big red speaker and we can have dance class here instead." you offered watching her eyes light up as she pushed mary's arms off and all but sprinted out of the room.

"i'm sorry for accusing you of being a thief?" your wife smiled guiltily from the floor as you rolled your eyes affectionately and held a hand out to help her up. "mary!" you squealed as she tugged rather hard at your hand sending you toppling down into her awaiting arms.

"okay okay! i forgive you, ya big dope." you laughed as the taller girl attacked your own face with kisses now, apologies and sweet nothings mumbled in between them sending your cheeks bright red as you pushed her away.

"what?" you smiled knowingly as she hovered over you with a cheeky grin. "what!" you repeated again when she only continued to look down on you with the same grin that had you falling head over heels for her in the first place as she stole a quick kiss and pushed herself up.

"babe we're raising a squirrel."

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #mary earps x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #mary earps #engwnt

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repulsiveliquidation · 4 months

Note

hey :) first of all love love love your writing, literally never fails to make me drip lol

also don’t know if youre up for ideas atm but if you are i have an idea for a short (or long) leah blurb based on THAT suit. i can’t get this scenario out of my head: her coming home after the event and riding r’s strap with her open shirt and the tie still around her neck. and just her being needy and desperate to cum.

good excuse.

Leah Williamson x Reader [SMUT! blurb.] not formatted, I did this on my phone. God my head is burning from the bleach. Hope you like this one, that suit was 😩😮‍💨

“You dressed love?”

“Yes, can you help me with my tie?”

“Mm, c’mere.”

You stand in front of here, undoing her collar and tying her tie for her. She smiles, you lean in and give her a kiss.

“There. All done. You look smashing babe.”

“I’ve had it in my wardrobe for a while but I needed a good excuse to wear it, today seemed fitting.”

“You look hot. Like you mean business.”

“You go be a pretty girl on the red carpet and I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of after babydoll.”

Leah comes home way past midnight, a little tipsy from the celebratory drinks she’s had with the girls for Mary’s big win. Alex drops her off, grinning when Leah throws herself at you and immediately starts kissing your neck.

“You’ve got an interesting night ahead of ya. She couldn’t stop talking about coming home to you and having some fun.”

“She did, did she? Naughty Leah, discussing our bedroom habits in public.”

Alex leaves with a loud chuckle, yelling about how she didn’t want to know any more than Leah had already blabbed. Leah had started to strip already, her shirt half open and tie partially undone.

She stands in the door frame, blonde hair framing her face. Her curves are illuminated by the dim lighting throughout the house, casting a soft glow around her magnificent body.

“Hi baby, missed me?” She asks, sauntering over to you while sensually swaying her hips.

“Mhm, did you have a good time angel?”

“The best. But I missed you.” She whines, arms wrapping around your neck with a pout on her lips. “Mary won, did you see?”

“Yes darling, watched the whole thing lovey.” You tell her, gently picking her up. She wraps her legs around your waist, kissing your neck gently.

“Looked so pretty on the red carpet, my girl. Made me jealous I couldn’t go with you.”

“Next time, I’m just gonna bring you with me. Don’t care who sees. Wanna look pretty on your arm.” She slurs as you sit on the edge of the bed. She crawls off your lap, kneeling in front of you. She nudges her head into your lap, resting her head against your thigh. You stroke her hair, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

“What did you tell Alex and the girls we were going to do, sweetheart?”

“Told them I wanted to ride your cock. Maybe have you pound into me from behind while holding the tie because I’m a slut.”

Alcohol made Leah Williamson bolder than she already was. A direct Leah always got what she wanted.

“How about we make that little dream of yours come true hm?”

You stand, pulling out your strap. She liked this one, it filled her in all the right places. You strip and put it on, she watches with glossed over eyes. You sit back down on the bed, she presses her face back into your crotch and begins to kiss the toy. Her lips wrap around the tip, sucking softly.

You run your fingers through her hair as she sucks, her eyes locked onto yours. Your hand rests behind her head, pulling her onto the cock more. She gags, pulling away and grinning.

“I love that sound baby,” you tell her, leaning down to her ear, “do it again.”

She nods hard, sucking deeper on your cock. She gags three more times, slurping noisily on the spit-covered toy. You pull her up, kissing her passionately. She immediately clambers into your lap, cock nudged against her pussy.

Three fingers slip into her, meeting little to no resistance as she’s aroused beyond belief. You grin, fingertips pressed to her sweet spot.

“Oh darling, you’re soaked.”

“Please baby, really need your cock…”

“It’s all yours, baby girl. Go on and ride it, I know you wanted to.”

She suddenly climbs off your lap, turns around and grabs your cock. She whines as she slides down onto it, gripping your thighs tight as she begins to ride.

“Oh fuck…!”

Leah bounces harder, throwing her head back as your cock brushes up against all those lovely little spots inside her. She cries out for you, grasping your knees tighter. You have a tight grip on her waist, helping her ride as your eyes never leave the place you’re both connected to.

A hard spank to her ass makes her legs give out, slumping back onto you. She’s panting and whining, before your hands pull her legs open and pick her up while standing.

You open her legs and hold her up, thrusting up and bringing her down on your cock. She screams, one hand holding onto you as the other fondles her dripping clit.

“Fuck, fuck, please!”

You move her onto the bed, arching her back deep as you immediately begin to pound into her. You grab the spot-soaked tie around her neck and pull on it tight, fucking into her pussy roughly.

With a leg propped up on the bed, you angle into her sweet spot, she cries out and desperately tries to find something to hold onto. You pull her back against your chest, hips grinding into you sweet spot.

“This what you were telling our friends we were going to do baby?”

“Y-Yes!” She croaked out.

“You’re gonna come for me, hm? Gonna come all over my cock, Leah?”

“Fucking hell, yes!”

You pick up the pace, gripping the tie and her arms tight behind her, pushing her back down onto the bed on her front. You bruisingly grip her hips instead, hips jack-hammering into her sloppy pussy.

“Y/N!” she screams, coming hard. She shudders and smiles in pleasure, your hips gently turning into a deep grind to drag out her high.

She slumps into the bed satisfied as you pull out and begin to clean her up.

All tucked into your side in bed, she slips her leg between yours and holds on tight. She’s got fluids in her and two Advils on the bedside table for when she wakes up with a little hangover.

“I love you,” she mumbles quietly into your neck, eyes heavy with sleep.

“I love you too, my girl,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss on her temple, “sweet dreams, my silly girl.”

#woso x reader #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #leah williamson smut #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso blurbs

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luveline · 5 months

Note

Can I request an Eddie and Roan, where she goes to Wayne's house and Eddie and Reader are there talking with Wayne but also planning what to get Roan for Christmas?

eddie and roan ♡ fem!reader

“Got it?”

Roan nods and hops up the last step to Uncle Wayne's while you and Eddie follow behind her. You're carrying a big Christmas cake held tight to your chest while Roan's father insists on carrying the drinks, an eighteen pack of glass cokes, enough to keep Wayne going for the next two weeks at least, less with help.

“Uncle Wayne!” Roan calls as she opens the door. It swings wide and hits the wall. She doesn't care. She's about to see Wayne for the first time in almost two weeks, and she missed him like crazy. Eddie almost got sick of hearing her ask when he'd be feeling better. “Uncle Wayne!”

The second shout is much more desperate.

Wayne appears in the curve behind the kitchen doorway to smile at her. “Hello, my chicken.”

Eddie snorts and slams the cokes down on the sideboard with a jumble of clinks. Wayne is a great dad, but he never called Eddie anything so saccharine. Bud and babe was about as good as it got. Roan gets all the sweet stuff, chicken and gorgeous and baby girl. It doesn't quite make Eddie jealous —nothing feels as secure in parenthood as knowing someone else loves your kid just as much as you do. Wayne would die for Roan without question. He can call her chicken if he likes.

Roan barrels across the carpet in her Mary Jane's and slams into his legs. He pulls her up into his chest, giving her hair a smattering of quick kisses, her dress bunched by his hugging arm. “It's so nice to see you, honey, I missed you!”

She grins and makes a pleased, almost feral sort of sound as she kisses his cheek. “I missed you too! We missed our sleepover!”

“Yes, we did. So I get you for two days, yes?”

“Yes!” she shouts, looking over her shoulder at you and Eddie to confirm.

Eddie holds up his now empty hands, though they don't stay that way for long as he takes the cake from you. “No arguments here.”

Roan laughs and squeezes herself under Wayne's chin. He wraps her up and keeps her, assessing you and Eddie with suspicious eyes. “How are you both doing?”

Eddie brushes past Wayne to put the cake on the table. Wayne isn't really asking Eddie; they know too much about one another having spent the last decade together, first by sharing a wall and now working side by side at the shop. Eddie's sure Wayne's sick to death of his complaining by now, but you're deserving of some sympathy for sure.

“She's getting better. Aren't you, sweet thing?” Eddie asks you.

“I'm fine,” you say, shooting Wayne a smile. “It was probably the same thing you had.”

“Yeah? He take care of you?”

“Always does. He's never let me down.” You cross your arms over your front. “But how are you doing?”

“I know you missed her,” Eddie interjects, “but if you're not feeling up to it, she doesn't have to stay all weekend.”

Wayne raises his eyebrows to protest. Roan beats him to it, yanking herself away from his cuddling to glare at the suggestion. “Dad, you said!”

“Said I'd see if he was up to it, yeah,” Eddie placates.

“I'm up to it.” Wayne gives Roan a soft smile. “We'll be good, right? Watch TV, eat hot dogs for breakfast, lunch, ‘n’ dinner. Dad's just being silly.”

Roan leans back into the hug, relieved, and Wayne pulls her head to his chest, covering her ear subtly. “Thought you needed to get some things? You know, from Santa?” he whispers, ‘Santa’ mouthed without sound.

“Yeah, if we knew what to get her,” Eddie says, brushing his hair behind his ears. “Kid's impossible. Asked Santa for a baby sister and a pet turtle.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Wayne–”

“The turtle, I mean.” He nods at you apologetically.

You aren't offended at the idea of a baby sister being an easy gift, and you laugh at his correction. “We don't have room for the tank, I already checked.”

“She got the measuring tape out and everything.”

“What?” Wayne asks. “Put it outside.”

“It's not that easy,” Eddie sighs morosely. “They're very particular creatures.”

“It’ll suit you nicely, then.”

You laugh again. Roan wriggles to be put down, curious at the sound, though she wasn't as deafened as it seemed. “Santa will bring the tank, guys, that's how Santa works, and the turtle. We just need to move the couch,” she says simply.

“Where will we watch TV?” you ask.

“Here?” Roan suggests.

Eddie nudges Wayne in the side. “Looks like I'm moving back in after all.”

