#lyatt ff

[modernlifehistorian]

Headcanon where Wyatt does an encore to the pool scene after their wedding.

{Coming soon to a fanfiction site near you}

[mrsbenedictbridgerton]

Ma’am

Lucy loves it when he calls her that...

*Set in a happier near-future time where Jessica is out of the picture*

A baby bit of mild-smuttyness

Also on A03

Stalking into the hut, Wyatt shucked off his boots before closing the door to the New England winter evening chill.

“Here we go.”

With a flourish, he produced a knapsack, full to bursting, swinging it from his arm as Lucy looked up from the book she had been studying.

“Is that everything on the list?”

Wyatt smiled and nodded, “Yes and Rufus is in place as we discussed.”

He placed the supplies on the floor as she smiled in reply, the candlelight flickering over her features, warming her pale skin and catching against the strands of hair that had escaped from the pins that held them back from her face.

“Good,” she sighed, reaching out her ams, stretching wide and rolling her shoulders. Her back ached. After a night spent barely sleeping in the woods followed by a long journey on a rickety wagon the muscles were twisted and gnarled. “Only 12 more hours then.”

The floor creaked as Wyatt approached. Quietly, he flipped the book closed as he took his place behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Yes Ma’am, and you need some rest.”

Her breath caught as his hands began to gently knead the flesh, her thin cotton dress no barrier to the warmth of his skin and the pressure of each digit.

“Mmm,” she sighed, her head lolling back back as the ache was replaced by an altogether different sensation. “You’re good at that.”

Chuckling, Wyatt undid the cotton-covered buttons that closed the top of her dress, his hands finding the soft skin beneath. “So they say, Ma’am.”

Her breath caught again- his fingers ghosted over skin, a teasing promise of release. She let him loosen the pins in her hair with one hand, her curls dancing about her neck as his fingers sent waves of warmth down her body.

“Why do you still call me that?” she asked, breathless as he peeled back another patch of cotton.

“What?” he asked, and then his mouth as at her ear- “Ma’am?”

She sucked in a quick breath, her eyes half closing, the soft burr of the word washing over her like warm honey. She pressed her legs together as she let out a deep breathy- “Yes…”

His tongue flicked out to draw a little circle behind her ear as he pressed more firmly against her shoulders, his hands then pushing the dress so it sagged about the neckline  and revealed the fine bones of her collar and the mild flush gathering on her chest.

“Ma’am,” he said again, barely a whisper, gravelly and potent, the vibrations slipped right through her. “I love it, when you do that. You hold your breath, your part your lips just a little… and I know you want me. Like I want you.”

His mouth found her neck, his teeth scraping against the spot where it met her shoulder, his hands working in harmony, playing her flesh like she were an instrument. He sucked hard, pulling a cry from her as she threaded her fingers through his hair and welcomed his open mouthed kisses across her throat, each one a burning sting that further fuelled the fire within her.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes…”

She did love it. Loved how polite it was, how it made her feel, how it was old-fashioned and gentlemanly and many other things that a modern woman maybe shouldn’t want. But she loved it.

“Ma’am,” he growled again, this time against her flesh, the sound vibrating though her body making every womanly part of her ache for him. She shifted in the chair, bringing his mouth to hers.

Kissing him.

Pulling at his bottom lip with her teeth, loving the way be moaned, pressing her tongue against his as he tugged down her dress, sinking into the kiss as she pushed him back against the desk she had been using, her hands splaying over his chest.

“Lucy,” he sighed, this time it was her kisses moving down his throat, his buttons coming undone, his sighs and moans filling the small hut, her hands kneading the flesh she exposed-

This thing, this newness, god, would it ever not be enough? She’d think of that another time…

Her hands went to the front of his pants, a finger hooking beneath the waistband, tugging him in the direction of the small cot at the rear of the room.

But his hand wrapped around her wrist, the other coming to cup her face, his eyes lust-blown and searching, their beautiful blue starting in the scant light.

“I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Lucy smiled, biting down on her lip as she pulled her arms around his neck.

“Always,” she whispered into his ear as he lifted her, kissing her as he made to lay her on the bed.

“Always,” she echoed, covering his body with hers. “Ma’am.”

A/N

My first ever Timeless bit!

I'd love to write more, prompts welcome! I prefer AU or canon based similar to this one.

Thanks for reading!

[qqueenofhades]

i know you LOVE garcy but do also like lyatt? if so, maybe a fanfic would be nice...;)

ahaha yes! I do like Lyatt! I ship just about everything on this damn show in some way or another. help?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know that’s not enough, but I hope it’s somewhere to start.”

