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cursestothemoon · 3 years

Text

Parents, Presents, and Girlfriends

Requested: yes

Hermione x fem! gryffindor! reader

Warnings: suggestive towards the end, also a steamy kiss towards the end, mentions of food

Summary: Hermione is nervous to meet her girlfriends parents and spend the Christmas holiday with them, but quickly she realizes how silly she was. That and her girlfriend was cross-eyed as a baby.

also i didn’t edit this due to pure laziness so i am sorry

Word Count: 2301

***

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, meeting your parents is one thing but spending the holiday with them? What if I make a terrible first impression, then they are stuck with me for two weeks? What then?”

The way Hermione paced as she rambled made you chuckle, her eyebrows shooting up and falling down every so often.

“I think you are overthinking it, Mione. They’ll love you.” Your tone was confident.

She gave you a look asking if you were sure and you giggled as you stood up. You made your way over to her, taking her hands and bringing them to your lips. Hermione seemed to relax, her shoulders slumping, as you ran her knuckles across your lips before gently placing a few kisses on them.

“Trains leaving soon, love, I think we should get ready to go.”

Hermione nodded going to grab her bags- they had been packed since last week- and you made your way to your things, shoving in a few last minute socks and knickers before zipping it up. You grabbed Hermione by the hand, and you two walked out of your shared dorm, chatting until arriving at the train.

The train ride was spent in a compartment with Ron and Harry, both going to the Burrow for Christmas, and a plethora of sweets.

“Sixth year, can you guys believe it?” Ron asked munching on a chocolate frog leg.

Harry swallowed Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean, the grimace he sported was a dead giveaway that it was not a prefered flavor, before answering, “Remember when we flew the car to school?”

Ron nodded with a fond smile but it was Hermione’s voice that came out, “That was the most idiotic thing you two have ever done.”

“Oh don’t act all high and mighty now, that was when you met Y/n.” Harry teased, nudging his head in your direction.

Hermione turned crimson as she bowed her head with a small smile. Your hand found hers on the seat and gave it a squeeze.

“Yeah, you two weren’t around to make me look bad.” Hermione said, remembering the first train ride with you and how quickly you two had become best friends.

It was true, you two quickly became friends during second year, yet neither of you were able to actually identify your feelings as romantic until fourth year. Both of you had gone to the Yule Ball with a date, Hermione with Viktor Krum and you with Dean Thomas. The Ball was fun, though the jealousy spewing in both your hearts put a bit of a damper on things, fortunately the night ended with you two snogging in your dorm before any of the other girls got back. Surely they put two and two together when they got back however, lipstick smudged, dresses just slightly askew, and hair frazzled.

After the infamous night, you two had started dating. Now you had convinced her to spend Christmas holiday with you and your family, wanting your parents to meet the girl you were certain you were going to marry. Hermione had no reason to be worried, unbeknownst to her, your parents already knew all about her- perhaps a bit too much- from the countless letters you’ve written them gushing about your girlfriend.

“What if they don’t like me? Or-or, oh I don’t know! Does my hair look alright?” Hermione fumbled, hands shooting up to comb down her already neat hair- she had done it during the train ride.

“Your hair looks good, and they will like you. Try mentioning S.P.E.W.” You winked, walking out of the compartment.

Hermoine rushed after you, “Don’t leave me! I’m nervous, take my hand.”

You shook your head with a giggle, offering your hand to her as you waited for her to catch up. She took it gratefully, walking in stride with you to the now open door of the train that led to the platform 9 ¾.

The platform was buzzing with families, all bundled up for winter, greeting their children. A rush of excitement filled your being as you looked for your parents, turning to catch a glimpse of Hermione whose eyes were wide and smile, nervous.

“Y/n! Hermione! Over here!” It was your mum’s voice.

“Merlin, she knows my name.” Hermione mumbled to herself.

You chuckled, pulling Hermione by the hand to where your mum was waving at you two from a little ways down the platform. Upon reaching your mother, Hermione was pulled into a hug leaving you to gasp in feigned offence.

“I am your daughter you know?”

“And I’m your mother. Now that we’ve got titles out of the way let me greet your girlfriend.” Your mom waved you off turning to look at Hermione.

Hermione smiled, a bit overwhelmed by the aggressive hug, “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. L/n. Merry Christmas.”

“Call me Y/m/n, and it’s even lovelier to meet you. Y/n doesn’t shut up about you in her letters, you’re featured in every single one.”

“Mum.” You groaned, cheeks starting to heat up.

