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xomakara · 8 months

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Waiting For Your Love

SUMMARY | In which Mark is secretly your boyfriend, takes you to his place and wants to take your relationship to the next level PAIRINGS | Mark/Fem!Reader GENRE | college au, non-idols, fluff, soft, smut RATING | Mature LENGTH | 3,654 words AUTHOR’S NOTE | I had this one-shot saved on my computer for awhile. So why not just post it? I will definitely be writing a chaptered/series of Mark though lol. Plus my title makes no sense in the story’s context but who gives a care. I hope you enjoy it!

"Take it."

You blinked several times, looking at the notebook that was suddenly thrown on your desk. You looked up at the male who was the culprit, his dark hair framing against his forehead, his lips in a grimace.

What the hell was his problem? You continued to look at the notebook, wondering what in the world was in it. It wasn't yours, you knew that much. One of your friends perhaps? Maybe one of the other guys dropped it?

"Because you were sick the other day." Mark Lee softly said, your gaze going to his face. He noticed your hesitation and explained his actions. "I took notes and thought you might want them."

"Hey!" One of the male students yelled from across the room. "That was my job! You can't just take my job like that Mark! Gimme those notes."

Mark shook his head. "No can do. Y/N needs my notes, not yours."

"Why you little-" Renjun was held back by a few of the other males in the classroom.

You couldn't help but chuckle. Mark was sure concerned about your health. But why and how did he even know you were sick the other day? As far as you were concerned, Mark never paid you attention nor seemed somewhat interested in you.

But that was before.

Until you started dating each other for a good year.

Of course it was a secret to everyone in the classroom. Apart from two people that were Mark's roommates but you had to blackmail them to be quiet or hell would let loose. How would it sound if THE Mark Lee, the most popular underclassman at your college campus was dating a nobody?

You shook your head, brandishing that thought from your head.

You were somebody. Granted you didn’t hang out in Mark’s social circles but you had a few of your own. And you were widely popular within those circles.

You frowned, not showing that you were secretly happy that your boyfriend took notes for you. You shook your head and turned to your female friends as they barrage you for answers.

"I can't believe Mark gave you his notebook." Jaemi whispered, lightly giggling as she watched some of the males teasing Mark.

You didn't know that he could turn a slight shade of pink.

He never turned pink in front of you. It was kind of cute. He turned around slightly, giving you a small shy smile before returning to his desk. Suddenly plopping down on his chair, he placed his head on the table, no doubt trying to hide his embarrassed face.

"I can't believe he took notes." Sumin muttered in shock, as she poked at the book. It was labeled 'English', supposingly for English Literature since you both took that class. "That's a surprise right there."

"Well, Haechan has always told me that Mark is pretty smart." Rahee shrugged and gave Haechan a small wave. "Even though he doesn't show it."

"Really?" You asked Rahee. You knew your boyfriend was smart but you decided to play along. "He seems like a slacker to me."

"Despite what everyone may think, Mark is actually a pretty laid back guy." Rahee nodded her head and looked at the notebook. "But he's pretty considerate considering his reputation. He's not a bad boy, so you can relax Y/N."

"And you know how, Rahee?" Sumin nudged the girl. "From Haechan?"

"It's one of the perks of dating the underclassmen rep." Jaemi answered as she watched Rahee winking at Haechan. "She gets all the dirty details from him."

"But if Mark—" You never got to finish your question since Rahee disappeared. You noticed Rahee snaking her arms with Haechan and walked out of the classroom. No doubt trying to find a private place to make out. "That girl always runs off with him."

"What can you say?" Sumin laughed as she noticed your expression of disgust. "Is it that weird for Rahee and Haechan to be dating?"

"Not weird." You answered, suddenly looking down at the notebook again. You noticed Mark's doodles and had to suppress a chuckle. "More of 'I can't believe Rahee snagged a boyfriend before us.’ Why can't I get a boyfriend?"

"We have plenty of male classmates." Sumin chuckled. "One of them is bound to date you."

"No thanks." You shook your head. You already had a boyfriend but no one really knew that. "Xiaojun, Hendery and Yangyang already asked me and I turned them down."

"But there's still Renjun, Jeno, Jaemin, Chenle, Jisung, and all the other dudes." Jaemi listed out, the guys looking up from their classwork or conversation. Seeing as it wasn't important, they continued whatever they were doing. “Plus the upperclassmen like Jungwoo, Jaehyun and Winwin to name some.”

"You forgot Mark." Sumin muttered, looking at him as if he heard.

He was still asleep.

"No to all of them." You scoffed. You thought of your boyfriend and slightly turned pink. "Well maybe to some of them..."

Your other two friends started laughing. You had always believed that you'd be the first of your group of friends to get a boyfriend first. Rahee ruined it when she announced she was dating Haechan. You came second after Mark secretly confessed that he liked you and you two started secretly dating.

It was no secret that you were quite a good-looking girl. You had your share of admirers; from the bad boy greaseball Jaemin, heart throb Jeno, irritable Renjun amongst some. You turned them down all flat, none of them remotely interesting to you. You had high standards for a boyfriend, and sure the guys you turned down all met those standards but it just didn't feel right.

Until Mark swept you off your feet.

"Yo babe," Hendery slithered to your desk and sent you a flirtatious wink. "The boys and I are going to play basketball. Care to watch?"

"No, thank you Hendery." You refused. Sure you turned him down but Hendery still called you babe. He was one of the two boys you blackmailed. "Last time I went to watch a game, I got hit by the ball because Jisung wasn't looking at who he was passing the ball to."

"My bad!" Jisung called out, his hair sticking in odd places. "I thought I passed it to Chenle but he was too busy staring at Sumin."

"Yah! Are you saying it's my fault?" Chenle shouted. The boys shouted in unison that it was indeed his fault.

"That sucks. Maybe next time." Hendery muttered before moving on to your friend Sumin, who gave him the middle finger. He chuckled before waving and disappeared from the classroom with the boys in tow, Chenle whining on how his hyung just flirted with the pretty girl.

"Should we just go?" Jaemi asked as she looked around the classroom. It was empty apart from the three girls, Mark, Xiaojun and Yangyang. "They all left to play basketball."

"Let's go Y/N. Besides Rahee has some explaining to do." Sumin rose from her seat and went towards Xiaojun and Yangyang, both boys looking up from their books.

Suggesting they all go watch the game together, the two boys nodded their heads and shut their books. Since you were putting your things away, Xiaojun stopped before leaving the classroom, only to say, "Y/N. Can you wake Mark up before you leave?"

"Okay, Xiaojun." You nodded and gave him a thumbs up. Xiaojun was the other boy you had to blackmail. You actually threatened to get rid of his stuff if he spilt the beans.

Walking towards Mark, you couldn't help but stare at his sleeping face. His lashes were surprisingly long, his skin looked smooth, and his jawline looked absolutely chiseled. He was a handsome man and you always told him so. You shook him lightly, he rustled slightly.

"Mark?" You shook him again. "Mark, wake up."

"Hmm?" He groaned out, sleepily opening his eyes. Noticing it was you, he slowly smiled. "Well, hi there."

What was this sleepy smile about? He kind of took your breath away for a second. "Don't say hi to me like that. What if others saw?"

"Is there anyone else here?" He mumbled, lifting his head slowly to look around the room. Seeing as he was in the clear, he looked back at you. "It's just you and me."

When will he stop smiling like that?

"Mark, everyone is playing basketball." You let out, your voice somewhat small. "Did you want to go join them?"

"Do you?" He asked, his husky voice asked you.

Was his voice always this deep? You never noticed it before but his voice was definitely sexy and that was one of the top five traits you'd like in a man. You shook your head to stop thinking such inappropriate things but Mark took it as something else.

"Why don't we go to my place?" He suggested, standing up to grab his bag and then to take yours from your grasp. You tried to refuse him but he took it anyway. "Let me carry your things."

Walking side by side with your boyfriend had never been as exhilarating as walking home with Yangyang and Haechan. Mark made you swoon with his manly side and he would occasionally walk where the road met the sidewalk so you wouldn't get hurt.

He was caring and you fell for him hard.

You had to speak up. "Mark? Do you like me?"

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be my girlfriend right?" He replied back with a question. Stopping in front of the apartment he shared with Xiaojun and Hendery, he unlocked the door and ushered you in. Kicking off your shoes, you strolled into the surprisingly clean home and settled on the couch.

Mark followed after you.

"The guys will be back soon after the game." You whispered as Mark leaned towards you.

"They won't be here for a while." He whispered back before claiming your mouth.

Mark was kissing you.

The fullness of your lips pressing against his. He tasted the sweet flavors of your lips. He was fully aware that he was kissing you, but man, did your lips make him go crazy. One of his hands clutched your lower back whereas the other hand cupped the back of your head. Your hand rested on his shoulder as Mark's lips moved over yours.

At first it was an innocent touch of lips: gently, sweetly, and with an eye to innocence. But gradually the roaring in Mark's blood began to beat back the gentleman in him, and he started to taste you rather than kiss you. And tasting you was like an intoxication in which every touch made him hungrier. His fingers curled possessively into your sweet-smelling hair, and he bent his head, taking your mouth, that unbearably desirable mouth, with a growl that had nothing to do with gentlemanly behavior.

Your mind was drowning, whirling. His mouth was hot on yours- hot! How could it be hot? You felt as if all your most important senses were lost, whirling around so that all you could do was clutch his shoulders and hang on, fighting the strange sensations that kept sweeping over your body, making your knees tremble and an unwanted heat grow between your legs, and your forehead felt feverish.

In fact, your whole body felt feverish.

Mark pulled back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"What?" You raised your eyebrows at him, your fingers coming to your lips.

"For kissing you." He clarified, his hand moving to cup your cheeks. "I just couldn't help myself. You look beautiful."

"Then don't stop." You muttered, looking into his eyes.

"If I don't stop then this will lead to things..." He stood up and walked a short distance to the kitchen.

You went after him and took his hands in yours. "Mark. I don't care if this leads to things. You want me and I want you."

"Oh."

"So just kiss me again. And whatever happens, let's just go with it."

Mark smiled, closing the distance between the two of you, as he settled his mouth over yours, felt you stiffen in a moment of surprise, then your hands crept up to his shoulders, slid gently around his neck, and you kissed him back. He could feel the rapid beating of your heart and the warmth of your small body pressing against him.

Mark tightened his hold against you, as he deepened the kiss, coaxing your lips apart, taking you with his tongue. His tongue touched yours and a jolt of heat went sliding through him.

He kissed the side of your neck, tasted the small shell-like rim of an ear, and kissed you again, cupping your ass and pulled you against his arousal. There was only an instant's hesitation before you melted against him, returning the kiss in full measure, your breasts brushing against the front of his shirt. He lifted you up and walked you to the kitchen counter.

Mark squeezed your ass and you yelped, his tongue sliding into your sweet wet cavern.

You writhed in his arms but had stopped when his hands covered your breast. You shivered in delight, the sensation new to you. You threw your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his dark thick locks of hair. He brought you closer, opening your legs so he could stand between them. His hands were under your skirt, slowly moving up your legs to your waist, to the sides of your upper body. He threw your shirt off only to reach behind and unhooked your bra, your breasts coming from its confinement.

You crossed your arms when you felt air hit your nipples. You didn't know why you were feeling the way you were feeling. You colored up again, crossing your legs from letting Mark remove your skirt.

"You sure the guys won't intrude?" You muttered as you bit your bottom lip. Damn, you looked really hot when you did that. You looked him in the eye and saw the intense look he was giving you. "I don't want them to start blabbering their mouths like they always do. Especially if we start to fuck."

"I'm sure they won't intrude." Mark sexily pouted, his body coming close to you and trying to pry your legs open again so he can stand between them. "Besides, Hendery told me that he and Sumin are currently seeing each other and that they're going on a date. Xiaojun is going over to hang out with Yangyang and Renjun."

"Is that why you asked me to come over?" You asked, surprised that Sumin didn't tell you that she was dating Hendery.

"Yeah." Mark brushed his lips against yours. "I. Want. You. Very badly."

"Me too." You muttered against his lips. But instead of backing away from him, you set your lips on his and boldly kissed him.

Mark was thrown off track. He grasped your hips and pulled you closer to him, your short skirt making way for him to stand between them. He brushed his fingers against your wet panties, knowing that you were undeniably wet and was going to writhe beneath him.

"Say you want it. Say you want me. And only me." Mark muttered against your lips.

You knew what you wanted. This feeling that he was making you feel bold. You felt your body go on fire, your cheeks red, your arms wrapping around his neck and clinging to him.

As if your life depended on it.

"I want you Mark." You pulled back slightly, breathing heavy. “I want you to fuck me.”

He chuckled. He slid his hands up your legs and grasped the inside of your thighs to part them for easier access to your panties. "I'll have you screaming my name, babe."

"Where did you learn to say that‒" Mark silenced you by kissing you again and again. One hand worked his way to cup your breast, kneading the soft globes and raking his nails against your nipples. The other hand slid your panties to the side, his fingers brushing against your slit. "Oh my god..."

"Baby, you know what's gonna happen right?" He asked, his voice husky against your ear. He pushed a finger into you, his long finger being buried into your wet heat as he kissed your earlobe and kissed your neck. "You are so wet and tight, Y/N."

"Ah...oh god.." You had tried to push your legs together from letting your boyfriend touch you in the most sacred of places, but he was already too fast as you felt his finger in your deep core, his thumb teasingly rubbing your clit. "Please, Mark..."

Mark bit your ear again, his tongue swirling around. The one hand on your breast was teasing, cupping, kneading, squeezing, brushing his thumb against your nipple. His other hand was still teasing you down there, his thumb rubbing ever so sweet, his finger pumping into you ever so soft and slow. "Y/N... You are beautiful in every way... You are just fuckable."

You shivered at his words. You never imagined that he would see you in this way, naked and in his arms. You never imagined him calling you beautiful and saying that you were 'fuckable'. Where did he learn that from? Did he hang out with Johnny, the upperclassman? Hell, you never imagined that you were about to have sex with him. Having sex this early in the relationship was a weird idea for you, but it just felt so....

Right.

"Y/N..." Mark kissed you again, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he grasped your wrists and led them to the front of his jeans. His tongue battled with yours, brushing against the roof of your mouth, your teeth, your own tongue. It was like a battle of dominance.

Your hands at the fly of his jeans, you blinked your eyes in a daze and pulled back slightly. "Mark?"

It was more of a question than a demand or anything. Your voice held uncertainty, confusion, or maybe you were asking permission to just push his jeans off. He gave you a soft smile. "Do it. It's okay, don't worry."

You fumbled with his jeans and freed him, noticing his bulge. Your eyes widened, not believing that he was large and...just large. "Mark, I don't think you'll fit..."

"Trust me baby. It’ll fit." He chuckled as you said those silly words. Mark rubbed your back as one of his hands slid your skirt and panties off until you were just as naked as him. "We'll fit perfectly. Y/N, you and I were made for each other."

You just nodded as he pulled you closer to his body, the kitchen seeming small. You could feel the cool countertops beneath your ass, aware that his body was pressed against yours, his skin so hot, his hair damp from his sweat. "Well, if you say so…"

"Trust me." He muttered before taking your lips in his. "Y/N, baby... help me."

You didn't know what he demanded of you. Chuckling, Mark grabbed one of your small hands and wrapped it around his large, bulging cock. "Put it in, babe."

"Where?" You teased him, lightly squeezing his cock.

He sighed and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist. The tip of him was at your entrance, teasingly rubbing up and down your slit. "In your sweet pussy, baby."

You bit your bottom lip. You reveled in the way his cock felt in your hand, your fingers curling around the rigid flesh. You slid the tip of him, just slightly, Mark taking charge instead. He kissed you deeply, to catch your cry as he buried himself to the hilt.

"Fuck!" You cried out into his mouth, your body feeling full. He moved into you, softly at first, letting you get used to the idea of him in you, of his large length. You clung on to him, breasts plastered to his chest, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he continued to move within you.

"Baby, fuck..." He breathlessly moaned out, increasing the motion of his hips as he continued to move in you. He went fast and deep, suddenly taking you hard, the sweat covering your bodies, making him even more turned on. He pumped harder, hitting that one spot you so craved until you cried out in mere pleasure.

"Mark!" You cried out, your climax immense as you were surrounded by intense pleasure. He cried after you, spilling his juices within your small body as you sagged in his arms. You rested your cheek against his chest and lovingly placed a kiss on his shoulder. But upon looking at his face, you suddenly went shy. "Oh god…"

Mark looked at you, a small laugh coming from him. "Do I have to give you a big hickey on your neck that says you're mine?"

"But then everyone will know that we're dating." You whined, giving him an adorable pout. You shook your head, threw your arms around his neck and gave him a deep kiss. "It’s okay. Because I'm yours."

"Can we lay like this for a while?" You asked.

As if it was a cue of some sorts, Xiojun's voice could be heard outside of the front door as he informed Hendery on what had transpired. "They're doing hanky panky in the kitchen."

"How do you know?"

"I opened the door slightly and saw clothes everywhere."

"Should we bust the door open?" You heard Hendery chuckle.

In the heart of the moment, you and Mark scrambled from the kitchen counter, laughing as you both searched for your strewn clothes.

"I love you." Mark muttered as he kissed your forehead, after gathering clothes. "I really, really love you."

"I love you too, Mark." You wrapped your arms around him as lips met with his. "Now show me again why you love me~ But this time in your bed."

#nct #nct stories #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream #nct 127 #mark #mark lee #nct mark #mark smut #mark x reader #nct smut #nct mark smut

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dudeitiskarev · 12 days

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Maybe Someday | Ch. 3

A Spencer Reid mini-series

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader

Chapter summary: Spencer manages to find you. Again.

Word count: 1.5k

Tags/warnings: abortion; regret.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Spencer looked up at the big blue letters.

PLANNED PARENTHOOD

He stood outside the clinic (he’d asked Garcia for help to find you) and hesitated whether to walk in or not.

Most abortions take up to fifteen minutes—if there weren’t any complications. It was nine past ten. You were still under the procedure most likely, so he waited a few more minutes before asking for you at reception.

“Only relatives are allowed to visit,” the nurse said while multitasking—she was clasping the phone between her ear and her shoulder, taking notes on a pink post-it with one hand and massaging her temple with the other.

Probably had a night shift.

“I need to ask her some questions.” Spencer pulled out his FBI badge without hesitation.

Which was effective every time.

“Please hold,” the nurse told the person on the other line and stopped everything she was doing to take him straight to you. “She should be waking up soon,” she said while opening the door to your room. “Just press the button if she needs anything.”

Spencer thanked the nurse and made it next to you. It barely looked like you were breathing. He had to stare at you for a few seconds to make sure your chest was rising up and down.

He was patient and waited for eight minutes and four seconds until your soft frown disappeared as your eyes fluttered open.

“How are you feeling?” Was the first thing he asked, as gently as a could.

“Mmm?” You blinked a few times, searching for his voice around the room. “What are you doing here, how did you—” A faint smile took over your lips when you found him next to you.

“Used my FBI privileges,” he said proudly.

“Mmm, bad boy,” you mumbled. “I was dreaming about you. Am I still dreaming?”

That surely was the painkiller talking, but his cheeks still got tainted with a faint shade of pink.

“Ho- how are you feeling?” He cleared his throat mid-sentence to play it cool, pulling a chair closer and sitting down.

“I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” You palmed the bed, searching for something.

He reached for your phone on the nightstand and handed it to you, but you went for his hand instead and enveloped it with yours gently.

He froze for a moment. Your skin was silky smooth and felt so clean he didn’t dodge it as he normally would’ve.

“Those privileges of yours are dangerous. Means you can find me whenever you want.”

It took me almost twenty years to find you, he thought.

“Is that a bad thing?” He chuckled.

“No.” You smiled. “Not at all.”

Your kind eyes narrowed with that smile but happiness didn’t reach them. They were filled with sorrow.

You slowly came back to your senses the more Spencer tried to do small talk even when all he wanted to say was that he could take care of you. Help you find a way to start over. But he was afraid of suffocating you with… being himself and scare you away.

“What about you?” You then asked him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I was just… worried about you. Didn’t want you to be all alone.”

“I’m used to it.” You shrugged.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean you have to be.”

Your face softened. “Spencer?” You opened your mouth to say something but got interrupted by a melody coming from his pocket. “I think your phone is ringing,” you said instead.

“It can wait.”

“No, it could be important.”

He let go of your touch to answer but by the time he reached it the screen showed a missed call and a text.

It was a picture of JJ holding her newborn baby.

“Oh, wow.” He raised his brows with a lopsided smile.

What a paradox he thought right then. While JJ was giving birth, you were terminating your pregnancy.

“What is it?” you asked, tilting your head to one side.

“My friend...” He hesitated whether to tell you or not, given the circumstances.

“Did something bad happen?”

“N-no, not at all. She, uh, she just had her baby.”

“Oh.” Your eyes drooped but your smile remained there on your lips. “You have to go meet him, then.”

“I’ll be there soon.” He put the phone down. “What were you gonna say before?”

“Um, I just wanted to know, is it really only a one percent chance?” you asked with a pained frown.

“If you take your medication?” He asked, waiting for your nod. “Zero point five, actually.”

You brought your hand up to your chest, slightly nodding. “Then maybe someday.” Your chin quivered between words and a shaky breath escaped you while making eye contact with him.

“Yeah, definitely.” He reached for your hand again to hopefully give some comfort to your tears threatening to fall down.

You looked up at the ceiling searching for some sort of answer and a few tears managed to slide down your cheeks.

“Would you stay with me?” You looked at him and quickly wiped them.

“Y-yeah.” He was quick to obey, yet kept some sort of distance, sitting almost at the edge of the bed.

You sat upright, scooting to your left to give him more room to sit. You lowered your head, and your hair fell at each side of your face so he couldn’t really see you.

“Damn it,” You said quietly at first, then let out a sob that tore him to pieces. “Oh, god damn it!”

All he could do was bring you close to his chest and stay there with you while you mourned.

His arms were the perfect place to cry.

You fell asleep right there, with his calm breathing as a lullaby, and dreamed of a quiet, simple life.

Spencer was in it. Maybe not next to you, but somewhere close, and the mere idea of it brought you a kind of comfort you haven’t had the chance to experience yet.

Which made you wonder.

If he did all this—being with you on one of your hardest days—while being somewhat of a stranger, how bright and colorful would everything be if you meant something more to him?

There has always been a little devil on your shoulder, though, that reminded you of the good things you didn’t deserve. Every inch of Spencer spelled too-good-for-you. Too smart. Too kind. Too sane.

Someone like him wouldn’t choose someone like you to keep close—someone with a stained life.

Someone who made bad choices.

You woke up by Spencer’s gentle voice and were discharged a couple of hours later. He refused to leave your side, watching your every move.

“My friend is picking me up,” you had told him as he faced away from you, giving you privacy to change from the medical gown to your regular clothes. “You can turn around now,” you said, and he hesitantly did.

“Where are you going after?” His kind eyes also asked.

“I’m staying with her until I can come back to my place and get my things.” You shrugged.

“And after that?”

“I’m not sure.”

Spencer stood with his hands inside his pockets. “Are you in any type danger?”

You paused for a moment. You couldn’t tell him how your now ex-boyfriend was the one who pushed you before he picked you up. And how he didn’t know you’d had gone through with the abortion he was so against of.

“No.” You shook your head. “I’m just in trouble. But I can deal with it.”

His mouth settled into a grim line. He knew you were lying, of course, but he didn’t push. “Will you call me again if you need anything?” He looked at you like a dark-eyed puppy.

“Of course.” You took a few steps closer and went for a hug. “Thank you, Spencer.”

You hugged him like it was the last time you’d do it, and it reminded you of the first time you did.

So many years ago.

You had just fought with your brother and a young Spencer Reid found you crying on your front porch.

“Are you okay?” he had shyly asked, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his little nose. His school backpack hung low on his back. It almost touched the ground, which you found funny, and managed to get a small giggle out of you.

You nodded as you stood up, wiping off your nose with the sleeve of your shirt.

“Were you crying?” he then asked and you nodded again. “Here.” He handed you a handful of Hershey’s kisses.

All you could do was hug him and say a quiet thank you.

At the time, he was a couple of inches taller than you and so thin you almost hugged yourself. It didn’t last long as he pushed you away—as gently as an embarrassed kid would. You stumbled on your feet and fell over the stairs, sitting back on the front porch and watching as he ran away.

“Sorry! gotta go!”

You smiled at the memories and let go of the hug.

“I have to go,” you quoted young Spencer while looking up at him with a smile. “And so do you.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Of course. You found me after all these years. I’m sure you’ll find a way to find me again.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have your number.” You dodged his question. “So make sure not to change it.”

You kissed his cheek and left him there.

To never call him again.

Of course this isn’t the last time they se each other. There are 10 more chapters to go 🙂‍↔️

Chapter four teaser:

(…)

“Spencer,” you greeted bright-eyed.

You seemed so different. So at peace. So… beautiful.

“Hey,” he responded. “It’s so good to see you. Wha-What are you doing here?”

The last time he saw you was at the clinic—almost a year ago—so it wasn’t a rude question to ask.

(…)

Next chapter

#Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x female reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction

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milfjuulpod · 6 months

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Guidance, Ch III

A/N: hiii sorry this took so long, all the chapters are posted on my AO3, same username. hopefully the next update will be better, i’m not too proud of this one :,(

previous chapters are on AO3 and my master list, here

You and Melissa had agreed on meeting after school for coffee on Thursday, giving you each time to prepare some work. One of her students was showing signs of dyslexia, and after a one-on-one meeting with the student, the redhead decided to take action. Via email, she gave you some information to get started and make an IEP for her. It was quite early in the year, and with it being your first year doing this job, you were quite nervous. Nonetheless, you put your best foot forward and got to work nearly immediately.

Of course, your habit of drowning yourself in work caught the attention of others. A knock at your door pulled you away from the research in front of you. “Hey you! I feel like you’ve been here for weeks and we’ve barely bonded,” Janine announced herself, entering the room. The younger teacher was sweet, and even though her overzealous personality could be a bit much, you knew it was coming from a good heart.

“Sorry, Janine. I get wrapped up in work pretty easily. How’s your Tuesday going? Kids treating you right?” You asked, minimizing the tabs on your computer.

“Oh my students are great, right now we’re working on fractions and it’s actually going good!” She said enthusiastically. “I’m glad to hear, can I help you with anything?” You continued.