Lucy doesn’t lift her head immediately, but Wyatt sees the sigh that shudders through her shoulders. They’re sitting across from each other at the narrow kitchen table, the only light falls on Lucy (fittingly, he thinks) and their hands lie side by side, close but not quite touching. The air is heavy with the words they keep meaning to speak, have tried to find, and yet, for the best of reasons, have not, not yet. Wyatt wants to burst out with everything he wants to say, if only he could find the right form. He wants to apologize until his voice runs ragged, wants to tell her that he would take back everything that ever hurt her, and yet, both of them are adults. They know it is more complicated than that. That they have to do this, and face it, and try. He still does not know what quite takes shape at the end, but only that he can no longer put off finding out.

“Thank you,” Lucy says after a pause, quietly. “It’s… been a lot.”

Wyatt bites his lip on a bitter laugh; it has been, at that. But he doesn’t want her to think he’s mocking her, wants to take her hand, but he cannot evade the part where he must atone. He tries to find some way into this labyrinth, hedged about with roses and their thorns. Finally he says, “With Jess… I can’t apologize for her being alive, for – loving her, I can’t – ”

“What?” Lucy looks up, startled and almost horrified. “Wyatt, you thought you had to apologize to me for loving your wife? No. God. No. It was a miracle, it was the one thing we’ve all been dreaming of, to walk in one day and see our loved ones there again. No. I’m – I would never, I would never begrudge you that. Jessica’s an amazing woman, and I know why you loved her. That she made you believe in love, that she – that she was your world.”

Wyatt smiles, small and very wry and still a little heartbroken that Lucy has used the past tense – loved. He did, he does, he loves, he loved, but it is, in fact, no longer what it was. Not that he could ever know, with those six missing years that were never entirely filled in, this strange feeling of twisted gratitude to Rittenhouse for letting him see Jess again at all, and the soul-deep grief that he cannot even have the luxury of blaming them for its inevitable end. He was not a good husband, even if he doesn’t remember being the jealous drunk that Jessica knew, the ways he hurt her and let her down and repaid her trust and belief with more cold promises and empty changes. He did that plenty in the reality he remembers, too.

“No,” Wyatt says, after another hesitation. “I’m not sorry for loving Jess. But I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’m sorry for the things I said, the way I handled it, everything I’ve done trying to clutch onto something that I… that I couldn’t get back, and it was unfair to Jess and to you how I carried it out. I hurt you, I hurt you both, and I never – I never wanted that.”

“I know.” Lucy looks up at him, her smile thin and fragile and too close to tears. “Nobody would ever have guessed that you would have to. There’s no Time Traveler’s Relationship Advice Manual on any of this. You were flying blind. We all were.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt blows out a breath. He still feels as if she’s being too generous to him, even though they have certainly shouted over this in the recent past, have come to a head, have wanted, have broken. “But it shouldn’t take that for me to have done a better job. I’m – I’m a mess, Lucy. I’m a damn mess. Even without Rittenhouse, without Jess, without all of this. I said I drove my dad’s car into a lake and I was fine, but I’m not. I wish I could have been a better man for her and for you, I just… I’ve burned it.”

“You have,” Lucy says quietly. “Been a better man.”

“That’s down to you and Rufus,” Wyatt says wryly. “Because you forced me out of my own damn head. Because you both made me start to want to live again. And Lucy, I know I do not deserve it. But I’d… like to try this again. Us. I don’t know what that looks like, and you are more than welcome to say no. But if we’re being honest, I’d like to throw that out there.”

Lucy doesn’t answer. He thinks he sees tears gleam briefly on her lashes, wonders if she will finally crack, if he can have the right to comfort her if she does. This is all new, this is scarred and fragile and fine, neither their old ease or their tentative hopes, but something different and darker and softer and stronger. Made more beautiful, perhaps, by its damage, in a way Wyatt has never truly believed was possible. Not when it only ever shattered.

“I don’t know,” Lucy says at last. “But I… I think I’d be open to that?”

“Possibilities?” Wyatt feels a small, faint crack in his chest, as if his heart is a coin, spinning and spinning, waiting to fall. He manages a crooked grin. “Huh?”

“Yeah.” Lucy moves her hand close enough to brush his, and their fingers clasp. They look at each other a moment longer, and then all at once, lean forward.

The kiss is soft and gentle as spring rain, hesitant and restrained, ready to pull back as quickly as to go deeper. He raises his hand to cup her face, strokes his thumb timidly along her cheek, then drops it. They pull back, but rest their foreheads together, breathing slowly. It’s not mended, it’s not over, it’s never certain, in their lives, what’s next –

– but it has, at least, begun.

[greenleaf777]

Are there any Lyatt fics where their kid comes from the future instead of future lyatt or with them??If there isn’t can someone write some pretty please????