Hermione laughed, the knots in her stomach finally starting to loosen. Your mum seemed to take to her quickly, leaving you to grab most of the luggage. Hermione tried to protest, offering to help but your mother initiated you had it taken care of and she wrapped an arm around your girlfriend's shoulders starting a conversation about school, you presume.

“Yeah, I’m fine, not to worry.” You grumble, finally getting the five bags you were left with off the floor and comfortable enough for you to walk with.

“Carry the bags, Y/n. Let me get to know your girlfriend, Y/n. You can handle it.” You mimicked as you three finally made it to the car, your father sitting at the wheel before catching sight of you three and jumping out.

“Girls! Sorry I wasn’t at the platform, your mum thought it best if we bombarded Hermione one parent at a time.” He smiled, grabbing the bags from your hands quickly.

He watched you drop them with a huff, “Why’d you carry ‘em all, Y/n?”

“Oh you know, just trying to impress Hermione.” You said sarcastically, making him laugh as he shoved the bags into the trunk of the vehicle.

Your dad was a muggle, as muggle as they come really. He had a modest childhood, only ever getting what he needed, wants and luxuries saved for the children who could afford them. Your mother was a pureblood witch, a Gryffindor at that, and had lived in the house just a town over from your father’s. They had been together since they were fifteen, married since they were nineteen.

The backseat of the car held you and Hermione, your mum in the passenger seat and your father driving back to the house. The radio emitted a low tune but other than that a comfortable silence filled the car. You reached your hand across the seat, grabbing Hermione’s and giving a gentle squeeze. She turned to you, a smile nearly splitting her face, and her eyes sparkling. Clearly she was having a good time, and maybe carrying the bags all that way was worth it.

The ride home was quick, the newly fallen snow nearly blinding on the dark, paved roads. Your home coming into view causes a bubble of giddiness to rise into your belly, mum always decorated for Christmas and you could tell she went all out this year. The pathway leading up to the house had six Christmas trees, three on each side and each one sparkling with twinkling white lights and a red bow on top. The house itself was a good size, wedding present from your mother’s side, and had the same white twinkling lights wrapping around it.

“Welcome home.” You teased, grinning at Hermione.

Christmas Eve had gone without a hitch, dinner went exceptionally well. It felt as though Hermione had been a part of the family for ages, her humour, wit, and intelligence melded very well with that of your family’s. It was evident Hermione realized she had been nervous for nothing, a smile had sat gracefully on her face all night and you couldn’t be happier.

After dinner you and Hermioen had broken away from your parents- still chattering in the kitchen- and made your way to the front steps with hot chocolate cradled in each of your hands. You took a sip from your cup, the whip cream finding a nice spot to rest just at the top of your upper lip making the witch next to you let out a laugh.

“Is there something on my face?” Your tone was painfully oblivious.

She laughed again, “Nope, not at all.”

“Good, now give me a kiss, babes.”

You pucker your lips with exaggeration, leaning toward her. She laughed harder trying to lean away from her girlfriend but realized it was a losing battle so she retaliated. Hermioen grabbed your face and pulled you closer to her, only to bring her tongue out and lick a broad stripe over your mouth, collecting the whipped cream.

The shock was evident on your face as you froze for a moment before grimacing theatrically.

“I can’t believe you just licked me.” You muttered, a hand coming up to wipe your mouth.

“You were asking for it.” Hermione shrugged.

You let out a sigh before looking at her, a feigned expression of thinking drawn on your face, “I think now I deserve a proper kiss for that. Only fair.”

Hermione pretended to think for a moment also before she nodded, “You’re right, I think you do.”

She leaned over, pulling your lips to hers in a heated kiss. Her hand went to your waist, pulling at the material of your pants to bring you closer, you let out a quiet whimper at this making her slide her right hand over your backside, groping at the clothed flesh. You deepened the kiss, bringing one hand up to hold her face, the other one resting comfortable around her neck.

Hermione pulled her lips from yours with a smacking sound making you let out a breathy laugh.

“Apology accepted.”

The comment made Hermione snort, a hand coming up to shove your shoulder gently. A few whipped cream mustaches and far more than a few kisses later, both you and Hermione decided to go inside to get warmed up.

Your mother running around with blankets, your father following with pillows- though he’d rather not run- made you raise your eyebrows in curiosity.

“Mum...what are you doing?”

“Getting Hermione’s room ready.”

“Hermione’s...room...ready?” You tried to understand, really you did.

The way you said the words made your dad snort, before going to drop the pillows off in the spare room.

You turned to your mom, “I thought Hermione would be sleeping in my room...you know… with me?”

“People who date can’t sleep in the same room, that was the rule for your brother, that’s the rule for you. No matter how sweet Hermione is, I know you might try some funny business.” She said, a finger pointing at you.