“Uh, yeah! Jacob and I are going out for trivia on Thursday, you should totally join us! I heard you went to a great university and we would love to spend some time together after school. Have you met Jacob? He’s so sweet you’ll love him, you know actually-” You cut off Janine before she could start one of her infamous rants, which you heard lots about and we’re lucky to avoid until this point.

“Actually, I can’t Thursday. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to get to know you guys but, I’m actually meeting with Ms. Schemmenti to help one of her students out.”

Janine’s face dropped, and just as quick as it did, she returned to her peppy demeanor. It reminded you of what she previously said about Melissa, and you silently wondered if there was any truth to it. “Oh, no worries. I’m sure we’ll figure something out soon,” Seemingly wanting to avoid more rejection, Janine gathered her things. “Wait, Friday is our half day, right? Maybe we could go grab lunch or something after school? Make up for me missing trivia?” You offered, not wanting to make her feel bad.

It seemed like you made the right choice, as Janine immediately bounced back. “That would be awesome! I’ll tell Jacob right now, see you around!”

The rest of the week passed by rather quickly, filled with new paperwork and projects that you continued to work on. Thursday came before you knew it, and with the final bell, the plans you had put most of your attention to were gathered, on their way with you to meet Melissa for coffee.

Opus was gorgeous inside, filled with neutral colors and artwork from the team and local artists. Plants covered the walls and even decorated some tables. It was nice, you were happy to meet the redhead in a place like this. Upon seeing her, you felt your breath catch and couldn’t take your eyes away. Sure, it was right after school so she was wearing the same pink sweater and tight jeans, but something about seeing her more relaxed, outside of the school walls, it made your heart beat a little bit faster.

“Hey hon, thanks for meeting with me after school. I brought some stuff to brainstorm with…” She trailed off, picking a table for the two of you and immediately covering it with papers and binders. Janine’s voice rang in your head again, and you began to feel insecure about where you stood with Melissa. Maybe even stupid, for thinking she would find a friend in you.

“That’s fine, I’m gonna grab our coffees, macchiato?” You asked, but Melissa was quick to turn down the offer. “Absolutely not, you buy me coffee all the time. It’s my turn,” she walked past you, gently pushing you to the side with a hand on your back. Just as quickly as you remembered the infamous words about the older teacher, you forgot them.

The rest of the afternoon was that way. One moment, completely entranced by the woman across the table from you, unable to pull your attention away. The next, avoiding eye contact and feeling uncomfortable and used. Something told you Melissa noticed your switch in behaviors almost every time, the way she would mimic your actions. It was impossible to read her. Maybe she wanted it that way, maybe you just couldn’t read her.

After a couple of hours of this back and forth, the two of you decided to call it. “Thank you, again, for helping me. It means a lot,” Melissa said outside of the cafe, wind blowing her hair ever so slightly. “Oh…It’s no problem, I’ll see you tomorrow,” You smiled and turned to take your leave, anxiety bubbling at the surface, until a hand grabbed your wrist to face its owner yet again. “Hey, what’s goin’ on with you today? Usually you’re more…I don’t know…upbeat and engaged. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. I just…I mentioned to Janine the lunch you shared with me earlier and she said something that made me a little nervous,” You answered. As much as you didn’t want to tell the truth, you figured lying would be even worse. Instead of replying, Melissa motioned for you to continue. “She said she hoped you weren’t buttering me up for something and why else would you be nice to me?”

Wrong choice. Melissa’s eyes widened and you could see all the rage she had in her expression. “Oh, so I can’t be nice to the newbie for one day? I gotta get somethin’ out of it? And you believed her…This whole time? Whole time you’ve been buying me coffee and offering to help, what are you trying to get out of it?” She yelled, and didn’t give you any time to retaliate as she got in her car and left you on the steps.

Defeated, you stood alone for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts. You felt like an idiot, again. For believing what Janine said, and for treating Melissa poorly. You threw your work into the passenger seat of the car and drove to trivia.

“Oh my god! I thought you weren’t coming? Weren’t you going to meet Melissa today?” Janine nearly yelled as she ran from her booth of friends up to you. “Yeah…I did. It didn’t go too well actually so I wanted to come here and at least have a good night. I hope that’s okay?”

“Of course it is, here come sit with all of us.” Janine led you back to the booth with Jacob and Gregory, happy to be in the company of new friends. “Alright, trivia doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, what happened?” Janine asked, which was followed by Jacob interrogating you as well, and Gregory listening attentively. You explained the entire afternoon to the three of them, hoping to at least get it out of your system. All three of them had something different to say, but you took Gregory’s advice to heart.

“Listen, Melissa’s a bit tough on the outside, but she always means well. Just apologize to her for reacting that way and, with time, I’m sure things will be fine.”

Thankfully, trivia started shortly after the advice dump you received, and you were happy to be done talking about it. Hopefully tomorrow morning, with a macchiato and an apology, you could make it up to Melissa.

#abbott elementary fics #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #wlw #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti

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cindylcuwho · 2 months

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¡ purely nonsense, chapter two ♥︎ !

“ ⭒.‧ i don’t even know , i’m talking nonsense ‧. ⭒ “

prologue , 01 — more to come 🥥

* ⋆ . · ⋆ y/n flipped the pages of her baby pink notebook, a red pen scribbling out poor made stars against the pages filled with songs she felt fit.

the album for the most part had been finished, with only ten tracks in the talks of being added. the finished song files collected dust in her laptop as they sat waiting for the day the public could hear it.

the expected tracklist post was yet to be on all platforms, or to even be made, but she still teased at some lyrics for fans to obsess and speculate over. countless of theories were being dogpiled on if the dropped lines were about a specific person, or if they were just made up in the heat of a moment.

y/n sat against her headboard of her bed. her skin glowed under the haziness of the lamp next to her as she flipped through the pages of her notebook.

a red pen that sat in her left hand moved swiftly, scribbling out poorly made doodles against the pages filled with songs she felt fit perfectly on the upcoming album.

no longer feeling as productive as she was, y/n hooked her legs to the edge of the bed and stood, stretching her arms out. she was bedsided all day, hunched over her side doing whatever to keep her busy and from getting up.

y/n looked down at the notebook, before closing and stuffing it farth beneath her pillow and. her phone from its rested charging position on her nightstand and walked to the kitchen.

there wasn’t much food in the apartment, she rarely felt the urge to cook something that wouldn’t take under twenty minutes and it was only her living there- hence why the cabinets were filled with only quick on the go snacks.

as she snacked on a small container of pringles, her mind wandered back to the uneasy thought of chris. it was weird, she barely knew anything about him other than the persona he displays on the shared channel, yet she was overthinking what he said about her on the podcast he had with his brothers.

maybe he wasn’t as much of a fan as he thought, most fans would instantly reply if they saw her message, but then again y/n felt that she didn’t have a right to be mad. many people before him had used her name for some seven minutes of fame, and he wouldn’t be the last.

with a burdening sigh, she pulled out her phone and opened instagram. she didn’t want to push this problem away, this time she was gonna see what was up.

swiping to her messages she clicked on chris’s messages. just as her fingers were about to type she came to the worst realization ever; she left him on read. not the other way around.

‘oh god’ she thought, ‘i’m the worst person ever’. the queasy feeling of shame and embarrassment filled her stomach as she stared at his old message.

‘ 3 weeks ago ‘ y/n clicked the button on the right side, turning her phone off. she frowned at her reflection. did it really take her that long to realize? she spent the few weeks busy out of her mind, yet she still had enough time to complain about chris’s wrong doing to her friends- yet it was her who was wrong in the end.

‘maybe i can fix this?’ y/n went back to their messages. she deeply wanted to apologize to him, being left on by someone he looked up to was probably hurtful, but maybe he’d give her the same treatment she gave him.

she couldn’t help but to keep thinking about it until it was the only thing she could do. y/n left the rest of the pringles to grow stale on her counter and went back to her room.

she was already laying back down. the guilt was already so heavy, she could barely lift herself up. y/n swiped through her contacts before calling the only person who would know what she’s talking about

“mad, i did the worst thing i think i can do as a person.” y/n whispered. she heard a door shut before the a voice piped up, “unless you dropped a vending machine on someone it couldn’t be that bad.”

. ⭒ ☆ ━ ☆ ⭒ .

@ y/nsmusical

@ — why are forks fucking everywhere ???

──────────────────

@ lorena : i’m scared to ask how you even found the image of a fork ↳ @ y/nsmusical : you don’t wanna know how deep my search history is 🙂

@ fan123 : the NAILSSSSSS

@ jshwmis : we need a pop rock album next ms queen

@ billieeilish : do you float still or no? ↳ @ y/nsmusical : i used to know yk but idrk now

@ chrissgirl : OHMYGOD NICK LIKED ↳ @ ynsbaby : who’s nick?

@ christophersturniolo : new music finally

@ taylorswift : oh my baby ↳ @ y/nsmusical : oh my mommy

@ matthewsturniolo : everybody moved on but i stayed there *shows exhale being my most repeated song* im just a girl 😔 ↳ @ y/nsmusical : IM CRYING ↳ @ mattstoothpaste : “i’m just a girl” *said by a twenty yr old straight white male*

@ madisonbeer: party girl 🎉🎉 ↳ @ y/nsmusical : jus my girl 🎉🎉

@ christophersturniolo: ready for you to be my # 1 artist 20 years in a row 😇😇 ↳ @ y/nsmusical : most iconic duo tbh

view more comments ..

. ⭒ ☆ ━ ☆ ⭒ .

“babe, you have to come!” the sweet voice belonging to madison echoed from the phones speaker. y/n was still in the same position she was two hours ago laying on her bed.

all the brunette could hear was occasional shuffling and the constant clacking of y/ns laptop as she typed out pure nonsense in a google doc. “y/n, cmon.” she begged.

madison was planning to throw a party tonight. it wasn’t for anything big, she viewed it as a ‘get to know each other’ type thing for all the friends she made in L.A. and almost everybody invited RSVP’d, besides y/n but she was always figured as a show up.

normally, y/n would’ve loved to go out and have fun meeting new friends, but tonight she was too busy stuck in her angsty feelings over her recent discovery to even think of going to any type of party.

“maddi, i love you, but i wanna stay home.” she whined out. madison let out a dramatic huff, not ready to give up. after a couple minutes of nonsensical back and forth, she suddenly remembered who she had invited, knowing the mention might be the push to send y/n over the edge.

“what if i said chris was gonna be going?” y/n’s breath hitched. her fingers were hovering over the keyboards keys as she processed the undertones in her friends words. “which chris?” she hesitantly asked.

with, or even without madisons silence, y/n already knew which one she was talking about.

she threw her head back on her pillow. y/n was anything but ready to face chris after the accidental mishaps. “pleasee, it’ll be so fun!” madison pleaded.

the blonde sighed at her friend. it was only one party, one night, and there’d be plenty of people there that the chances of even seeing chris or his lookalikes would be unlikely.

y/n grabbed ahold of her phone as she stood, already walking to the closet. “if it gets boring after 30 minutes, i’m leaving.” she decided.

madison cheered into the microphone, quickly getting over the sad act she was putting up, “deal!! i’ll see you there, party girl.”

y/n let out a sigh when she heard the ‘click’ signaling the end of the call. ‘only thirty minutes’ she thought. y/n had to keep repeating mental reminders as she got ready in a short black dress that had blue feathers attached to the top.

‘thirty minutes, and we won’t see him. you’ll be fine.’ was the only thing she could say to herself as she walked out to her car.

‘you’ll be fine.’

— ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ dedicated to, and idea created by @freshloveee :)

— ꒰ 💭 ꒱ filler chapter ish ??? sorry i kept saying i was gonna publish ts then didn’t - i had the worst writers block but what if i said chapter three will be inspo for a pop hit 😝😝

— ꒰ ❣️ ꒱ the taglist! @sturniolopepsi , @junnniiieee07 , @xyzstar , @st4rswrld , @sturnrc , @hearts4sturniolo , @maryx2xx , @r6diosturns ( ❤️ ) comment to be added :)

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years

Text

The More You Give ❧ (Part I)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ only, do not interact if you are underage. Heavy petting, fingering, nothing much else this chapter. Reader is 18+ and has been since before Eddie was interested. Reader is a virgin who has bad previous sexual experiences (not assault). Mentions of bullying and anxiety around this. Under 21s drinking alcohol. Eddie makes a little joke about getting reader high and taking advantage. Expect coming of age vibes the whole way through and as a result there is a fair amount of exposition this chapter. I’m trying to capture the particular way girls hurt each other. Non canon-compliant; the gate closed forever in 1985.

Word count | ~6,950

A/N | Some of you hate girly-girl reader, some of you hate not-like-other-girls reader. I am here to unite you against a common enemy; not-like-other-girly-girls reader. I really think I can bridge the gap with this one. I joke, but my point is Eddie Munson is capable of loving literally every person ever put on this planet, who dress all sorts of ways and are interested in all sorts of things. My y/n loves Rilke.

Reposting one more time and tagging @darlingpumpkin for her lovely comment on the post that didn’t show up that made me cry.

Taglist

Next Chapter

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"Please!" May cries again, clasping her hands together like she's begging. "I just know bringing something tonight will get me my chance with Liam. And the freak...freaks me out!”

"But I don’t get why that means I should be the one that meets him.”

"You know, I thought you kind of liked Eddie.”

Heather’s smile is innocent, her head tilting like she doesn’t know exactly how much you like Eddie. Like you hadn’t sat and told her every detail of your gooey, warm crush on him that one time she’d snuck a bottle of pink gin to your house.

"Wait, you like the freak?" May asks, her face a picture of confusion. You twist your hands in your skirt when she makes a noise of disgust. "Oh my god!" She says your name incredulously. "That is so gross!"

Your mouth opens, then closes with a bite to your lip. You want to defend yourself, defend Eddie, but find yourself toeing the ground with your shoe instead.

"If I'd known you might enjoy a little rendezvous with Eddie Munson in the woods, I'd have begged a little less," May says, voice all amusement until she catches your hurt look and sighs. "Look, please just get the weed from him for me? You don’t even have to talk to him, but he really does scare me. Heather’s meeting Patrick, otherwise I would totally ask her."

Another version of you, one that knew how to get into conflict and come out on top, would tell her that's not true. Would list every time, at least every time you remember, that you'd done something like this for your friends. Risking trouble, going out of your way.

You take the $20 she has ready and tuck it into your purse.

"Hey," May says, tone all innocent mocking. "Maybe you should try flirting with Munson. You might be able to get me a discount."

Your leg starts shaking the second you’ve sat yourself down on the picnic table in the woods, placing your bag on the bench at your feet. Smoothing your skirt down, you take a deep breath in an attempt to calm the harsh pounding under your décolletage before he gets here.

For the first couple years of High School, you didn’t really think about Eddie Munson. You thought he was cute, on the odd occasion you’d catch sight of him looking smiley or laughing, but you had a million other things to worry about before any feelings of attraction to a boy so far outside your sphere. Math tests and making enough money babysitting to buy that particular skirt. Keeping up with the love life of each and every cheerleader that so graciously allows you to sit with them, despite your lack of green and white uniform.

But then, he didn’t leave High School with the others his age, and you started hearing his voice, his laugh, in class each day. You saw the cycle of him desperately writing notes, eyes intent on the board, before his attention would drop, neat bullet points bordered with doodles until he’d flinch, realise what he was doing, and start writing again despite what he’d missed.

Once you were aware of him as more than a cuteish boy who was best not to think about on account of the rumours (failing school, dealing drugs, parents in prison), a couple things planted the seed.

With your arms above your head, body swaying and rolling, you found Eddie’s eyes. In that comfortable space, your brain just nicely cottony from what you’d drank, still one shot away from searching for May and convincing her to hold your hand for the rest of the night just so she knows you love her, you were happy to move this way in front of Eddie.

Eddie’s gaze was shifting from the boy buying from him, the money he was being handed, to you, your hips, and back again. For a minute, it didn’t matter who he was, his eyes on you had the space between your legs warming pleasantly. You caught his stare with yours, thought about reaching out and asking him to come put his hands on you and feel you move. Some other boy touched you instead, and by the time you’d politely guided him away from your body, Eddie was gone. You just caught the mass of his hair weaving between warm bodies towards the door.

The details were fuzzy when you woke up the following morning, but you felt the lack of his presence the next time you found yourself dancing, wishing you were being watched by dark eyes.

Weeks later, COCKTEASE, written in black ink across your locker, the first Monday after Andy’s brutal, ranting break up speech. Your eyes were bubbled with tears as you ruined the sleeve of your pretty white cardigan trying to rub it away with just wool and spit. It smudged and spread. The letters remained clear and every whisper behind you was a repetition of this taunt.

“Hey, no need for that.” Hands decorated with metal rings interrupted yours, replacing your sleeve with a paper towel that smells like vodka, the ugly word gone in seconds. You sniffled, looking up at community menace Eddie Munson, whose eyes are shiny and brown. “All gone.” He’d given you a soft little smile, leaning in enough that tingles ran up your neck at the feeling of his warm breath on your face. “If that ever happens again, just come find me, okay? I keep a stash.” He handed you another piece of towel for your wet eyes and straightened, rolling his shoulders back. Eddie waited for a little nod of assent before he left you standing there with something small but alive, green and growing, sprouting in your chest.

At the end of last year, when classes were winding down, you had a presentation for English. You hate public speaking. More than anything in the world, you hate public speaking. To talk, even about your favourite book, something you knew inside and out, was a nightmare. You’d regretted your choice as soon as you were in front of the class. You could have lied, picked anything. Old Yeller, The Great Gatsby, 1984, something distant from you, something that wouldn’t matter, but instead you went and picked-

“Sonnets to Orpheus is, um-” You swallowed, fingers pulling at the back of your skirt. “Is a book of poems by Rainer Maria Rilke.” Blank faces stared back at you. Your face was hot all over, down to your décolletage. “He was an Austrian poet-”

“Did she say the guy’s name is Maria?”

Your head snapped to the faceless question, the scoff, finding a couple of confused boys. The question was an unwelcome shock to your word for word rehearsed script. The interruption left you rudderless and trying to grab pieces of information from the unsettled ocean of your mind.

“It’s all generally sort of about how, well, things like poetry influence life. The life of a poet. Um-” You tucked a foot behind your ankle, dragging it up and down your calf. Betty Melville blows a bubble with pink gum, the pop of it making you flinch. “Like Orpheus! He was a poet- the best poet, or a musician. And in the myth - he’s part of a Greek myth about him and his wife - in the myth, he travels to the underworld to save Euridice, who’s his wife, from Hades.”

“Oh, fucking cool,”

You blinked. Eddie Munson was sitting forward in his seat, staring at you intently. His eyes were wide with interest. Catching your gaze, he gave you an encouraging, prompting smile.

“Eddie, please keep that kind of language to yourself.”

Eddie apologised to Miss O’Donnell with a charming grin just bordering on sardonic, then, looking at you, said, “it is cool though.”

“Yeah, yes, it’s really cool. Actually, the whole book is poems that are sort of intended to be lessons to people like Orpheus, about dealing with the things that happen in life.” Your eyes were fixed on his face, on the encouraging smile you could hardly believe was there. “My favourite, in the whole book, is Want the Change, which is about learning to appreciate things you might not necessarily have wanted to happen, and how they can actually lead to good things, if you let them. I can, I can read it, maybe? It’s only short.”

Your teacher said something, but it was Eddie’s excited nod that made you open the book you held in trembling hands and find the page most worn at the edges.

“Want the change,” you started. “Be inspired by the flame, where everything shines as it disappears.”

You spent the rest of your minutes looking only between the words you loved and Eddie’s kind eyes, the soft earth of your heart blooming with colour.

“You lost, sweetheart?” Your head snaps up from your bare knees to find Eddie walking towards you, in the process of shrugging off his jacket.

"I'm May's friend," you say quietly, followed by your name, unsure if he’d even know it. "She couldn't come because…well, because-"

“My guess is she's scared of meeting the freak in the woods?” Your expression must be answer, enough, because he rolls his eyes. Eddie places the black lunchbox on the table by your hip, eyes focused on where his thumb plays with the latch. “So she sent you. You're not scared of me?"

Of a boy with big eyes and a stash of paper towels to rub mean words off lockers? You give him a little, friendly smile and shake your head.

Eddie grins at that, eyes crinkling around the sides with it. He clasps his hands together in front of him then lets go, drumming a little on the table. For a second you’re just looking at each other, listening to the rhythmic beat of his knuckles against wood until he clears his throat. "Okay. Down to business."

"May told you what she wanted?"

"In the five seconds she was willing to stand near me? Sure did.” He flips open the box in a smooth motion. "I normally charge $20 for the half ounce."

You open your mouth to tell him that's what she gave you, cut off by Eddie continuing.

"If she'd given me the chance, I would have told her that sending her pretty friend out to collect would get her a 25% discount. But, uh,” he holds one of the plastic bags out to you, shrugging, brown eyes shining. "I guess it's just her lucky day."

Your mouth must be filled with cotton, or else your brain, because you don’t say anything. You just stare at him long enough that he starts to tilt his head, looking like he regrets his last words. "You okay?"

“I'm sorry.” You shake your head, smoothing your palms down over your calves awkwardly. "That’s very sweet of you, Eddie,” you finally answer, sounding almost out of breath when you take the bag from him. “But it's still her money. You might as well take the twenty."

"I won’t tell, if you keep the five."

Your eyes widen, scandalised even as you zip up your backpack to hide the weed inside. "Oh, I would never do that."

Eddie tucks the offered $20 into his wallet. “Thought not, but I mean, I never thought I'd ever see you out here, either.” Eddie says, sitting up on the table next to you. Not close enough to touch, to feel the softness of his t-shirt or his skin, but enough that you get a hint of the warmth he’s radiating.

“Oh. Why not?”

“Uhhh.” He’s not subtle, eyes drifting up your body from the frilly edges of your socks to the bow of the scrunchie that’s currently holding your hair back from your face. “I guess I was worried you might be like your friend.”

“May’s a good person, Eddie,” you say. “But, well, she has to fit in with the cheerleaders, you know? That’s why she says mean things sometimes.”

There’s a pause while Eddie blinks. Then, eyebrows together, he asks, “she ever mean to you?”

You’re about to shake your head instinctively, but you end up staring at him. It wouldn’t be like telling Heather, you realis, or even your Mom who had known May since she was in pigtails. Eddie would listen, you think. Eddie would listen and Eddie would understand. You look down, considering your next words, realising that you’re about to tell Eddie Munson something that you've never voiced to anyone else.

But your name comes in a yell from behind you. Speak of the devil springs to mind, followed by guilt and the question of when you started thinking about someone you love this way.

May stands there with Andy, of all people, at the edge of the trees. "Come on!" May eyes Eddie nervously, glaring when he waves at her with waggling, ringed fingers.

“You’re that scared of me that you had to bring some muscle with you?”

“She was worried for her friend after she was out here with you so long," Andy answers, crossing his arms. He looks at you. "We both were."

Defend him, you think. But then May is shaking her hand at you again, telling you to move. Your name is a rough order in her mouth.

Grabbing your bag and sliding off the table in a rush, you pause for a second to look him in the eye. "Thanks, Eddie."

"Nice doing business with you, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart?" May repeats, incredulous, grabbing your arm and pulling you close so Andy can’t hear her hiss. "Please tell me you were not actually flirting with the freak."

You look at Eddie over your shoulder, catching his intent gaze before May presses on your back, forcing you to look away.

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That night, your fingers flex under the wet stroke of polish. "He was actually really sweet."

“Stop moving!” Heather yells, tsking at the quick drying yellow smudge on your finger. She wipes it away with a piece of cotton and acetone before she grants you a smile. “It’s so funny, how people can come across one way, and be so different when you really talk to them.”

Your face is warm, your voice is a whisper. "He called me pretty."

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing,” May says from across the room. “Not only do you have a weird little crush on Eddie Munson, you’re now actually thinking about, what, dating him?”

Your smile fades a little. “He really isn’t like what people say.”

“Except he literally is exactly like what people say?” She answers, her voice cutting. “He started a club called Hellfire. He has all those boys wearing that shirt like some kind of cult!” She rolls her eyes, going back to applying her lipstick. “My Mom said that game they play is all to do with Satanist stuff, too.”

Heather's fingers hover in the air over the cross around her neck. She only drops her hand at the sight of your deflated expression, looking over her shoulder. "Your Mom doesn't know everything, May.”

“Well, she didn’t make it up herself! There’s studies on what it does to people, Heather! Real studies!”

You feel wilted by the end, unsure of how to explain yourself. You’re silent, continuing to blow on your nails even once they’re dry just for something to do. You watch after May’s form when she leaves to get changed before looking at Heather again. “I just liked talking to him, I guess.”

Heather laughs, giving your arm a soft, comforting touch. “When are you going to see him again?” At your unsure shrug, she rolls her eyes. “You have to talk to him soon!”

“I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

Heather's face breaks into a sly little smile. “Oh, Eddie!” She cries, voice comically breathy, clasping her hands together by her cheek. “You’re the man I have been waiting for my whole life! Take me no-OW!”

You bash her with a cushion with as much force as you’re willing to put behind hitting Heather. She falls back, giggling away while you clench your hands around the fabric of the pillow, preparing to strike again if she keeps going. “Okay, so that’s a no,” she says, considering. “Maybe you could ask to buy something from him yourself."

“But I’ve never done anything like that,”

“That’s not an issue. Just ask him to teach you,” she answers confidently, moving to do her mascara at her vanity. “Guys like that.”

“Guys like teaching girls how to smoke?”

She smiles at you through the mirror. “Guys like teaching girls anything.”

On Monday, May barely wants to talk at all, still miserable from Friday night. You'd spent the weekend at hers, visited periodically by Heather, stroking her hair and plying her with ice cream and fresh baked cookies. At lunch, she leans her head on your shoulder while she plays with cafeteria pasta.

“Listen, it’s his loss,” you remind her, having moved past soft hushing and placation to accusations about Liam's mental fortitude. “You looked amazing on Friday. He must be blind or insane.”

“What kind of guy takes drugs you bought and leaves with them, anyway?” Courtney says from the other end of the table, having heard the story through the grapevine, apparently. It strikes the wrong nerve, leading to May burying her face in her hands as the tears start to flow again. You and Heather spring into action, comforting her as the three of you walk to the bathroom.

Together, you chorus the things she needs to hear right now.

“I didn’t want to tell you this, but he is totally not on your level.”

“100 percent! Did you see that girl he was with? Clearly he likes them easy.”

“Easy and ugly,” May agrees, sniffling. “So it was never going to work.”