Coats are taken off, shoes stacked in a corner. Wayne makes everyone a cup of coffee and a sandwich, even Roan, though her coffee is milk with just a splash of coffee that she begs for but doesn't touch after the initial sip. Theories for where they might house and care for a pet turtle are shared through crumbs and foam moustaches, Wayne with a lap full of grandchild, and you with an armful of Eddie. He keeps turning to you to scan your face for signs of fatigue or sickness, eyes lingering, his hand resting and rubbing at the top of your thigh.

“We'll have to give up our room,” he suggests to you with an air of defeat. Despite his sombre tone, love lines his gaze. “When the turtle gets huge and wants to go back to the ocean, we'll have to fill our bedroom up with a swimming pool.”

Roan sits back guiltily. “Well, maybe not like that. Can the turtle sleep with me?”

“That could be fun. We'll get you a water bed,” you say, to Eddie's delight. He chokes on a handful of chips and needs to be whacked on the back lest he asphyxiate, and while you're still laughing at your own joke and his reaction, you pat him more gently on the back before passing him your full coke. “Here, handsome.”

Wayne's pretty sure his nephew's found his soulmate. “What about a tortoise instead?” he asks Roan, attempting to spare you both.

Roan pouts at her Uncle, confusion furrowing her thin brows. “What's the difference?”

“Couple hundred dollars?” Eddie asks.

Wayne kicks him under the table, but never hard enough to hurt. “Nothing much, chick. I'm sure Santa will figure it out.”

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alotofpockets · 3 months

Text

Out of reach | Mary Earps

Pairing: Mary Earps x Reader

Request: Mary x taller R where they have to keep helping her reach for things

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

-----

You were browsing your local supermarket for dinner inspiration after a long work day. The day had been filled with important meetings, and you were still dressed for the part. You ended up in the pasta aisle where you saw a woman trying to reach for a jar that was slightly pushed back on the top shelf. Without a second thought you walked towards here, “Let me get that for you.” You say and reach for it.

The moment you hand the woman the can, is the first time you see her face. You were mesmerised by her beauty. “Thank you, it was just out of my reach.” The woman said with a beaming smile. Her words snapped you out of staring, “Of course, no problem.” The woman in front of you looks between the two of you and starts laughing. “Look at us, full suit versus full tracksuit.” You hadn’t realised the stark contrast in your outfits until she pointed it out but laughed with her once she explained. “Your outfit seems a lot more comfortable, and I definitely switch to something similar when I get home once I figure out what to eat tonight.”

You weren’t usually one to talk to strangers in a supermarket but something about the woman in front of you made it feel like you weren’t strangers at all. She was easy to talk to, and you felt yourself not wanting the conversation to end. “Well, I was going to make some spaghetti bolognese, would you like to join me?” You were intrigued by her offer but also didn’t want to impose. She seemed to notice your hesitation in answering, “Please, let me thank you for helping me.” She managed to get you to set your doubts aside. “Okay, let’s do it then. I’m y/n by the way.” The woman holds out her hand for you to shake it. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Mary.”

“Great, I just need to get something for dessert.” She hadn’t let go of your hand, so she used it to guide you towards the dessert section. “Since I chose dinner, you can choose dessert.” You head to the front of the store once you’ve picked out desserts, and after Mary made sure you didn’t need to get anything else at the store. With a bag full of groceries, you walk out of the store together. “I live like two blocks away from here, my friend dropped me off at the store, so I was planning on walking home. Are you okay with walking there?” You nod over to your car a few parking spots over, “Or we can take my car?” Mary smiles, “Perfect.”

You get into your car and look down at your outfit, “Do you mind if we stop by my house? I would love to get out of this suit.” Mary buckles up, “Or I can lend you some trackies and we have a cosy date.” Her eyes widened, “Wait, sorry, I never clarified it as such.” You shake your head and laugh, “A cosy date sounds lovely.”

After setting down the groceries in Mary’s kitchen, she leads you upstairs to get you a comfy outfit. She opens her closet, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen that many sports clothes together outside of a store. You notice the Manchester United, and the England crest on many of them. “You’re a big football fan then?” You let your eyes go over the many jerseys.

Mary smiled at your comment, it was a nice feeling that the stranger at the grocery store liked her for her and not because she was a fan. “You can say that.” She says with a laugh. You turn to face her with a furrowed brow. “They’re my jerseys. Mine as in I wear them when I play for United and for England.” She pulls out one of the jerseys showing the back. “Earps, that’s me.” She says proudly. “Wow, I had no idea. That’s really cool. So you get to wear comfy stuff for work every day then, maybe I should consider a career switch.” You both laugh.

Your first date with Mary was a big success, she was easy to talk to, and while your careers differed immensely, you had a lot in common with her. She walked you back to your car, where you shared your first kiss. Mary was standing on her tippy toes, with her arms around your shoulders. The kiss was short and sweet, with a promise to more since you had already planned your second date.

After a few dates, Mary had asked you to be her girlfriend, which you had happily said yes too.

One month into your relationship you found yourself amongst the crowd at Leigh Sports Village, where you watched Mary play for the first time. She had explained the basic rules of football to you while watching a match on the tv together one night. Now that she wasn’t by your side to explain what was happening, it was harder for you to follow but that was okay. Whenever you didn’t understand what was going on, your eyes went to her in the goal.

Mary met you in the family and friends lounge when she was done, she introduced you to a couple of her teammates before taking you back to your place. Since your first date was an at home dinner that you prepared together, you wanted to create the tradition to do the same for your anniversaries. So, starting off with your first month anniversary today, you went to the store you had met each other in to pick out the ingredients.

Ever since you started dating, you would get everything from the top shelves for Mary, but now you turn around from the pans on the stove to find Mary climbing on top of the counter. “Baby, what are you doing?” You laugh. “I’m just getting some wine glasses.” She said innocently. You take the glasses from her, before you help her down from the counter, and spin her around a couple of times. “You know I couldn’t easily grab those, right?” She pecks your lips. “Yeah, just a habit I still need to break.”

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1maryearps just posted

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1maryearps: Creating traditions.

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fan1: Omg mearps is dating someone??

ellatoone: Cuties

fan2: they are so cute!

fan3: who is she with?

alessiarusso: Finally someone else that can cook a proper meal

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#mary earps #mary earps x reader #mary earps imagine #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #manchester united women #man united #engwnt x reader #engwnt imagine #england lionesses #muwfc x reader #muwfc imagine #mearps

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be-missed · 6 months

Text

Cool About It

Jenna Ortega X Fem!Reader

Summary: Jenna and Y/N are life-long best friends, but can Y/N still stand and hide her feelings after Jenna pulled a prank on her?

Warning/s: curse words, notify me if there are any.

A/N: Hi, hope this can be a good substitute for Chap 4 of Not Strong Enough. Enjoy! (clearing things out, this is not the Chapter 4 for Not Strong Enough, this is just a substitute story for you all, so that you have something to read while waiting for the Chapter 4 for Not Strong Enough.)

Masterlist

Nothing To Lose (Part 2) | Bad for Business (Part 3)

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

"Come on it'll be fun, we can walk around the park and then ride the boat." Jenna explained while lying down in Y/N's bed and scrolling through her phone.

Y/N looked at her with a questioning look and said "Isn't that a bad idea? Because people might hover over us and people will just follow us and that is something that my anxiety can't handle."

"Noooo, pleaseee. This is a good idea, it's a Thursday afternoon, nobody or only least people will be at the park." Jenna answered, pouting.

"Jenna, stop." Y/N said with a smile on her face "You know it's hard for me when you do that."

Ans Jenna just smiled because she knows that Y/N is so close to going "Pleeaasseeee, pretty pleaseeee. I'll buy you an ice cream." Jenna proposed.

"Hmm, you think an ice cream can make me agree with your plan, huh?" Y/N answered.

"Yes, I know that you will agree to me sooner. Just imagine us binding after such a long time of not seeing each other. Also, may I remind you that I'll be leaving the country in December to film for Wednesday so this is a great time to spend with me before we get situated again in face time." Jenna is now showing Y/N a sad face.

Jenna's statement made Y/N wonder, that yes, it is true that Jenna's break will be over soon, meaning that she will be receiving a call or a message from Jenna during ungodly times which, she diligently answers, whether it may be a call or a message.

Y/N sighs and Jenna knows that y/N will now agree with her plan. But before Y/N agrees, Jenna started to jump in Y/N's bed and smiles at Y/N.

"You know me so fucking well Jenna Marie Ortega." Y/N said while scratching her brow "Yes, sure we'll go to the park."

And then Jenna went ot hug Y/N and delivers ton of kisses on Y/N's face.

Y/N thought, "Fucking hell, how can I disagree with this girl. If she tells me to jump on a tall something, I would even do some back flips. She wants me to run around New York City? I would do it with my tits out. She want me to marry her and be the mother of her children? I will for sure do that without a doubt. The last part, is a false hope. I know Jenna isn't into me since the first time that I met her."

"Okay, collect your things and get dressed, we're going to Central Park." Y/N said and taps Jenna's crown and smiled at her like a cute puppy.

Even if Jenna and Y/N are together, they will literally wear the headphones that they bought for each other, just to drown out their environment. But even the noise cancelling headphone can't stop them to communicate with each other. After knowing each other so well for years, they don't need to communicate verbally.

While walking, Y/N then got lost again with her own thoughts. She feels that Jenna knows that she likes her more than a best friend should have for quite some time now. That is why in the past few months, Y/N has been getting a lot more "busier" when it comes to Jenna. She tries so hard to detach herself from the girl. If Jenna won't be kind enough to be cruel about it and just reject her, then Y/N will try to be cool about it even though it's probably not even true.

Arriving at Central Park, the two girls started to walk nonchalantly, going where their feet take them, not caring about the people that took notice of them.

They sometime give snacks to the pigeons or the ducks that they passed by, try to pet the dog that was sitting beside their owner. Taking a look at thier surroundings, both of them realised that a lot from the park changed, the becnhes that were once there, the trees thatvwere cut out and displaced by another plant, and the rusts on the bench that they always pass by.

Y/N was walking not until Jenna stopped by the row boat rentals and Y/N just moved her head from side to side "Nuh uh, Jenna. We won't and we can't." Y/N said.

"But why? We used to ride the boats and just row around, pretending to be a part of a rowing team." Jenna stated pulling at Y/N's sleeve.

"Jen, that was before." Y/N reasoned.

Jenna looked sad "Do you not want to be seen with me? Is that it?"

That was the last thing that Y/N wants Jenna to think of because it is not true.

"No, absolutely not. I just think that..." Y/N said not knowing any reason on why not to ride the boat.

"See you have no reasons to not ride it. So please let's ride the boat." Jenna said, and with that they got a boat, just the two of them and started to row.

Many people are also in their own boat, talking, playing, laughing and admired their surroundings. Also, Y/N and Jenna's boat didn't get unnoticed by the people in the park or inside the boat. People were waving at them and calling Jenna's name. Jenna waved back or replied to them but her focus was still focused on you, not until you hear Jenna coughed.