Hermione laughed, knowing just how true it was before assuring, “I’m alright with staying in the spare room it’s alright.”

You groaned and stammered, not unlike a child complaining, “But- but, Hermione and I share a dorm. And! And! Even if there was any funny business, which there won’t be, don't be weird Mum, but if there was it’s not like either of us would get pregnant.”

Your dad gave a loud snort as he watched your mum try to find something to say.

“Well…”

“I mean, she’s not wrong, Y/M/N.” Your dad added, winking at you.

Your mother thought for a moment before giving in, “Alright, I suppose you’re right. But if her snoring gets too loud Hermione, you are more than welcome to switch rooms.”

You scoffed in offence, holding your hand over your heart dramatically, “I do not snore.”

The silence was deafening, and you turned to Hermione, “Don’t feed into this!”

She brushed you off with a smile before turning to your parents, “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

Your parents bid you two goodnight and made their way to their room, both Hermione and you walking in the direction of yours before your mum called out again.

“Remember, bright and early for presents in the morning! Goodnight!”

“Goodnight!” You and Hermione said in sync before opening the door to your room.

You walked in, Hermione following, and turned just as you heard her close and lock the door.

“Should I be worried?” You joked.

Hermione shook her head with a smirk, “Hope they won’t mind if I have you one of your presents early…” She trailed off as she walked toward you slowly.

“And to think, they thought I would be the one to start the funny business. Unbelievable…”

BONUS:

You sat on the floor in between Hermione’s legs as she sat on the couch, thumbing through a photo album your mum had so graciously given her. Your father handed her a few loose photographs, those were the really embarrassing ones that he liked to keep close, that you really wished he would’ve kept to himself.

Hermione would laugh to herself every so often making you look up from the scarf you were knitting to try and see the picture that brought out that reaction. Unfortunately, your seat was not the most fitting for such so you couldn’t catch the picture. That is until Hermione spoke up.

“You were cross-eyed as a baby. Did you know?”

Suddenly you knew the exact picture she was looking at making you groan, dropping your forehead onto her knee in embarrassment.

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@amourtentiaa

#Hermione Granger #Hermione Granger imagine #hermione granger x fem!reader #hermione x reader #hermione granger headcanons #hermione granger x reader

470 notes · View notes

silkling · 3 years

Note

Could you please write a crossover of Rescue Bots and TFP? Rather than dying on the Nemesis, a critically injured Dreadwing fleas and crash lands on Griffin Rock. The Rescue Bots find him and nurse him back to health, not realizing he’s a Decepticon because his markings got scratched up in the fight. Dreadwing wakes up while the Rescue Bots are trying to contact Team Prime, but can’t since, unbeknownst to them, they’re all on Cybertron, fighting the Cons for the Omega Keys and Omega Lock.

So, this one turned out to be much, much longer than I thought. So long, in fact, that I had to divide it into three posts. The second post will be linked at the bottom of this one, and the third will be linked at the bottom of the second. Dear god, apparently I had a lot of more thoughts about Rescue Bots than even I was aware of. Oh well. Either way, I hope everyone enjoys! (FYI: most prompt fills will not be this long. This one was just so long cause I have many emotions and ideas about this scenario.)

———————————————————————————————————

Dreadwing felt the betrayal of Lord Megatron as surely as if it were just as physical a wound as the hole blown through his chest. He had heard the weapon powering up, and his war-forged battle instincts had had him diving to the side just as the fusion canon had fired. It has still torn though his chest, but rather than destroy his spark chamber the blast had torn a hole straight through the right side of his chest near his shoulder. He lived yet, but if he could not escape the Nemesis that would not be the case for much longer.

He had served Lord Megatron with loyalty and honor for millennia, ever since he and his brother had joined the Decepticons after Vos had fallen. Dreadwing had sold his very spark to the Unmaker to act on the wishes and orders of his leader, and this is what his loyalty had earned him? Megatron attempting to offline him, and protecting the mech who had desecrated his brother? The same mech who had, countless times before, betrayed Megatron himself? Dreadwing could scarcely understand it. Why would Megatron spare Starscream, who had given the warlord no true loyalty, when Dreadwing himself had been nothing but loyal? Is this what his loyalty bought him, among the Decepticons? Dishonorably killed solely for attempting to avenge his brother by killing a traitorous coward?

If so, he wanted nothing to do with it.

He dragged himself down the halls, finally making it to the flight deck, and looked down to see the ship flying above the ocean. Rather than attempt a proper take off, he simply pitched his body forward off the edge and allowed himself to fall. As he neared the water, he forced a transformation, ignoring the agony of the action, and his engine roared to life. Lucid thought slipped away, then, as baser survival coding took over and guided him away from the warship, away from danger, away from what would have been his death.