“Exactly,” you nod, smiling to see her rubbing her drying eyes. She wraps her arms around you then, letting you give her a comforting squeeze.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “You guys are the best friends in the world.” She sighs deeply, fanning her face to stop any more tears. “God, look at me. My make up is ruined.”

“We have plenty of time to fix it.”

“I’ll go get your bag, okay?” You say, heart warm at her soft thank you.

As you’re leaving the cafeteria, May’s bag slung over your shoulder, you catch sight of Eddie, his head thrown back in laughter while he walks with his friend. His nose is scrunched and you have butterflies.

“Hi, Eddie,”

Eddie looks happy to see you, if surprised at the greeting. He gives a quick wave to Gareth. “Tell everyone I’ll be right there.”

Coming towards you, Eddie stops close enough that you find yourself tilting your head back to keep eye contact. His hair moves around his face when he leans forward, lips pink and wet from the little lick he gives them before speaking.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you say again, having to restrain a nervous laugh, clenching your toes in your shoes. “Um,” you glance down the empty hall before you look back up at him again. “Can I buy from you? I have my own money this time.”

“Uh, sure,” Eddie answers, blinking slow, eyebrows together. “Wasn’t expecting that, though. You got a taste for it from what I sold your friend?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Okay. I have a Hellfire thing just now,” he says, pointing down the hall in the direction Gareth went with his thumb. “But I can meet you at the end of the day.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I have to go to the bathroom, anyway,” you say, before catching yourself. “Not like, go to the bathroom, but I have to meet May. Not that we- I don’t hang out in the bathroom.” Eddie’s smile is unwavering. “She’s in there because there’s a boy she likes and I’m bringing her this.” You lift the shoulder her bag hangs from, going back over your words. “The boy she likes is a dick.”

“You don't ever have to explain yourself to me, sweetheart. Meet you at the same place?” You’re still going over everything you said in your head, but you nod anyway. “Okay. I’ll see you later then.”

“Okay. Bye, Eddie.”

His eyes jump quickly down your body and back up to your face before he turns to walk confidently down the hall, leaving you warm all over.

You compose yourself before returning to the bathroom where Heather and a newly barefaced May are waiting for you. “Will you do my eyeshadow?” She asks sweetly. “Blue, like you did Chrissy’s last week?”

“What took you?” Heather asks once you have the palette in one hand, brushing shades of blue along May’s eyelids with the other.

You glance at her, wondering if May’s in the right mood to hear the truth. "Andy stopped me in the hall to ask about Ms Fredrickson’s homework.”

“Andy’s totally still into you,” May says, eyelids flickering. “He was so excited to charge in and save you from the freak last week. Wanted to show off to you.”

You pause your work on her eyes, stomach twisting uncomfortably. “I’m sure that’s not true,”

“It is.” She opens her eyes, fixing you with an amused look. “The second I said you were out there with Munson, it was like a whirlwind. He was just desperate to save such a sweet girl." Her mocking pout gives way to a smirk when she closes her eyes again. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him about your little creep crush.”

You stare at her for a second. Then, gently touching her chin to keep her face steady, you blend the colour over her lids.

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

Eddie’s waiting for you this time, sitting up on the table again with his lunchbox by his side. His jacket is gone, leaving him in a t-shirt that you just know is warm from his skin and the Summer heat. The shirt is graphic, with the name of a band you don’t know, a picture of a demon standing over a mountain, and what looks like a priest tied in chains, splashing about in water. How Eddie manages to look so friendly in such a shirt defies science. The way he’s sitting, the way he’s smiling, you want to climb up into his lap for a cuddle.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you say, desperately close to a giggle you know would be the most manic, girly sound ever made if you didn’t bite down on the inside of your lip.

That’s where Eddie’s eyes are, just for a second, before he’s looking at the box to his side. “You, uh, want a half ounce?”

You hum the affirmative, taking your bag off to dig through and find your little beaded purse. He spies the $20 in your hand and scoffs.

“I said fifteen for you, sweetheart,”

You’re leaving dents in the gum behind your lip with your teeth. “It’s not my fault if you don’t carry change.”

His lips purse in a smile at the tease, his dimples making an appearance just to send you into a tizzy, you’re sure. Eddie’s tucking the money away when he asks, “you got rolling papers and everything?”

“Oh, uh.” Yes, just say yes. “No, can I get those, too?”

Eddie blinks, expression shifting to confusion. “You didn’t know you needed those?”

Special papers? No you did not. “I did. But I, I forgot.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder like he’s looking for someone then he tilts his head at you. “Hey, uh, is something happening here that I don’t know about?”

“Hm? Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe one of your friends sent you out here again.” Your mind jumps to Heather, wondering if he might work out you had lied, just to talk to him. He reads something into your expression, because suddenly there’s a hurt in Eddie’s eyes you weren’t expecting; a panic. “They get a kick out of the freak giving you a discount for batting your eyelashes, is that it?”

“What? Of course not.” You’re shaking your head desperately, but Eddie’s already muttering angrily.

“Jesus, Munson. Learn your fucking lesson.” He starts gathering his things, glancing up for a second looking like he wants to say something to you. Eddie shakes his head. “Fuck this, man.”

He’s going to leave. He’s going to leave, angry at you for something you’re still trying to work out. You want to tell him to stay, let you explain everything from start to finish, but the words catch in your throat.

There’s alarms in your heart, ringing out a warning that you need to do something. When the thought strikes that Eddie’s sitting at just the right height for you to run up and kiss him, that’s the only action that makes any sense.

Your body moves for you. Eddie’s watching you rush towards him, and then he’s gone. He’s hidden by your eyelids as you press your lips to his, hands moving to hold his shoulders like you could physically stop him from walking away from you.

His lips are pillowy soft in your chaste kiss.

You look at his pretty, expressive face. He’s closed his eyes, too, even though it only lasted a second, and then he’s blinking at you and waiting. Your fingers twist shyly into his shirt the way you normally find yourself doing with your own clothes. His soft hair tickles your wrists.

“Eddie,” you whisper. Your throat hurts. Your body’s trying to stop you from getting the words out, from risking embarrassment. “Eddie, I-” You swallow, bringing a foot up behind your calf and running the toe of your shoe up and down the skin of your leg.

“Tell me,” he says. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

There’s tears pricking your eyes. You have to stare at the dark curls on his forehead to get it out. “I have a crush on you.”

“Yeah? You have a crush on me?” You nod. Eddie squeezes your waist, laughing. “Well, shit, if I don’t have quite the crush on you, sweetheart.”

You finally look into his eyes, mouth open. “No.”

“Fuck yeah,” he nods in earnest. Then he looks sheepish, closing one eye tight. “I kinda thought that you knew that, for a second there. Or that your friends had worked it out.”

The tone of his last sentence goes right over your fuzzy head. “I didn’t know.”

“For a while, now,” he admits, cheeks pink. “Couldn’t believe my luck when you were sitting out here last week, and then when you came up to me today.” Eddie grins. “So, the plan was to keep buying weed you weren’t gonna use?”

“I was gonna use it,”

“Without papers? Gonna tell me you hide a sparkly pink bong under your bed or something?”

“No, was gonna ask you to teach me.”

Eddie’s pleased grin makes you feel weak in the knees, warms the space between your legs in the way that looking at him often does. “Is that so?” Your little nod has his hands digging more into your waist, pulling your body right between his open legs. “You were gonna come to me one day, give me that sweet smile, and ask me, please, Eddie, will you teach me to smoke? Mm?”

It’s a strange kind of embarrassment. Not like standing in front of the class, or realising with a snap you’ve said the wrong thing at lunch. You like this, feeling caught out by Eddie in this way. It’s making you feel giddy, excitement building wet and hot.

Eddie’s hands stroke your waist, soothing even as he’s winding you up. “Tell me.”

“Yes, Eddie.”

“And then what? Come up, here, baby.” Eddie’s hands hook around the back of your thighs, skin finally on yours as he helps you sit up on the table over him, the wood digging into the front of your knees. “What was gonna happen? After I’d taught you to smoke?”

His hands are running up and down your legs, fingers just teasing the skin still hidden under your skirt before he’s drifting away back towards your knees.

“Was it something like this?” Eddie presses kisses to your cheek and down your jaw, breathing heavy through his nose when you tilt your head for him. The thumb of his right hand ventures further, brushing against the frilled edge of your cotton panties. “Hm? Thought I might touch you, after?”

The questions have your mind batting back and forth from whatever it is he’s asking to how much you want him to just take.

“Thought I’d take advantage of a pretty girl like you, sweetheart? Get you high in the back of my van and open these legs up when I had you all dizzy and giggling?”

He snaps the elastic of your panties on your leg and you bear down on him, trying to trap his hand where you want it but he’s back to stroking the soft skin of your inner thigh. You close your eyes to hold in the tears that are building up again.

“Tell me,”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, Eddie! Just wanted-” You sniffle a little, seeing him pull his lips from your neck to catch a glimpse of you starting to cry. “Just wanted to talk to you, wanted you to like me.”

“Oh, baby.” He kisses you soft for a second, then Eddie’s tongue is wet against your lips and you let him in without hesitation. He groans at the taste of you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you towards him and up a little. Your mouth is wet when he pulls away, and he whispers into your cheek. “Want you to pull those panties to the side for me.”

You whimper, moving a hand from his shoulder to reach under your skirt and hook a finger in the cotton, exposing your heated clit to the air. Eddie looks down between you, the hand that was on your thigh grasping the front of your skirt to pull it up and tuck it under your locked arm. “Jesus Christ,” he says, teeth gritted. “Jesus H. Christ!”

He sweeps the rough pad of his thumb over your swollen button and your body jolts. Eddie’s laugh rings in your ears as he keeps you steady over him with the arm on your waist. “Oh, she’s a little sensitive. Got it.” It doesn’t seem like he got it when he presses two fingers against your bud and rubs in tight circles, your hips shaking in an effort to both escape and get closer to the feeling. “So good, so good of you to open yourself up to me like this. How about a little more, yeah? Let Eddie see the rest of her?”

You mewl, bringing three fingers down to the elastic to pull more to the side. Immediately, Eddie slides his fingers down and around your leaking hole, dragging slick back up to ease his work against your throbbing clit. “Eddie!”

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s better.”

The hand that isn’t displaying your wet cunt for him wraps around the back of his neck, pulling his face to yours so you can kiss him again, let him breathe in the way you’re moaning for him. Eddie hums, moving the tips of his fingers back again, just his thumb remaining to give your button quick rubs. His middle finger circles your entrance and you clench down, breaking the kiss to gasp and whine.

His finger presses in to the first joint and then he’s looking at you with wide eyes. “Sweetheart,” he says, gently. “Has anybody ever touched you like this?”

You make a soft whining sound, shaking your head, because they haven’t, not like this.

“Do you-” His tongue sweeps over his lips nervously. “Do you want me to stop, or keep going?”

“Keep going,” you cry. “Keep going, Eddie, please. Eddie, Eddie-”

“Sh, sh, okay, okay.” The arm around your waist gives you a sweet squeeze like a hug. “Need you to relax a little, otherwise it won’t feel so good inside, mm?”

Relax? How can you relax when his thumb is still torturing the top of your sex? Eddie presses a soft kiss to your cheek where tears are running, then another under your eyes. “Just relax,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “I’ll make it good. I promise.”

You sigh, feeling yourself melt into him, your face falling into his shoulder. The thick finger slides further in, filling up the space that wanted filled and leaving you clenching gently with excitement. “Fuuuck,” Eddie says, teeth gritted. “Nobody has ever treated this pussy the way she needs, huh? Oh, sweet girl, it’s a fucking travesty.”

You make a high noise of agreement at the back of your throat and Eddie breathes a laugh. He pulls his finger from you slowly, thumb still playing constantly with your bud, then presses back inside for you to feel the sweet drag against your walls. “Eddie,” your voice sounds like a mumble with your mouth pressed to his soft t-shirt. Eddie shakes his shoulder a little like he wants your attention, as if he isn’t the only thing you’re thinking about, could try to think about.

“Your pussy feels amazing inside,” he says. “Gonna need to stretch you good before we can even think about you taking my dick up there.”

You feel yourself squeezing tight around his finger, your hips rolling into him. Eddie’s talking, but you’re too far gone now and everything sounds like it’s underwater. The tone of his voice is clear, gentle but teasing, as are the slick sounds of his hand moving between your legs. With a jolt and a long cry into his shoulder, you’re coming around his fingers, pleasure travelling up and down your body in waves.

You’ve only ever cum by yourself, and never with anything inside. Something about clasping down on him adds to your orgasm, to the satisfaction you’re feeling as it crests and fades.

Your head lolls, rubbing your temple against Eddie’s soft hair. He gives your clit one last cheeky rub just to make your body jump.

You feel his elated laugh before you hear it. He pulls his fingers from your pussy and you hear Eddie groan, followed by the distinctive popping sound of something pulling from pursed lips. “Tastes like heaven. Jesus, sweetheart, you are something else.” He gives you another squeeze, helping your body settle on top of him, moving your hand that remained exposing yourself and tucking your panties back over your slit with a soft little pat.

“Look at me?”

You have to force your heavy head up to do as he says, and Eddie coos softly. “You’re so sweet, so good for me. You did so, so well, you hear me?”

Your heart flutters, and you tilt your chin for a kiss which Eddie gives without a thought. The taste of your own slick in your mouth is heady, drawing you slowly back to reality as the sights and sounds surrounding you return to focus.

A car door slams in the distance and you’re jumping, suddenly tense. You’re sitting in a boy’s lap, outdoors, where anybody could come by. You let him touch you, let him make you cry out into the fresh air.

Eddie feels the afterglow dimming rapidly, and allows you to climb off him, watching the nerves creep into your body language. “You okay?”

“Yes, I-” Your toes curl, feeling embarrassed that you don’t know how to deal with this, either what you’re supposed to say after being touched you like that, or how to tell him that you loved every second and it has your mind whirring because you’ve never been able to do that with somebody else before.

“Let me take you home, yeah?” Eddie says, sensing your thoughts moving a mile a minute, that there’s nothing he can do right now to get in and fix it for you like he’s realising he wants to.

He picks up his bag and the box he carries with him, then takes yours from the ground where you’d dropped it before running up to kiss him. Eddie debates holding your hand, but you take his on your own, giving him a gentle, thankful smile because, even with the nerves driving you silent, through the haze you see him being kind with you, even now.

He settles you into his van with your backpack at your feet, makes sure you’re belted up before closing the door for you and climbing up into the driver’s side. It smells like a thousand Eddie’s; smoke, weed, cheap aftershave, and boy. You’d giggle at that if you weren’t running over every detail of your last relationship, trying to work out exactly what must have happened to keep you from letting yourself be touched like that before.

Seven months. You dated Andy for seven months last year and you didn’t let him do anything close to what Eddie did to you on a picnic table in the forest. Not for lack of trying on your part, and certainly not Andy’s.

You had liked Andy, up to a point. He took you on nice dates, and would compliment your outfits. He was a good kisser, and the way he looked at you when you were lying in his bed made you feel pretty. But the second his hands drifted anywhere more salacious than over your bra, your whole body would shut down. The one time you’d gritted your teeth and let him pull your panties off, his fingers inside you had hurt from how tense you were and he’d given up within thirty seconds. The time he’d suggested you touch him with your hands, or even get down on your knees, the bubbling tears in your eyes as you’d told him, if you want, had him groaning in frustration and slapping your hand away from his boxers. Every time you slept over at Andy’s house, you’d end up bent over with him rubbing himself against your ass through layers of cotton elastane.

After, you’d feel uncomfortable in your skin, wanting him to hold you. Generally, exhausted from the mental game he had to play with you to let him grind against you, he would fall back to his bed and pass out about twenty seconds after he came. The uneasy feeling would last into the next day, sometimes longer.

You search for that feeling now, and find just the remnants of flushed pleasure, the memory of Eddie’s breath on your temple and his voice calling you sweet and good. There’s a little guilt, but only because of how you ended it, realising only now that you hadn’t done anything at all for him. That is one of the things you do know about boys, they come first in these scenarios.

“Have I ruined everything?” You ask when he’s pulled up to your house, ready to make a quick getaway if need be.

“What?” His eyes are wide. “Jesus, no,” Eddie grabs your hand, settling the shake there. “I was gonna ask you if I had. I shouldn’t’ve taken it that far, I just, I could hardly- can hardly believe this is happening. You, sitting in my lap, letting me touch you? That’s a dream I’ve had a hundred times, sweetheart.” He squeezes your palm. “I really think about you a lot, you know?”

You do know.

“Can I take you out Friday?” He ventures, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “No funny business, I promise.”

Your thighs press together, the rough pad of his thumb against your skin reminding you how nice those calluses felt playing between your legs. “I think,” you look from your joined hands to him. “I think a little funny business would be okay.”

Eddie’s clearly pleased by that, his shoulders relaxing even as he holds his remaining hand out dramatically and turns his head to the side. “Nope! No funny business at all. You’ll see, they’ll be calling me Eddie the Chivalrous by Saturday.” His face gets softly serious. “I’m gonna do it right with you, sweetheart.”

Butterflies erupt, and you just wish he’d kiss you then. You give him one last look, hoping he will, a little sad when he just smiles. You squeeze his hand before letting go. “Bye, Eddie.”

You jump out of his van and close the door gently. You’re in the middle of wondering if either of your parents are home, what they might have seen through the window, when you hear the van opening. Turning, you find Eddie jogging your way, his hair a dark cloud flying around his face. “I know I just said no funny business,” he breathes. “But I gotta get one more kiss. Just to keep me going, you know. Then I can be Eddie the Chivalrous for at least the rest of the week.”

“Kisses- kisses can be chivalrous.”

“Oh, thank God.” Eddie kisses you through your giggle, hands covering your cheeks. You whine a little at the warmth of his tongue and he separates from you. “Okay, that’s enough, Munson.” Another sweet press, then one more lasting barely a second. “Okay, I’m going now. Friday?”

You nod rapidly.

“Okay,” he says again, letting you go. You watch him jog back to his van and climb in, looking like his head is just as fuzzy as yours. Eddie Munson gives you one last grin before pulling away, his van disappearing down your suburban street.

Next Chapter

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #my stuff #tmyg

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Note

I know you said later this week for heartbeat buuuuuuut a chance you could please post a sneak peek?

Since you asked so nicely. It's probably going to be next week at this point. This is mostly unedited and mostly just filth. It’s a flashback.

Simon Riley/female reader - from: Sassy Series, after Heartbeat / Chapter 2 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. E for explicit, Jealousy, men saying gross things about you, brief mention of violence, thigh riding and Simon talks you through it, explicit sex, Simon having deep feelings while he's buried in you.

“I mean, did you get a good look at her?”

“Shit. I’d bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think she’s got a landing strip?”

“Dunno but I’d be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.” The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simon’s fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed ‘em out right there on the table.

He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like ‘tight’ and ‘pussy’ strung together. Another one snickers.

He’s on his feet behind them before anyone can blink. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull.

“Want to share what’s so funny, private?” The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.

“N-nothing’s funny, sir.”

“Ya sure about that?” Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything.

“The bomb tech, we were just… appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something to look at.” Simon can feel the heat of Johnny’s gaze on the nape of his neck.

“The bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, you’re already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head. His girl. His.

He’s already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass.

“Simon?” you mumble. “Y’okay?” Simon, Simon, Simon. It’s always Simon with you now. You’re constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesn’t even know your name.

He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak.

“Can you hold still?” He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye.

He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him.

“Scoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.” You do as he says, shimmying down until you’re pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows you’re trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. “Now be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.” You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin pink under his hand, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. “Do you want me to give you my cock, Sass?” you nod frantically. “Then ride my thigh until you’re coming on it.” The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. “That’s my girl, just like that.”

You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows you’re close. “You going to come Sass?” You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. “Sweet girl. That’s it, just a little more. There you go.” Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. “Ride it out, good girl. Come all over me.” His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know.

He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like it’s choking him.

“Si-Simon.” It’s his name, again. You’re flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like he’s not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. He’s becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that he’s never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesn’t deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like you’re seeing him. Like you know.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #sassy series #peaches writes #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #peaches asks

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robocoplesb · 9 months

Text

YOU'RE THE GIRL THAT I WANT, nikki sixx [ 02 ]

warnings: reader drinking & getting drunk, reader has a specified music taste.

author's note: hi, sweeties! im sorry this chapter is short, but besides the fact that i was already taking too long to post, i liked the result anyway. hope u like it too! kisses & good read. <3

chapter one. chapter three

chapter two.

“— be careful, lady!" — tommy yelled at you from the driver's seat. he looked at the younger sister's figure, smiling. it's been a long time since he's seen you like this.

you felt the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but that didn't mean you had taken anything that morning. the wind ruffled your hair and you laughed euphorically as you continued to lean your body out the car window. it was like tommy's words didn't even reach you.

you and tommy woke up late that day, having an long argument with your parents last night. tommy was surprised when you started defending him, since you rarely came out against your parents, but you did. something about you changed that night.

you were in the car, going to nikki's house. as soon as nikki gave the address, tommy was already in the car, not even having eaten yet. as he started the car, you got in, without saying anything. he thought it was strange but didn't say anything.

and you? you heard tommy talking to nikki that morning. you got ready quickly and managed to catch tommy starting the car. he didn't know about the conversation you had with nikki last night, in truth, you didn't consider that was why you woke up so excited that morning. you thought it was sudden, and you didn't want to look for reasons because you haven't felt like this for a long time. it was good. you and tommy shouted out the lyrics of whole lotta love, accompanying robert plant's voice coming from the radio.

when tommy stopped the car in front of the apartment complex, you sat back and took a deep breath. your curls were messy and you could feel your cheeks heating up.

"— how you feel?” - tommy asked laughing. he really was worried, but he couldn't help but laugh at your panting state.

"— amazing!” — you smiled before getting out of the car.

tommy put his arm around your shoulders as you walked together to nikki's apartment, thinking you were going to fall over at any moment.

“— my hair is fine?” — you asked when tommy was about to ring the bell. he looked at you confused.

“— why? you wanna be fine for the bassist?” — he laughed, teasing you.

you opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out. his comment surprised you, even you were used to tommy talking nonsense shit, but you didn't understand why. he laughed even harder when he noticed the vibrant shade of pink on your cheeks and just lightly runned his fingers through your hair, smoothing a few strands.

“— better now, lady" - 'lady' was a stupid nickname tommy gave you when you were in middle school. you thought it was cute, but would never admit it.

after tommy rang the doorbell, you were at least a minute standing in front of the door, waiting for nikki, but nothing happened. he repeated the action three more times, until you felt stressed and simply opened the door. you didn't know the door was unlocked, and you thought nikki was an idiot for it, but just walked in.

on the couch, there was a nikki sleeping with a bass on his lap and a bottle of jack next to him. while tommy gave him a few weak slaps across the face to wake him up, you picked up the bottle and took a sip.

when nikki woke up, he looked startled at you and tommy, dropping the bass to the floor.

"— fuck!-” — he scream, desperate with the situation.

you laughed at him as tommy widened his eyes thinking the man was going to hit him or something. actually, he was pretty calm (after a few minutes of deep breathing). he offered food to you and tommy and after a while, you sat back and listened to them start arguing about the band thing.

nikki offered you to sit next to him, and tommy was sitting in front of you. they exchanged some papers, probably lyrics and other song ideas they had written. you didn't pay attention to the conversation, feeling your brain being hit by the alcohol you had drunk earlier.

“— there's a market in the back street, I'll go there and get more beer. well, since your sister took what was left.” — nikki laughed as he got up from the couch.

“— NO! hm- i mean, huh, you don't have to! i can go there!” — tommy said and got up first, looking at me angrily and feeling embarrassed by the bassist's comment, even though it was just a joke.

“— ah... fine, then...” — nikki looked worried about tommy, but just sat with you again and pretended nothing had happened.

when tommy closed the door, nikki looked at you. you weren't looking back, but you felt his gaze. you knew there was something going on between you since yesterday, but didn't want to do anything about it now.

you smiled softly when you recognized the song that was playing on the radio. it seemed that moment, that silence you and nikki agreed to remain, it had only been made for the input of stevie nicks voice flooding the room.

you had a kinda rock n roll look. always with messy hair, wearing leather, dark colors and band shirts. that's why everyone was always surprised when you talked about your favorite artists. queen, fleetwood mac, david bowie, elton john, janis joplin ...well, they really played rock, but not the type of rock people used to think you were into.

you were quick to get up and turn up the radio, rocking your body while the music played. nikki didn't take her eyes off you for a second, but you didn't notice that. he wasn't a big fan of fleetwood mac, but at that moment, he thought that the only things that existed in the world were you and the melody of that song.

"— dance with me, sixx!" — you said excited, clearly drunk. do you remember thinking at that moment that nikki looked a little sad, for no reason, you just thinked. that's why you reached out to him, wanting to share that moment with him. you didn't care that you didn't even knew him right, you wanted him to feel good.

he got up slowly, not knowing what to do. he just spun you around the room a few times, laughing when he heard the sound of your laugh, smiling when he catched you staring at him for some seconds.

"— pale shadow, she's a dragon!" — you shouted, not caring if anyone was listening.

then you stopped in the middle of the room. looking at nikki with an innocent smile on your face. he thought you were the most complete thing that had ever passed through his life

“— gold dust woman...woman, woman...” — you hummed, looking at him as if looking for something. a story, an answer, a feeling.

and all you got was the insecurity and vulnerability hidden in the green of his eyes.

★

Y/N L. S. BASS (guitarist): “oh, yes!” laughs “he gave me that nickname; ‘gold dust woman’. i was called that for many years, but he started it. hm, i never understood the reason”

NIKKI SIXX (bassist): “it was her song, for me" he says, smiling "you can't listen to this song without remembering that woman”

★

“ honey, you need it

i'm gonna give you all my love. ”

— whole lotta love, led zeppelin.

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caffeinemachine · 10 months

Text

The Girl Next Door - Part 1

A/N: Part 1! This part is really just to give you a clue into their relationship right now, as the following parts will be about the shifting in their dynamic! Hehe, I'm so excited for this series! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Series Chapter:

Prologue | Part 1

Jeremiah Fisher x OC! Isabella Sullivan

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

Ella Sully <3

8:03 AM

J: You guys on your way?

E: 👍

just left Cambridge and stopped for coffee quick

J: 😊 See you soon then Sully

E: see you soon Fisher

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

I was sat on their front porch by 9:30. Realistically they shouldn’t be getting here until 9:45-10:00 but with the way the Sullivans drive, I knew they could be arriving any minute. At 9:38 I watched as the Range Rover pulled into their rocky driveway. My face instantly lit up. The car was barely in park when she opened the door and ran to me. Her arms flew around my neck as I grabbed her in my arms and spun her around.