Many boats surrounds you as this is where one of the good spots for a picture. It means that many people also surrounds you and can literally hear each other.

"Mhmm, Y/N, I don’t know where to start..." Jenna said with a smirk ok her face and Y/N didn't know what's going on, Jenna then continued "We have known each other for a lot of years, we have been with each other through our ups and downs and we are still here." Jenna then secretly took the ring from her pointer finger and present it in front of you.

Now. Now Y/N is so baffled with what is Jenna doing, people started to look at them and paid attention to what is happening inside their boat. Even the people who are in land started to stop and watch the scene unfolding in front of them.

"I have loved you ever since I met you and I want to love you 'till the day I die. I just want to ask if, will you marry me?" Jenna got up from her seat and started to kneel with her right knee.

Y/N's thoughts are all over. Why is Jenna fucking doing this? Is this her way to fucking play with her feelings? Is this all a joke to Jenna? She wants Jenna to be cruel about it and just reject her but not this way, Y/N will try her best to be cool about it even if it's not, but this stunt? Y/N didn't know if she can still see Jenna and not say some hurtful things towards the girl.

Everyone around them started to cheer and fished their phone out to capture this moment, because hell, Jenna Ortega is proposing. Flashing of lights where delivered from each phone that is hanging out, hollers and congratulations can be heard in different directions, claps can be heard everywhere and that triggered Y/N.

It was so loud around her, and why the fuck is Jenna proposing to her.

"Jenna I need to get out." Y/N said.

"What do you mean?" Jenna started to see the panic in Y/N's eyes.

"Fuck Jenna I need to get out of here" Y/N stated and started to row the boat in a faster pace that forced Jenna to take a seat.

As the boat started to get near the dock, Y/N didn't gave Jenna a time to talk and bolted away. Away from the girl, away from the people, and away from the world.

---

Many hours has passed but Jenna can't still contact Y/N. Jenna even waited in front of Y/N's front door for hours but there were no signs of her best friend.

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A/N: Hoped this is good enough. Thoughts and comments are open, thanks for reading!

Nothing To Lose (part 2)

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #fanfic #fiction #tara carpenter x reader #wednesday addams x reader

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lovewithmary · 2 months

Note

YUKI X IDOL READER

Hear me out Mary I need you to stay with me, but like imagine a jpop/kpop idol (perfect fc would be yuqi from gidle). Imagine she gets invited to the garage as a guest to alpha tauri in japan and like as a collab with alpha tauri the actual clothing brand. She has no clue what f1 is but she’s excited and willing to learn. Imagine the meet cute and her and yuki speaking Japanese. OR you could go they’re in a secret relationship and no one knows until they hard launched at the Suzuka gp and the internet breaks and goes wild. Honestly just yuki and anyone would be fine I just need more yuki love

HARD LAUNCH — YT22

summary: where posting on your public instagram story reveals your relationship to millions...

pairing: kpop idol! reader x yuki tsunoda

fc: jeon soyeon (kpop idol)

masterlist

notes: no one's gonna stop me from calling them alphatauri 😒 i refuse to call them visacashappvenmoapplepayzellepaypal or whatever they're called now

f1gossip: alphatauri makes a mistake with their website by accidentally revealing their alleged new brand ambassador, (Y/N) (L/N) from the popular kpop girl group (G)I-DLE.

alphatauri were quick to fix this, but fans were able to get a screenshot of the website before they were able to change it

comments

user1: okay but this is such a random crossover???

user2: MY TWO WORLDS COLLIDING???

user3: she ate that photoshoot up

user4: okay but daniel ricciardo and (Y/N) interaction when???

user5: seeing yuki next to (Y/N) looks so out of place considering how (Y/N) looks so intimidating and yuki looks cute 😭

user6: who is (Y/N) and why is she (allegedly) becoming a brand ambassador??? ↳ user7: (Y/N) is the leader of the kpop gg gidle! she's very famous in kpop artist in Korea. and as for why she's a brand ambassador, i have no idea 😭😭😭

user8: POOKIE'S GONNA GO TO A GP????

liked by f1, alphatauri, yukitsunoda0511, and 394243 others

yourusername: officially announcing my brand ambassadorship with alphatauri! thank you for this wonderful opportunity and I'm excited to learn more about f1 💞💞

comments

user1: oh i just know she's going to eat with the paddock fashion

user2: she doesn't even know anything about f1 yet alpha tauri made her ambassador??? smh they just chose her bc she's pretty ↳ user3: okay so? whether or not she was chosen bc she's pretty, they chose HER. they probably want exposure in different demographics, and kpop happens to be the demographic they want to tap into. there's nothing wrong with that

yourusername’s instagram story

liked by yukitsunoda0511, pierregasly, and 932020 others

yourusername: I didn't mean to post that story but my agency gave me permission... so here's my bf!

(the french one is my boyfriend's boyfriend, but i can't get rid of him)

tagged: yukitsunoda0511

comments

user1: YUKI TSUNODA IS HER BOYFRIEND????

user2: SHE'S BEEN TO A GP BEFORE? ↳ yourusername: this was the beginning of our relationship and it took so much effort to dress me up to look like an alphatauri staff member 🫡

pierregasly: "can't get rid of him" I've taken so many photos of you and yuki yet you want to get rid of me???? ↳ yourusername: "ew do i have to take a picture of you guys" "stop making out the picture is gonna be ugly" "can you take photos of me and kika afterwards?" ↳ user3: OH MY GOD THEY'VE BEEN ON DOUBLE DATES

liked by yourusername and 440231 others

yukitsunoda0511: listen to the girl group my girlfriend's a leader of so her agency's not mad at us anymore for revealing our relationship 😄

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #yuki tsunoda x reader #yuki tsunoda fic #yuki tsunoda imagine #yt22 #f1 social media au #f1 smau

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letarasstuff · 6 months

Text

Female Rage

(A/N): Initially, I wanted to end this one on a hopeful note. But fighting the war of equality and equity can be pretty hopeless. I tried to be as inclusive as possible, but it's came out in a very binary way. I'm sorry for that and I'm readyto change anything.

Summary: Spencer learns from his daughter how much the patriarchy really sucks.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: the utter feeling of hopelessness in today's patriarchy, unwanted advances, some men suck

✨Masterlist✨

_________________________

“Hey, what’s with you today?” Spencer asks after hearing his daughter slamming the front door shut.

Her stomping feet bring her towards the living room, where he sits on the couch with a book in his hands, deciding whether or not he’ll include it in his next class. Looking up from the written words, he instantly spots all the emotion running over (Y/N)’s face.

Now, being a father to a 16 year old teenager wasn’t always easy and especially since puberty started it’s becoming increasingly difficult to decipher his child, but Spencer knows right away what kind of emotional cocktail is playing here: Anger, hurt, a pinch of shock and layered under all of this is a certain type of fear. Which one is up to (Y/N) telling him.

“What’s with me today?” She asks him in an incredulous tone. “With me? What about you? Or your entire gender. No, seriously. How can you men go around, trumpeting how you are the stronger, the smarter, the better, the most superior gender? And mean that? Even going as far as to believe that bullshit”

(Y/N) stops, taking in a deep breath. Her father looks at her with waiting eyes, thinking that she now will calmly explain to him what her whole tirade is about. But it seems that this was just the prologue. Because she continues with even more vigour in her voice than she started with.

“For real, what makes you even think that? Stronger than a person, who was assigned female at birth? Just because you are able to build muscles faster than we? Or lose weight faster than us? You know what I call that? An evolutionary problem, because while I got emergency fat to feed off in the case of, I don’t know, an apocalypse, you will freeze to death.

“Our bodies are, for the most part, able to grow an entire functioning human being. We literally take a breakfast bar and build fingers with that energy.

“And for the smarter part? No, absolutely not. So many findings in history have been stolen from women by men, who greedily put their name on it and call it a day of science. Without women, cars probably would still drive around with windshield wipers. Mary Anderson has been laughed at for that idea, despite being one of the first women to hold a patent. And as soon as it expired, suddenly wipers were installed in all cars. Out of nowhere, it stopped being a dumb idea? Just because you weren’t able to attribute it to a woman?!

“But what more to expect from a gender that made protective gear for their testicles in hockey mandatory a hundred years before doing the same thing with a helmet. Who would have thought that brain cells need protection, too? A woman definitely.

I don’t wanna say one gender is better than the other or that there should be a particular fight between any gender at all, but men make it out like that. Damn it, they make women compete with each other to garner their attention. All those “pick me” girls you make fun of? They are the product of internalised misogyny.

“The baseline is wanting to be different from the “typical girl”, right? Well, what is a typical girl, who defined her and why is it so bad to be typical. Who do I want to be different for? Who is mad that I’m dressing up, putting makeup on or having good friendships with other girls?

“Men apparently, because they don’t want a different girl. They don’t want a well dressed, put together woman for the sake of love or so. They want someone easy. Nothing complicated, not someone, who asks them if these pants do look better with that shirt or this blouse. They don’t want to be confronted with problems. That’s why they made up a narrative of how a woman is supposed to be, solely for their own interest.

“And this whole thing eradicates the beautiful experiences you can have as a woman. I don’t talk about these silly and partly belittling things like girl dinner or girl maths. I’m talking about hyping each other up. Bathrooms in a club are fun, because there are a bunch of strangers, talking another stranger up to shoot their shot. Or down from texting their ex. There is unity.

“So where do men get their audacity?!”

Ending her whole rant with this question, (Y/N) stands in front of her father, seething and looking like she is about to overthrow the patriarchy with her own two hands. Right here, right now.

Meanwhile Spencer has started to shrink into the sofa and looks as physically small as possible.

“Uhm, the audacity for what, Sweetheart?” He asks hesitantly, scared for her reaction, but also knowing that this is something his daughter needs to get out of her system.

“TO WALK UP TO ME AND TRYING TO GET SOMETHING ON WITH ME WHILE HE CLEARLY HAS BEEN TRYING TO DESTROY MY WHOLE PRESENTATION! TO FLIRT WITH A MINOR WHILE HE CLEAR AS DAY IS IN HIS MID TO LATE TWENTIES!”

(Y/N) falls down on the sofa face first, next to her father. He rubs her arm up and down in a soothing manner, trying to take the fall after her burst of warranted female rage.

“I apologise. I know, there is nothing I can do against all of what you just said. I also know, like you, that we are talking about a structural problem. It’s nothing that can be solved by a few words. It sucks, knowing that your right to vote is younger than the patent on the first motorised vehicle. It’s not right that you always have to stick up for your rights, while mine will never be threatened.

“Nothing about all of this is fair. That I have to raise you in a way to remind you that any man out there could hurt you. It’s not fair that you have to go tell other men making advances at you about an imaginary boyfriend, because they rather believe in the legitimation of a fake male than your no. That you have to say no more than once, just because someone wants to “make sure you really mean it”.