Only one thing was certain, now.

In attacking Dreadwing to protect Starscream, Megatron had lost the loyalty of his most devoted frontline warrior.

Dreadwing simply refused to follow a mech who would protect the one who desecrated his brother.

And so, survival protocols overriding every other thought or higher system, the large Seeker allowed his higher processor functions to shut off. His mind quieted to blissful silence. Instinct alone drove him forward, flying towards a destination even he did not know. He could only hope it would be somewhere safe.

——————————

Blades didn’t know what he was expecting when he went on a walk along the beach, but it most certainly wasn’t a large Cybertronian lying in in the sand, looking like he’d crashed landed and resting lifeless on patch of sand soaked with energon. Technically, the copter wasn’t even supposed to be out here, as Sigma-17 had to maintain their cover, but everything at the firehouse had just been several kinds of too much that morning, so he had, for once, flown off on his own and landed on a beach he knew no humans ever really came to, intent to just take a walk and clear his head.

Except, upon coming around a bend, he’d found the aforementioned Cybertronian. For a moment, he’d simply frozen, but then the instinct ingrained by his training kicked in and he sprung into action. See, Blades was a trained and licensed triage medic. He couldn’t perform complex surgeries or anything on the level of a proper medic, but in the Rescue Academy on Cybertron he’d taken the courses for field level medical aid so that, if he’d ever run into someone during a rescue who’d been hurt, he could treat them and keep them alive until they could get to a medical facility. The training g had been fun, especially when he’d studied with-

He shook his head roughly before that thought could complete itself. He didn’t want to think about the time….Before. It hurt, remembering what and who he’d lost during his millennia of stasis. Before he could fall back into grief, training snapped back into place and his processor quieted. He knelt next to the fallen Cybertronian, noting that they were a Seeker frame, and carefully turned the bot over. His next thought was an observation that the bot was a mech, and that the energon soaking into the sand under his frame was spilling from a large hole torn straight through his chest. That meant the first thing he needed to do was seal the leaking lines to keep him from losing more energon. After that, he could call Heatwave. He didn’t have the skills to patch this wound up fully. Once he’d made sure this mech wouldn’t die here and now, he would need to get him to proper care. One of the stasis pods would certainly help, though if they wanted the wound healed fully he’d need to be in the pod for a while. The other alternative was contacting Optimus. Blades knew the Prime had a proper medic on his team, which might be the better option.

As his processor raced, trying to think of a plan, his hands worked on autopilot. He slipped the tools he needed from his subspace, cleaning and removing grime where it was needed to prevent infection, removing bits of sand and stone from the wound, and using a small welder to seal off the free-flowing energon lines. He covered loose, sparking wires and circuits, , rerouting a few of them in places where it was needed. Finally, after many long minutes, he finished and sat back on his heels.

It was then the helicopter realized his comm. was pinging with an alert for an incoming message, and had been for quite some time. In fact, it seemed he’d missed several messages. From Heatwave, Chase, Boulder, Dani, the Chief, Cody…Pit, even Graham had sent him a message. Embarrassment and guilt settled heavy in his chest, and he lifted his hand to his audial to accept the current call. As soon as his comm. clicked to life, Dani’s voice was coming through it.

“Blades! Finally! Where are you? We’ve all been worried sick, you know.” his partner scolded. Blades couldn’t help the small smile that twisted his lips upwards. It was nice knowing she cared. He loved Dani dearly. She was family, after all. “You know you’re not supposed to even be out of the firehouse on your own, you idiot bot!” she continued, her voice holding an undercurrent of worry despite the insult. Blades didn’t take it personally. “What if someone had seen you? You need to-“

And now that was enough. “Dani.” he interrupted her, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I’m sorry for ignoring you and everyone else, but right now there’s a bigger emergency than me risking our cover. I found an inured bot on that small beach behind the mountain. You know, the one no one likes to go to because the hike is too long? He’s in a really bad way. I have triage training, and I’ve patched him up, but he needs either a stasis pod or a proper medic, as close to immediately as possible.”

There was silence on the other end, before-

“Alright. I’ll tell everyone to come to your location. I’m with Dad and Chase right now. We all split up to look for you, but we’ll meet you there. Don’t move, and keep the bot alive.” Dani instructed. Despite himself, Blades was smiling again. Yes, he really did love Dani. She knew when it was time to get serious. He had a feeling he’d be forgiven for his blunder today, given the circumstances.

“Will do. I’ll see you soon.”

“Just hang tight, partner. And stay out of trouble.”