We held onto each other tightly before I put her down, truly staring into her eyes for the first time this season. She looked a little different than when I last saw her, although that was just around winter break. In the past 6 months, she had lost a little baby fat from her cheeks, gained some new freckles, had grown her hair out and got it freshly highlighted, and her hazel eyes looked extra green today.

“Well hello, Isabella.” I grinned down at her, arms still looped around her.

Her eyes glistened, “Well hello, Jeremiah.” If possible my smile grew, as I picked her back up into the air making her squeal.

“I'm so happy you're here, I can’t wait for this summer!” I placed her feet back on the ground, and this time when I looked at her something shifted, our stare intense, the air between us thick. Suddenly I became aware of just how close I was holding her. I scanned her face, unable to help myself when my eyes lingered on her lips a beat extra. I could always read my Ella, but the look on her face right now was new, and it stumped me.

“Jeremiah!” Spell broken. Begrudgingly I let Ella go to hug her mother. The older woman squeezed me tightly. My arms dropped as she moved back from me, her hand going to cup my cheeks.

“Wow, I think you’ve actually gotten taller since I last saw you! My my what a handsome young man you’ve turned into, don’t you agree Ella?” I smirked as Ella blushed from her mom's comment.

Her eyes went wide as she laughed, “Mom!”

I gave my best puppy dog's eyes, teasing her,” What you don't agree I’m handsome Ella?” She just scoffed as she grinned back at me playfully.

“That’s not important, but I know you well enough to know it's important I don't add any more fuel to your ego.” We all chuckled, and I saw her mom giving us a loving look out of the corner of my eye.

“Let me help you guys carry in your bags!”

After bringing all their bags inside, Ella and I went to her room. I plopped on her bed while she put her things away.

“So where's your dad?” I asked curiously.

She glanced over her shoulder at me before continuing to put her clothes in her drawers, “He’s driving out next weekend, he has a conference in Boston this week.”

“Cool,” A comfortable silence stretched between us, “So, surfing?” She paused what she was doing, turning around to me as she leaned against her dresser. A smile graced her beautiful features, what a sight to see. I wondered if she smiled like this for other people or maybe just maybe her smile was something I got just for myself. Maybe I was the only one with the privilege of sharing a moment of such pure happiness with her. I could only wish.

“Oh yeah.”

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

Post-ocean was my favorite time to see her. Her hair was gorgeously curly from the salt water, her cheeks tinged pink from the sun, and her freckles glowed across her face. We laid down on a towel, catching our breath from surfing before we trekked back up to the house. I turned to my side to face her, prompting her to do the same. I pushed the hair that fell while she did so behind her ear.

“I'm so happy it's summertime, I missed you, Elle.” Her expression stayed at a relaxed state but the corners of her eyes creased a little extra.

“I missed you too J.” I smiled. Only she ever called me that, and even she did it only once and a while.

I lay back flat and she scurried over to put her head on my chest. I could stay here forever- “Should we head back to your house, I still need to say hello to everyone.” It seemed she didn't have the same idea though.

If I’m being honest, I'm growing tired of having to hide my love for her, tired of not being able to pull her that couple inches closer to me, tired of her not being mine.

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

After a hello filled with a lot of hugs, Ella went home to shower before her mom and her came over for dinner like always. We all sat around the table, catching up on the past few months as we ate my moms cooking. After dinner Ella came upstairs to my room while I got ready for the bonfire. She came over ready, and was now just waiting for me, Steven and Conrad. She scrolled on her phone before flicking her eyes up to me. I held two shirts up to her, “Blue or Gray?”

She took a moment to truly consider it, her expression serious. “Blue, makes your eyes sparkle, it’ll boost you up with the ladies.” She gave me animated wink, giggling a bit.

I scoffed lightly trying my best to fake a smile, but nodded curtly following her word without question, blue shirt it was. Then I put my hands on the edge of the bed beside each of her legs, leaning in grinning, “You like my eyes?”

She fueled the fire, grabbing the sides of my face and staring straight at me with a smile, “Yes you were blessed with gorgeous baby blues Jere.” I laughed and backed away to strip off my current shirt to slip on the one she chose. I smiled to myself when I caught her lingering on my abs for a moment. Heat blossomed in my chest. I can’t blame her, I looked different than last summer but based on the sight of her in her bikini earlier, so did she.

“Ell-”

Just then Steven came running through my doorway, “You guys ready?” Ella perked up jumping off my bed and out the door. I huffed, should be a fun night.

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

Who the hell was that?

I stood with some guys I've known from over the years, a can of soda in hand, DD for the night. But while I stood there, Ella sat on a towel in the sand near the fire with some guy. Some guy. Not me.

“-Jeremiah? Ello, earth to Jeremiah?” I regained focus looking at my buddies who laughed at my distracted state.

I glanced back at Ella, my Ella, I couldn't take it anymore, "I’ll be back.” I walked straight to her, paying no mind to the annoyed grunts and protests coming from behind me. The guy she was sitting with spotted me coming toward them first. I took Ella by surprise when I plopped down next to her in the sand, my arm immediately going around her shoulders.

“Wha- Oh hey J!” She melted into my side once she realized it was me. My eyes looked at her briefly, flashing a smile, before my face went straight and I stared down this random ass boy.

“Hello Sunshine, and who are you?”

The guy seemed displeased by the situation unfolding in front of him, “I’m Finn, if you don't mind Ella and I were-”

I stopped him before he could even start, because I frankly didn’t give a fuck what he was going to say, “Alright Finn, thanks for keeping my girl company for me, see you around, maybe, probably not.” He looked at Ella for a moment but when she made no objection he got up and walked away huffing as he went.

I stayed silent, the reality that Ella might be super pissed for the stunt I just pulled dawning on me. Then she grabbed my face repositioning our spots on the towel so that we were face to face instead of side to side. Our eyes connected, and she pulled me towards her quickly, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. I had no time to process..is Ella about to kiss me? What should I do- well kiss her back obviously- but wait where is this coming from-

“Mwah!”

My cheek. Oh. She kissed my cheek.

“Thank you! Oh my gosh, he was such a douche! You know when we were little I hated how easily you could read me, but now it's like my own secret weapon to save me from situations I don’t wanna be in. Oh, and faking the ‘my girl’ card? Genius! Nothing seems to shut a guy up quicker than finding out she has a boyfriend. You put on a good act. Where were you even that you saw me? I couldn't see you?”

Her arms had dropped to rest on my shoulders. I didn’t know what to say. I should just tell her the real reason I came over.

“Elle I-”

Blue and red lights flashed in my vision.

Cops.

Fuck.

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

Tag List:

@goldenmoonbeam

#jeremiah fisher fanfic #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher #tsitp jeremiah #tsitp #tsitp s2 #the summer i turned pretty #Jeremiah fisher fluff

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etherati · 4 months

Text

Taproot - (1/25)

To celebrate finally finishing this monster of a fic after 4 goddamned years, I'm going to be posting the full chapters here on Tumblr, serialized like in the olden days, to make it easier to digest a bit at a time. Expect an installment once a week. This is a sequel to Wellspring, and is a post-S2 AU with, at this point, established Trephacard--plus some historical flashbacks, family drama, bloody showdowns, and a lot of secrets waiting in the wings. And feels. All the feels. If you like those things--or, for reasons I cannot disclose at this time, dear old Leon Belmont--consider giving this one a spin.

Summary from Ao3:

Taproot (n): The oldest, most central root; that from which all else arises.

Every family has its roots, diving down into the shadowy, secretive earth--and there's no such thing as a bloodless inheritance.

🎵 Music pairing: The Old Ways - Loreena McKennitt

Next -- >

Sunrise over the Black Sea—golden light spilling into the water like its own sort of glowing, glittering liquid, diffusing through the brine and illuminating it in hues of orange and amber and violet-pink—is one of the most beautiful sights the natural world has to offer. There are other striking sunrises to be had, and other bodies of water prone to making a person feel overwhelmingly small, but nowhere else do the two combine into such a spectacle, delighting the eyes even as it harrows the soul.

At least, nowhere else that Sypha has been, and she has been a lot of places.

She twists the end of her walking stick into the damp sand and gravel. This means that she’s close; she can tell by the particular mineral-laden smell of the salt and the angle of the light that she’s still a bit north of Enisala, but not by very far. There’s no shame in having arrived at the sea slightly off from her target. The only truly accurate navigation is by the stars—and the lingering presence of the night creatures and the winter’s bitter chill have had her travelling mostly with the sun.

Overhead, the keening cries of shorebirds as they dip and weave, coming in low to gather at the waterline, to pick over the tide pools and sandbars. The breakers beat the rocky shore, relentless. There’s a stark beauty to the place, to the way life struggles forward despite its days being filled only with further struggle. Tenacity. Tenacity, she understands, and all the spoils it brings.

This would be a lovely place to bring Adrian and Trevor to, she thinks; let them see this dawn, let the three of them roughhouse in the waves and drink sweet fruit wine in the sun and make love in the cool, damp sand once twilight settles in, all softness and blue-black shadows and the murmur of the tide. When the weather is warmer. When the sea is greener than it is grey, and the wind coming off of it doesn’t threaten to peel the skin from her face and hands. When they feel safe, leaving the castle unguarded for a while.

That time is, with certainty, not yet now. But she’s working on it. She’s still not gotten used to travelling alone, honestly hopes she won’t ever have to, but sometimes needs must. And that’s the entire point of this, of having to be away from them for so long.

She misses them—misses her family, too, but that’s an old ache that she’s grown accustomed to. Missing Adrian and Trevor is a different kind of hurt, sharp and fresh, made worse by knowing how badly they’re missing her in return. When she was growing up, travelling constantly on journeys measured in seasons, a month had felt like nothing. Now, it feels like an eternity.

There’s no snow and ice out here, this close to the water; there never is, in her experience, until you get to the deep, deep north. The sand is wet and the coarse stone crushed into it grinds under her staff. It’s blunt and thick, as writing implements go, and there’s no way to get any detail—and anyway, she’s no artist.

She still leaves a chunky, lopsided heart in the sand, as if marking the spot to return to later—as if the waves won’t wash it away mere hours after she’s left this place.

The sun is high overhead by the time the crumbling stone fortress of Enisala comes into view on the horizon. It feels wonderful, even if winter sun never warms one through the same way summer sun does; she drops her hood to bask in it, shifting her pack on her shoulders.

The ruins themselves are all beige-grey rock, the sky even more devoid of color, stormy and brooding. As she gets closer, though, she can see little pops of color all around the perimeter of the old fortress—blanket-draped caravans, colorful paper lanterns, artifacts of every culture the trains have come into contact with over the past year. Anything to make the space lively.

This place has always felt oddly significant to her—with its ruins that no one will claim ownership over, that seem to belong only to themselves, like slumbering giants from the birth of the world. Really, anywhere on the eastern edge of a landmass would do, for the Speakers’ winter solstice celebrations. But this is where her family group has always come, and so she knows she will find them here. For a week on either side of the solstice, many trains gather here in the sprawl of the mysterious ruins, and they eat and dance and share stories, all the stories of the year before, and Sypha knows she has a few that will make even the elders jealous.

She smiles to herself, framing the narrative in her head as she sets off down the narrow, meandering path to the gathering below.

“Sypha!” a familiar voice calls out, along with the clatter of scattered and dropped firewood; she’s barely made the edge of camp, is still lost in thought, but that voice would snap her out of just about anything.

“Kiri,” she oofs out, as the woman barrels into her, catching her up in a crushing embrace that’s more robes than anything else—layers and layers of them, to keep out the damp chill. Sypha hugs back just as hard; she’d been expecting her family and the others, the ones she’d watched leave Greşit all those months ago and then had to say farewell to again late in the spring. She hadn’t been expecting Kiri, Kiri who knows all her secrets and remembers what she looked like when she was young enough to go about with her hair unshorn, who she spent more time with growing up than she did her own family—throwing rocks into rivers and climbing trees and playing rough games with the boys. Testing every limit, challenging every rule, pushing for every wild dream.

Kiri, who’d been away from their clan for at least three years now, off studying the healing arts with the Ottoman scholars in the east when their own collective knowledge had proved insufficient for her. Three years that now feel like nothing—and isn’t it odd, how the friends of childhood are so often forgotten when the demands of adult life catch up, but the body never forgets what it’s like to hold them?

“I’m so glad you made it,” Kiri says, her face buried in Sypha’s hair. “My first Solstice back with our people and you weren’t here! I was getting worried.”

“What, did you think I would miss it?” Sypha asks, faux indignation through her own laughter. “Never.”

“Well, I’ve been told that you have your hunter, now,” Kiri says, pulling away, a sudden swell of distance blooming between them. No wonder—too often, Speakers who marry outside the tribe never quite find their way back. She and Trevor hadn’t been that to each other the last time she’d seen her family, had just been circling ever closer without quite making contact, but fair assumptions could be, and often were, made. “And your sleeping soldier?”

“Mm, yes,” Sypha says; it’s been a long time since she’s thought of Adrian that way, though he’s never stopped fighting for them. “But this is important, being here. And seeing everyone again! How have your studies been?”

Kiri’s eyes flash with excitement, bright against the wind-bitten redness of her cheeks; her skittishness evaporates in an instant. “It is incredible, Sypha! The things they know, in the south—the things they’ve kept track of, that others have forgotten. There is a book one man there has written on how to repair a person as if they were a torn garment or a broken wagon. It’s remarkable.” Adrian probably has a copy of that, somewhere in his mother’s medical library—if not, she’ll have to remember to track one down. “I understand why we do not record our stories, but after three years there, I wonder if we are foolish to not record knowledge itself? Raw knowledge I mean, the kind that is hard to frame in the context of a story.”

My people are idiots, she remembers saying, during that

interminable stay in the Belmont hold; she’s usually more inclined to be generous, but there’d been an infectious kind of frustration and cynicism they’d all been fighting, after a certain point.

“I’ve wondered that, too,” she says now, far more diplomatic; the journey has done her outlook a lot of good. “About an entirely different body of knowledge! Not something that would be as useful as the medicine you’re learning, but yes—if having something written down can save a life, how can that be wrong?”

“Don’t let the elders hear you say that!” Kiri admonishes, laughing.

Sypha blows a dismissive breath through her nose. “I am sure they already think I’m a terrible member of our tribe, just for raising a hand against the enemies of humanity. I cannot imagine their opinion of me can get much worse.”

Kiri throws an arm over her shoulder, pulls her in. “It’s not that bad,” she says, trying to be encouraging, but there's a tension there. “Our Sypha, the warrior of Wallachia. But I always knew you were destined for something special.”

Sypha frowns in thought, takes a few steps in silence. Did you? She wants to ask, and she wants to ask, Why?

Destined. Destiny is too large an idea, is the sort of thing that hovers around other people, people with remarkable families, with mysterious pasts. Sypha is a magician like any other Speaker magician; her father was the same, and his mother before him, and there is nothing unusual about any of it. These things run in families, and magic users are common, and sure, she'd gotten herself sucked up into an epic story because of it, but it could as easily have been another.

Couldn't it have?

Would another scholar of magic have done just as good a job? Would another magician have melded into the team as well as she did, have communicated in battle so effortlessly, have picked up the slack the other two dropped and protected them when they needed it? Could just any magician have snatched Dracula’s castle out of the aether like it was a feather on the breeze?

Would another Speaker have tossed aside the principles of a lifetime to stand up and fight, or is there really something dark and burning in her that sets her aside?

If there is, is that a good thing or a bad thing? Is that even the question to be asking?

“...how does it feel, to fulfill a prophecy?” Kiri asks, as they start to make their way toward the rest of the camp. It’s clear from the suddenly uncomfortable undercurrent in her voice that she’s not talking about the whole killing Dracula part; that story, her family has already heard, and it’s surely made the rounds. No—she’s talking about the rest of the prophecy. The part that’d had Sypha so uneasy clambering down into the catacombs and so defensive when she awoke there in the face of a hunter; the part that she’d like to believe any random magician would not have been able to fulfill.

“Strangely?” Sypha says, pitching her voice low. “Like I did have a choice in the matter.”

“Truly? You did not feel fate’s hand pushing the issue?” A pause, a few scuffing steps in the snow. Then, carefully: “Or another hand entirely?”

And oh, Sypha understands why her old friend is concerned, understands all too well given the way the world has sometimes treated their people. How non-Speaker men have often regarded them—worldly and experienced and incapable of ever saying no, as if rejection of the church’s self-loathing, oppressive morality somehow made them into succubi. But the implication is so absurd in context that she still laughs, conspiratorial. “No. My God. I had to push them. I thought I was going to go crazy.”

A smile then, more genuine. The tension drains out of the arm across Sypha’s shoulders. “What kind of heroic warriors are they, if they’re not fighting for the hand of maiden fair?”

“In what world, I wonder, would I be considered a fair maiden?” Sypha asks, smiling despite herself. Her robes are ragged with wear, her hair recently chopped short again, her feet swathed in cloth bandages beneath her sandals to keep out the cold. Fair indeed. But she knows that society outside of their caravans frames the world in certain ways. “And they were fighting with me, not for me.”

“Still. Most would expect some sort of reward for saving the world—even if only from fate.”

Sypha shakes her head, remembering that sunrise through the castle doors, the way they’d all started drifting apart before she’d pulled them back together. Those first few hours of having no idea what to even do with themselves, in this tomorrow that they hadn’t expected to see. “We were all shocked to still be alive, in the end. I imagine that would be reward enough for anyone.”

Kiri looks to her feet, swallows. They walk in silence for a moment. It had, perhaps, been unfair to go into such dark territory—to invoke how close they’d all come to dying that night. But these are the stakes Sypha has gotten used to, the way she’s become accustomed to thinking of the world. Speakers don’t fight; they are always in danger from those who don’t understand them, but that is a danger that brings itself to one’s door. The memory of choosing to walk across an enemy’s threshold, certain she would not ever cross it again, is uniquely hers.

“If you met them,” she says, gently bringing the topic back around, “you would understand. They honestly are good men. They understand what trust and respect are.” And they have enough baggage to fill an entire wagon, between them both, but that’s not for her to say. She’s not so dense as to think that they’d been dragging their feet just to frustrate her. “They do respect me, and I had to do nothing extraordinary to earn it—only what I’m truly capable of. We are equals.”

“Enough so that they trusted you to make this journey alone,” says a voice from her other side, mild and gentle, and Sypha turns without thinking, throwing herself into her grandfather’s arms.

“My angel,” he says, stroking her hair, and as it always does, the endearment makes her heart clench up a little around something—something hard and painful, like a rock in her chest, that she has never understood.

She huffs a laugh against his robes, pushes through it. “It was more a matter of whether I trusted them to survive a month without me.” Kiri laughs then, and her grandfather does too, and it warms her to know, with this kind of certainty, just how lucky she really is.

“…and it was in this way that the houses were joined, the scorched land of one family and the usurped fortress of their oldest enemy, and from the ashes of tragedy and loss and centuries of discord arose the hope of an unexpected and brilliant future.”

A long silence, broken up by the crackle of logs in the fire, by the quiet rustle of voices from elsewhere in the camp. There’s no need to pronounce the end of a story here, not if one is half decent at telling it; Sypha knows that they are just letting it sink in.

“A remarkable story, more so even than the first telling, which we have all heard,” one of the elders says, one she isn’t familiar with. In front of the old woman’s feet, a pair of young children are still staring raptly at Sypha. The elder’s voice is warm, pleased. “It will be quite a thing to add to our memory stores. And quite a thing to know that one of our own played a role, in such a difficult time for our country.”

“One of ours, one of Dracula’s, and one of their own that they threw out,” says a young man a few places to Sypha’s left; his voice carries the twist of a smile. “I wonder how the church must feel, in the face of such irony.”

And oh, that’s a thought that has given Sypha much satisfaction over the last year—to be a fly on the wall when the heads of the church met to discuss what had happened!—but the old woman frowns. “I imagine they feel as though they nearly caused the extinction of all human life in Wallachia,” she says, a touch sharp. “Perhaps that is enough?”

One of the children at her feet giggles, a Look who’s in trouble kind of sound, and the man ducks his head. But he’s not in trouble. That isn’t how they do things. “Pardon me, Elder,” he says, “but I disagree. That they made a horrible mistake is knowledge that can fade or be downplayed over time. That they were saved by the very people they ostracized and cast out—that carries weight that cannot so easily be shrugged off. Even if we cannot share this with the rest of the people of Wallachia, that lesson should at least be preserved.”

Because it is about hubris as much as it is about blame, she can remember saying, after that first meeting they’d had with Acasă’s strange new church. Blame can be washed away with a convincing enough apology, and hubris will make the same mistakes over and over again. Both must be undermined if any progress is to be made.

It had been a hard sell. Adrian tends to want to place blame if only to have something to aim all of his anger and sadness at, now that he’s allowed himself to start navigating them; Trevor only wants the world to feel more just than it is. But in the end she’d brought them around: more needs to be done than to just rub the church’s nose in the mess it’d made.

Which is why they’d agreed, in the end, for her to finally tell the story in its entirety—nothing masked or obfuscated, no details left aside. Only for her people’s ears; a closed telling, a rarely invoked practice used when the full story needs preserving but would put the participants in danger, should it get out into the general populace. The people of Acasă are just now starting to truly accept Trevor for who he is; tolerating a witch and a vampire is a bit much to expect of them, just yet.

“For whatever it’s worth,” she says now, “as a participant in the story? I agree. How this was ended, and by who, is just as important as who started it in the first place. There are lessons in both of those things."

The elder regards her for a long moment, thoughtful. Then nods, just a tiny dip of her face into the firelight. “Very well. This story will sit alongside the previous version. The nature of Wallachia’s saviors is to be preserved, as a means of emphasizing the church’s shortsightedness and the need for it to not repeat that mistake.”

Sypha nods deeply, a long and slow dip of her head nearly to her knees. “My thanks, Elder. May your tribe live happily and well, in the coming year.”

“And yours.”

The crowd disperses, some going to hear or tell other stories, some retiring to their caravans for the evening meal. One figure stays nearby, hunched over a nearby fire, close enough to have heard her telling but not actually part of the group receiving it. In the fading light, the shape is just that: a shape, a silhouette, blue-black against the blue-white of the snow, limned in the cold violet light of sunset. They have a branch in their hands, are stripping it of its side-shoots methodically, tossing them one by one into the fire.

It’s a silhouette Sypha would know anywhere.

“What stories have you to tell,” Sypha asks, settling down alongside her, the ritualistic question feeling strange in her mouth, “since this time last year?”

Kiri huffs a laugh. “None as exciting as yours. You’re a hard act to follow, Sypha.”

“You seemed excited about all the knowledge you’d gained, earlier.”

Twist, pull, snap. “That’s nothing, compared to having a grand destiny.”

“I still say that destiny is too strong a word. We basically fell down a hole.”

“Directly into the vault of Greşit’s sleeping soldier. At precisely the time the three of you were most needed. That sounds like kismet to me.”

Sypha can’t help but laugh, remembering. “It felt more like incredible clumsiness, from where I was standing.”

“Falling.”

“From where I was falling, yes.”

A stretch of quiet, then, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

“So,” Kiri says after a while, tossing an entire handful of twigs into the flames. There’s a smile on her face but the firelight has turned it bitter, all shadows and edges. “Your soldier is a vampire.”

“Dhampir, really,” Sypha corrects, kneejerk. For so long, it’d been Trevor she was correcting, then after a while, Adrian himself; she’s used to being quick on the draw with it, because either of them saying vampire had generally been a sign of badness brewing.

Kiri breaks another few twigs free from the branch, twists them in her fingers. “I don’t know what that means.”

Right. Of course she doesn’t. “It means his mother was human.”

“Oh,” Kiri says, seemingly still not sure what to do with this information. “I knew that, I guess. From the story itself. I didn’t realize the distinction mattered.”

“Yes, it… it matters. A great deal. I do not think a true vampire would have ever sided with humanity.”

"Still. I wonder if I would have been able to guess, had we met in the summer instead of the winter."

Sypha plucks at the scarf around her neck, the wool scratchy but warm, dyed in a hundred vibrant colors. It’d come from the market in Acasă, knitted by an old blind woman, and had been a gift—gratitude for the work they’d done securing the town against the demon attacks. They had saved her son’s entire family, and gone home that night and celebrated it, a battle with no casualties save the demons themselves. She’s wearing it because of the cold, but she knows what Kiri is asking. "Perhaps."

A huff of breath. “So much for your gentle warriors.”

“You would probably be surprised,” Sypha says with a shrug, not even bothering to take offense on Adrian’s behalf, because she can tell this isn’t what Kiri’s actually upset about. Some people compare words to weapons, and it’s truer than they know; you can dodge and feint and mislead with them as well as you can with steel. “But that isn’t—Kiri. What’s going on?”

For a long moment, no reply. The fire cracks and pops, splitting the wood apart in a spattering of sparks. Kiri throws the whole branch into it like a spear, a hard burst of frustration.

“Taerna married, this summer,” she finally says, the words quiet.

That stops Sypha cold, her fingers poised in mid-reach for a branch of her own. She curls them back up around the empty air, feels the nails bite into her palm. “She always said she would wait for you.”

“Why should she have bothered? We were only friends.”

“You were more than that.”

“She married,” Kiri repeats, short, face tightening as if to hold something inside. “Like all of my friends and sisters did. Marriage and children and… it’s all anyone does. We had plans. We were going to, to travel, and she was going to hunt our food and I was going to heal people and we were going to see the world together. But this is the only life anyone seems to care about.”

And even you’re going down that path, Sypha can hear, unsaid. You and your prophecy, your exiled hunter and your inhuman soldier.

Sypha closes her eyes, takes a breath. “She cares about you.”

“She also cares about her hound.”

“She loves you,” Sypha says, insistent.

Kiri laughs, bitter, tears threatening. It’s like watching an old dam crumble, flawless limestone threading through with cracks and stress fractures, and then: an outrushing of things held back for far too long. “Not enough,” she says, curling forward over herself, arms tight around her belly. “Not more than she loved the idea of having a child. Not enough to be with me.”

“Oh, Kiri. I’m sorry,” Sypha says, threading an arm over her shoulders, pulling her in. “I’m sorry.”

“Do yours love you?” Kiri asks after a moment, muffled by the layers of robes. “Enough to change the world, to defy everything for you?”