“I can’t do anything right now that will satisfy you.

“But I can promise you that I will always listen to you. Listen to what makes you mad about this system. I will listen to other people, telling me how the patriarchy failed them. I promise to uplift the women in my life, give credit where it’s due and try to be the best feminist I can be.

But you need to promise me to tell me how I can support you the best in a world that wants to diminish your opinion, your rights and you. Can we do that?”

A short moment of silence gives Spencer the opportunity to think about instances, where he had to endure how (Y/N) being born female made her life more difficult. May it be boys pulling your hair on the playground and the teacher saying that they show love in this abusive way. May it be being called emotional or being told to stop being dramatic while talking about her problems. May it be in simply enjoying stereotypical girly things and being called basic because of that.

“Yes, I promise, I’ll keep you in check. And if you start rambling about how men are superior, I’ll ship you off to the worst retirement home I can find,” (Y/N) says, voice a bit muffled by the couch pillows.

The family continues sitting in silence, the feeling of deep and utter unfairness seeping into their bones.

If you have come this far, please consider a reblog or a comment. Not holding you at gunpoint or anything, but it would be pretty neat.

All works:

@venomsvl @kneelforloki @ssa-uglywhore27 @bibissparkles

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

General Spencer Reid:

@mayoanddelight (sunny, you seriously need to tell me when you change your url, this list had such an old one in it)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female!reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x teen!reader #spencer reid #x reader #criminal minds #reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #fanfiction #x teen!reader #x daughter!reader #x female!reader

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larluce · 2 months

Text

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace Thank you for your beautiful comments! And for the ones that gave me ideas, trust me, I'm taking them into account ;)

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 (You're here) , PART 9

A little more of "The Dragon's Call"

Arthur: (at the feast waiting anxiously because Merlin is supposed to save him from "Lady Helen" to become his servant today and he isn't there yet)

Uther: Are you alright, Arthur?

Arthur: (too quickly) Yeah, right, excelent, never better.

Uther: You've been acting strange lately.

Arthur: (thinking) Well it's not easy to act normal around your dead father and your dead sister who wanted you dead. (says) I just haven't been sleeping well. I had... nightmares. Very long nightmares.

Uther: I see... (Thinking) I hope Morgana's condition isn't contagious.

Merlin: (Finally arrives with Gaius at the feast)

Arthur: (turns and his eyes find Merlin's almost immediately)

Merlin: (Thinking, while he looks at Arthur in the distance) Why is he looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?

Arthur: (Noticing Merlin is without his neckerchief, and he is so young and so beautiful, and he doesn't have his neckerchief on!) Gods have mercy!

Morgana: (enters in her breathtaking dress)

Merlin: (stares at her, but with a mix of longing and guilt)

Gwen: She looks great, doesn't she?

Merlin: (smiling sadly) Yeah...

Gwen: Some people are just born to be queen.

Merlin: (almost shouting) NO!

Gwen: There's no need to sound so disturbed.

Merlin: (composing himself) I'm sorry just... I think she could do better than Arthur that's all. (Thinking) And with someone that is not her brother.

Gwen: He's not so bad.

Merlin: (confused cause Gwen was supposed to agree with him) What do you mean? He was bullying a servant only a few days ago!

Gwen: I remmember. You confronted him about it.

Merlin: See? A total prat.

Gwen: And he also recognised his mistake and apologised. And he didn't arrest you for insulting him in front of his knights though that's technically treason.

Merlin: Okay, maybe not a total prat, but still a prat. (Thinking, worried) He was too nice indeed. Perhaps I was too harsh on him this time?

Morgana: (seeing Arthur is watching in Merlin and Gwen's direction) Have your eye on someone?

Arthur: (Cold) No.

Morgana: (playfully) Is it Gwen? or perhaps-

Arthur: Let's sit. Lady Helen will arrive at any moment (goes to his sit)

Morgana: ... Sure (thinking, while she goes to her sit) What's wrong with him?

Uther: (making an announcement) We have enjoyed 20 years of piece and prosperity....

Arthur: (thinking, resentfully) 20 years of genocide and lies.

Uther: ...It has brought to the kingdom and myself many pleasures but few can compare to the honor of introducing Lady Helen of Mora.

Lady Helen: (enters while people clap)

Arthur: (looks at Merlin in the distance)

Merlin: (very concentrated with his eyes on the chandelier, waiting for lady Helen to stand under it)

Arthur: (smiling to himself, thinking) So that's how you did it.

Everyone falls asleep, except for Arthur who does feel sleepy but is still slightly awake for some reason, so he gets to witness when all the room is filled with spiderwebs and Merlin uses his magic to make the chandelier fall over Helen, who is soon reveal to be Mary Collins.

Arthur: (confused) What... (thinking) Why didn't I fall completely asleep?

Merlin: (whose magic hasn't been able to freeze time since he traveled back in time, but he doesn't know why) Come on, come on! (Tries again to stop time but doesn't work) Damn it! (Shouts and runs to Arthur) ARTHUR!

Mary Collins: (throws the knife at Arthur)

Merlin: (covers Arthur with his body on time and the knife stabs his back)

Arthur: (horrified) NO! (Holding Merlin as they fall to the floor) No, no, no, no! You idiot, what were you thinking?!

Gaius: (running to Merlin) Merlin!

Uther: Who is this?

Gaius: My ward. (checks Merlin) We need to move him to my tower as carefully and quickly as possible. I can't pull the knife out here, he'll bleed to death.

Merlin: (smiling weakely at Arthur) I did it. (Tears of happiness) I did... (Starts closing his eyes).

Arthur: (panic mode) No! don't you dare die on me! (carries him as Gaius instructed) You're going to be okay, you're going to be okay. Stay with me (thinking) Please, don't leave me again. I just got you back. I can't lose you again.

Time skip. Merlin wakes up in Gaius's tower and with his wound bandaged. The knife didn't puncture anything important, but apparently the blade was poisoned. Fortunately, it was a pretty common one and Gaius took care of it rather quickly. Gaius scolds him for scaring him as expected but then hugs him gently and tells him he must not do any effort for at least 2 weeks and rest. Just as Gaius leaves for some herbs, Arthur enters to check on him.

Arthur: Better do as he says. I can't have my personal manservant injuring himself.

Merlin: Personal manservant?

Arthur: My father, the king, decided to reward you for saving my life by granting you a place at the royal household.

Merlin: (happy inside, but pretending to be annoyed) As your personal manservant? Couldn't he just give me gold or something?

Arthur: (playing along) Most would consider it a great honor.

Merlin: Well, I'm not like most people.

Arthur: (laughs a little) You certainly aren't. (Gets close and checks him out little, cause he's never seen Merlin without a shirt before and damn it! is hard not to stare, but as soon as his eyes land on the bandage, he turns serious) What you did was very brave... and stupid. You shouldn't have done that.

Merlin: (still mocking) If that's your way to say "Thank you for saving my life", well, yeah, I'm starting to regret saving your royal ass.

Arthur: I'm serious. Now you're my manservant, therefore my responsability and my concern. You're not allowed to put yourself in harms way, ever, not even for me. (Thinking) specially for me.

Merlin: (bewildered at the sudden concern) Is that a rule?

Arthur: It is now. Do I make myself clear?

Merlin: (touched, he smiles) Yes, my lord. (Thinking) I would die for you a hundred times over.

Arthur: (Thinking, a wave of nostalgia invading him) "My lord"... how much I missed that. (says) Good. Now get some rest (starts leaving, but stops and turns) And Merlin.

Merlin: Yes?

Arthur: Thank you for saving my life. (Makes a small bow, smiles and leaves)

Merlin: ...

Merlin: Did he just bow to me?!! 😨

...

Some explanation: Arthur is now, not immune, but a little more resistant to some mind spells since his mind is from the future and has already passed for all those spells before. Merlin's magic is kind of weak, because the ritual Arthur did used the magic from the tree, therefore Merlin's magic to do the time travel thing, so lets say his magic is a little exhausted and needs recovering, but it just last a few days.

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merlin prompt #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

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wasawattpadkid · 1 year

Text

Housewife

Part - 2

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: poly!ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,

Part 1

If you heard the names Casey or Steve one more time you might go insane. Stu ran up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist. "Boo!" The binder you held in your arms unceremoniously hit the floor. "Let go of me weirdo." You struggled but he didn't let go. "Did ya hear about Casey and Steve?" You could scream. The heel of your Mary Jane shoes made contact with his toes making him lose his grip. With a huff you picked up your belongings. "Why is everyone so obsessed with them?" Stu cocked an eyebrow at you. "Uh because they were slit open like pigs in a butcher shop?"

"I get that trust me thats all anyone can talk about. But you can't act all sad like you've lost a loved one and then talk in great detail about what organ fell out where. It's inhumane." He leaned back on the lockers listening to you rant. "Yesterday was a complete shit show. That Steve guy was a prick to me and he didn't even know my name yet. So he can't be the saint everyone's making him out to be. Murders happen everywhere all the time these two aren't going to change anything."

"Interesting take from Marry Poppins. What's got your panties in a bunch today?" You opened your locker putting away your things for lunch. "Some asshole started talking to me in 2nd period about how in a movie I'd be a prime suspect because the murders started when I got here." Randy. Stu knew the moment you brought up movies. "Well you did say Steve was an asshat, that's motive Y/n." He was right but let's be real here. You couldn't take on an athlete if you were paid. You rubbed your face in frustration. "Relax I know it's not you. You'd cry if you got blood on that cute little dress of yours." It really wouldn't matter you knew how to take practically any stain out of a piece of clothing.

"You'd be surprised." Just as the words left your lips a kid bumped into you knocking you into Stu. His hands conveniently found your hips. "Watch where you're walking asshole!" Stu shouted with a laugh. You pulled yourself away from him trying to straighten your dress with your hands. "Hey I'm meeting Tatum and everybody by the water fountain, you in?" The idea of being around more people wasn't ideal. Stu could see on your face you didn't want to. "Oh come on Billy's going to be there." He wasn't dumb. Billy was an attractive guy, he was well aware of that. All the girls had a thing for Billy, you were no exception.

"If I go you can't just completely ignore me because I only know you two." Stu shut your locker for you as you continued to walk. "Ignore you? I could never. You could sit on my lap if you wanted to." You fake gagged making him laugh. "I don't think your girlfriend would like that." He just shrugged his shoulders. "Eh I do what I want." This doesn't surprise you. "You are a peace of work." The doors opened letting the light bombard your skin. "Picasso baby!" Stu shouted as he grabbed your hand pulling you towards the fountain.

"Fresh meat everybody!" He declared as you stood uncomfortably in front of everyone. Billy looked more than unamused at your appearance. "Y/n right? You're in my math class?" You nodded at the girl with brown hair. She stuck out her hand for you to shake. "I'm Sydney Prescott." Billy shook his head with a smile. "Nice to meet you Sydney." She smiled up at you and returned the sentiment. "She's the killer I'll bet anybody 10 bucks." If looks could kill he'd be six feet under. "Randy knock it off. You think this adorable face could murder?" Stu pinched your cheeks with a grin on his lips. "Not a chance." He let go and found a seat next to Tatum. "Plus there's no way a girl could've killed them."