“You too.” he chirped, hands still working over the bot to patch up his more minor wounds now that the life-threatening one was dealt with. “And Dani?”

“Yeah, Blades?”

“I’m sorry for worrying you.”

There was a beat of silence, and then her voice came though, softer and fonder.

“Don’t worry about it. You did the right thing.”

Then the comm. line cut off, and Blades was left alone to in the silence. He let his processor drift, kneeling in the energon soaked sand as he worked on saving the life of a bot whose name he didn’t even know.

——————————

Chase was worried. He knew Blades was more capable than the others thought he was, but that didn’t stop him from worrying. He hadn’t been surprised when the copter bot had left the firehouse that morning. He’d seen the way he had held his rotors tight to his spinal strut, seen the way he’d fidgeted around the others, seen the way his optics had slipped and gone dull and distant. He knew today was not a good day for Blades, so his disappearance had not been a surprise. He’d been mildly concerned, simply because he did not know if Blades would be able to avoid being seen in his more distracted state, but he hadn’t been too worried. Still, when Heatwave had insisted on going to track down their rogue teammate, he hadn’t protested. He’d even offered to let Dani ride with him and the Chief to make things simpler.

But then Blades had finally picked up Dani’s comm. and that was when he started to worry. A strange bot, found injured on Griffin Rock? It raised many questions. Where had they come from? Who where they? How had they been injured? Chase wasn’t worried that the bot would die. He knew Blades had triage training, so he was confident his teammate would be able to keep his unexpected patient alive. Even so, this new development raised many questions that Chase did not have the answers to, and that was what worried him. There were not many Cybertronians on Earth, he knew. Aside from Sigma-17, there was Team Prime, and….the Decepticons. As far as Chase was aware, and he admittedly did not know as much as he would like, there were no unaligned bots on the planet.

Which meant this newcomer was either one of Prime’s team, a Decepticon, or he had crash landed on the island from space and wasn’t attached to either faction. It would be easy enough to confirm; they simply had to contact Prime and ask if he was missing a teammate, and if not ask if he recognized the bot in question. If this stranger was a neutral party or an Autobot, Chase knew there would be nothing to worry about. But if they were a Decepticon…well, that was the root of the police bot’s concerns. Sigma-17 was a rescue team. They knew rudimentary combat skills, enough to defend themselves or those they were rescuing in an emergency, but they were non-combatants. By the standards of the War, his team would be classified as civilians. If this new Cybertronian was a Decepticon…Chase wasn’t sure they’d be able to protect Griffin Rock, this time. He wasn’t sure they’d even be able to protect themselves.

Before he could slip even further into his own processor, they arrived at the coordinates Blades had sent. His snapped into focus, his doors popping open to allow his passengers out, and then he was transforming and walking over to where he could see Blades. As he approached his friend, he heard Boulder and Heatwave pull up behind him and transform. Blades looked up from his work when his three teammates stopped next to him, and Chase was mildly disconcerted to see the amount of energon soaking the sand and coating the copter’s hands.

“Blades, what happened?” Heatwave demanded, voice rough.

“I don’t know.” he shrugged helplessly. “I came out here for some space and to take a walk, cause I know this beach is practically abandoned, and I just found him like this.”

Indeed, this close, Chase could see that the mystery bot was in fact a mech. That answered one question, but none of the others. How irritating. It was also making him very nervous and queasy to see just how badly injured the very, very large bot was. Boulder too, seemed to feel ill at the sight of such horrible wounds and so much energon. Distantly, Chase noted that the bot might be even bigger than High Tide. He had no idea how they were supposed to get him back to the firehouse.

Heatave made a frustrated noise, clearly displeased with the lack of information though he knew Blades was not to blame. “Well can you tell how he got so injured?”

“A weapon of some sort, though not one I’ve ever seen the damage of before.” Blades said, frowning. His processor was clearly working hard, trying to turn over the facts he knew to figure out the bigger picture. “There’s also signs of older damage. I can’t be 100% sure, but I think this bot is, or maybe was, involved in the War.”

Heatwave paused, seeming more wary with this new information. “…can you tell which side?”

“No. Any faction identifier or badge has been destroyed or scraped off like most of his paint. I can only just figure out what his colors are supposed to be, and even them only barely.”

Chase could tell that Heatwave was annoyed, but the fire truck only grumbled his curses under his breath before sighing. “Alright. What do we need to do?”

Blades startled, looking surprised. “You’re asking me?”

“Of course.” Chase cut in before Heatwave could snap something rude and further stress the already clearly frazzled helicopter. “You are the triage medic here. Protocol dictates that, in the absence of a full medic, any medical decisions would fall to the next available medical expert. In this case, that would be you.”