[its-been-you-all-along]

Y’all spoiling me with this Future!Lyatt fanfic, thank u

[modernlifehistorian]

If you have fic ideas, prompts, headcanons involving Future!Lyatt please send them my way! I have a need for these two sexy badasses.

[mrsbenedictbridgerton]

Prompts???

[misscrazyfangirl321]

As The Pain Fades Away

Fandom: Timeless

Pairing: Lucy Preston/Wyatt Logan

Rating: T

Genres: Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Whump, Canon Divergence: No Jessica return, No Hollywoodland

Summary: He can't lie to her, though. "It's going to suck. It's going to feel unnatural and wrong and painful in ways you can't even imagine. But then it'll be over, and everything will feel right again. It'll still ache, but you'll know everything will be okay."

It's meant to be reassuring, but by the way she blanches, it clearly isn't. On impulse, he adds, "Kind of reminds me of our first kiss."

That gets her attention, at least. 

(AO3)

-

"This is bad, isn't it?"

Surprisingly, she sounds calm as she eyes her arm, with little more than distant curiosity. (Maybe he shouldn't be surprised. Shock is an effective drug, after all.) Her face is still tear-stained from the moments right after it happened, and it's a stark contrast to her expression.

"It's not great," he admits, struggling to keep his voice even. "Let me see."

He'd only looked away for a minute. They'd tracked a Rittenhouse leader to a safe house in 1914, and he'd insisted on going ahead of her, to clear the house. Of course the leader had come from behind. How they'd missed him in the first place, Wyatt isn't sure, but his money is on a hidden room somewhere in the house.

Not that it matters. What matters is the consequence.

She pushes her sleeve back to give him a better view, and he winces at the already swollen shoulder. Dislocated, he's sure. All things considered, she could have been hurt a lot worse, and probably would have been if Flynn hadn't followed them into the house. (He was supposed to be keeping watch outside, but Wyatt can't bring himself to complain.) He should be grateful Lucy is alive at all, and he is, but he knows what comes next, and his stomach churns at the thought.

Pushing down the sickening feeling, he smiles reassuringly, and keeps his voice as gentle as possible. "I'm going to have to reset it, okay?"

Her eyes, puffy and red, flicker in acknowledgement. "That's going to hurt, right?"

Oh, what he wouldn't give for a hospital right now. Heck, even some pain medicine would be nice, or something to knock her out with. But instead, they have a dusty floor, on Rittenhouse property. The owner won't interfere-thanks to Flynn's aim, he's currently assuming room temperature-but they have to assume someone else will come soon. So they have to get this over with.

He can't lie to her, though. "It's going to suck. It's going to feel unnatural and wrong and painful in ways you can't even imagine. But then it'll be over, and everything will feel right again. It'll still ache, but you'll know everything will be okay."

It's meant to be reassuring, but by the way she blanches, it clearly isn't. On impulse, he adds, "Kind of reminds me of our first kiss."

That gets her attention, at least. While she's distracted, he strikes, catching her arm and rotating it back into place. Her scream tears through him, and he tugs her to his chest, stroking her hair. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he whispers against her head. "It's over now. Shhh. The worst of it is over." She trembles in his arms, and he remembers, not for the first time, that this isn't her life. It was never supposed to be, at least. She's a history professor, not a soldier. Her life shouldn't be on the line like this.

Without thinking, he turns his head, pressing a kiss to her hair, and she goes absolutely still. He doesn't falter, though, just continues to hold her close, and after a long pause, she relaxes, nuzzling into his shoulder. They should leave, before Rittenhouse shows up, but her tears are wetting his neck, and he doesn't want to let go.

He exhales, meeting Flynn's eyes over Lucy's head, and receives a sharp nod of comprehension in return.

They can wait another minute to leave. Flynn has them covered.

-

It's only much later, when they're back in the bunker and her arm has been properly set in a sling, that she brings it up again. She's sitting on the edge of his bed, running her fingertips across the faded sheet, and it seems almost like she's stalling.

"What did you mean," she asks finally, refusing to meet his eyes. "When you said that before, about our kiss?"

He swallows hard, stomach dropping. Of course she would question it.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she adds, when he's been quiet for too long. "I was just.. Wondering."

"No, it's... It's okay." He takes a seat beside her, leaning back against the wall, and she shifts to face him. Words stick on his tongue-she's always been better at talking, he's a man of action to his bones-but she deserves this, so he presses on.

Her expression is patient, unguarded. Giving him time to work through every doubt. It's both calming and terrifying, the trust she places in him.

"When we... When I...." Where does he even start? "I hadn't kissed anyone since Jessica."

She draws in a sharp breath, and he drops his gaze. There's a tension in the room that is new, one he can barely push through to speak.

"Clyde didn't trust us. I could tell. I’ve seen that look before, always right before things get bad. So I knew what I had to do, but..."