"Scoot over let her sit down." Billy huffed but did what Sydney told him. "That is so sexist. The killer could easily be a female, Basic Instinct." You nodded in Tatum's defense. "That was an ice pick. Not exactly the same thing." Stu looked over at all of us before looking at Tatum. "Yeah Casey and Steve were completely hollowed out. The fact is it takes like, a man to do something like that." Sydney looked down at the ground uncomfortable with the conversation.

"I don't know feminine rage is pretty scary. Do you know how many cheating husbands get stabbed to death or fed to the dogs by the wife. The fact is women know how to get a job done quickly and quietly. Men get cocky and want to play around that's how they get caught." Randy snapped his finger point at you. "See what I mean!" Stu laughed and Billy just looked at you with intrigue.

"How do you gut someone?" The honest tone of Sydney's voice made everyone quite down. "You take a knife and you slit them from groin to sternum." Billy sat up seemingly done with the gorey details. "Hey, it's called tact fuckrag." Billy looked at Stu his eyes once again saying more than his words did.

"Change of subject, I like your dress it's very Hepburn." Tatum spoke up. You cleared your throat trying to shake off that uneasy feeling. "Thanks I made it myself." She sat up in shock. "No way! You should totally make me one." If only it were that simple. "You think I'd look good in something like that babe?" She asked Stu and if you knew anything about him he'd give a smartass answer. "I think it'd look better on my bedroom floor but hey." She smacked his arm as everyone shared a laugh.

Stu continued rambling on about the murders with Randy. You were sick of hearing about it and it appeared so was Sydney. Her hand rested on Billy's knee as he whispered something to him. He nodded as she left a kiss on his cheek. The moment she left his demeanor darkened even more. He looked truly angry at this point. You assumed it was because Stu had upset her. Billy leaned next to you just enough to hit Stu's arm. "Ow man what gives? I was joking!" Billy was the next to get up followed by Randy.

"Hey Y/n? Are you doing anything Saturday? Me and Syd were going to hang out this weekend you could totally join." You knew Stu and Billy had plans to hang out with you and by the look on Stu's face he'd be upset if you said yes to Tatum. "Can't. My dad's going to be gone this weekend so I have to house sit." The smile on Stu's face was far from innocent. "You think with a killer on the loose you should be home alone?" She had a point but you doubted there was a serial killer running around. "I know how to lock my doors I'll be fine. Promise."

The school day went by fast thankfully. But once again everyone crowded around your car. "I'm not giving you a ride today." You shook your head. "I was thinking we could all go riding around maybe go to the mall? Someone's got to give you a tour." Stu said gesturing to the friend group you know found yourself a part of. "You don't have to of course." Sydney chimed in. She was probably the nicest one out of the group. "Who's got money for gas?" In an instant Stu handed you a crumpled up 100 dollar bill. "That should cover it and don't ask where its been." He noticed the shock on your face. "Don't worry there's more where that came from." He winked at you and Tatum rolled her eyes. You shoved the bill in your purse snapping it shut.

"Ive got work today so I'll catch you all later." Randy said as he walked away. You felt a little bad you were relieved at his absence. "Okay I've got bench seats so three people can sit up front and three in the back. "I call back seat with Stu." Tatum pulled at his shirt dragged him to the back. "No doing anything weird back there this is my dad's car." Tatum just laughed and Stu stuck his tounge out shaking it at you in protest. "Oh shit I forgot I've got to study for that exam tomorrow. I have to get home." Stu started to boo and Tatum echoed her boyfriend. "We'll only be gone a couple hours Syd."

"I have to pass this test Billy. You go ahead and go. You guys have fun!" She grabbed her bag and headed off towards the busses. Billy sat in the passenger seat again same aggravated look on his face. "Would it kill you to smile?" You asked lightheartedly. He turned to you flashing the fakest smile you'd ever seen. "See was that so hard?" Sarcasm dripping off your words. "Incredibly."

The mall wasn't hard to find after Tatum gave you some directions. You weren't sure how this little outing would go. On one hand it was nice having friends and spending time with people but on the other you and Billy were third wheeling. You had only been through half the stores and Stu already managed to spend an egregious amount. "Ooh help me pick out a set." Tatum said pulling Stu into the Victoria's Secret. Billy followed them in so you had no choice but to follow suit. "Do you have a boyfriend?" Billy asked as he touched the lace fabric on a teddy. "Odd question to ask considering you have a girlfriend."

"Fuck me for trying to make conversation." You laughed and decided to play along. "I do. We're trying the whole long distance thing." Billy found it hard to make eye contact with you. Choosing to play with and pick up anything around him to keep his hands busy. "He's probably cheating you know? Teenage boys do that." You're beginning to think both him and Stu have absolutely no filter. "Probably but it's not the like the guys around here are any better. I mean look at you and Stu." You're eyes flickered over to Stu holding up a bra to his chest declaring he was a girl. With a shake of the head you turn back to Billy. His eyes met with yours and for the first time he didn't advert his gaze. "Do you wear anything like this?" He gestured towards the thongs and see through bras.

"Nah I'm more into ropes and whips." You joke thinking if anyone would find it funny he would. His eye grew just a tiny bit wider surprised at your response. His lips quirked upwards a small smirk playing at his mouth. "I'm kidding!" Your face grew hot as he looked back down at what you were wearing. "No you're not. You're a freak. It's always the nice girls." Scoffing at that you wiped your hands down your dress trying to pull it further down your legs.

He smiled knowing he was making you uncomfortable. "You're a real creep you know that?" He held up in hands in fake surrender. "You caught me." Tatum shouted your name from across the store. "That's my que." You had no idea where she was or what she was doing. "She's in the dressing room I offered to help but ya know." He raised his eyebrows suggestively as if you didn't already know what he meant.

"Tatum it's me." You knocked on the door and it opened immediately. Her arm stuck out grabbing you and pulling you in. "You've got to stop doing that." You said in a hushed voice. "Opinions?" She said as she spun around practically naked. The red lace nightie left little to the imagination. "Um I think it looks cute. It doesn't cover much does it?" You ask and she laughed. "That's the point silly. You don't think it makes me look fat?" She was so skinny you worried about were her organs were let alone be over weight. "You look fine hun. I'm gonna go check on the guys." She said alright and let you slip out of the dressing room.

"We got you something." Stu shook the bag in front of your face startling you. "He got it." Billy spoke up as you took the bag from Stu. "No you grabbed it and said it would-" A swift punch to the ribs shut the blonde boy up. "Don't open it till later." Billy said and for some reason you agreed. "Is she about done in there?" The door opened and Tatum eagerly ran to the checkout desk. Stu like a puppy followed right behind her leaving you and Billy alone again.

"What did you get me?" Once again his eyes were on the floor. "Wouldn't you like to know?" He quipped his eyes finally reaching your face. "I would. That's why I asked." You both smiled at the small reenactment. "You didn't have to get me anything especially from here." He grabbed the bag from you tying the ribbon strings together. "Don't get too excited it's not a ball gag or anything." You smacked his arm snatching the bag back. "Plus I didn't pay for it. Rich boy over there did." He pointed at Stu.

"I'm hitting up Spencer gifts who's coming with me?" Going into that store with Stu was probably the dumbest thing you could do. "I'm in." You said mentally regretting it. "I'll go where you go." Tatum said as she hugged his arm. The last one to go was Billy. "Let's just get this over with." Stu practically ran to the opposite end of the mall with Tatum tossed over his shoulder. "There's no way your feet aren't killing you." Billy said looking down at your heels.

"I grew up in high heels mister. I could run in these bad boys if I had to." You weren't kidding. Growing up in a household where you had church every Sunday and you only had one pair of sneakers, you could run in heels. "I doubt that." He was getting more comfortable around you. Billy didn't even realize it. He used to be fun. He used to screw around and let loose like Stu does. Since his mom left and the world seemed to collapse around him he just had one to many stabs in the back.

"Wanna race?" He looked at you with a childlike curiosity. He would win he knew that much. Considering his murderous tendencies he could beat you in ten seconds flat. "I run to the store and if you catch me before I get there you win. What do you say?" Before he could answer you took off running. It was supposed to be fun for the both of you. A little game of cat and mouse. What you didn't realize was how seriously he would take it. The simple sound of his boots gaining up on you was terrifying. Your laughter stopped as you sped up.

You ran around people, who were then pushed out of the way by Billy. This was no longer a game. He was trying to catch you. The click of your heels got faster and faster till you ran into someone. "Woah there what's going on?" You looked up and saw Stu waiting at the door of Spencer's. You won. Billy was just two steps behind you the entire time. "Damnit!" He exclaimed appearing genuinely pissed that he didn't grab you. Tatum chimed in asking him what the hell was going on. After all to them it seemed like something horribly wrong had happened. "We were just playing. I told him we'd race each other." You looked back at Billy trying to catch his breath.

"Billy Loomis playing a game? Now that's unheard of." Stu gasped as he walked in the store. You approached Billy deciding to check on him. Your hand touched his shoulders as they heaved up and down. "Are you okay?" His hand wrapped around your wrist tighten enough to bare pain. "I'm fine." He flung your hand away, leaving you behind as he walked in the store. So much for that. It was hot and cold with him. You couldn't figure it out and you weren't sure if you wanted to.

Stu and Tatum were over in the novelty section making dirty jokes and just getting on each other's nerves. You didn't know where Billy went. You walked to the back of the store ignoring the adult toy section. You looked down at your stockings noticing the big rip on your right leg. "Shit!" You cursed picking at the hole. Going through the short selection of stockings they had to offer you finally settled on a pair. They were thigh highs which is something you usually didn't wear. Victoria's secret bag and stockings in hand you walked up to the cashier and paid.

Afterwards you met up with Stu and Tatum who were as equally ready to leave as you were. "Where's Billy?" She asked. "I have no idea." Stu leaned over trying to peak into the Spencer bag. "You get something from the back?" You did but you weren't going to be honest about it. "I did. I got it for Tatum though. She deserves at least six inches." She started to laugh as Stu acted all dramatic. "Ha ha really funny. Go ahead laugh it up. I'll have you know she's perfectly content with what she's got." Tatum shook her head making you laugh even harder. "You guys ready to go?"

"Where'd you go?" You asked Billy as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Bathroom." You're not sure what you did to piss him off. Is he butthurt that you beat him in a race? That can't be it he's not 5. He shouldn't be upset by such a small thing. "Let's go bitches!" Stu and Tatum walked hand in hand once again leaving you and Billy to talk. "Did I do something wrong?" You ask gingerly not to upset him further. "No." Another one word answer.