Blades blinked a few times, before shaking himself and sitting up straighter. “Like I said earlier, he needs a stasis pod. Badly. I don’t have the ability to fix him completely, my training only covered keeping patients alive until they could get to someone who could repair them fully. The only one on planet I know who might be able to help is Optimus’s medic. He can also heal completely in one of our stasis pods, but it would take longer than just asking Optimus for help.”

Heatwave grunted. “Got it. He needs a stasis pod now, and a medic later. We can do that.”

That seemed to be enough to startle Boulder into awareness, and the bulldozer jumped before nodding and turning to Heatwave. “Graham and I can figure out a way to transport him safely. Though we’ll need your help, Blades. You have a better understanding of his condition than us.”

The copter nodded, and Chase let that be his que to retreat to back to where the humans were waiting. Apparently, they didn’t want to get too close in case their presence caused an issue with the unknown bot’s care.

“Well?” Chief asked. “How’s our newest guest?

“Unwell.” Chase said succinctly. “He is severely injured and appears to be involved in the War in some fashion, though it is impossible to tell for which side. We are going to transport him to the firehouse in order to put him into a stasis pod so that he may heal. Graham, I believe Boulder requires your assistance in that respect.” he said, directing the last part to the engineer.

Graham nodded, making no protest as he jogged forward towards his partner, Boulder already turning and crouching to begin discussing plans. Dani followed him quickly, though she split from his path to join Blades, clambering up onto his leg and patting his canopy as she shot him a reassuring smile.

It was here that Kade made his own opinion known. “Hey hey hey, let’s slow down!” he protested. “You just said you don’t know what side this guy’s on, and you want to bring him back home? We can’t do that! Why can’t Blades just fix him here and we can send him on his way?”

Chase tilted his head. “Blades is a licensed triage medic. He does not have the training necessary to fully repair him. Besides, even if he did, I do not believe it would be wise to simply ‘send him on his way’, and you said. If he truly is a Decepticon, then doing so would risk leading the entirety of the Decepticon army right here to Griffin Rock.”

Kade froze, seeming suddenly queasy. “Oh.”

Chief sighed. “Fair point, partner. I agree we can’t just leave him or let him die. It wouldn’t be right, even if he isn’t on our side. But for safety’s sake, would it be possible to keep him unconscious until we can confirm his identity with Optimus?”

Chase nodded. “Indeed, Chief. I believe that is the current plan. As soon as he is safely in a stasis pod, we will attempt to contact Optimus. With luck, we can have this matter sorted by the end of today.”

“Good.” Chief smiled. “Then let’s get to work.”

“Agreed.”

Chase returned to his team, Chief and Kade following at his heel, to find they had come up with a plan to transport the unknown Cybertronian. Working together, the rescue team was able to get the large flight-frame settled into a make-shift trailer the engineer duo had thrown together, and after hitching it to Boulder’s vehicle mode the whole group made their way to the firehouse using the tunnels in order to avoid being seen. Barring Blades, of course, who instead flew straight to base with Dani in order to prepare a stasis pod.

By the time Chase and the others arrived, the pod was set up and open to admit the unknown mech. It took all four of Sigma-17 working together to lift him into it, but then the glass door was sliding shut and frost soon hid the bot from view as the stasis function of the pod took affect. Now, all that was left was for Blades to clean himself up, and for Heatwave to contact Optimus about their guest.

Chase just hoped this development didn’t come back to bite them.

——————————

Dreadwing woke to the hiss of an unfamiliar system disengaging and onlined his optics to see icy mist billowing to the floor as a glass door slid up from in front of him. A stasis pod? That was odd. The Nemesis had no stasis pods and he knew the Autobots did not have the means to maintain or build one either. He was also not aware there were any other Cybertronians on the planet. So where was he, and how had he gotten into a stasis pod? The last thing he remembered was fleeing the Nemesis, although….he did have very vague, hazy memories of a crash. Had he been discovered and saved before he could offline? If so, he would have to thank his unexpected savior. Unless, of course, it was an Autobot and he had only been saved so he could be locked away. If that was the case, a bot was going to die here today and it would not be him.

The stasis pod fully disengaged from him, and he was able to step out and onto the floor. He glanced down at himself, humming idly. It seemed that he had been fully repaired either before or while in the pod. That was good for him. He looked around, frowning at his odd surroundings. The location he was in had medical supplies, but was clearly no full medical bay. Perhaps it was only set up for emergencies, then? His wings twitched when he picked up the sound of pede steps beyond the doorway, and his gaze turned towards the sound. After a moment, he realized whoever it was wasn’t coming towards him, but rather they seemed to be…pacing? Yes, that is what it sounded like. Curiosity piqued, Dreadwing strode towards the door, making sure his own steps were quiet so as not to alert the other to his presence. He stepped though, looking around…and his optics blew wide.