"It hurt," she guesses, impossibly gentle. He nods. For a long moment, he considers the best way to say the next part, debates glazing over it altogether, but Lucy deserves the truth. (He and Jessica had too many words unspoken between them, and he regrets it even now. He promises himself: Not this time.)

"It wasn't like kissing Jessica." He keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the wall across from him, refusing to meet her eyes. "That's all I could think. Mouth wasn't quite right, taste wasn't quite right, smell-" The words catch in his throat, a bundle of emotion he forces down almost violently. "Yeah. It hurt."

They're silent, each lost in their own thoughts. The memories burn his mind, as vivid as if they were yesterday. He doesn't realize what's going through her mind until she speaks, voice broken and mournful. "I'm sorry," she breathes, and his eyes are immediately on hers.

"Oh, Lucy, Lucy, no. No, listen-" Tears are slipping down her cheeks, and his heart twists, cursing his honesty. He reaches for her, tugging her toward him. She hesitates, but when he persists, she slips into his arms. Her tiny form trembles, and his mind flickers back to the safehouse. This time, the kiss to her forehead is calculated, an attempt to calm her.

It works, if only briefly, and he stumbles over the rest of his poorly thought-out explanation. "Yeah, it hurt in the moment. But when I pulled away... You were looking at me," he tells her, not bothering to hide the awe he felt in that moment, "like... Like you were worried. Like you wanted to make sure I was okay. And I-I felt something click into place. My heart, I guess, I don't know..." He rolls his eyes on reflex at the cheesy sentiment, but the trembling stops, so he can't regret it too much.

"All I know is, all of a sudden, it didn't hurt so bad. Felt... Right. And for the first time since Jess died, I felt like everything was gonna be okay." He chuckles in spite of himself. "Scared me half to death, to be honest. But I knew the worst was over. And I knew..." He hesitates, but he promised himself he'd be honest with her, and if he can tell her the painful parts, he can tell her this. "I knew that the next time I kissed you, it wouldn't be like that. Wouldn't be thinking of Jessica, wouldn't be thinking of anything except... Except you."

Her eyes widen, and her gaze flickers to his lips, then away. Quickly. Guilty. "Oh?" She sounds breathless, shaky, hopeful but hardly daring to hope, and he swallows hard.

"Yeah." He intentionally drops his gaze, lingers on her mouth, then meets her eyes again. Waits. He won't do this without her permission. And after what he's just told her, he understands if she never gives it.

Tension crackles in the air. Everything he's feeling-wariness, hesitation, hope-is reflected on her face. She's waiting for him. He's waiting for her. And if one of them stops waiting, everything will change.

Maybe it already has.

Slowly, cautiously, he reaches up to cup her cheek. Scans her eyes for any sign, any at all, that this isn't what she wants. Nothing, so he leans in, a breath at a time. She copies the motion, about to meet him halfway, when-"Wait." Her voice shakes, but she is firm as she pulls back. Immediately, he follows suit, heart dropping as he lowers his hand.

Is he misreading everything? Did he mess everything up? Was talking about Jessica, about the kiss, a mistake? His mind races through a thousand possibilities in the seconds it takes her to center herself.

("You... Me... Anyone... I think we need to be open to the possibilities." But not these possibilities. Please, not these possibilities. Don't let him have ruined the best thing in his life.)

"Lucy?"

She closes her eyes. Takes a breath. Opens them. "Are you sure?" Before he can answer, reassure her, she adds, "I mean, really sure? I don't want to hurt you again."

Oh, sweet Lucy. He doesn't deserve her. He knows this. But she's here, right in front of him, with tears in her eyes, and she's worried about hurting him. He takes her hand, and she grabs it like a lifeline, clinging so tightly it almost hurts.

"I'm sure," he says simply.

A pause.

She tilts her head, watching him closely, scanning for any hint of insincerity. Then, suddenly, she springs, tugging him closer, pressing her lips to his. Desperate. Urgent. Pleading. He falls into her easily, releasing her hand to cup the back of her head, pressing reassurances against her lips. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I love you.

I love you.

He can't say it, not yet, but he can kiss her until they're both breathless, holding her as close as he can.

Finally, she pulls away. He chases her lips for a moment, and she giggles, giving him a final peck. Then, she pushes him away gently, searching his eyes. Terror and hope war there, and he wants to pull her close again, to kiss her until the fear is gone, but she keeps him in place, watching him. Waiting.

"Well?" She whispers breathlessly.

He smiles. Can't help himself. There's something warm and light blooming in him, and he doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop smiling. "Perfect."

She meets him halfway, capturing his lips once more.

-

Tagging the lovely Lyatt people who encouraged me to publish this: @only-freakin-sunflowers , @majorsamo, @kateykakes , @lonelysilverrain , and @logan-and-preston