"We can race again. I'll let you catch me this time. I'll play dead and everything if you'd like." You laughed trying everything in your power to make him tolerate you again. "You would?" You weren't being serious but if that's what it took so be it. "If you'll stop being mad at me I will." That somehow put a smile on his face. "Should I start running?" You joke and he actually chuckles. "No no. We'll save that for later."

Everyone makes their way to your car getting in the same seats as before. "I know where Stu lives where do you two live?" You sit your bags in the floor next to Billy's black combat boots. "I'm going to her house before I go home so you can take me there. She's going to take me home before they pick up Sydney." She proceeds to giggle at the admission. "Just drop me off at Stu's" Billy says as he slicks his hair back. "Do you live at Stu's place?" You start the car leaving the mall in your rearview mirror. "Stu's parents are never home so they practically live together."

Billy looked out the window not making eye contact with anyone in the car. "Means I throw the best damn parties our school has ever seen." Stu and Tatum rejoiced in the back. That fact left more questions than answers. It made sense why Stu seemed to be so flippant with money. It even explained his overall behavior. Billy's case however was different. How bad was it at his house that he needed to live with Stu? In all honesty you felt bad for both the boys.

"Hey Billy open the glove compartment and play something." He did as told until he saw the contents of the glove box. "What the hell?" He said as he pulled out an 8 track. "Listen my dad had an 8 track player put in back in the 70s so that's all I got." With a smile on his face he dug through all the boxes.

Pushing the tape into the car AC/DC blasted through the speakers. "How'd I know you'd pick that one?" He carefully put all the tapes back where he got them. "I have good taste what can I say?" He shrugged. First stop was Tatum's house. She gave you the directions which you quickly found out she lives on the same street as you. "Your lights on upstairs is your dad home? I saw your car in the driveway this morning." Tatum asked pointing at your house. Fuck. "So this is where the mysterious Betty Crocker lives." Stu laughed putting on his best Vincent Price voice. Billy was just satisfied in knowing where you live. "Yeah my dad is. He's probably sleeping though he's got to get up early in the morning which means I've have to get home so scoot." You waved the couple out of your car quickly.

You pulled away getting just a couple houses down the road before your car began to stall. "What's wrong?" Billy asked as you look around. "I don't know it hasn't done this before." You turned the car off and on again but nothing happened. "Does it have gas?" You didn't get gas. The crumpled 100 was still shoved in your purse. "Son of a bitch." You cursed as you hit the steering wheel. "Hop out I've got to go get the gas can out of my garage."

"Do I get a house tour?" You stayed quiet genuinely upset at your ignorance. "Listen when we go inside I want you to be quiet. Okay?" Billy nodded as you unlocked your front door. "Holy shi-" You immediately covered his mouth. "I told you to be quiet." Slowly you pulled your hand away and he stepped into the house. "What year do you think it is?" You shut the door as quietly as possible knowing your dad could get up at anytime. "Oh shut up." Billy looked around at the old pictures, the old decor, really the old everything. Billy didn't come from rich parents like Stu. Your house was definitely bigger and better but it didn't have the rich person feel. Billy's house wasn't the problem for him, it was the people in it. It used to be a happy home but all that was waiting for him now was alcohol and fights.

While you sat your bags down he looked around the place. It looked like no one had bought anything new for the place since the 70s. The TV in the living room was 90% wood and the kitchen was a tacky yellow. All the appliances on the counters had to be at least 20 years old. Hell the phone on the wall was a rotary dial phone. Billy felt like he was walking into the Myers house.

"Let's go!" You whisper yelled at him the heavy gas can pulling on your arm. "Give it to me." Billy grabbed the can with ease helping you out the front door. He went ahead and filled the car up for you so you could run the empty can back inside. "Thank you." You said with a huff throwing yourself in the driver seat. "It's nothing." He replied already ready to go. Before you did anything you peeled the heels off your feet tossing them in the back seat. The next to come off were your ripped stockings. Billy watched as your upper thigh was exposed. He could see the hem of your pink underwear before you caught him.

"Perv." You smiled knowing he had to be a little flustered. He just shook his head looking at the ceiling. You threw the stockings in the back seat with your shoes. Billy cleared his throat trying to start up a conversation."Your house is nice." You breathed out a laugh as you started the car. "You don't have to lie."

Billy's demeanor changed once again. Now that it was just you and him he had one leg bent on the seat so his body could face towards you. Even though your eyes were on the road you could feel his burning holes in you. "I mean it. It's different. Better than all those rich bitches we go to school with." He wasn't lying. It was hard to find anyone who had an actual personality these days.

"I know it's not everyone's cup of tea. My dad doesn't really care what I do with the house as long as there is food on the table when he gets home." Billy bit his lip in thought. "So you did all of that?" He found it impressive to say the least. "Not really. I haven't messed with much since my grandparents passed. The way the kept things always seemed nice as a kid. And I don't see the sense in wasting money on new stuff when I've got perfectly good old stuff that works." He saw the way your eyes grew wide when Stu handed you that hundred. You're not a money person. You were modest. Going through the mall you only bought one thing for yourself while Tatum begged for everything she saw.

"How often is your dad gone?" He asked. A dangerous question to answer if Billy's asking it. "He can be gone for weeks at a time. He's a truck driver. He goes where his boss tells him to go." The car goes quiet for a little while. Luckily for you it's comfortable. "What about you? How's your mom and dad?" You meant nothing hateful by it and he knew that. "I live with my dad too. My parents split up." You could feel him putting those walls back up. It was night and day with Billy. Slowly you car came to a stop in Stu's driveway. "My mom isn't in the picture either. You know if that shit ever starts to bother you, you can call me. As long as your girlfriends okay with it that is." You grabbed a pen out of the glove compartment gently pulling Billy's hand towards your lap.

His hand sat on top of your right thigh as you touched the tip of the pen to your tongue. Carefully your wrote down your phone number where the numbers were visible. Billy for the first time in awhile, he was the one who was scared. Scared of moving even the tiniest bit. A simple harsh breath would ruin whatever this was. Softly you brought his hand up to your face blowing cool air on the drying ink. "There ya go." You tossed his hand back, your gentle nature now gone. "But um yeah if you ever need to talk you can call me."

Funny enough he didn't want to call you. "Sure." Was all he could muster up. Billy finally decided he didn't want you dead like the rest of them. You were kind enough not to piss people off but you were sure of what you wanted. Too trusting, yes but it definitely helped his case. He'd have to make a new plan one that doesn't get you hurt. Well, one that doesn't get you killed.

Part 3

#billy loomis #ghostface #slashers #scream #scream 1996 masterlist #scream 1996 #billy loomis ghostface #billy loomis masterlist #billy loomis x reader #stu ghostface #stu macher x reader #stu macher #poly!ghostface #ghostface x female reader #ghostface x reader #ghostface smut

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ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult · 5 months

Text

Unpredictable-Limoreau x black!fem!reader fic

A/N: I was inspired a lot by the Bama Rush documentary and couldn't get the idea of a sorority girl in GOD U out of my head. Let me know if you want a part 2.

Warnings: some swearing

Words: 5.2k

Series Masterlist

Future probability cognition, the ability to see potential future outcomes, was usually a nice power to have. At 7, I knew my parents were going to get divorced before either of them considered filing. At 9, I knew my mother would focus all her energy on the agency. At 12, I knew that my older brother would take a head of surgery job in Buenos Aires, escaping the chaos at home. Despite this history, nothing could have prepared me for my second year at Godolkin.

The first day back on campus was uneventful: I survived a grueling early morning Pilates class that I envisioned would put me in Sydney’s, the Si Chi president, good graces and, later in the afternoon, I settled an argument between two Si Chi juniors by predicting that brunch would be the most successful rush event.

Being (one of) the first black high-ranking members of Si Chi could be a full-time job.

As I was re-reading the chapters for Brink’s class, my V-Phone buzzed with a text from Leah, one of the seniors in the sorority.

L: Do you know Emma?

I quickly typed back: Which one? Wallace or the girl who got the botched nj in SK?

L: Neither. Short girl with curly blonde hair. She’s here 4 u.

The yelp that left my mouth would have been embarrassing if anyone else was in the house study room. Quickly, I tucked my book under my arm and ran into the ivory and wood-paneled foyer complete with Tiffany crystal chandelier and faint instrumental piano music playing through the Bluetooth speakers. At the door, Leah’s arms were crossed over her lavender babydoll dress as she smiled fakely at Emma, who looked more apprehensive than usual.

“Emma, hi, I thought I told you to text me when you got here!” I greeted as I approached the two.

Emma’s expression relaxed when her blue eyes landed on me. “Sorry, I got distracted and then I got lost trying to find you.”

I glanced at Leah, who shot me a questioning look. “Thanks, Leah, I can take it from here.”

Leah shrugged, turned, and teleported into thin air. Emma’s eyes widened again as she stepped further into the house and I closed the door behind her.

“Sorry about Leah; she’s cagier than usual because she couldn’t get a refill on her favorites,” I explained.

“It’s fine, I’m just glad you aren’t like that,” Emma admitted.

I paused to finally hug her and she nearly crushed me as she wound her arms around my middle. It felt like forever since I had seen Emma, even though it was at my dad’s annual 4th of July barbecue. When I pulled away, Emma eyed the book in my hand.

“You’re reading before school starts. Nerd,” she teased.

I playfully pushed her shoulder. “We’re in college, we have to take school way more seriously now. Besides, a requirement for Si Chi is at least a 3.8.”

Emma tapped her chin. “Let me guess, you have a 4.0.”

I smiled and tugged her further into the house. Of course, I had to give her a tour of the house and introduce her to the girls we passed. When we finally got to my room, Emma collapsed on top of my pastel blue comforter, dropping her bag on the matching rug.

“I know Si Chi is a top house, but you basically live in Barbie’s Dream House,” Emma beamed. “How do I get in? What do I have to do? I will do literally anything or anyone.”

I rolled my eyes and set my book on my desk. “I’m glad you like the place but, you haven’t even met your roommate yet. What’s her name again?”

Emma pushed herself up on her elbows with a huff. “Marie Moreau. I tried to find her on social media, but she doesn’t have any: No X, no TikTok, not even an obligatory Facebook.”

Social media presence was basically a requirement at GOD U these days so it was a bold move for someone to show up without any. It could mean Marie was hardcore about her studies or…

“She might have strict parents,” I pointed out, sitting next to Emma.

Emma raised an eyebrow. “They better not be weird, cult-y parents. I guess that would be my luck too: have a psycho roommate my freshman year.”

“Hey, no one could have had it worse than me: a slob who always had boys over and threatened to gut me in my sleep,” I argued.

“But, you saw all of that coming,” Emma argued.

I shook my head. “Only the part where she stood over my bed with a knife in hand.” I sighed and pressed my hands into the covers. “I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with that ever again.”

“Really, because some of these girls are giving unhinged,” Emma replied.