Sypha thinks about Trevor punching Dracula in a ridiculous, suicidal attempt to keep him away from her, thinks about Adrian in her garden, enduring the sun to make her happy—about a castle and a watchtower and the ending of the story she’d told, and her grasp on her friend tightens. “They do. And each other.”

A laugh into her shoulder, rough and wet. “I’ve always thought it would be terrible, to be involved in a prophecy,” she says, barely audible. “I never thought I’d be so jealous.”

There’s a stream that runs past the ruins, a narrow but swift-moving current that cuts through the ground here like a knife. It leads into the tough, gnarled pines and firs that grow this close to the sea, into these dark and uninviting woods that are nevertheless filled with a thousand secret places.

Sypha follows it, as she always has, year after year.

Things are different, this year.

She finds them by the water, bundled up and talking quietly. There’s a fire burning, but it’s been banked and allowed to subside down to embers, giving off heat but very little light. In the heavily filtered winter moonlight, they look like faery folk—Arn with his delicate, dignified features, Lily with the luminescent white bone beads threaded into hair the color of pitch, both of them beautiful and earnest.

They look up when she steps closer, their faces dark, shadowed. Painfully anxious.

She sits down on the ground, near to them, facing them. She is just as filled with anxiety. She has never done this, has no idea how to approach it—she knows they are not being blindsided like Kiri was, knows they have had time to adjust to the idea of this, but all she can see is her old friend’s face, broken up in grief over a friend-love she—and everyone else—had thought was something more. For once in her life, Sypha cannot find the words.

Then Lily smiles, the brilliant, passionate smile Sypha remembers, and holds out her hands, and Sypha lets herself fall into the woman’s arms, nearabout crushing her in the embrace.

“It’s all right,” she whispers, against Sypha’s ear. “You’ve found your loves. It was always bound to happen to one of us.”

Sypha nods against her, feeling the tears welling up. Turns to embrace Arn, the familiarity of his touch painful in this context, in knowing what she has to do.

“Are you set to marry?” Arn asks, quiet, solemn.

Sypha shakes her head. “I haven’t brought up the subject yet. There are a lot of complications—no human establishment would ever welcome us. But...”

“But you would like to.”

“Yes.”

“Will you come back to us then, for the ceremony?” Lily asks, and her voice sounds like the fear of paths diverging, not knowing if they will ever converge again. “Or even just to visit? You know there are none here who wouldn’t welcome all of you—or if there are…”

“Lily will convince them to change their minds,” Arn finishes for her, a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

Sypha closes her eyes, takes Lily’s hand. “Of course. I could not stay away for long. And you can always visit us—we’ll have a lot of space, once we rebuild.”

Visiting, seeing old friends: it’s not the same, won’t ever be the same. And sometimes things change, and people change and what they are to each other changes. But these two were always dear friends first and foremost, and that will never—can never—be any different. She gathers them both into her arms, and it’s a sweet, comfortable place to be.

“Please tell me,” Arn whispers into her hair after another long moment, “that Belmont at least bathes regularly, now?”

And like that, the seriousness of the night vanishes, goes up like a twist of smoke into the black. Sypha laughs, and keeps laughing, until it turns to tears again and she can’t sort out which she’s feeling more of.

“Yes,” she says, with a little hiccup of sob-laughter. “He does. He fights the darkness and protects the innocent—like he was born for. And washes the monster blood off, after.”

“Good,” Arn says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We could tell from the beginning, that he was capable of being more than he was pretending to be.”

A long measure of silence, only the water rushing past, too swift to freeze even in the heart of winter.

“Will you let us give you a proper farewell?” Lily asks, hesitant. “Do they know—”

“They know,” Sypha says, biting her lip. “I talked with them about it before I left. They don’t mind.” As long as it’s a farewell, she hears Trevor saying, laughter in his voice even as he’d tried to be serious about this. And not a ‘till next time’.

Adrian had just been quiet, and had smiled softly in that way that is always disarming to her, and had simply said that traditions, and closure, are important. For everyone involved.

“Do you want this from us?” Lily asks. “Whether they mind is not the only question.”

It’s secluded in the little copse of trees, even the starlight blocked by the arching branches thick with green needles, and warm from the banked fire. Sypha nods, and reaches out with both hands, palms up in invitation. They each press a kiss to her open hands, and they hold her and she holds them, all of them swathed in the shadows of this secret place. She lets them say goodbye to this part of their collective lives, lets them put their hands and their mouths on her and push her to giddy exhaustion—one last gift from her youth, and one that will have to hold her over through the winter chill until these two weeks are out and she can begin to make her way home.

When they wander back to camp late that night, appetites sated and tension shaken away, things are different between them, always will be different, now—but that’s all right, in the end. Change, like liquor in a wound, can sting, but it is sometimes the only thing that makes the blood run truly clean.

The next day passes quickly and well. She gives her grandfather the gifts that Adrian and Trevor had sent along with her; scouring the castle library, Adrian had found a rare volume of supposedly true stories from the far east that he thought the tribe would appreciate having to add to their memory stores, and Trevor, feeling some cabin fever in all of the early season snow they’ve gotten, has taken up carving—which is to say, he isn’t very good at it yet, may never really be. But the two simplistic figures he’s sent are easily recognizable as rough caricatures of priests, one missing a finger and one missing an eye. In memory of the day we all met! he’d said, performative, trying to disguise the sentimentality as tactless humor.

Her grandfather laughs to himself as he holds the figures up, and she can tell he’s trying hard to mask how entertained he is; violence is so anathema to their people and yet, somehow, this particular act of violence never seems to have unsettled him. Context, she supposes; Trevor had been acting specifically to save his life, and he could have done far worse.

She wanders the camp, looks at all of the lovely exotic decorations, and plays with the children, an odd pang in her heart as she watches their innocent games. She helps prepare lunch, lighting the fires for the ones doing the cooking, chopping vegetables and kneading dough for flatbread, and she goes into the woods with Kiri to gather more firewood—they will need a lot of it, tonight.

They don’t talk, while they gather. It’s not awkward, just an understanding that the space between them needs some quiet, needs time to breathe.

She visits with the others in her family, with the surrogate aunts and uncles that are not actually related to her by blood, with the childhood playmates and the mentors, and with Taerna and her husband, a man from another tribe who’d chosen to join hers

instead of the other way around, had chosen to take her name. He seems sweet enough, and Taerna seems happy, if a little haunted around the edges of her eyes. Everyone she asks says that yes, of course they will be there, tonight.

Last night had been for stories, and tomorrow will be as well. But tonight is for celebration. All things in equal measure.

Hours in, Sypha drops onto one of the logs around the edges of the clearing; she slumps forward with a happy groan, reaching to rub the knots and strings out of her calves. Her walking muscles are conditioned like no others, but dancing muscles are a different story. It’s a good ache, though, like that burn in the cheeks that comes from too much smiling, too much laughter. She feels overheated from the exertion and the fire, no matter the chill in the air, and she unwinds the scarf, loosens the top layer of her robes to let the air move through.

Between where she sits and where the fire burns, silhouettes move, a chaotic display of human joy and beauty. They have no structured dances, really, though longtime partners often grow into each other’s steps. She can smell warm food nearby, bread and stew and hot mead, sees all of her family and friends and the strangers that come here as well, all her people, all dressed as she is, and wonders again: could any of them, the ones with magic at least, have done what she did?

She stares into the fire, remembers the feel of the castle’s engine between her fingers, the way she’d felt reality bending and brittle fracturing around her, so much more power at her disposal in that moment than she’d ever brought to bear conjuring fire or ice—and she thinks that no, maybe not. She’s met other magicians; she’s not sure any of them have ever trapped an eldritch monstrosity or blown apart an Enochian ward or—or done the things she’s come here to learn how to do. The things her father and her grandmother could do.

Later. Later, when the Nasaii tribe arrives. They should be here by morning. She will learn what she needs to, and she will go home, and she will be able to protect that home more thoroughly than she ever has before.

In the meantime, she watches the dancers, contemplates getting some stew, contemplates whether her legs will fall off if she tries—watches Arn and Lily together on the far side of the clearing, twisting in a tight curl that makes Lily’s hair lift, the fire lighting up her bone beads and glinting in Arn’s eyes. Watches the children imitating the adults, the youngest pairing off with their siblings, stumbling all over each other. Watches strong, tough Taerna with her husband, insisting on leading him, as much as anyone can lead in this sort of dance.

Watches the elder she’d told her story to last night, sitting across the fire from her, watching Sypha right back with a gentle smile that says Don’t worry, that says You will be with them soon.

And there’s nothing inherently romantic about these dances on the solstice—friends dance with friends, parents with children, and many dance alone—but she remembers being young and everything being about those early, tentative relationships, remembers that there was a thrill in getting the chance to dance with those people she called heart-mates, or to be asked to dance by someone she wished to be that close to.

So she can’t help but smile when she sees Taerna whisper something to her husband and break away from him, sidling hesitantly up to where Kiri sits. She’s poking at the dirt with a crooked, bare stick, and her sandals haven’t touched the dance ring—are clean of the dust and soot that coats the ground here, the

remains of a hundred years of bonfires.

Taerna holds out a hand, uncertain.

It won’t solve all of the problems, won’t make Kiri’s love hurt less or magically mend things between them. But there’s something of healing in Kiri’s eyes as she reaches up to take that hand, leaves the stick behind in the dirt, lets herself be pulled up and into the ring of dancers, the two of them falling into each other’s space with an ease that says We belong here, that says Even if we must change, there is still us, that says You will never be a stranger in these arms.

Next -- >

#castlevania #fanfic #netflix castlevania #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #adrian tepes #alucard #fanfiction #taproot #wellspring #trephacard #post s2

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somejazzinthemorning · 1 year

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tightrope. 02

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language Word Count: 10.329 Previous chapter: 01.

“It’s nice to have you at home, mija.”

My mom picked us up at the airport and now, driving home, sunglasses over her eyes and a classy beige jumpsuit accentuating her figure, I could tell she was happy and at peace. Rio had fallen asleep in the back seat, his snoring almost as loud as the radio, and I distracted myself with my phone, posting photos from the previous day's celebrations on my Instagram. Her voice brought me back to the present.

"It's nice to be home," I smiled at her. The sunset was casting a beautiful golden shadow on her face, illuminating the wrinkles around her green eyes and lips painted in a delicate shade of pink. "And I'm so excited about your birthday party!”

She looked at me for the fraction of a second, her eyes widening. “Really?”

“Is that so surprising? It's not every day my mom turns 60 looking this pretty. Of course, I'm excited!”

She laughed, a sweet reaction to my flattery. I wasn’t lying. She was pretty.

Blonde hair cut in a bob, light make-up (but always wearing make-up), delicate voice, always so soothing. Ageing had always been something that scared me, something I was not prepared to face. But looking at her, and seeing how naturally she embraced the passing of time, planning a grand celebration to welcome a new decade, I began to look at the concept of ageing with a newfound perspective. She wore her age like a badge of honour.

"About that," she extended her right hand to my tight, patting it repeatedly to make sure my attention remained on her. "I'm counting on you to help me until you have to go back to Italy."

"Sure, I..." I lay my phone down on my lap, my mind wandering over my mental calendar, recalling all the tasks I had to take care of. "I have some work things to handle, but sure," I said with a nod.

“Great,” she said, focused on the road. "The first item on the agenda is tomorrow's brunch.”

“I thought we had the catering settled?” I asked, feeling a bit confused.

“We do, honey. We’re going shopping with Reyes and the girls afterwards, I need to pick a dress and it’s an amazing excuse to meet up again. Plus, it’s at that cute little bakery you adore.”

“Oh, I—,” I couldn’t say no. “Let’s do it, then.”

Madrid was looking beautiful that morning, a living postcard. The sun was shining brightly, casting its rays on the buildings and busy streets below, almost as if to welcome me back. Work and racing made me spend far too much time away.

As soon as we stepped out of the Uber, the smell of pastries and fresh coffee invaded my senses. In a pink, flowy dress, my mom rushed across the street and I followed suit. Under the big sign on the door, where one could read "El Retiro" in big, bold letters, Reyes waited with her arms open; Ana and Blanca were by her side, distracted in a conversation.

“I hope we didn’t make you wait for too long,” my mom said, already wrapped in her arms, in the interval of kissing both of Reyes’ cheeks.

"Not at all," the woman, about the same age as my mom, said as she turned to me. It had been a couple of months since I last saw her. "It's so nice to see you, my love.”

I stepped in for a hug, comforting and homey, just like all the things and people in Madrid. Reyes stroked my back with her hand, up, down, and up again, just like Carlos used to do. They were too much alike, and yet, not at all, at the same time. I blinked, forcing the idea of him to vanish from my mind. It was not the time or place to think about him.Blanca was next in line, but Ana, the younger sister, was already beaming at me when I stepped away from Reyes. Her arms were outstretched, ready to embrace me in a hug. It had been since the previous Christmas that I had seen her, when we had met up with a group of mutual friends for a night out in the city.

“Oh, I've missed you so much,” she said in a whisper, before planting a kiss on my cheek and pulling me into a hug.

“I've missed you too,” I replied in a whisper, before turning to greet Blanca. “We need to plan something.”

As I remembered from the last time, the place was small and cosy. The decoration, a mix of vintage and modern with a lot of wood and plants, gave the place a natural and warm feeling. We headed outside, to the terrace, accompanied by a young girl with long curly hair who would be our waitress. She sat us at one of the tables under a pergola covered in vines, which the small breeze made rustle.

“How’s work?” Reyes asked. “You’re still working with that communication agency, right?”

“Oh, yes. Trying to balance both things,” I said as I sat next to Ana. My mom was in front of me and Reyes at the other side. Blanca sat at the end of the table, between her mother and sister.

“How’s that working out for you?” Blanca asked.

“Tough, as you may imagine,” I replied. “I’m still learning in both fields, so most of the time I just feel a little lost.”

I laughed off the discomfort the reality brought me. There is nothing like doing what I love the most; there's no feeling like what I feel when I strip my work clothes and get dressed in my race suit, transforming into someone else. But that doesn't mean it isn't overwhelming.

Ana turned her body to me before speaking. “I saw the season is going amazing.”

“It is,” I nodded. The image of Carlos in my garage suddenly appeared in my mind. “Two races left, but I can win the championship if I get a podium in the next race and Pulcini doesn't win.” They had great smiles on their face, hearing what I had to say. “Maybe I’ll have a pretty trophy to show you when I get back from Imola.”

“Wouldn't that be amazing?” My mother's tender voice brought a big smile to my face. “I'm so proud of you, Evita.”

“Thanks, Mama.” I placed my hand on hers and caressed it while blowing her a kiss.

The conversation flowed easily as if no time had passed since our last gathering. The warmth of their presence and the nostalgia that weighed on every word we shared was palpable.

Without realizing it, I had isolated myself from these women who had supported me throughout my adolescence and helped shape me into the woman I am today. I had acted out of fear of being misunderstood, or of being forced, even unintentionally, to quickly heal the bitterness I felt towards Carlos. But looking at them, at the smiles they exchanged and the ease with which they could make each other laugh, I realized that, in some way or another, these women were my family.

My attention was brought back to the conversation when I heard his name. My mother's plate had been pushed aside, and in its place was a small notebook.

“So Carlos is coming?” Her pen hovered above his name, highlighted in pink. Pink for family. Orange for friends. Green for colleagues. Carlos' name was in pink. “That makes me so happy, I miss having that sweet boy around.”

I didn't even have time to think about the implications of Carlos in a nice suit walking around my backyard before Blanca's eyes drifted to me.

"Since Luisa brought up his name..." she started, her voice so low and slow that I could tell nothing good could be in its way. "He mentioned you were together. This weekend."

My mother fixed me with her gaze; her bright green eyes and pink eyeshadow begging for details. Reyes? Well, something told me she also knew about our encounter, but she pretended not to know it. She knew my mother hated to be the last to know about things. Ana looked at her sister, frowning, ready to discuss how, or rather why, that matter had gotten to the table.

“"When were you planning to tell us about that?" asked my mother.

"I wasn't, actually," I said, taking a sip of my mimosa. I called the waitress and asked for another one; I knew one wouldn't be enough if we kept this subject on the table. "It was meaningless. Not worth it to talk about."

"But what happened?" My mom asked, her gaze burning into me.

"He showed up at the track, at the garage," I said, pausing. My mom and Reyes both tilted their heads slightly, their curious expressions trying to get more details out of me. "We talked, and he left. That was it."

"That was it?" Ana asked, her eyes still focused on Blanca, almost as if she was making sure Blanca had heard the same. Blanca's face was a mix of curiosity and annoyance, her brow furrowed as she asked, "What did he say?"

Reyes stepped in and said, "Venga, don't meddle in their business." She glanced at me with a reassuring smile.

The girls didn't take their mother's request, as their eyes just glanced at me, full of curiosity and hunger to know more. All the alcohol in the world wasn't going to be enough to calm the storm inside me if I had to go through this conversation. Love and disappointment. What a killer duo. I forced a smile at the waitress, who had just laid a new cup in front of me.

“Nothing worth showing up the night before a race,” I had a sip of the mimosa. A big one. “Messed with my head and he didn't bother to show up to see me win it.”

Messed with my head. I think Ana read between the lines, because her eyebrows gently lifted up, and a hint of a smile appeared on her lips. I feared she would talk, make a joke, or ask another question, but Reyes interjected.

“Oh, dear… Didn't he tell you?” Reyes shifted in her seat like she was trying to get a little closer to me. “He came back to Madrid in the morning. But I assure you,” she paused. “He watched the race, he was seeing it on his phone, on the way home from the airport.”

Reyes' confirmation made more doubts settle down at my core and so, so many questions. Questions I didn't want an answer to, because, frankly, everything would be easier if he continued to be a villain in my story. Another sip of the drink. If it wasn't the morning I would absolutely order something stronger.

“He saw it?” Reyes nodded, his sisters seemed as surprised as me. “Jesus…”, I exhaled, leaning against the back of the chair. “And I called him and lashed out at him.”

Blanca cleared her throat and without moving my head, I just looked at her like a child afraid of being called out.

“You need to talk,” she said. My gaze shifted to my hands, to the candles on the table, the plate in front of me, of which I barely had eaten from. “Eva, you know that he has always cared about you, right?” Vague words my mother always repeated, in desperate attempts to make us solve our issues. “I know you two are stubborn, but he already did his part. Don't let this get worse because of some miscommunication.”

“Miscommunication is not the right term, to be honest,” I said. “Try lack of communication.”

"Eva," Reyes made me look at her again. I remembered to breathe. They wanted the best for me and for him. They wanted normality back. "Either way, you will end up regretting not talking to him. I assure you." She paused. "You will hate that way more than putting your pride aside and listening to him."

And despite it making me mad, she was right. I had collected enough what ifs for a lifetime already.

My mother had that look that all mothers seem to share; her eyes were filled with so much thought and emotion, and her lips were sealed, for she knew that I would comprehend her words without her having to speak them. Reyes' eyes almost corresponded to the same emotion. I just looked down, defeated in some way.

"I'll try to talk to him," I paused. "I'll make an effort. I promise."

"Good," my mom said, satisfied. Blanca and Ana had victorious smiles on their faces and I tried to pretend not to have seen them. For a short moment, I felt like that had been an ambush. "Now, let's move on to another topic before we get too old talking about this. And, on the topic," she giggled, "we need to pick the cake!"

We ate, we drank and he didn't talk more about him. At the back of my mind, I formed an image of Carlos watching my race.

To be honest, that conversation got me through the day with a feeling I hadn't felt in a while.

Perhaps it was the effect of the mimosas, the nostalgia in action or the image of Carlos in the backseat focused on my race. Either way, I felt lighter.

"Fish?" My niece's voice brought me back to the table. Her tiny hand was extended to me, her fingers holding a piece of the grilled fish.

"I'm sure Aunt Eva doesn't want your icky fish, amore," Rio said with a tender smile, cleaning his kid's hand.

"Dad's right, Liv," I said, wrinkling my nose and helping Rio keep the toddler's hands out of her plate. "I have my own fish, look."

Rio smiled at the scene, busy cleaning his hands with a napkin. "See? I told you," he told the little girl, as he deposited a delicate kiss on top of her ginger strands of hair. "Let's just eat and don't make a mess, okay?"

After rubbing her eyes and tilting her head to the side, a long yawn escaped her lips. Sleep was already softening her body and her twin, Grace, was almost asleep in her highchair.

As usual, during the summer, we had dinner outside that evening. Rio and his family had visited during the afternoon, mainly to take advantage of the pool, but my mom had insisted that they stay for dinner. So, that night, instead of the usual three, there were seven of us.

I noticed I had stopped eating to observe the twins and try to understand their sleepy mumbling. They looked a lot like Marjorie, my brother's wife. Ginger hair, tiny freckles, sweet disposition, and a lot of good humour. From Rio, they got the deep green eyes and the never-ending energy.

My mother used to say they were a half-Scottish copy of Rio, but my dad would disagree. Even though I didn't want kids of my own, or at least not in the near future, I envied the love Rio had found and what he had created. He used to say "love at first sight" all the time, especially in the early weeks of their relationship, and then they would look at each other with the most endearing smiles.

I remember meeting Marjorie in my kitchen one Friday morning, still in my pyjamas, while they were having breakfast. Rio introduced us and left for class, leaving her alone at home like we were already family. It was only then, after almost an hour of talking with her, that I learned that she was an exchange student and they had met that night, in a bar.

“I need to find a way to make her exchange Edinburgh for Madrid, for real this time,” he told us at dinner that night. And he managed to do it. From that night out, from what would have been a simple one-night stand, had born a family.

That was what I envied—the simplicity, how they had found their way to each other with no detours. Rio never had to make her exchange Edinburgh for Madrid, because since the beginning she knew it was meant to be in Madrid. With him. For him. For the family they were meant to build.

Meanwhile, I felt utterly and completely lost.

I was so confused as to what to do; whether I should accept the destiny that we had set for ourselves or take a step back and hear what he had to say. I had made a promise; I would try to talk to him, but each time I imagined him in front of me, I could feel my heart sink, a void consuming me from the inside. And looking back at that night, the way he just fit inside my garage and seemed so right walking around my car, and how quickly all the emotions and feelings had resurfaced, just trying to speak with him seemed like a terrible decision.

I owed him an apology for last Sunday's call; nothing more. There was no point in going back beyond that weekend. As I had taken years to learn, he didn’t owe me anything. I had learned to live with the choices we had made; there was no point in rethinking them.

But I had made a promise.

I drank a bit of my wine, my eyes roaming around the table, my body relaxing again as the warm breeze ran across the table.

By the time we had finished our dinner, the sun had already set. Taking my glass in one hand and the small plate with ice cream in the other, I made my way towards the small blanket my mother had spread next to the pool. I sat down between Marjorie and Rio, both busy feeding the kids their ice cream, as both of them struggled to keep their eyes open. It didn't take much until they fell asleep in the blanket, with their bellies full and chocolate stains on the pretty sage green dresses they were wearing.

The smell of freshly cut grass and the familiar aroma of homemade ice cream took me back to my childhood. That, along with the arrival of people I thought would stay in the past, and maybe the glasses of wine I drank at dinner, left me feeling overwhelmed. Too many opinions, too many expectations.

I tried to distract myself from all that.

Rio was attempting his best to try and persuade my father to invest in a motorsport team one of his driver friends had recently joined, and Marjorie was there to listen attentively by his side. Her ginger curls were a beautiful contrast to her pale complexion, which was lightly kissed with freckles. As I lay down on the ground, I couldn't help but be mesmerized by Olivia's tiny curls, as my hands played with them gently. She smiled during her sleep, a look of contentment on her small face.

"That won't help me, Fabrizio," I heard my father say with a sigh, shaking his head. "Neither will help you. We drive and work with real cars. I don't need or want to support that electric car crap."

Marjorie giggled, "Told you so, babe." She patted him on the back, trying to cheer him up.

"Your grandparent would scold you if you talked about that near him," my father said, taking a sip of his wine glass before putting the glass back on the table near his outside armchair.

I couldn't help but chuckle at his comment, happily being on the other side of the conversation, just listening, not in the mood to talk about my own issues. But my brother, Rio, seemed to take my father's words as a personal challenge.

"Look at Formula-E, papà!" He gesticulated, like a true Italian. "In a couple of years, these new branches of motorsport will take off. It's a good investment. And there's a lot of potential in the market."

"It's not about investment," my father said, his voice full of conviction.

"Eva! Tell him supporting electric motorsports is marketable!" My brother turned to me and I could see the frustration on his face. When I looked back at my dad, he had both his eyebrows up, ready to listen to my opinion.

"Sorry, Rio," I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Nothing about Dad is marketable. He's just a grumpy old man."

My dad chuckled, a smile spreading on his face as he reached for his wine glass and took a sip. "Eh, I'm not that old," he said, his eyes twinkling with joy and a hint of amusement.

Rio looked at my mom as if he was waiting for her to save him, but she just smiled and patted him on the shoulder on her way to my father’s side. He let out a deep sigh, accepting his defeat.

“Fabrizio, you know your father doesn’t care just for the numbers…” she said in a soothing tone.

“Tradizione, patrimonio…” I said, looking up at them. Those words served as a motto in our home.

My mom was standing behind my dad, both her hands on his broad shoulders, a big smile on her lips while she nodded to my words. Her French tips were hidden by my father’s hands, which he positioned over hers in a reassuring gesture.

“Exactly,” he nodded slowly. "Heritage, family…” He paused for a second, his gaze turning a bit more solemn as he continued. “It’s about staying true to my roots and the traditions of my family, and my country, and not getting carried away with all these new trends. You know that, Fabrizio."

“Also,” I said. “Dad’s main business is wine. Sponsoring a racing driver would be a… choice.”

“You are a racing driver.” My brother pointed. “Dad sponsors you.”

“Because I’m his daughter, not because I’ll be a moving billboard for his company,” I said, taking a sip from my glass. “Dad can offer support in other ways, but I don’t think it will look good to do it your way.”

My father nodded, a small smile on his lips. "I can help the guy move into a real Motorsport series and not that vegan car crap.” The smile on his face grew as Rio got more annoyed. “It’s so easy to get to you, boy.” An actual burst of laughter erupted from the old man, and my brother tried to battle a smile. “Send me his number, I’ll talk with your friend.”

Rio nodded, satisfied with his victory, and naturally, the conversation moved on to other topics. I continued to observe my family, my gaze lingering on the toddlers sleeping between us lulled by the laughter and casual banter between the older members of the family.