It was a youngling. A small, orange and white helicopter bot was pacing back and forth in tight circles in the center of the room. Dreadwing was willing to bet that this little flyer was even younger than the Autobot scout. As the mechling turned to pace in another circle, the Seeker caught sight of the emblem on his chest. At first, he saw only a badge similar to the Autobot brand and his frame began to stiffen. Then the rest of the badge processed in his mind and his vents froze.

The Rescue Bot insignia.

This tiny little flying mechling was a Rescue Bot. But how? Megatron had seen to the destruction of the Rescue Bot headquarters in the early days of the war, and had sent his soldiers to systematically hunt down and offline any who had survived the initial attack or had not been present during it. Dreadwing and his brother had joined the Decepticons after massacre, but it was one the only acts the Decepticons had committed that they had wholly disapproved off. The Rescue Bots had been unaffiliated with any faction. They took an oath of neutrality, a vow to save any and every life they could regardless who who or what that life was. Megatron had wanted them gone because he’d wanted to make a statement, but also because he wanted to deny the Autobots any potential allies or any aid that the Rescue Bots would have given them.

It had been a great loss, and had been one of the reasons Dreadwing had initially wished to avoid choosing one side or the other. The Decepticons, in his mind, took things too far. The Autobots, while more restrained, had initially risen from the regime in which he and his brother had suffered under. But then….Vos had fallen, and word had spread that his city’s destruction had been the doing of the Autobots. He and Skyquake had been forced to pick a side, then. He’d gotten over his hesitance at the Decepticon methods and given Lord Megatron his undying loyalty. And now…he was here, betrayed by the one who he as sworn himself to, watching a youngling Rescue Bot pace in nervous circles. It was something that should have been impossible.

Suddenly, the mechling froze, and wide amber optics turned to him. Idly, Dreadwing realized he must have made some noise, and then the little copter was yelping and scrabbling back. He paused, then hurried forward, his hands fluttering as if unsure what to do. Before the little one got too close, Dreadwing locked his own sharp, red optics onto him, and the bot froze in place with a startled yip.

For a long moment, there was only silent staring.

——————————

Blades was pacing. There wasn’t much else he could do. The day they had brought back the large Seeker, Heatwave had contacted Optimus. Only, the Prime had very quickly shut him down, explaining they were busy with an issue of “upmost importance” and that he would return their contact when he was able to. That had been three weeks ago, and he hadn’t called back. The Seeker was still in stasis, and Heatwave was once against attempting to make contact, for the 15th day in a row. Chase and the Chief were on patrol, and Boulder and the other humans were at Blossom Vale, having a picnic. Blades had opted to remain behind, wanting to keep an eye on the Seeker.

In the time since finding the large mech, Blades had done some research. He’d had to dig around the Sigma’s files, and dig through the files of the computer that connected them to Optimus, as well as dig through the various data-pads that had been left to them by High Tide and Optimus. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that he’d been able to piece together information about the War that the Prime hadn’t been telling them. Now, Blades understood why the War had started. The civil unrest had been a thing even before Sigma-17 had been formed, when he was still in the early days of training, it had been mild, then, but it had been there. So he wasn’t surprised that it had grown worse, especially if the root causes of the unrest hadn’t ever been addressed.

He also knew, from the information he’d dug up in his search, that after the fall of Vos, most Seekers had joined the Decepticons. Which meant that his patient was, in all likelihood, a Decepticon himself. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. But he hadn’t told the others his suspicions. Mostly because…something about the situation was odd. Optimus didn’t strike him as the type of mech who would inflict or approve of that type of wound being inflicted on a mech. So unless he had someone on his team who was excessively violent and he couldn’t control, Blades didn’t see that wound coming from the Autobots. Which meant it had come from the Decepticons. Of course, that only raised more questions. Namely, why would they do that to one of their own, if the mech really was a ‘Con? He wanted to get answers before he shared his suspicions. He didn’t want to condemn the Seeker to anything bad if he was wrong.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t been all he had learned, in the past few weeks. In one of the data pads High Tide had left about the early days of the war, there had been a mention of the “end of the Rescue Force”. It had just been a mention, a reference to an event that was probably detailed in a separate data pad. But he hadn’t ever found that separate data pad. And when he remembered What Optimus had said, when he’d first found them..”

“I was not aware Rescue Teams were…still active.”