“The nice thing is I either pick up on the signs or ‘see’ their breaking point,” I explained.

Emma nodded and pushed herself off my bed to start exploring my room. As she started messing with my checkered Moschino teddy bear figurine, my phone buzzed on my desk. When I grabbed it, I saw it was a video call from Cate.

“Hi, what’s up?” I greeted, holding the phone at the most flattering angle.

“I’m trying to entertain myself while Luke preps for training,” Cate admitted.

“What, you’re not totally entertained by your star boyfriend?” I teased.

Cate rolled her eyes. “No, I can’t wait for this to be over. You’re coming, right?”

I shook my head. “Sorry, we have a rush event at the same time, including a choreographed dance.”

“Ooh, did you choreograph it?” Cate asked.

“I might have helped a little.”

“Well, I’m pissed I’ll miss it but make sure to have someone send me all the cute videos and pictures,” Cate requested.

“Sure.”

There was some yelling in the background and Cate rolled her eyes.

“I have to go but we’ll talk later.”

“Bye!”

When I hung up, Emma was staring at me with her mouth gaping, the teddy figurine dangerously close to slipping from her grasp and onto the hardwood floor. I crossed the room as quickly as I could and carefully placed the figurine back on my dresser.

“Emma, I love you but if you break anything, I will lose it,” I warned.

“You know Cate Dunlap?” Emma asked slowly.

“Oh, yeah, she’s my peer mentor. Dean Shetty paired us up last year since our powers are similar,” I answered.

“So, you’ve met Luke Riordan? Like, you’ve been in his presence?”

“Yes,” I answered slowly.

“And you didn’t faint or throw up from his glory?”

“Emma, he’s a regular person. His powers are insane but he is also human, just like us.”

“No, I’m a regular person. Luke Riordan is, like, a demigod or something. Is he better looking in person?”

I hesitated and busied myself with grabbing my rush outfit from my closet and setting it on my bed. Then, I stared at my shoes, feeling Emma’s eyes bored into the back of my head. I closed my eyes and focused on the event tonight, the potential sounds and people. Seconds later, I got a decent image of my Si Chi sisters and I dancing in front of the house, surrounded by freshmen girls in Princess Polly and House of CB. I focused all my energy on looking at our feet and tried not to groan when I saw red high-top Converse.

“Every time,” I muttered as I opened my eyes.

Two more years, just two more years of going along and I would reap the benefits: a strong ranking, a decent contract, and my pick of the most eligible supes. I just had to keep playing the game.

I grabbed my platform red Converses and set them in front of my bed, sheepishly turning to Emma. “Yes, Emma.”

She squealed. “I knew it!”

I laughed at her joy as she bounced in her Vans. “Go to the training today and see for yourself.”

Emma’s expression deflated slightly as she walked closer to me. “I wish you could come, you could introduce us!”

“There will be a next time,” I stated.

“Promise?” She held up her pinky and eyed me as I slowly wrapped my manicured one around hers. She opened her mouth but was cut off by an alarm going off on her phone. “Shit, I have to go film a video!”

“You’re still doing Little Cricket?” I asked.

Emma shushed me loudly and her eyes filled with panic. “Not so loud and definitely not in this house!”

The girls probably already know all about it, I thought.

I flipped my waist-length box braids over my shoulder and laughed as she rushed towards the door. “You don’t know where you’re going, let me walk you out!”

She paused for a split second and gave me some time to catch up to her. However, I led her through the quickest route back to the front door and she gave me a quick hug before she took off. I laughed as I closed the door behind her.

“Some things never change,” I mused.

When I got back up to my room, I realized she left her backpack and groaned. She would have to learn to be more responsible if she was going to survive more than a week here. So, I grabbed my purse and her backpack before traipsing the campus. Fortunately, Emma had texted me her dorm information before she got on campus.

“In case of an emergency,” she’d insisted.

The freshman dorms were not as bad as I remembered them but I cringed at a few musty speedster jocks I crossed in the hallway. A brief premonition helped me duck to avoid an ice user’s power going out of control when I finally made it to Emma’s door. First, I rapped on the door three times.

“Emma, it’s me, you really have to keep a better eye on your stuff!” I called.

After a few seconds of no answer, I knocked again.

“Seriously? I can’t always be looking after you,” I teased.

Finally, the door swung open, revealing a pretty black girl with big brown eyes and long brown dreads that were pulled partly away from her face. Her eyes widened at me and I smiled.

“Sorry, I’m looking for Emma, she left her bag in my----”

Emma cut me off, appearing next to the girl, “I was wondering where that went, thanks!” She grabbed the bag from me.

“Oh, uh, come in,” the girl said, stepping aside.

I nodded and wandered further into their dorm. It was small, like most freshman dorms, but Emma’s side offered pops of color and coziness. The other side was more basic, probably because the girl just moved in.

“Marie, this is Y/N, my best friend, Y/N, Marie,” Emma introduced as she plopped onto her bed.

I turned to Marie and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She hesitated slightly before shaking my hand. “You too.”

“Don’t worry, Marie, you’ll get used to her hotness,” Emma advised.

My cheeks warmed as I whirled around to my friend. “Emma!”

“It’s true!”

The embarrassment floated in the pit of my stomach as I faced Marie, who looked somewhere between surprised and amused. “Sorry about her, she speaks without thinking.”

“It’s okay. How do you two know each other?” Marie asked.

“Her mom represents me,” Emma answered.

“Oh.”

“She’s the one who helped encourage me to make a YouTube channel and is helping me get into more commercials until my big break,” Emma continued.

I sighed as I sat in Emma’s desk chair. “We’ve known each other since I was four and she was three.”

“Do you want to be an actor too?” Marie asked.

I shook my head. “I tried it when I was little but it wasn’t for me.”

Emma’s eyes lit up and she sat up on her bed. “You should have seen her, she was so cute! She was that toddler in that one diaper commercial----”

“Emma,” I softly begged.

Marie laughed. “Now, I’m curious.”

“Please don’t look it up, it’s not worth it anyway,” I insisted.

Marie shrugged and sat on her bed. “My curiosity might get the best of me.”

“Why did you have to mention that stupid commercial?” I whined at Emma, who laughed at my pain. “Anyway, what’s your major?”

“Crimefighting,” Marie answered.

I straightened up. “Me too.”

“So, you’ve had classes with Brink? How is he? What’s he like?” Marie rambled.

“Well, he’s really tough on first years and makes his tests almost impossible to pass,” I admitted.

“Really?” Marie asked.

“But, I can help you if you want; I did pretty well last year,” I offered.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I questioned where they came from. Marie was a complete stranger, yet she was one of the easiest people to talk to. Normally, I stumbled over my words in front of new people, and this was…new.

“That would be great, thanks,” Marie replied.

Emma leaned forward. “Y/N, you are way too modest. She was in the top ten of the first years last year and she has a peer mentor and meets with Brink on a regular basis.”

Marie snapped her attention to me. “Wait, what?”

I shook my head. “She makes it sound more impressive than it is.”

“No, I’m not; she hangs out with the Top Five all the time.”

“Top Five?” Marie asked.

Emma and I turned to her, stunned.

“You don’t know what the Top Five are?” Emma asked slowly.

Marie shook her head, growing tenser the longer we looked at her.

“Godolkin ranks all the students based on their Q score, which is basically the strength of their powers, academics, and social media engagement. The Top One Hundred are the only ones published every day,” I explained.

“And the Top Five are the only ones everyone really cares about since they’re the ones most likely to make it into the Seven,” Emma added. “It’s on the GOD U app.”

“I don’t have a phone,” Marie admitted.

Emma balked at her. “How have you gone this far in life without a phone?”

Marie shrugged. “My parents wouldn’t let me have one.”

“What about emergencies?” I asked.

“Someone else always has one,” Marie countered.

Something was off about her statement and I knew that if I focused on it long enough, I would get a premonition about her. However, I decided that it would be rude to do that in conversation and tabled it for later.

“You’ll get through it,” I said.

“So, what ranking are you, Y/N?” Marie asked.

“Last I checked, I was number twenty,” I recalled.

Marie and Emma’s eyes widened at me, and I shrunk a little under their gaze. It really was not that impressive considering how intense the nineteen other people above me were.

“That’s amazing!” Emma cheered, leaping off her bed and hugging me.

“How did that happen?” Marie asked gently.

When Emma pulled away, I replied, “Well, right before summer break, I had a premonition about a case Brink had the class working on all year.”

“You solved a crime?” Marie concluded.

“I just helped with a tip,” I insisted.

“Please, Y/N, don’t act like you haven’t solved cases before,” Emma stated.

I narrowed my eyes at her and Emma smirked in reply. Marie held up her hands and shook her head.

“Wait, as in plural?”

“It’s really not a big deal. With all the forensics, psychology, and ethics classes you’ll take, you’ll be solving them too.”

Marie looked unconvinced but did not push it. “So, what’s your ability? I’m sorry if that’s rude to ask.”

“No, it’s fine. Future probability cognition, I can see potential outcomes for the future,” I explained.

“That’s amazing,” Marie complimented.

“Eh, a lot of times it means I get blurry images in my head but it’s helpful sometimes. What about you?”

“Blood manipulation.”

“Whoa, no offense, but that is such a supervillain power,” Emma thought outloud.

“Emma!”

“I said ‘no offense’!”

Marie laughed. “It’s okay, I get why people would think that.”

“Can you give us a demonstration?” Emma asked.

Marie nodded and grabbed a switchblade from her cargo pants’ pocket. In a graceful motion, she cut one of her palms and held it out in front of her. Seconds later, a circle of blood floated in the air like water, swirling each way. Marie smiled at our expressions and the blood slowly flowed back in her palm and the mark healed.

“That was awesome!” Emma cheered.

“I think Brink will like you,” I added.

“Thanks. I think it’s your turn, Y/N,” Marie said.

I hesitated. “Well, mine is definitely not as impressive as yours and I can’t promise I’ll see anything…positive.”

“That’s okay,” Marie insisted.

“You can use me as a demonstration,” Emma offered.

I turned to her and closed my eyes. My mind wandered to images of her face and the sound of her laugh. Eventually, I saw an image of her rolling around her dorm bed with some guy. Then, all of a sudden, she was small and--- “AAAH!” I jumped from my seat, both underclassmen looking at me confused.

“Is it that bad?” Emma asked.

My eyes looked everywhere but my best friend and my hands unconsciously flexed. “Whatever you do, do not bring a guy here in the future.”

“You don’t want me to get laid?”

“I don’t think you would want to experience what I just saw.” I shivered at the thought.

“Have your powers made you respond like that before?” Marie asked.

I nodded. “It’s rare, though, and I have help to get a handle on it.”

Slowly, I sat down and focused on the orange circle rug on the floor. Suddenly, I wished Cate was there to wipe that premonition from my memory. My stomach churned and I swallowed thickly.