The first to move was my father, leaving his armchair empty and my mom took his place. Soon after, Rio and Marjorie decided to go home. My mother offered to help them as they made their way out, carrying on her lap one of the kids, while Marjorie held the other. I tried to stand up, but the wine had definitely taken its toll on me.

I decided to stay for a bit more.

An empty glass sat by my side, my feet touching the fresh grass. Only the chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs could be heard from a lake a few meters away. Again, I was transported to the past, to the lull of days that passed without any responsibility, and when I was nothing but innocent and naive. And then, upsetting the melody, my cell phone vibrated.

“My mom missed you. She was all smiles when she got home.”

I smiled at my cell phone and looked at the horizon, at the birds that flew across, still painted by the dwindling twilight, oblivious to all this.

“I missed her too. I’m glad I could put a smile on her face.”

“As you always used to do.”

I hated to admit it, even to myself, but I liked the texts. Not the texts themselves, but to be able to talk to him. To know he was just a text away; that he was, once again, reachable.

That thought alone was enough to make me angry at myself. Deep down, I knew I wanted him back in my life. I wanted to be able to open my door and welcome him back into my home, to be able to have him around and sit with my family. I wanted to have him talking about wine with my father, discussing engineering with my brother, and charming my mother with words that never failed to make her smile. I missed him – more than that, I missed the person I was when he was around; the person who he inspired and encouraged me to be. I could try.

I could try. I had to try. I made a promise.

We could try to be friends. I could try to lower the expectations and look at the world from a more realistic point of view, setting aside my rose-tinted glasses. I could try to look at him, talk to him, be around him and not let anything resurface. Not the love or the angst.

I glanced down at my phone, the screen was still on. The little telephone icon in front of his name stared at me, its monochromatic colours prompting me to take action. My finger trembled as it hovered over the button and I pressed it, the action fueled by my too-many glasses of wine.

He picked up almost immediately.

“Eva.” His voice, both familiar and strange, filled my ears. Deep, hoarse and warm. I felt a shiver down my spine.

And suddenly, I was aware of the silence filling the air, a silence almost oppressive.

"Carlos." A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Hi."

"Hey."

I swallowed dry.

"Hi.” Again. He chuckled softly.

"Do you need anything?"

"Yeah,” Fuck. “I just wanted to apologize. For the other night—morning, I mean."

"It's okay," he chuckled softly, his voice gentle and soothing. The shiver extended from my spine to my arms. "You were upset and you had every right to be. It was stupid to show up like that. But, he made a pause, and I could almost feel the weight of his cheeky smile in my mind. "I got to experience drunk Eva. Although, this version was way less fun than that 16-year-old version that I got to know some years ago at my birthday party—".

I couldn't help but let a small chuckle escape from my lips as the memories mingled with the wine. God, that night was a mess. Embarrassed by the memory, and the sudden burst of laughter the memories had prompted (and that was probably thanks to the wine, too), I felt my cheeks warming up.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, too." I could hear him laugh and my stomach twisted. "I was a hot mess."

"Something says me you're still the same."

His words made my heart skip a beat. I didn't know if it was the alcohol or the fact I was talking to him again, or the memories he had brought back, but I felt something sitting inside of me. It was not love, not even close, but was definitely something scary. Something I had been trying to ignore for a long time.

“I'll have to disagree,” I answered hesitantly, forcing a firm voice I was not sure I could pull off.

“Really?” I hummed a confirmation back. “We should have dinner, then. Just so I can confirm or deny that.”

“Dinner sounds great,” and I regretted my words the second I spoke them.

“I need to travel to France Thursday morning, so… tomorrow? An early dinner?” Although half my mind was screaming against the decision, I found myself agreeing. “I'll pick you up.”

“Okay. It's a date then.” I paused, recognizing the words that had just left my mouth. “Not a date date.” I said, quickly correcting myself. “You know what I mean.”

He chuckled. “I know, Eva. But I will pretend it’s a date date, anyway.”

“Ah, don’t get ahead of yourself, Sainz.”

“Fine. It’s settled, then. And it’s not a date.” He said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Not a date,” I repeated. “Have a good night.”

I couldn't get on with my night without my attention being pulled by the fact that I would be alone with him and only God knows when that last happened. It's not a date, I reminded myself. And I knew it wasn't, there was no reason to be that nervous, but I couldn't help the wave of nervousness that swept over me. Perhaps, all of this was my body re-entering its old habits, returning to the mannerisms that his presence provoked.

I had spent years trying to build a life without him in it, and I was determined not to let those feelings resurface and draw me back in.

That night, I fell asleep repeating those words in my mind. Reminding myself that I couldn't, better, that I wouldn't give into those recently awakened feelings and fall deeper into a trap I had spent years getting out of.

Self-discipline was important to me. Both Rio and I had been brought up to think so. We didn't always follow my father's teachings to the letter, but we did our best not to fall short of the maxims he had transmitted to us. So, the next day, I focused on annihilating every item on my to-do list, using my productivity against the anxiety caused by my "non-date."

My trainer had sent me a new workout regime a few days earlier, so it was the first order of business. I ran through the neighbourhood, waving at neighbours who occasionally passed by, mumbling the lyrics to a song from the playlist I'd been listening to serially for a couple of weeks. I stopped at a children's park halfway home, which was surprisingly empty, and turned it into my personal gym.

"You're going to be the death of me, someday" I sent it to Rocco, my trainer, along with a picture of my sweaty (but smiling) face, giving him a thumbs up, and then I headed home. Still running, listening to the same songs, mumbling the same lyrics.

When I got back, the house was empty, so the rest of my day was spent respecting my own time. I'd left the windows open, embracing the hot summer breeze, put music on the speakers and, line by line, annihilated my to-do list.

"8.30? Does it work for you?" Carlos sent, mid-afternoon. "We'll eat here. Need to show you what Italy has taught me."

He's cooking? I stared at my phone and re-read the text twice, to make sure I'd understood it correctly.

"Should I call poison control in advance?" I texted back. Enter. "Also, don't need you to pick me up. I'll be there."

"Funny." And, in true Carlos fashion, he added an eye-roll emoji. "See you later."

I think that's when I was taken over by insecurities again.

Sitting in my living room, laptop on my legs, the doors and windows open, I looked around and imagined us there: our younger versions, when being a Formula 1 driver was still a dream and the days passed slowly.

I remembered when I used to wake up and run downstairs to see if Carlos was here and if he wasn't, then I'd go out to the front garden and sit on one of the sofas, reading or studying, so I could watch Reyes's car approach our driveway. And then, as subtly as I could, I would say "Holla, Carlos" and pretend to ignore him as I walked around the house. Other times, I would sit on the living room couch next to my brother and I would feign interest in whatever game they were playing.

Rio would shush me and attempt to force me out of the couch, whereas Carlos would go out of his way to patiently explain the purpose of every button on the remote and the intricate plot of the game, even providing details of the backstory of every single character. I couldn't blame myself for having a crush on him, could I?

He was my brother's best friend, a good-looking guy who happened to be a racing driver, something that, not surprisingly, appealed to female attention. I didn't even dream that he would one day actually make it to Formula One, not that I doubted his talent but back then, in the fever of adolescence, he was just that boy.

When I realized I really liked him, he started travelling more, until he eventually spent more time away than at home. The first punch to the stomach. I stayed on that tightrope forever, thinking about what it would have been like if he had stayed in Madrid, and gone to college like a normal guy. Over time, over the long phone calls and the short encounters here and there, he slowly became a best friend.

He stopped being that boy, to become the boy.

I wanted to be around him. I wanted to drive in the same series as him. I wanted to be near him. Because he was sweet and patient and loved racing and loved to see me race. Because even after he became an F1 driver, fame didn't change him. And lastly, because he showed me that it was indeed possible to achieve even the most daring dream.

Until he ceased to be even that to me.

And now, I wouldn't be having dinner with the guy I dreamed of having a future with; I would be having dinner with the man who insisted on leaving everything in the past.

So, there was no reason for this anxiety.

From what I knew, he was nothing more than a stranger.

Looking in the mirror, I tried to find reassurance in myself and in the lines of the dress I'd picked. Soft, fresh and simple. I didn't want to cross any lines Carlos had drawn in his mind and at that point, I didn't know what lines I bore in mine.

The second I stepped out of the house, the warm breeze welcomed me with a tender embrace. As I looked up, I could see the sun slowly beginning its descent, and the sky was slowly being coloured in a dim orange hue, replacing the bright and clear blue sky of earlier in the day.

"On my way."

I quickly typed out a message to him as soon as I settled into the Uber and then left my phone to rest on my lap, allowing my mind to settle into the familiarity of the route I had taken so many times before. The journey was brief: in less than ten minutes I could already see him standing outside his door, anxiously checking his phone.

Handsome as ever. Button-down shirt, white pants.

Short hair. Shorter than last Sunday. He looked so fresh. So manly.

I felt like a stalker, admiring him from the still-moving car, as he waited for me at the arch of his own door, pacing around. That eased my mind; he was just as nervous as I was. He raised his empty hand up to his hair, passing his fingers through it. A few strands fell onto his forehead, and he gently swept them to the side.

I grabbed my phone, the movement making the screen light up. "Can't wait." He had texted moments before.

And then the car stopped, and his gaze rose from the ground to the car I was in. His eyes would have met mine if not for the tinted window that separated us, as he crossed the path from the door to the sidewalk, rushing to open my door.

Carlos thanked the driver and then turned to me. His face taken by the golden hue, the big eyelashes casting a long shadow on the top of his cheeks. Still lost in his looks, perhaps so lost he could have seen it in my expression, I found my way back when he touched the small of my back.

A kiss on the cheek. A stroke with his hand, just like his mother had done the day before.

“Shall we?” I finally said, breaking the silence.

He was quick to agree and direct me inside, in front of him. I knew the way, of course. I could draw this house from memory.

When I was almost at the door, he hastened his steps and I noticed a sudden burst of energy in him as if he had remembered the courtesy he had momentarily forgotten. He then hurried to open the door for me. As I stepped inside I felt some memories flooding back.

The house looked the same. Large, spacious, high ceilings, beautifully ornamented. It was a home. You could tell a lot about the Sainz family from the way the house was decorated. The fragrance in the air, fusing with the smell coming from the kitchen, embraced me and filled me with bliss. I looked around, as I walked behind Carlos. Small frames everywhere. I spotted one of my favourites — Carlos, Rio and me in Australia, on the day of his F1 debut. I smiled. I had that frame in my house too, right on the mantel.

"Still the same, no?" He said, his voice interrupting my thoughts and I realized I had stopped to watch the frames.

There was one photo that was new, a picture of Carlos standing proudly with the golden Silverstone trophy in his hands. My eyes lingered on that one—his big smile, the hair whipped by the wind.

"Yeah," I nodded. A brief pause. Just enough time to remember why I was there. I twisted around on my feet and turned back to him. "What did you cook?"

He motioned me to follow him and I obliged. Through the hallways I knew so well, he directed us to the kitchen.

"Pasta. From scratch." He said with a smug smile on his lips. Carlos then turned back to me, standing near the two plates laid on the counter.

Just by looking at them, I understood why Carlos had blended so fast into the Ferrari crew. The smell and the perfectly arranged piles of pasta, drizzled with an orange sauce, told me everything I needed to know about how well he had acquainted himself with Italy.

"I can't promise it'll be the best you've ever tasted," he said, carefully balancing both plates in his hands. "But it has the most important ingredient, so it won't be too bad."

I walked to him, stopping in front of him and attentively studying the plates.

"I don't see any cheese on it," I said teasingly. When I looked up at him, I drew my eyebrows together, but his grin and the lightness of his expression made me immediately smile. He laughed a deep chuckle that rumbled through the kitchen, stripping away all my shields.

"I meant love, Eva." He circled around me in a couple of rushed steps, the plates not even moving.

"Does that taste as good as Parmigiano Reggiano?" He rolled his eyes, making my lips curve involuntarily. I missed his cheesy jokes and I hope he missed me teasing him about them. "Did you pick a good wine, at least?"

"Nah. That's your only task for tonight," he said, before leaving the room. His voice echoed from the hallway, "You know where to find the bottles."

I knew exactly where to find them. Turning the corner of the hallway, I headed to the pantry. My steps resonated between the walls and, for a second, I felt comfortable. Light. The interior of the pantry still had the same smell and the shelves were organized the same way.

Nostalgia hit me hard in the chest.

Carefully arranged at the end of the pantry, the bottles were standing in the same order they had been standing in for years, as if time had frozen inside. In the dim light, I could make out the familiar labels; the same collection of wines, in the same order, neatly arranged. I grabbed a bottle of vintage red, one of the bottles from my father's winery. It would pair perfectly with the pasta and the occasion.

Stepping into the dining room, I held up the bottle in my hand. “Is this one too fancy?”

Carlos quickly turned towards me, a kitchen cloth over his immaculate shirt. I knew his mother would scold him for that.

“Not at all,” he said. “It seems fitting.”

The tall glasses were already arranged on the table, near the plates. Underneath them, white linen placemats were tinged with the twilight that crept inside, casting golden shadows from the large glass doors behind the table.

“Do you mind?” He extended his hand and I gave him the bottle.

His hand easily encircled the dark glass. Slim fingers worked to open the bottle. With a firm grip, he pulled the cork out with a single tug, producing a loud pop that reverberated through the room. My gaze shifted from his hands to his face, taking in the multitude of emotions that a single look of his could convey.

I picked up the cups and let him fill them, admiring the glint of sunlight reflecting off the glass as he laid the bottle on the table. I propped my hand on the back of a chair, leaning in and taking a deep breath as I moved the glass in front of my nose, inhaling the sweet aroma of the drink. I took a sip, and I was content with my choice.

“I knew I could trust you for that,” he said, with a warm smile on his face. “Some things never change, huh?” he added, almost as if to himself. I nodded in agreement, giving him his cup.

He gestured towards the plates and I took my seat, waiting for him to do the same. We ate in silence, the only sound being the sound of cutlery against porcelain. It was strange, but comforting to be here again, with him. I felt like time had stopped and we were back to the days when we were just friends, before all the changes that had been made.

Carlos didn't say much, but I could tell he was enjoying the food. He smiled at me every now and then, and sometimes I caught his eyes lingering on me while I ate.

“It’s not bad, you know?” I broke the silence, taking the napkin to my lips. “Parmigiano would work better than love, but it’s the chef’s choice, I guess.”

He let out a deep chuckle. “Maybe. But the chef is still learning, so he's open to suggestions.”

“I’ve made my suggestion. Go get us some cheese.”

He laughed again and rose from his chair. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”

In his absence, my eyes traced the lines of the curtains, the table, the walls, and the door that just half an hour ago had been the barrier between us. I heard Carlos' steps coming back down the hallway before I saw him. In his hand, a bowl of freshly grated Parmigiano.

“Brought this home a few weeks ago,” he said, with a note of pride in his voice. “One of the mechanics gave this to me in Maranello.”

“I think it will do the trick,” I took the bowl in my hands under his focused gaze and, with the help of a spoon, I sprinkled our plates with the cheese. He immediately took his fork and had a bit of the pasta. His smile grew. “See? You can’t make this without the cheese.”

“In my defence,” he leaned back, hands up in surrender. “I didn’t want to overpower the other flavours.”

“Right,” I replied, a hint of irony in my words. “Just like I don’t add mint to my mojitos because I want to taste the rum…”

He laughed, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room. "Okay, guilty as charged." Feeling the familiarity of the moment settle in, I went back to my pasta, now sprinkled with cheese. And God, now you could taste the love.

"Now, I have to admit. This is really good."

Carlos smiled and nodded, a pleased expression on his face, a hint of pride transgressing the glint in his eyes. He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table and intertwining his fingers. I looked up, from the big hands to the caramel-coloured eyes.

"Do you remember the first time we went out to dinner?" He asked, his voice soft and calm. “Just the two of us?”

“I do,” the memories were fast to arrive. “It was the day you passed your driver’s test, wasn’t it?” He nodded. “Rio was still sick from that shady sushi place.”

The broad grin he used on his face turned into a hearty laugh, no doubt remembering my brother’s awful food poisoning episode which had kept him in bed for a few days. Despite my resistance to joining Carlos alone, that night turned out to be amazing. If I closed my eyes, I could picture the restaurant and view from the table we sat at; it was scary how imprinted that moment was in my mind.

“You drove like an old lady,” I teased him. “I’d never seen you that nervous.”

He shook his head, his laugh seeming to still linger inside, as his lips stood open, curved up. His eyes twinkled in the dim light of the room, getting a bit darker every minute. “That was because one,” he held up one finger, “I didn’t want to get a speeding ticket and two,” he held up another, “I wanted to make a good impression.”

"And here we are, what? Ten years later?" I said, taking a sip from my wine glass. "And you still drive like an old lady."

"About that, I can disagree.” He put his hands together and rested his chin on them. "But I am still trying to make a good impression, though."

God. This man. I looked at him, truly taking in his face, his eyes, his lips, his hair. He was more handsome than ever. I could see the emotions playing on his face, regret and sorrow walking hand in hand until they reached his eyes and a dark gaze seemed to appear over them. I realized, then, I had dropped my smile.

"It truly doesn't matter if you can make a good impression today," I said. "No matter how hard I try, these last years won't disappear."

"Why did you decide to come here, then?"

"I promised your mother I would try to mend things," I noticed the words didn't sit well with him. "Why did you invite me?"

"Because I wanted—want to mend things. I miss having you around."

I shook my head, feeling my frustration grow. My restless fingers held tightly to the brim of the placemat, my body twitching with tension as I tried to find the right words. I leaned back, meeting the back of the chair, my eyes on his face. He dragged his hands over his face, stopping at his chin, where the fingers lingered in.

"Go ahead." He finally spoke again. "Tell me everything you've been saving for these last years. I deserve to hear it."

His eyes were soft, his face open and honest. I could see the sincerity in his words and it made me pause. A part of me wanted to tell him everything I had been feeling all these years, to finally let it all out and show him how much he had hurt me. But another part of me, the part that still held a flame of hope, was afraid.

"No," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't think that's necessary. I guess we just grew apart, that happens to people."

“That’s the polite answer, Eva. Just—” I heard a sigh, not an impatient one. It was rather a hesitant one, not knowing what to expect. “Just tell me what you feel. Or rather, what you felt.”

I looked at him for a second. A sheer second that I regretted with my whole body and soul. He had a powerful stare, which was one of his strongest details. The stare, the way his gaze pierces in and invades one's mind... Trying to escape it, I glanced at my glass, feeling the need to drown myself in the red wine.

“If it’s liquid courage you need,” he moved his hand to the bottle.

“I don’t need to be drunk to talk to you.”

“To talk about this,” he filled my glass and I brought the cup to my lips. “Not to talk to me.”

“Semantics.”

"I won't fight you on that," he filled his own glass and then, as the end of the bottle met the table, he raised his eyes up to mine. "I've done my part, now do yours. Try."

"You had a different life." I started. "I will never understand what you went through and how that universe of yours works. I never understood and never will." I paused. "But I tried to. Believe me, Carlos, I did. But I got so tired of all the excuses and being put on the second plan. Always coming in second." The noise he made when he got up, his cutlery clanking against the plate and the chair dragging on the floor, made me look at him.

He walked until he reached my side of the table and pushed a chair. He sat by my side, chair turned to me, his legs apart, just enough that I could turn to him and fit right there, without our knees bumping. I looked down, at his hands lying on his tights.

"Eva." His voice was soft, full of regret. Once again, my heart sank. His hand moved gently, touching my arm. I turned to him, slightly, and then his hands went back to his lap.

"The person you became was so insensitive. And it was so... not you." I looked up, finding strength in his eyes. Hurt and curious in the same measure. "And looking back, you hadn't been yourself for a while before I decided to just... step back. I don't blame you. Life got in the way. I just got hurt. I held you to such high expectations. And that's on me."

Silence. The damned silence said so much. I didn't dare to look away from him and he didn't move an inch, didn't say a word.

"Silverstone," I recollected the image of the colorful frame, the one that had grabbed my attention before. I turned to him, now completely. "I can't tell you how much it hurt because I was so happy for you." My heart kept sinking, tears rising in response. My heart could explode. "I was so proud of you. I wanted to text you, but I couldn't. I mean, I could." He was nodding at every sentence. His gaze was on mine. I don't know how I didn't cave in right there, in front of him. "I could, right?" He answered me with silence. "I could have texted you but I sincerely thought that you didn't want me to. I think that's it." I shrugged. "I just understood you didn't want me around and that was almost too tough to swallow."

We sat in silence, both of us lost in our thoughts, thinking about all the things we used to do and I was committed to trying to understand why we became these people. These strangers.

"I had to let you go." The words echoed in the room. "I was giving you half, or a third of what you deserved. It was not good for any of us. We were stuck in a place where none of us was getting the things we needed and deserved. I think you understand that. And the way I did it, just running away from a talk, forcing you to back away... I was selfish."

A third was enough. More than enough. I wanted to say.

"I had my fair share of selfish actions, don't worry." A sad smile emerged on his face, as he saw mine. "I believed you owed me something. Deep down, everything I did was because I wanted you to give it back. The support, the love, the attention..."

"What do you mean?"

"I did it because I was in love." Was. I repeated the words in my mind. My throat was twisting into a knot as I poured out my feelings. I felt so vulnerable and exposed. "I wanted to be loved back. Maybe you knew that and decided to step away, but—"

I trailed off. No more words in my mind, just a void that seemed to consume me. He was looking at me, expression hard to decipher, which didn't happen often. Silence.

"No." He finally said, his voice soft. "I had no idea." I looked up, a watery smile on my lips. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I shook my head. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"It does matter." He insisted, I looked at him, confused. "Because I think I might have loved you, too."

God. What?

What was that that I was feeling? Relief, joy, and a million other emotions I couldn't put a name to. I couldn't seem to understand his words and make sense of them. I shook my head and took a deep breath. My whole body was restless.

“Ever since that trip to the Alps. The cabin in Switzerland.” He slid his hands on his thighs until he stopped on his knees, torso slightly leaning forward. I looked down, our knees almost touching, his fingertips almost touching the bare skin of my knees. “I remember the storm, you know? Even now, that night is my dearest memory of those trips. Not the day I learned how to ski, or the landscapes. It's...” He looked at me. “It's how you felt safe just because you were holding my hand.”

“I wanted to keep being that person to you.” He continued. “The one that makes you feel safe. But I couldn't do that living in the UK, or being away for more than half of the year.” A pause. The knot in my throat tightened as it got harder to get back to those memories and the emotions they always carried with them, especially with his voice triggering them. “This was not the first time I tried to make things right, but every time I tried, it was harder. I had made more damage. And now, looking at you, I see how much I failed you and failed myself.”

“Carlos,” I whispered, placing my hand on his knee. Our fingertips touching.

His hand took mine and squeezed it gently. I looked at him, my heart opening up to the man standing so close. I had been afraid of this, of this bare moment. I had been living looking back to what I had lost but never to what I could conquer. A third wasn't more than enough. I knew that because back then I would have done everything to have him a bit more than that.

Carlos leaned closer. I closed my eyes. His cologne intoxicated me, taking control of my senses. Without even noticing, I parted my lips. I wanted him, always had. He cupped my face in his hands and brushed his thumb over my cheek. Every inch of me was begging for him. And then I felt the gentle touch, the soft and hesitant brush of his lips against mine.

“Please, don't.” I murmured. I put my hand on his face. My fingers felt the caress of his beard while they traced the line of his jaw. I stopped when my thumb reached his chin, and then his lower lip. I was incapable of moving and creating a gap between us.

We stood like that. Dangerously close. He just nodded to my request but did not move.

“I'm sorry, I-”

"Shhh." He cut me off, as he caressed my cheek. "It's okay."

And so, we stayed suspended like that: in uncertainty, in a half-taken step. Floating in time. Doing nothing wrong but far from doing the right thing. We clung to a version of ourselves that we had never experienced before and which was now opening, unfolding right in front of our eyes, a door we didn't know we wanted to open.

I opened my eyes slowly, taking in the image in front of me unhurriedly. My thumb found his lower lip and stroked it lightly. His eyes were still closed and his lips parted. God. I needed to escape that. How pretty he looked under the dim light, in such a vulnerable state.

"I should go." I didn't want my voice to sound like a whimper, but I believe it did.

His back met the back of the chair, a muted thud invading the silence. I got up. I felt my heart hit the floor as I saw him run his hands over his face. I couldn't read what was going through his head. The pair of tired, anguished eyes that stared back at me pulled the ground from under my feet. So dark. Covered by a haze that wasn't there when we shared memories of our best years and he was looking at me with bright eyes and a wide smile on his face.

How did we get here?

To this despair, this yearning for something that no longer exists?

I wanted to rip out, in cold blood, all the negative connotations that time had attached to his image and that clung to me like parasites, totally consuming me.

I took a deep breath and shook my head. He just nodded, as if he heard the apology my mind was muttering just by looking at me.

"Do you need me to take you home?"

“No!” Breathe. I reminded myself. “No, you don’t need to.”

“Let me rephrase that.” He got up. "Please, let me take you home."

Somehow, the trip hadn't been as bad as I'd thought it would be. We drove in silence, but our bodies spoke for themselves. I couldn't deny the energy that pulled me to him, that redirected my gaze to his face or his big hands on the steering wheel. It was impossible to resist the urge to look at his reflection in the rearview mirror and study his eyes to see if, like mine, they were betraying the desire we were feeling. If they were looking for me, if the haze was drooping or getting stronger as we, once again, seemed to drift away.

There was no way of knowing what was behind the door our exasperation had opened. It could be our doom.

We arrived in the blink of an eye. The second the car stopped, I unbuckled my seat belt, needing to escape the tension and desperation that was choking me. Carlos did the same. I didn't let him get out of the car before me; I didn't allow him to open the door for me this time.

"I need to apologize," he said, with his hand on the car door, already open. "For rushing things."

"No. I—" I shook my head. God. "We have a friendship to mend first," I explained. The door closed behind me. "That's more important than anything else."

He nodded. It was the first step. A new beginning.

And just like that, I was in his arms. A deep, understanding hug. The first thing I noticed was how tightly he hugged me, the weight of his arms pulling me against him in a massive refusal to let go. And then his cologne. He had been so far away for so long that I no longer remembered the notes of sandalwood and amber that always accompanied him. Cinnamon. And a hit of citrus. And finally, how easily I'd found my place — my face easily finding its place on his chest, my arms wrapping around his torso.

"Eva," my name, so close to my ear, bringing me back to reality. The weight of his arms disappeared. The distance once again grew between us. I turned my face to him.