“Oh, Marie, you have to come to the training with me today,” Emma announced.

“What training?”

“The Top Five have public training at the beginning of every year. This year, Luke Riordan is up first,” Emma explained with a grin.

“Luke’s a big deal?” Marie asked.

“Hell yeah, he’s number one!” Emma chastised.

Marie turned to me. “Are you going?”

I looked up at her and wondered if she seemed kind of hopeful. “No, I have to do rush tonight.”

“On top of everything else, she is also the secretary of Si Chi, the top sorority on campus,” Emma bragged.

“Wow, are you always this busy?” Marie asked.

“Not always. Things calm down once rush is over.” My phone beeped in my bag and I grabbed it. “Speaking of which, I have to run and get ready.”

“But you already look nice,” Marie commented.

“Thanks, but I need to be up to Si Chi standards. Have fun at the training and Emma, please try not to act up too much.”

“I can’t control what will happen once his clothes burn off.”

“What?” I shook my head. “I’ll see you around.”

The next day, I was shocked awake by a series of texts from Emma.

E: Emergency, pls come 2 my dorm.

E: Srsly, Marie needs ur help.

Immediately, I wondered my Marie would need my help. When I reached out to Emma last night, she was busy gushing over Luke and never mentioned any issues. Also, I didn’t see any posts about her on social media which calmed my nerves.

After texting her I would be there soon, I slowly pushed myself to sit up in my head and pushed my silk sleep mask up over my scarf. Then, I meditated for a few minutes, breathing through all the chaotic thoughts and scenarios that included strangers and people that I knew. Just when my temples began to throb, I stopped and made my way into the en-suite bathroom.

About thirty minutes later, Emma shoved her dorm room open and pulled me in. She was wearing a gray GOD U t shirt and matching shorts, her curly stuck up in random places.

“Where the hell have you been?” she whispered.

“I got here as soon as I could,” I defended. “What’s going on?”

Marie stood from her desk, a deep frown on her face, and made her way towards us. “I’m not in any Crimefighting classes; it’s all performing arts!”

I cocked my head to the side. “That’s weird. Can I see your schedule?”

“It’s on my phone.” Emma handed it to me and I started scrolling through Marie’s schedule.

“Did you register for any performing arts classes?” I asked.

“No, I registered for all the first-year Crimefighting classes,” Marie insisted.

The frustration was thick in her voice and I wondered what was keeping her from punching a hole in the wall.

“Is there anything I can do?” Marie asked.

“Sorry, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of this happening.” I paused for a moment and smiled. “But I might be able to help. I have a meeting with Brink today and if you come with me, I could introduce you and we could get this all figured out.”

“Really? Do you know how it will go?”

“Let me try.”

I closed my eyes and focused on Brink, the Crimefighting building, and Marie. The images were as blurry as a Monet up close and all the audio was muffled as if everyone was speaking underwater. When I opened my eyes, I shook my head at Marie.

“Looks like it’s up to fate,” I commented.

Marie deflated and I did not know whether to comfort her or not.

“I’m sending good vibes your way,” Emma offered.

“Thanks, we’ll need it,” Marie replied.

As much as I wanted to push back, I did not like not knowing how this would turn out. My heart drummed in my ears later that day as we walked to the Lamplighter building. At the very least, the sun was beaming on everything, making Godolkin look shinier than usual. It was the perfect day for the white cherry-printed sundress and denim jacket I wore with platform white sandals. My braids flowed freely around me under the cool breeze.

When we walked into the building, I let out the breath I did not know I was holding in.

“You okay?” Marie asked.

“Yeah, why?” I replied.

“Your heart rate picked up,” she observed.

I paused and looked at her. “You can hear my heartbeat?”

She nodded. “Sorry, I know that’s kind of weird.” “Nothing’s weird at this school but, that’s good to know,” I assured.

I made a mental note to be more intentional in meditation as I led Marie to Brink’s office. The Lamplighter building was practically empty since most students were sleeping off hangovers. However, Jordan Li wasn’t most students and was at their usual post, the desk outside of Brink’s office, eyes focused on their laptop. They were in their feminine form, hair slicked back in a low ponytail.

A small smile etched its way on my glossed lips at the sight and I turned to Marie, whose eyes widened at Jordan.

“Let me do the talking,” I whispered.

“Sounds good,” she answered, nodding.

As soon as we got in front of Jordan’s desk, I waved my hand in front of their face to no avail. With no choice, I grinned as I slammed my hands on the desk and called their name. Immediately, Jordan jumped in their seat, yanking their earbuds out as they exclaimed an expletive.

I laughed as they rolled their eyes at me.

“Seriously, freshie?” Jordan commented.

“You can’t call me that anymore, I’m a sophomore,” I sang.

“It doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Jordan teased.

My cheeks warmed at their words and I gripped my Longchamp tote closer to me in an attempt to get a grip on myself.

“By the way, I loved your little dance from last night,” Jordan added.

“You saw that?” I rasped.

“Rushtok is so big that no one can escape it.” Jordan glanced at their laptop. “You’re early, as usual.”

“I like to be punctual but, I also have someone who might be your new favorite freshman,” I replied.

“Impossible,” Jordan scoffed.

I nodded to Marie, who slowly moved to stand next to me. “This is Marie Moreau. Marie, this is Jordan Li, Brink’s TA.”

Jordan glanced at Marie, a smirk disappearing from their face. “Hi.”

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you. You’re so awesome; your powers are incredible,” Marie confessed.

Jordan smirked. “I’m glad I impressed a freshman.”

Marie looked taken aback and glanced at me.

“I brought Marie with me since there’s been a mix-up. She applied for Crimefighting but she’s in all the performing arts classes. So, I was thinking that you’d be able to help,” I explained.

Jordan looked back at their laptop and started typing again. “I know, I’m the one who rejected her.”

Their words hung in the air and I could feel a lump starting to form in my throat. As smart as Jordan was, they were either unaware of how deeply their bluntness could cut or they did not care. After knowing them for a year, I began to lean toward the latter.

“What?” Marie muttered.

“Why?” I questioned.

“She has no social media presence and, even though her scores are decent, she needs a following,” Jordan rattled.

“Isn’t that a little biased? Do you know what her powers are? If you knew, I think you would be open to making an exception,” I argued gently. “Besides, she can still get a following online. With her face, it will take no time.”

As soon as the comment left my mouth, I froze. I had no idea why I said that, maybe Emma’s tendencies had rubbed off on me.

“Sorry, the decision’s final.” Jordan did not sound apologetic at all and I thought I saw them trying not to smirk again.

“You can’t do that. Let me talk to Professor Brink,” Marie requested.

“There’s no point, he leaves all admission decisions to me,” Jordan said. “You should learn from your friend. Y/N here has ten million followers across her social media and solved the Glasgow Ripper case and a twenty-year-old cold case before she got here.”

Marie whirled around to me. “You solved the Glasgow Ripper case?”

“I just gave them a tip and it was supposed to be anonymous,” I muttered.

“Nothing is anonymous with Vought,” Jordan countered. “Plus, you led them to key evidence.”

“They would have solved it…eventually,” I admitted.

Based on my original estimate, it would have taken them three years and I always felt horrible whenever they showed the victims’ families on the news. The tension in the space was thick as Jordan and Marie glared at each other. I wracked my brain for something, anything to say.

Fortunately, Brink took care of the tension when he burst out of his office, gun in hand, and shot at Jordan. Marie yelped as Jordan switched to their male form and absorbed the shot.

“Wow, every time,” Brink admired.

“If you keep it up, I’m going to run out of shirts, sir,” Jordan replied, smiling.

Brink turned to Marie and me. “Oh, Y/N, you’re here, early as always.”

“Hi, Professor Brink. How was your summer?” I asked.

“Busy. And yours?”

“Good. Um, Professor, I don’t want to take too much of your time, but this is Marie Moreau and there was a mix-up with her schedule,” I started.

Professor Brink nodded and turned to Marie. “Is that so?”

Marie quickly explained the dilemma, narrowing her eyes at Jordan but was able to stay as calm and professional as possible. I glanced at Professor Brink’s expression and while he looked pleasant, I dreaded his words.

“Well, if Jordan rejected you, that’s final. I trust their judgment,” Professor Brink affirmed. “You can serve as a hero in many ways; Crimefighting is a select group of students who show high aptitude in several areas. That does not mean anyone else is less valuable. Maybe we will see you on Dancing with the Stars one day.”

Marie’s face fell and her body tensed. I might have started crying if I was in her position but her eyes stayed dry. I gently put my hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll figure something out,” I muttered.

She did not look convinced and as I politely followed Brink into his office, I prayed that I would get some sort of helpful premonition. Then again, why did I want to help this girl? I knew her for less than twenty-four hours. Nothing was making sense.

Later that day, I practically ran a hole into my bedroom floor as I ruminated over my next steps. My meeting with Brink was unremarkable and I couldn’t stop thinking about how to get Marie into crim. She was obviously a strong hero in the works, even if Jordan didn’t see it. One way to help would be to get her into a decent house on campus since that was one of the only viable routes outside of making it into the Top 100 to get noticed on campus. However, Marie did not strike me as the sorority type.

Then again, I could help her with donors at fundraisers since they loved throwing their money to make themselves feel better. As I thought, my mind somehow circled back to Jordan. It was fun getting a rise out of them after everything last year. They were not as rude to me as they were to Marie, but they were still terrifying last year. They always had a critique for someone and had reduced numerous kids to tears before the first semester ended. Somehow, I impressed them last year and they started being nicer to me. It probably also did not hurt that I had befriended Cate.

“Ugh, it’s hopeless!” I huffed, plopping onto my bed.

Even when I tried to get premonitions, there was nothing helpful; just Jordan and Marie arguing while I attempted to settle things.

What was this year turning into?

My phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts, and I answered without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Do you have any rush shit tonight?” Cate asked.

I sat up and eyed her in the video call. “No, all the presidents and VPs are meeting tonight so we’re on our own.”

“Great, so you’re free to go out with us,” Cate concluded with a grin.

My heartbeat picked up at the thought of going out with Cate and the others. Any time I went out with them always ended in an interesting story, from the time Cate got us all out of a really embarrassing ticket to the time Andre and Luke drunkenly dueted “Never Gonna Give You Up” in a Korean karaoke bar.

“I know that face, you’re thinking too much,” Cate warned.

“Not in a bad way, in a good way. Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry, just wear something hot and meet us in the parking lot at ten.”

“Okay.”

I hung up and set the phone on my dresser. Maybe this would help me clear my head or get me out of my head. Sometimes the thoughts could be suffocating but I would get a break tonight. I closed my eyes and wondered what would happen tonight. Slowly, clear images of a dark club and the sound of a thumping bass flooded my mind. The club was crowded but I saw myself dancing with Cate and…Marie?

#gen v x reader #jordan li x reader #black!reader #marie moreau x reader #limoreau x reader

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