I nodded. I was so close to breaking down. He caressed my cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin next to my lower lip. I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to kiss him.

"The pasta was amazing." I took a step back. "Good luck for France."

His big eyes stared back at me, the slightest of smiles on his lips. And it was more than enough.

It was the beginning of the tightrope, the fine line on which we found ourselves, each slight step on it reminding us of the ephemerality of what we were living. Purposely or not, we had started a tightrope crossing and this time there was no net to catch us. We had to reach the end of the route. There was no second chance. We both knew it.

"I'll see you soon," he promised, his voice a hoarse whisper.

And then we turned around. He got into his car and I crossed the path to my house. The car was there when I got in and it stayed there when I stood behind the window in the entrance hall and watched it through the stained glass.

My heart was beating so fast, magnified by the phantom sensation of his lips still caressing mine. He drove away and I stood watching until his car disappeared from sight.

The first step had been taken. The tightrope was in front of us.

Next Chapter: 03.

Long-ish chapters are the way. Feel free to leave your thoughts and comments. See you around. <3

#carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #fanf1ction #carlos sainz #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz ferrari

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c-e-d-dreamer · 1 year

Text

And They Were Roommates, OMG, They Were Roommates: Part Twelve

A/N: So I'm not going to lie, I was actually quite sad writing the final few paragraphs/dialogue of this. Despite it taking me over a year to write this (crazy to think I posted part one as part of Romance Week last year), I've really come to love this silly little rom-com fic. Of course, there's still the epilogue to come, but I hope everyone else enjoyed this too, and I hope you enjoy this final part :)

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian knows that there are technically only seven wonders of the world. He knows that the people who decide these things have seen amazing and beautiful things all over the globe. But he’s confident that if any of them woke to the sight of Nesta Archeron in their bed, wearing their tee, they’d be changing their tune.

Beautiful suddenly doesn’t feel like a strong enough word to describe her. Her hair cascades across the pillow and down along her spine, a waterfall of burnished gold. Cassian hopes that after what’s happened between them, he can convince her to start wearing it down more around the apartment and with him. Just so he can watch it tumble across her shoulders more, so he can bury his hands in her hair and feel the soft strands slipping between his fingers. Because he can, Cassian reaches forward now, gently combing through her hair, but Nesta doesn’t wake, just quietly snuffles.

There’s a faint dusting of pink across her nose and cheeks, a result of the warmth cocooned here in this bed. It hides the freckles littered across her skin, but it doesn’t matter because Cassian already knows where each one is, his own personal constellation. He shifts his hand to trace a line down her temple to her cheekbone. Nesta’s eyelashes flutter for a moment, and then her eyes are finally slipping open, the blue of them soft in the morning light spilling into the room.

“Morning,” Cassian offers quietly, a soft smile at his lips.

Nesta mumbles something that Cassian suspects is a good morning before turning her face and burying it back in the pillow. Cassian chuckles softly, nuzzling his own face into Nesta’s neck. His tee is too big on her, so he presses a kiss to the skin exposed by the collar slipping along her shoulder. He doesn’t know how long they stay there like that, but soon, Nesta starts to wriggle against his hold, pushing up and off the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Cassian chastises, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist and hauling her back against his chest.

“To pee, you idiot,” Nesta grumbles, smacking at his arms until he finally releases his hold.

Cassian falls back against the pillows with an overdramatic huff, watching as Nesta slips off the bed. His eyes sweep over her frame, to where the hem of his shirt settles mid-thigh on her, to her bare legs on full display. The miles and miles of skin has Cassian’s mouth going dry, but he’s pretty sure he can spot the purpling bruise he bit into her inner thigh the previous night.

“Bring back breakfast with you when you come back,” Cassian calls after her retreating back.

Nesta whirls around in the doorway, settling him with a cold enough unimpressed look that Cassian bites his lip to keep from smiling and truly igniting her wrath. “If you think this changes anything, you have a new thing coming. You’re still in charge of cooking all the meals. That’s still the deal.”

“Wouldn’t dream of anything less, sweetheart.”

Nesta vanishes from view, and Cassian waits until he hears the quiet click of the bathroom door closing. He takes a moment to stretch, relishing in the pull of his muscles, before clambering out of bed too. He pads out of the room and into the kitchen, digging out the ingredients he needs for breakfast from the pantry and cabinets. The sound of bare feet on the hardwood reaches his ears, a hand sliding across the small of his back in silent greeting, and when he turns around, Nesta has slipped past him and hopped onto the kitchen island.

“What kind of fruit do you want in your pancakes?” Cassian asks, pulling down a mixing bowl.

“Fruit? Are we out of chocolate chips?”

“You know, all that chocolate you eat is going to kill you one day.”

“And what a way to go out it’ll be,” Nesta tells him haughtily, raising an eyebrow and daring him to disagree with her.

Cassian snorts amusedly, shaking his head, but he goes over to the cabinet and pulls down the chocolate chips. He quickly mixes up the batter, adding in an extra cup of chocolate chips just because he knows it will make Nesta smile. He grabs a pan and sets it on the stovetop, turning his attention back to Nesta while it heats. He slides his hands over her knees and thighs, spreading her legs enough that he can stand between them. He shifts one of those hands up, cradling her jaw and tilting her chin up enough that he can kiss her.

Cassian pulls away to press his lips against her neck, mumbling against her skin, “are you busy for the rest of the day?”

“Have some big plans, do you?” Nesta teases, threading her fingers through his hair.

“Well, I’m hoping to finally take you out on a real date.”

Nesta hums, making a big show of pretending to think about it. “I guess I can squeeze you into my schedule.”

Cassian nips at her skin in retaliation, relishing in the small gasp that tumbles past her lips, but he reluctantly pulls away and turns back to their breakfast. He pours the batter into the sizzling pan, waiting for the pancakes to rise and color along the edges to his liking before flipping it.

“We did everything backwards, you know,” Cassian continues, plating up the first stack and adding more batter to the pan. “Engaged first then sex then a date.”

“We were never actually engaged,” Nesta reminds him, accepting the plate that Cassian holds out for her.

“Semantics.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta helps Cassian to clean up all the dishes before retreating down the hallway and to the bathroom. He lets her have first shower while he finishes cleaning up the kitchen. When that’s finished, he leans over the kitchen island, phone in hand while he nails down the finer details of what he’s thinking for their date, pulling up directions and any additional information they might need.

The soft click of the bathroom door opening has Cassian’s head snapping up, but he barely catches a glimpse of Nesta amongst the cloud of steam spilling from behind her before she’s vanishing into her own room, the door closing behind her with a snick. He takes it as his cue, tossing his phone back in his room and stepping into the bathroom to shower himself.

After his shower, he takes the time to put product in his hair, raking his fingers through the strands, and pulls the bathroom door open, a towel slung low along his hips. He takes a few steps toward his own bedroom, before changing his mind, spinning on his heel. He pushes Nesta’s bedroom door open with ease, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Nesta is sitting at her vanity table, mascara poised delicately between her fingers as she swipes it across her lashes. She’s already styled her hair, a thick braid laying flat around the crown of her head, soft, golden curls tumbling down over her neck and back. Cassian could watch her all day. Watch the brush that skitters across the skin of her cheeks, leaving the faintest dust of pink in its wake. Watch the equally pale pink she dabs against her lips with her finger.

“Do you need something?” Nesta breaks the quiet, her tone dry as she meets Cassian’s eyes in her mirror.

“Just wondering if there’s anything in particular you’d like me to wear for our date.”

Nesta’s face scrunches up, adorably confused. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” Cassian asks, his too innocent tone earning him a narrow eyed look from Nesta through her mirror. “So then you won’t care if I wear my blue suit from the thrift store?”

Nesta whirls around in her seat, facing him properly and openly glaring. “Don’t you dare. I will dump you before we’ve even had our first date.”

“But you just said you don’t care,” Cassian argues with a shrug, already backing away from Nesta’s room. “I’m merely following directions.”

Faster than Cassian expects, Nesta practically leaps from her seat, all but running across her room, out the bedroom door, and toward Cassian’s room. Cassian snags her easily around the waist, lifting enough that her feet are off the floor. Nesta lets out a sound somewhere between a squeal and a yelp, her nails digging into the skin of Cassian’s forearm while she tries to wriggle free from his grasp.

“If you keep that up,” Cassian warns, his voice dipped low as he presses his face into her hair, breathing in the flowery sweet scent of her shampoo. “We won’t ever leave the apartment.”

Nesta turns her head enough that their gazes properly meet, her face close enough that Cassian can count every crystalized blue of her eyes, can count every eyelash as it kisses her cheeks. Her attention dips down to his lips, and Cassian’s breath hitches in his lungs, his lips parting as he leans closer. His breath mingles with Nesta’s, their lips brushing that barest hint, but then Nesta’s elbow is digging into Cassian’s gut. His arms drop away, giving Nesta the perfect opportunity to dart away.

“That’s cheating, Nes,” Cassian wheezes, bending over and clutching at his gut.

Nesta doesn’t even bother looking back, continuing into Cassian’s room and all but throwing his closet doors open. Her eyes sweep over all the clothes he has neatly hanging there, the mischievous fire from her eyes extinguishing and the victorious smile slipping away from her face.

“Where is it?” Nesta asks, reaching forward and shifting through the different clothes.

“I got rid of it,” Cassian admits quietly, finally stepping into his room as well.

Nesta turns back to face Cassian, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “Why?”

“You didn’t like it. Besides, I only really kept it to rile you up, and now I really don’t need to.”

Cassian doesn’t bother hiding the honesty in his voice, the sincerity bleeding out of him as he meets Nesta’s gaze head on. Nesta blinks a few times, his words clearly washing over her. Pink that’s decidedly not her blush spills across her cheeks, the smallest hint of a smile beginning to tug up her lips before Nesta spins away from him again and back toward the closet. She roots around until she finds what she’s looking for, pulling out a deep green shirt.

“Wear this,” Nesta tells him, tossing the shirt onto his bed. “Green always brings out your eyes.”

Nesta retreats back to her room, so Cassian takes the time to finish getting ready. He throws on the shirt Nesta picked out, quickly checking his hair falls the way he wants in the mirror before stepping back out of his own room. Nesta joins him soon after, and they head down to his truck. He makes sure to open the passenger door for her, waiting for her to hop inside before closing it and jogging around to the driver side. He drives them downtown, reaching over and keeping his hand on her thigh the whole way. After they park, Cassian hops out to open her door again, holding his hand out until Nesta laces their fingers together.

“There’s no restaurants in this neighborhood,” Nesta comments, her lips tugging down into a frown as she peers at the buildings around them.

“Who said we were going to a restaurant?” Cassian doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk, tossing Nesta a wink before leading them down the road and toward their destination.

“Cassian? Nesta?”

Their steps stutter, and Cassian and Nesta turn around to find Mor stepping out of one of the boutiques lining the street. Mor blinks a few times, as if trying to comprehend seeing the two of them here, confusion dancing across her expression. Cassian watches in real time the exact moment she clocks their clasped hands, her brown eyes widening almost comically.

“Are you two on a date right now?”

Cassian splutters for a moment, the demanding tone of Mor’s question throwing him off kilter. It’s certainly not the reaction he was expecting when his family and friends found out that he and Nesta were together now. Sure, he didn’t expect cheers or anything. Hell, the only one who knew he was hopelessly in love with Nesta was Azriel. But still, Cassian isn’t prepared for the way Mor looks almost… angry, her eyebrows dipped low and her mouth pinched in annoyance.

“You couldn’t wait two more months?” Mor continues before Cassian can even utter a confirmation to her first demanding question.

“What?” Cassian somehow pushes out, the tight pressure in his chest at Mor’s initial reaction giving way to pure bewilderment.

“I had Solstice,” Mor explains with a frustrated groan, whipping out her phone. Before Nesta and Cassian can say anything, before they can even blink, she brings the phone up to snap a photo of them, fingers flying across the screen. “For Cauldron’s sake, Lucien is going to be so unbearable now that he’s won.”

“You cannot be serious,” Cassian mutters, unable to hide the incredulous tone of his voice.

“Did you all bet on us?” Nesta adds, her tone cool and her face the picture perfect of unimpressed.

Mor waves a hand dismissively, her face scrunching up like she’s surprised they’re even asking. “Obviously.”

“Right,” Cassian declares, tugging on Nesta’s hand and walking them back toward their original destination. “We’ll be going now.”

“You better split that money with us,” Nesta calls over her shoulder.

“I didn’t even win! You’ll have to take it up with Lucien.”

“I can’t believe they placed bets on us,” Nesta continues to grumble, even as she allows Cassian to lead them away and around the corner.

“I can,” Cassian disagrees, opening the door of the building so Nesta can step inside. “Honestly, all the drinks that Lucien was encouraging Friday night suddenly make more sense.”

Nesta opens her mouth, clearly intent on saying more, but the words die on her tongue as she takes in their surroundings. “Did you bring us to axe throwing for our first date?”

“Yep,” Cassian tells her, not a hint of shame in his voice.

He walks over to the employee working the front table, paying for their game and accepting the axes that the employee slides over to him. The employee gives them a stall number as well, and the two of them head over to it, Cassian setting their axes down on the barrel turned table placed at the entrance. He steals a kiss to Nesta’s cheek and quickly steps over to the bar in the center of the room, ordering them both a drink.

When Cassian returns to their stall, Nesta is running a finger along one of the axes, her eyebrows pinched as she eyes the space between where she stands and the bullseye pinned to the wall. He holds her drink out to her, and Nesta accepts it with a quiet thanks.

“Here’s to the first of many,” Cassian offers, holding up his own drink in a toast.

“Should I expect all our dates to involve weapons?” Nesta asks dryly, even as she clinks her drink against Cassian’s and takes a sip.

“Aren’t any of your smutty books about sexy lumberjacks?” Cassian shoots back, picking up one of the axes and testing the weight in his hand. He smirks over at Nesta, making sure to flex his bicep. “Just trying to help you live out your fantasies, Nes.”

“If you really wanted to recreate my book fantasies, you’d be shirtless.”

“I don’t think this is that kind of establishment unfortunately, but we can get to that part later.”

Nesta hums noncommittally, taking another sip of her drink. “Well, go on then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Cassian sets his drink down, so he can grip the axe with both hands. He steps over to the black x painted onto the floor, flexing and unflexing his fingers for a moment. He brings the axe over his head and behind his back, swinging forward and releasing his hands. The axe goes spinning toward the bullseye, the butt of it hitting against the wood before the axe goes clattering against the floor.

Nesta lets out an amused snort at the miss, and when Cassian turns to look at her, her blue eyes are alight with a mischievousness that he knows means trouble. He can practically see the well placed quip brewing in her mind, the words already forming on her tongue and ready to cut him to ribbons.

“That was just a practice throw,” Cassian jumps in to defend before Nesta can say anything.

“If you say so.”

Cassian narrows his eyes at her teasing tone and grabs another axe from their stack. He resets his stance, shifting his weight from side to side until he feels confident. He rolls his shoulders back once before once again raising his arms and the axe above his head. A deep breath in, and he lets the axe fly as he exhales. It spins in the air, careening toward the bullseye, and this time, the cutting edge digs into the wood of the outer circle. Cassian lets out an excited cheer at the result, turning back toward Nesta with a wide smile.

“See? There we go. I do know what I’m doing,” Cassian tells her smugly, but that unimpressed expression doesn’t budge from Nesta’s face. She merely raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at where the axe landed on the bullseye. “Alright. Let’s see you do better then, Nes.”

Cassian knows the challenge landed from the way the corner of Nesta’s lips starts to lift in a smirk. She walks over to him, a hand to the center of his chest gently pushing him out of the way. He chuckles lowly at the gesture but he steps off to the side, giving her the space she needs and watching as Nesta sets down her drink and picks up one of the axes, twisting the handle in her hands. She lifts the axe above her head with ease, tossing it toward the bullseye.

In the blink of an eye, the axe is embedded into the wood, just right of the center. Cassian’s jaw drops open, and he stares at the bullseye like he expects the result to change, like his eyes must be playing tricks on him. When exactly did Nesta learn to throw axes? His head snaps back to her, that smirk in full bloom across her face, blue eyes sparking with victory.

“What’s that face for?” Nesta challenges.

“It’s me being impressed,” Cassian explains with a shrug, walking closer to her. “And a little bit terrified.” He slips his arms around her waist, pressing his mouth to her ear. “And a lot turned on.”

Nesta lets out an amused snort, turning around in his hold enough that he can see the fond annoyance on her face. “I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

“Get used to it, sweetheart.”

Cassian tightens her arms around her, not even bothering to bite back his smirk. He leans in even closer, until their noses brush together, until his breath skates across her lips. Nesta tilts her chin up, her hands gripping into his shirt softly, but Cassian doesn’t give in just yet. Instead, his eyes trace over Nesta’s face, counting every freckle, every shade of blue in her eyes. He traces the way her lips part, relishing the way even now she’s still smiling softly up at him.

“I love you,” Cassian tells her quietly, bringing a hand up to cradle her jaw, his thumb sliding across her skin.

Nesta rolls her eyes fondly at his sappiness. “Just shut up and kiss me already.”

“You’re supposed to say I love you too; you’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had; I’m so glad you asked me to move in with—”

Nesta tugs on his shirt hard, going up on her toes and effectively cutting him off as their lips slant together. Cassian lets out an amused huff, a big smile threatening to break across his face, but he pulls Nesta closer still, kissing her back. It just feels right, Nesta pressed against him, having her in his arms, their lips melding together. It has happiness and warmth blooming between his ribs, flooding through his veins all the way down to his toes.

He’s still not fully sure how this is real, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this, of Nesta, of her being his. Of him being so utterly and completely hers. And as they continue to kiss, Cassian thinks that maybe he needs to send Trish and the Davenport’s board a gift basket for their “traditional values” after all.

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @cassiansbigwingspan @unlikelypersonalknight1 @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #omg roommates #my fic

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she-karev · 1 month

Text

Birth (Andrew DeLuca Imagine)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: Two of Two

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s sister)

AN: Here’s the final chapter for the story you guys and I will try to post the next one as soon as I can and until then enjoy and I always appreciate and like and a reblog!

Summary: Amber gives birth to a girl with Andrew by her side and Dr. Montgomery delivering.

Words: 1467

Simone Griffith stands outside Amber DeLuca’s delivery room peeking through the transom on the closed door. It’s been six hours since she and DeLuca found out Amber was in labor. She was curious on how her chief resident was after her water broke causing Dr. DeLuca to have her close after his surgery and couldn’t help but go up and see how they are.

Also, after witnessing her grandmother have an Alzheimer’s episode, she wanted a reminder that there were good things in this world too, like babies being born. Alex Karev walks down the hall with a welcome home baby girl gift basket from him and Jo to give to Amber. He spots Griffith outside the room and clears his throat causing her to stand back and look at him.

“Dr. Karev hi I-I was just uh-”

“Spying on my sister while she’s trying to bring a new life into this world right this second?”

“…It looks weird, doesn’t it?”

“Yes!” Alex confirms causing her to look down in shame, “Is there a reason you’re doing this very weird thing?”

“I just…I just needed a reminder that there’s good things in this world too. And watching a birth happen in real time works more effectively than faith in humanity videos.”

Alex grins at that understanding where she’s coming from, “Yeah there is something magical about my baby sister becoming a mother.”

“That is all I am saying sir.” He motions for her to step aside and she does so. He walks inside the room to find Amber lying on her side in her bed with Dr. Montgomery behind her inserting the epidural catheter. Andrew is standing by her side and holding her hand as she groans at the needle insertion.

“Hey kid how are we doing?”

“Terrible! You’re lucky your ex-girlfriend knows what she’s doing otherwise I would judge her based on her poor choices from sleeping with you.” Alexs eyes widen at his sister’s knowledge of his and Addison’s past relationship. Andrew looks at him in shock as well just learning about this.

“Is this true or is it the hormones talking?”

Addison finishes the insertion and looks up at Alex in disgust, “You told her?”

“No! I swear I didn’t.”

Amber groans and lays on her back on the bed, “Oh please the nurses keep tabs on your love lives and they love to gush with me. They could write romance best sellers with Alex’s disaster of a love life. I mean I’m still at the Ava/Rebecca chapter and it is a doozy.” She turns to Addison, “For the record you could’ve done way better back then.”

“You know I’m in the room, right?” Alex points out before putting the pink basket on the table.

“I’m gonna check how dilated you are.” Addison sighs and feels the need to clarify to Amber while she does her cervix exam, “And for the record I didn’t date him. I found him attractive, I was horny and he was there. It was one time and I judge myself for it enough as it is.”

“I’m his sister I know how shameful you’d feel sleeping with him when he was an intern and an asshat.”

Addison grins at that and looks back at Alex, “I like her.”

Andrew asks trying to comprehend it, “Wait you slept with your sister’s OB and you didn’t think to mention it?”

“You slept with my sister and I had to find out after the fact.” Alex bitterly points out.

“I didn’t even know she was your sister man.”

“And I didn’t think my ex was gonna be delivering my sister’s baby over ten years later but here we are.”

Amber inhales and exhales in annoyance at their petty squabble, “Hey boys?” They turn to her and she looks disheveled while Addison checks her cervix, “I need you two to read the room because I have enough on my plate right now, I don’t need to mediate an argument between my husband and brother.” They quiet and look at her concerned as she continues, “I am just trying to squeeze a giant Escalada out of a compact FUCKING PARKING SPOT!” The boys look scared by her last exclamation.

“Very good.” Addison calmly says, “Swearing helps a lot, you’re at 7 centimeters.” Addison stands back up covering Amber with a blanket.

“Ugh I hate you tell me when I can start pushing this sucker out. Speaking of suckers exiting, Alex get out.” He looks offended by that as Amber continues, “You dropped off the gift and unless you can transport my daughter out of my body you are useless to me. And do me a favor. Let it be known that the only people allowed in this room are Dr. Montgomery and the people who provided genetic material to this baby otherwise they are gonna be in a world of hurt, now out!” Amber points at the door causing Alex to nod and pat Andrew on the back seeing the road ahead of him.

“God speed.”

Andrew nods, “Yeah.” Alex gets out of the room and closes the door behind him.

TWO HOURS LATER

I scream out loud as the next contraction comes and push per Dr. Montgomery’s instructions. While this happens, Andrew is by my side holding me encouraging me. My lower region is covered by blue tarps with Addison behind the curtain delivering my daughter, out of all of us I think she has the easiest job in the room because Andrew is no doubt in pain from me holding his hand with monster strength that’s coming from being in labor.

“Good Dr. DeLuca! Okay at the next contraction I’m gonna need you to really bear down but not until I tell you.”

I whimper at the never-ending cycle, “Oh god come on! I know my brother rejected you but don’t take it out on me!”

Andrew rubs my arm to soothe me, “It’s gonna be okay, you’re doing great, it’ll be over soon.”

I am too in pain and too mad at him to take in his soothing words, “If you think we’re having sex again after this you got another thing coming Andrew DeLuca!”

He chuckles at that and kisses the top of my head wiping the sweat off my forehead, “I think we’re stalled in the sex department until this kid goes off to college.”

I chuckle lightly at that but then I stop and gasp as I feel another contraction coming, “Oh god not again!” I scream as the pain courses through my body.

“Okay one last push Amber!” Dr. Montgomery instructed me and even though it hurts I do as she says, pushing with all my might. Andrew is holding me and encouraging me to push through my piercing screams. After what seems like forever, I feel relief in my body and slump back down on the bed panting for breath. I hear a baby crying and I felt my heart stop as I look down to see Dr. Montgomery holding our small, wriggling and bloody daughter already crying her lungs out. Addison is smiling and laughing in joy, “There she is!”

I’m so shocked by what’s happening I’m laughing and crying at the same time, “Oh my god.”

I can see Andrew laughing in joy too with tears glistening in his eyes, “Look at her oh my god you did that.”

“You helped.” I remind him. He takes the scissors from Dr. Montgomery and cuts the umbilical cord. After that Addison takes the baby to get her cleaned up and comes back a few moments later with our baby daughter wrapped in a baby blanket. She’s crying on the way until she reaches my arms and I hold her shocked at how tiny she is. I smile down at her still overcome with so much love and awe over this tiny human that made the last eight hours of pain I’ve endured so worth it, “Hi. Oh my god she’s…she’s…”

“She’s perfect.” Andrew finishes and I nod as he smiles. I can see the love in his eyes and grin at him.

“Here let’s go to daddy.” I carefully place the baby in Andrew’s arms and he handles her so carefully, no doubt shocked at how light she is too. He croons at the baby speaking words of affection in Italian cradling her head, “Ciao bambina, sono tua mamma e tuo papà.”

I sniffle and grin at the sight of both of them before cooing at our daughter, “Hi welcome to the world. Right now your the only pure and innocent thing in it at this very moment. And I promise we are gonna name you by the time you come home.” Andrew chuckles at that and we just enjoy this moment together as a family.

#grey's anatomy #greys anatomy #greysanatomyedit #greysedit #amber karev #andrew deluca #alex karev #elizabeth gillies #liz gillies #giacomo gianniotti #headcanon #mine #labor and delivery

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cypherverze · 1 year

Text

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hardest Part of Ending is Starting Again

an avengers x john wick crossover fanfic

You can access the previous chapter here: Chapter Six | Series Masterlist Access

PAIRINGS: avengers x teen!reader (platonic) , tony stark x niece!reader , john wick x daughter!reader , peter parker x female!reader

SUMMARY: After arriving in Venice, Italy to meet the one and only Nick Fury who had asked for your assistance in the current mission, you find it really hard to trust the person that you’re helping.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello! here’s chapter seven. sorry it took some time to be posted, i was just not really feeling well. not feeling well in life and general, i had also decided to cross post this on my wattpad account. the next chapter will be taking a long time to be posted since i’ll be posting the rest of the chapters on my wattpad account. if you want to check it out in wattpad, my username is @/cypherverze. i tweaked the movie, if you had noticed. i think that this will be a long series story, since a lot of stuff will be happening.

please excuse the typos if ever you found any. likes, comments, and reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you so much for liking and supporting my work!

REMINDERS: this story is pure fiction. i do not own the characters of avengers, spider-man, and john wick franchise. this work is originally written by the author (me), please do not copy or repost my work in other platforms.

WARNINGS: foul language, mention of guns and death

WORD COUNT: 5,600

You bid Happy goodbye and stepped out of the private jet, you had your cases and duffel bag with you, and you’re already wearing the mask that Tony had made. Happy will be going back to New York for the meantime, leaving you in Italy with Fury’s guidance. But he made sure that you’ll call him the moment that the mission is over, since he doesn’t want to face Tony’s wrath. You made your way towards a corner, in one of the alley, and saw Fury waiting for you.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Fury said, looking at you unamused.

“Isn’t this a SHIELD agenda? You remember that I don’t want to get involve in any other way with your business. So if I’m going to be assisting you with something, the mask stays.” Fury nodded at you, “So what do you need me for?”

“We can discuss it further later on. Follow me, and let’s get you settled in. We need to pick someone up right after.” You nodded and followed Fury in an alley, leading into an underground cave.

“Huh, it’s cool that you had built a makeshift camp here. Looks so neat.” You looked around the cave in fascination.

When you entered, you saw Maria Hill and Dmitri nodding at you as a greeting. You dropped your stuff on the ground, and you noticed a person that’s wearing a golden armor with a pink cape and a fishbowl helmet, which is you find a bit odd. You tilted your head a bit, looking at the weird person, until the fishbowl helmet came off, revealing a man. He walked towards you and Fury, introducing himself to you.

“Hi, I’m Quentin Beck, you can just call me Quentin.” He held out his hand for you to shake.

Somehow you got the feeling that this man cannot be trusted, you feel iffy about him. Your intuition is never wrong, you always go with your intuition and never doubting it. But for the sake of humanity’s safety, you’ll give this man the benefit of the doubt and just keep everything to yourself for the meantime. Besides, you can’t really accuse him of something without any proof, you’ll look like a fool if you accuse him of being suspicious as your reason, but nevertheless, you’re onto him. He’s a good looking man, you’ll give him that, but you’ll be watching him like a hawk.

“Thalia.” You said as you grabbed his hand and shook it.

Like hell you’ll tell this man your real name, he already gives you an off vibe. There’s no way in hell this man would find out your real name. Fury had also smiled softly at you, he knew very well how little you trust other people, especially people that you had just met that had set you off in a not pleasant way.

“You can take off your mask.” He turned to you.

“Thank you, but the mask stays.” Fury can’t do anything about it, so he respected your decision and just nodded.

“Thalia here will be assisting us on this mission and will be helping me in bringing in the last person that will help us.”

You got settle in and fixed your things in a corner, you loaded up a few gun and tucked them under your coat. You had also been briefed of what is currently happening and what you all are up against—elementals. After the quick briefing, Fury had called for you, and motioned you to follow him, the both of you exiting the cave and heading to towards the boat that you’ll be riding to pickup the person that he metioned earlier.

“Here, you’ll be needing this.” Fury said as he handed you a tranquilizer gun and grabbed it, placing it inside your coat.

You both arrived at the hotel and head down the boat, you two entered the hotel where Peter and the rest of the class had been staying in. The hotel was kind of a bit flooded inside, where anyone can possibly get a leptospirosis if someone is stupid enough to walk barefoot inside—you can’t help but shiver at the thought. You were able to get across the water by walking on the wooden plank that had been placed by the hotel’s management.

There was no sign yet of the class being back, so you assumed that they’re still outside exploring the area. The person at the reception area hadn’t noticed you coming in as well since the person was too busy doing something to notice you, probably noting that you’re a guest that had been checked in. Fury already knew which room that Peter was staying in, and he had motioned you to unlock the door, both letting yourselves inside.

Fury sat on the couch that was near the door and you stood beside him. The area where the couch was placed is a bit dark, so no one will notice the both of you when people come in. You were just observing the room, taking in the slightly dingy place, when you heard series of voices right outside of the room, notifying you and Fury that they are already here.

“What are you gonna do about the water monster?” The voice was a bit muffled, but you knew that it was Ned talking.

“Nothing. It’s dead, and besides, that Mysterio guy’s all over it. Look, I just wanna spend some time with MJ. We were talking about Paris, and I think she really likes me.” Peter’s voice became louder as he and Ned approached and entered the room.

“That’s nice. Reminds me of when Betty and I first fell in love. I had just finished my fruit cobbler, right, and-“

Before Ned can finish what he’s saying, you had shot him right in the neck with the tranquilizer, causing him to immediately fall on the floor. You put back the tranquilizer gun inside your coat.

“You’re a very difficult person to contact, Spider-man.” Fury said, as Peter turned towards the both of you, eye widened in shock.

“You’re Nick Fury…and your agent just shot Ned.” Peter said in disbelief.

You walked towards Ned and lifted him up, with Peter helping you and placing Ned right on the bed. You didn’t notice that Peter had recognized your watch, the watch your father always wear, and now you always wear—that’s when he realized that it was actually you. You went back to Fury’s side and just stood there, staring at Peter.

Peter wondered what you were doing—being with Nick Fury of all people. He’s aware that SHIELD knows you, but he doesn’t know how deep that goes and the close bond you share with Nick Fury. He knows very well your stance against being involved with anyone, especially the avengers, and now with SHIELD.

“Thalia, meet spider-man. Spider-man, meet Thalia.” Fury introduced you both, and you nod at Peter. “Thalia had shot Ned with a mild tranquilizer, he’ll be all right. It is good to finally meet you.”

“Uh, you too.” Peter replied nervously.

“But enough with the introductions, I know that you know me, and the important thing is you’re here. I tried to bring you here but avoided me, and now you’re here. What a coincidence.”

“Wait. Was this a coincidence?” Peter looked at Fury, an eyebrow raised at him.

“I don’t really appreciate it when someone dodges my calls, especially knowing that the one’s dodging my calls is a high school kid. Let me give you a quick run through of what had happened—a week ago, a village in Mexico was wiped out by a cyclone, witnesses say that the cyclone had a face. Three days later, a similar event in Morocco. A village was-“

Fury was cut off when someone knocked on the door, you quickly pulled out your gun pointing it at the door. This time, it was not the tranquilizer anymore, but already an actual gun that can really kill. You kept your gaze remained at Peter, and you saw the panic flashed in his eyes. The one who opened the door was Mr. Harrington, peeking his head inside the room.

“Just making the rounds, see if anyone needs any counseling after today’s traumatic events.” Harrington said.

“No, we’ll be okay! We’re fine. Thank you.” Peter quickly said.

“Great, because I’m not qualified to actually…” He turned his attention towards the bed and saw Ned already sleeping, “Oh, he’s passed out. I’m not qualified to do it anyways, so good night.” Harrington decided to leave and closed the door.

“That was my teacher. Sorry about that. You were saying?” Peter let out a nervous laugh.

“A village was destroyed by what may well be another world threatening-“ Fury was cut off again. Your gun still pointed at the door, never once put it down.

“Babe, you still awake?” You had recognized the voice, it was Betty Brant. “You’re not answering any of my texts.”

You can’t really miss that voice, especially when it’s the one you always hear when you arrive at school and walking along the hallways. The voice was a bit muffled because the sound is being blocked by the door, but you can hear it clearly enough to recognize the owner of the voice.

Who the hell is she calling babe? It’s certainly not Peter.

Then you turn your gaze at Ned’s passed out figure, your eyes widen at the sudden realization.

“Umm, he’s asleep, Betty.”

Betty was calling Ned, babe?! Since when did those two got together?!

“Oh, already?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” You heard Betty leave the door.

“That’s why it’s imperative-“ Fury was cut off, again. You can already feel the frustration radiating off of him, he’s about to flip the fuck out, but you held back his shoulders with your free hand.

“Hey, boys. So that canal water today was filled with dangerous bacteria.” This time, it was Mr. Dell.

“Another person touches that door, Thalia won’t hesitate to shoot them, and you and I are going to end up attending a funeral.” Fury finally having none of it, and stood up. “Suit up.” He firmly said.

“Let me know if you develop vomiting.” Mr. Dell had retreated from the door.

Fury opened the door, and as you were about to follow him, you felt Peter gently grabbed your wrist, and stopping you from following Fury.

“(Y/N), please help me out. I promised myself that I won’t be doing any superhero stuff while on this trip.” He pleaded, “Please. I just really wanted to enjoy this trip without being Spider-man, and I want to seize every moment with MJ.”

You deactivated your mask and stared directly at Peter’s eyes for a while. Goddamn those cute brown eyes—but you quickly snapped yourself back to reality, trying not to get cave into those brown eyes. You do really want to help him out, but you can’t. It’s you versus Nick Fury, and the best choice is that you should pick is Fury. You don’t want to be on the man’s bad side.

“Peter.” You firmly said and sighed, “I’m really sorry…I really do want to help you and be able to enjoy the trip with MJ, but I can’t help you on this one, my hands are tied. Just do what Nick asks of you, and if you do it, the sooner you can finish and spend time with MJ. But until then, you have no choice but to follow him.” You look at him one last time and activated your mask.

You closed the door as you exit the room, and leaned on one of the walls, waiting for Peter to get suited up. Fury was already downstairs, waiting for the both of you by the reception area. You snapped your attention towards the door and saw Peter came out, you motioned him to follow you. You both walked down the flight of stairs towards the reception area in silence, not uttering any word to each other.

The both of you quickly followed Fury towards a boat that was waiting for the three of you by the canals. Fury took control of the both as both you and Peter sat at the back, by the edge of the boat. You deactivated your mask to get some fresh air and maybe enjoy the view that Venice offers during the nighttime.

“Didn’t know you work with SHIELD now.” Peter initiated a conversation.

“I’m not.” He looked at you in confusion, “You do know that I sometimes lend my assistance to the avengers, and that also counts in Fury.” Peter nodded at your reply.

“What’s with the mask and Nick Fury calling you Thalia? Is that kind of your superhero name now?” You laughed at Peter’s response.

“You know very well that I’m far from being a superhero, Peter. I asked uncle Tony to make me this mask, he doesn’t really know the purpose of the mask that he’s making for me, but he knows that I’ll use this mask to get those people that are all after me off of my trail. I’ll be using this as well whenever someone from the team or Nick Fury asks for my assistance. Double purpose.” You chuckled.

“As for Thalia? Hmm, it’s really because of this mask,” You showed Peter. The mask can also be activated without it being attached to the face, “This is the mask of comedy, I assume that you have a knowledge of it. Mask of comedy and tragedy are a symbol of theater—the mask of comedy is known as Thalia, she’s the-“

“The muse of comedy and idyllic poetry. Never really pinned you as a theater girl.” Peter turned and smiled at you, “And with a bit of few stuff that I knew about you, I was expecting for you to pick mask of tragedy.”

“Well, what can I say? There are still a lot of stuff you really don’t know about me, Peter.” You said as you look softly at him.

“In the months that had passed of getting to know you, I do know the basics—how Mr. Stark is your uncle, that your parents are no longer with you. But other than that, I don’t know other deep stuff about you. Why’s that?”

“Why is what?” You looked at him confused.

“Why do you keep people at arm’s length.”

“Ah. It’s better if you knew little stuff about me and you know, less is better. Besides, can’t let people be too attached to me. You don’t have to worry though, you’re a good friend Peter.”

You scoffed at the word friend in your head. You knew that Peter has a lot of questions, but before he can ask them, Fury had announced that you already arrived at the location. You placed back the chip behind your ear and activated your mask. You two followed Fury off the both and walked towards the alley where you had just been earlier, walking through the corridors of the underground vault.

“You can lose the mask, everyone has seen you with it.” Peter looked at you, but you are already looking at him, knowing that Fury was talking about him and not you, “You’d be feigning anonymity and breathing through spandex for no good reason.” You chuckled, you certainly aren’t the one wearing a spandex.

“Piece of advice, don’t trust someone too much because I know you tend to do the a lot and getting hurt right after.” You whispered at Peter, and catching up right after Fury. He just looked at you confused, didn’t know the meaning of what you had just said.

Peter stopped on his tracks and removed the mask, you can’t help but notice the exhaustion masking his face. He began examining the makeshift camp that had been put up by Fury and his team, before Fury calls for him. Deeper inside the cave, the place was loaded with a bunch of spy equipment, hardware, computers and whatnot. It’s basically sort of a special operations covert spy base.

��Over there, we have Maria Hill.” Fury began introducing the team to Peter, and Maria was operating a computer, sparing Peter little attention, “This is Dmitri,” Dmitri, the Russian that was sitting next to Maria, had cocked a crossbow. You noticed that Peter got scared a bit, causing you to let out a quiet chuckle.

“And this is Mr. Beck.” Fury had pointed to a man clad in a gold armor with a pink cape.

“Mysterio?” Peter asked in confusion, he was wondering why Mysterio is there.

“What?” Beck replied.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s just what my friends have been calling you.”

“Well, you can call me Quentin.” Beck stretched out a hand towards Peter and shook their hands, “You handled yourself well out there today. I saw what you did with the tower. We could use someone like you on my world.”

As the two of them converse, you can’t help but observe Beck intently. The odd feeling that you had felt inside of you before, came crawling back again to resurface. You really can’t find any reason at all to trust the man.

“Thanks.” Peter said, but suddenly realizing what Beck had said, “I’m sorry, your world?”

“Mr. Beck is from earth. Just not yours.” Fury explained.

“There are multiple realities, Peter. This is earth dimension 616. I’m from earth 833.”

Beck had positioned himself behind a table, Fury and Peter following him. You just stayed behind Fury, listening silently in the conversation. You just leaned on the wall, observing everything, noticing a bit of mannerisms from every person that is with you in the room, and taking a mental note of it. Those mannerisms can be useful when things go wrong and can use it to your advantage.

“Sorry, you’re saying there’s a multiverse? I thought that was theoretical. That changes how we understand the initial singularity.” Fury and Maria turned towards Peter, a bit confused.

You smiled softly at Peter. You really like it when he babbles stuff, it’s kind lf endearing for you whenever Peter get a bit excited and began spewing information that you even have no idea of. You like watching Peter be in his element where he thrives, you always learn new things through him.

“Your crush is showing and you’re drooling.” Maria said and smirked at she passed by you.

“I am not!” You whisper-yelled at Maria.

“We’re talking about an eternal inflation system. How does that even work with all the quantum? It’s insane.” Peter noticed that Fury and Maria was looking at him with exasperation, “Sorry. It’s really cool.” He apologized quickly. Noticed that he got a bit excited.

“Don’t even apologize for being the smartest one in the room.” Peter smiled broadly at Beck, a bit flattered. Fury scoffing faintly.

“Anyway.” Maria said, as she triggers a holographic projection of the elementals and their origins.

“They were born in stable orbits within black holes. Creatures formed from the primary elements—air, water, fire, and earth. The science division had a technical name. We just called them elementals.” Beck began explaining.

“Versions of them exist across our mythologies.” Maria added.

“Turns out, the myths are real.” Beck supporting what Maria had just said.

“Like Thor. Thor was a myth, now I study him in my physics class.”

“These myths are threats.” Fury chimed in on the conversation.

“They first materialized on my earth many years ago.” A holographic 3D model of Beck’s earth flashed, “We mobilized and fought them, but with each battle, they grew, got stronger. I was part of the last battalion left trying to stop them.”

A wave of fire being shown on the holographic slowly engulfed the planet’s surface, rendering it a barren and charred wasteland.

“All we did was delay the inevitable.” Beck added.

“The elementals are here now, attacking the same coordinates. Our satellites confirm it.” Maria said.

“So thanks Mr. Beck for destroying the other three. There’s only one left—fire.” Fury said.

“The strongest of them all. The one that destroyed my earth. It’s the one that took my family.” Beck said with sadness in his voice.

You rolled your eyes at Beck’s piss poor story, which surely you’re not buying at all. You literally can see through the man, you had taken note of the mannerisms that you had observed from Beck that he does unconsciously, and the wedding ring on Beck’s ring finger was not helping at all.

“I’m sorry.” You heard Peter say.

“It will be in Prague in approximately forty-eight hours.” Maria updated.

“We have one mission, and that is to kill it.” Fury firmly said, turning his attention towards Peter, “And you’re coming with us.”

“I’m sorry, did you say Prague?” Peter glances at you, then at Maria. He’s uncertain whether he had heard Maria right or not, “Um, Mr. Fury, this is all seems like bigtime, you know, huge superhero kind of stuff. And I mean, I’m just a friendly neighborhood spider-man, sir.”

“Bitch please.” Fury was having none of it.

“Sir come on, there’s gotta be someone else you can use. What about the avengers?” Peter turned to look at you, asking silently for some help, but you just shrug your shoulders.

“The avengers are all unavailable right now, they are away on a mission. They can’t be on both places at once.”

“Sir, look, I really wanna help. I do. But if my aunt finds out I left my class trip, she’s gonna kill me.” Peter explained, “And if I’m seen like this in Europe, after the Washington Monument, my class will figure out who I am then, and then the whole world will figure out who I am, and then I’m done.”

“Okay. I understand.” Fury said, which made Peter a bit taken back.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Why don’t you get back before your teachers, who miss you, become suspicious.” Fury smiled knowingly, “Thalia, Dmitri. Take him back to the hotel, please.” He turned to you and you nodded. You straightened yourself, walking towards the exit of the cave, waiting for Peter. Dmitri had already exited the cave, preparing the boat.

“Thank you, Mr. Fury, and good luck.” He prepares to leave, walking past Beck.

“See you, kid.” Beck bid him goodbye.

“Yeah, see you.” Peter replied, “Bye, ma’am.” Bidding goodbye to Maria as well.

Peter walked towards you and you both went out. Heading towards the boat, you sat at the end of the boat again, with Peter sitting right beside you.

“You do know that I can’t help you guys on this one, right?” Peter began speaking, you just listened to him, “I only get one shot to be with MJ, one chance to level up my relationship, and I don’t want to mess it up. I have been planning it the whole trip.” He sighed.

“I know, you’ve said it a bunch of times now, Pete. So many times that my ears are about to fall off.” You joked, “Nick won’t ask for you if you can’t handle the situation. He trusts you, y’know. He sees your potential.”

“I really do want to help, but I can’t.”

“Yeah. You’ve alredy made that clear back at the camp, we can’t really do anything about it now, huh.”

The boat stopped right in front of the hotel. You watched Peter as he got up from the seat and prepared to leave the boat, when he looked at you. Following his actions, he opened his arms, motioning you to go in for a hug.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you soon, probably when we get back in New York.” Peter said as he break the hug.

“Yeah. You go ahead now, have a good night, Peter.” He nodded, “Good luck with MJ.” You sat beside Dmitri as he drove back to the place.

You knew very well that Fury was planning something under his sleeves the moment you saw him smiled. Peter may haven’t noticed Fury’s smile, but you did. You know damn well that Fury won’t take no for an answer, you can confirm that he’s cooking up something for sure.

The whole class was now waiting outside of the hotel for the teachers, they are now getting ready to head to their next country for the school trip, which is Paris—the one that Peter had been looking forward to the most.

“Hey man, are you sure you’re good?” Peter checked up on Ned, following the recent event that happened last night.

“Oh, dude, I’m fine.” Ned assured him.

“Okay. Nice.” Peter was still worried about Ned.

“Okay, don’t worry. Seriously—getting tranq’d in the neck by Nick Fury, probably the coolest thing that ever happened to me anyway.”

“It was his agent that shot you.”

“Still, the orders had been from Nick Fury. So it still cool.”

“It is pretty awesome. Yeah. I’m happy I don’t have to go to Prague.” Then the both of them perform their high-five combo.

“Seriously.”

Mr. Harrington walked out of the hotel, walking past Peter and Ned, and gathering all of the students.

“Good news. We’re going to Prague, huh?” Mr. Harrington announced.

“What? What?!” Peter grasped his hair in frustration.

“Yeah. Tour company just called, and they upgraded us. You should’ve heard me on the phone with them. I really gave them hell.”

“All I heard was crying.” Mr. Dell chimed in.

Mr. Harrington had guided the class towards the direction of where a bus was waiting for them. Dmitri and you are waiting by the entrance of the bus, just waiting for the whole class to board. You were standing there, with your arms crossed on your chest, and wearing your usual whole black outfit—black turtle neck, pants, trench coat, and combat boots. You saw Peter looked at you in disbelief.

“Look at our upgraded ride.” Mr. Harrington said excitedly and you heard a few amazed comments from the students.

“I’m impressed, Mr. Harrington.” Mr. Dell said.

“Oh, come on.” Peter said in exasperation, Ned turning to look at him.

“Peter, w-what’s going on?”

“I think Nick Fury just hijacked our summer vacation, and that’s the one who shot you.” Peter whisper yelled at Ned, and pointed at you.

Mr. Harrington had walked towards you and Dmitri. Introducing himself, but Dmitri remained stoic, but you decided that you’ll be doing the talking to make everyone feel at ease, it’s already weird enough that you’re there with your mask on. The students began piling up inside the bus, it didn’t take any long for the bus to be filled, and you were the last one to enter the bus, following Dmitri. You had sat on the first seat, and began talking to Dmitri a little bit, but your conversation was in Russian, to avoid from being eavesdropped. The both of you would sometimes talk back in the underground camp in Venice, he’s a nice guy, and he has became a brother figure to you.

“Yo, what’s up, Flash Mob? It’s your boy, the big F, cruising through the Alps with my private driver, Dmitri and bodyguard, Thalia.”

Flash had been on livestream ever since the school trip began, and now that you had witnessed it yourself, Flash had never failed to annoy you so much, even back in school. You had been holding everything back from punching his throat to shut up.

“Этот парень когда-нибудь затыкается? Этот парень действительно раздражает меня до чертиков. Я хочу проткнуть ему горло.” You murmured, making Dmitri laugh.

“Почему бы тебе не попробоват��, ребенок?”

“Я бы буквально хотел, но не хочу оказаться в тюрьме.” You shrugged, Dmitri just chuckled and turned his attention back on the road.

Meanwhile, Peter was reading an article called “Top 10 Romantic Places in Prague” at his seat, and occasionally glancing at MJ then at you. He wants to move seats, beside you, to ask you what had just happened. He thought that Fury had already understood and agreed that he won’t be able to help on this mission, which he had already made clear a few times. After a few hours of being on the road, Dmitri stops at a gas station.

“Petrol and toilets. Ten minutes!” Dmitri opened the door of the bus, you got out first and the students followed. He motioned you to wait for Peter to come down and direct him to the house that he needs to be in.

“Except you, big guy. You go through there.” You immediately grabbed Peter’s shoulder as soon as he stepped down of the bus.

“W-What?” You put an arm around Peter’s shoulder and walked with him towards the house, opening the door and gently shoving him inside.

You distanced yourself from the house, standing by the bus entrance and watching the house where Peter was in. You saw that Brent Davis had accidentally opened the house that Peter was in. You quickly went towards the house, standing behind Brent unnoticed, you were also able to hear the whole ordeal. Brent had just taken a photo of Peter, almost naked and had threatened Peter that he’ll show the photo to MJ. When Brent had turned around, he collided with your figure. You were standing behind him, arms crossed on your chest in an intimidating stature.

“She deserves what truth?” You eyed him, you voice had intimidated Brent.

“N-Nothing.” You put your hand out to him, motioning him to give his phone to you, “W-What, you can’t do that.”

“I can. You has just taken a photo of someone without their consent and had threatened them to send it to someone. If I were you, I would hand in the phone.”

Brent handed you his phone in defeat, he doesn’t want to anger you any longer. Which is a good choice, because it certainly won’t end well, you don’t want to choke hold or threaten the boy with a knife to his throat. You went through Brent’s phone gallery and deleted the photo of Peter almost naked, and deleted as well the photo from the deleted photos section. You also did a quick background check in case he had stashed a copy of the photo. Once it is cleared, you handed the phone back to Brent, and he quickly left to go back to the bus.

Peter was already looking at you, and he thanked you silently, you nodded back at him. You closed the door, this time you’re guarding the door to avoid what had happened earlier from happening again. Both teachers had called for the students, ten minutes had already passed, ushering them back inside the bus. You were the last one again to enter the bus, turning towards your usual seat, you saw that Peter was sitting on the vacant space on your seat. You tilted your head at him, wondering what he’s doing in your seat, and gave you an awkward wave. You sighed and sat beside him.

“What are you doing in my seat?” You said in monotone.

“H-Hey, I just wanted to thank you for what you did earlier with Brent.” Peter scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, it’s no problem. Who would want their photos to be taken without any consent and be used as a threat.” You shrugged, “Even I wouldn’t want that.”

“Y-Yeah.” Peter muttered, “Thanks again.”

“Well you go enjoy the trip while it last, because as soon as we arrive in Prague, real shit will start.” You leaned back in your seat and decided to closed your eyes and get some rest.

“Do you mind me sitting beside you until we arrive?” Peter turned to look at you, but you just remained in your position.

You were about to ask Peter if he can go back to his original seat, but you don’t want to be rude, and he had beat you to it. Besides, it’s the closest that you can get with Peter.

“Sure, knock yourself out. Just don’t get your drool all over me when you fall asleep.” You chuckled.

After another hour of being on the road, the bus stopped at a luxurious hotel where the class are designated to stay for the whole duration of the trip, or maybe at least Peter had finished the mission. Everyone had exited the bus, except for you and Dmitri, you’ll need to report back to Fury, make sure that everyone had arrived safely at the destination. Peter was the last one to exit the bus, he looked back at you.

“Aren’t you coming?” Peter asked, “Y’know to keep an eye on something?” He added, and you chuckled at him.

“Nah. We need to report back to Nick, and besides, I’ll be seeing you later again in a few hours. Make sure to answer their call this time, Maria and Nick will be checking in on you.” You said.

“A-Alright then.” Peter got down on the bus, looking at you one last time and waving goodbye before following the rest of the class.

“Ребенок, это тот мальчик, о котором ты упоминал раньше? Мальчик, в которого ты влюблен?” Dmitri turned to you, as he closes the bus.

“Да, но это просто глупая влюбленность. Он смотрит на другую девушку.”

You shrug and just sat on one of the seat, looking out at the window. Dmitri decided not to comment on it anymore and just drove back to where Fury had set his camp.

TRANSLATIONS:

“Этот парень когда-нибудь затыкается? Этот парень действительно раздражает меня до чертиков. Я хочу проткнуть ему горло.” - Does this guy ever shut up? This guy really annoys the shit out of me. I want to punch his throat.

“Почему бы тебе не попробовать, ребенок?” - Why don’t you give it a try, kid?

“Я бы буквально хотел, но не хочу оказаться в тюрьме.” - I literally would, but don’t want to end up in jail.

“Ребенок, это тот мальчик, о котором ты упоминал раньше? Мальчик, в которого ты влюблен?” - Kid, is that the boy you mentioned before? The boy you’re in love with?

“Да, но это просто глупая влюбленность. Он смотрит на другую девушку.” - Yeah. But it’s just a silly crush. He has his eyes set on a different girl.

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