He’d said it slowly, haltingly, as if choosing the words carefully. He’d paused before saying the last part too. At the time, Blades hadn’t thought much of it. But with the information about the War Optimus had allowed them to have, and the mention of the “end of the Rescue Force” in that one data pad, well…Blades was starting to think that “active” had not been the word that the Prime had actually meant. Something had happened, something he didn’t have enough information to figure out yet, but the faint picture he was starting to get from the pieces of information he did have wasn’t one he liked. It was another reason he was hesitant to share what he suspected about the Seeker. Optimus was keeping vital information from Sigma-17. He didn’t care if the Prime didn’t want them fighting in the War. He agreed that it was a bad idea. But he was withholding information that Blades suspected his team would very much want, and they didn’t even know it.

So here he was, pacing restlessly as his processor turned over the information he got, unsure how or even if he should share it. Would his team even believe him? He doubted they would. He knew they thought he was silly and couldn’t understand complex ideas, but that was far from the truth. After all, of all the Rescue Bots he had the greatest understanding of human nature and culture. His understanding wasn’t always 100% accurate, and just because he understand the what didn’t mean he understand the why, but he still understood more than any of the others. And sure, he applied most of his ability to learn new information to pop culture rather than the things the others might consider more “worthwhile”, but that was only because pop culture was more fun. Plus, pop culture was where humanity really displayed they way they ticked. Did it really make him that much of an idiot if all that was the case?

He was startled from his spiraling thoughts by a sound from the direction of the make-shift medical bay. The copter glanced in that direction, thinking it was one of his teammates, only to yelp and leap back upon seeing the Seeker. He’d known the other bot was large, but seeing him awake and up just confirmed how large. The red optics too, made discomfort curl in Blade’s tanks. The data-pads had suggested that red optics were typical of Decepticons, though they shouldn’t be used as an identifier of such. Even so, it was another tick in favor of his theory. Then the scene caught up to him, and medical training overrode his temporary moment of panic.

This bot wasn’t supposed to be up yet. In fact, even if he had been fully healed by the pods it was supposed to keep him under until Optimus could arrive. Except….Blades must have put in the settings wrong. He was so used to setting the stasis pods to release once the healing process was complete that he must have input that setting without realizing it. Which…presented a problem. Is this mech was hostile, he didn’t think his team could handle it. Those thoughts circled in the back of his processor as he directed the bulk of his worry towards making sure his patient was alright. His hands flapped awkwardly as he approached the larger flyer, ready to skim over his frame to check out his condition, when piercing red optics locked onto him. He froze with a high pitched squeak, his own optics blown wide as that gaze pinned him in place.

For a long moment, the two Cybertronians merely stared at each other.

Then Blades, getting increasingly nervous, broke the silence. “Are you okay?” he asked, curling and tucking his hands against his canopy. “The stasis pod should have healed you completely, but you were hurt pretty bad. Even most of your paint was gone, though it looks like your color nanintes were able to fix that while you were healing.”

Indeed, the mech standing in front of him was now in full color, his purple and yellow paint bold and bright on his frame. It did seem, however, that he was still missing a faction brand. If he’d ever had one, of course, though the copter strongly suspected he did.

The Seeker seemed put off for a moment, as if he didn’t know why Blades was worried. “I am well.” he said carefully. “Are you the one who repaired me?”

“Well, sort of?” Blades’s rotors fluttered against his back. “I’m a triage medic, so I couldn’t fix you completely, but I kept you online until my team and I could get you into a pod.”

The Seeker narrowed his eyes. “Team?” he repeated, obviously suspicious.

Blades squeaked again, shoulders hunching. “We’re Rescue Bots.” he gestured at his insignia before his hands tucked back against his canopy. “Team Sigma-17. I’m Blades.”

The Seeker was silent for a long moment. “You may call me Dreadwing.” he said slowly. His gaze was still piercing.

Blades nodded, then took a few steps forward, and when Dreadwing made no move to stop him, he closed the gap between them. “Do you mind if I scan you over one last time? I just want to be sure all your systems are in order.”

The Seeker bowed his helm, and Blades lifted his hands to skim over plating, using his built in scanning systems he’d gotten in his triage training to check his patient over. Everything was coming back fine, but with a wound as serious as his had been Blades away taking no chances.

“You are a Rescue Bot.” Dreadwing spoke. His voice was low, and there was an odd note to it.

“Yep. Me, Boulder, Chase, and Heatwave. We crashed here a while ago and Prime stationed us on this island to act as a rescue team for the locals.” he explained distractedly.

Dreadwing made a soft hum. “Prime knows you are here? Are you Autobots, then?”

Blades frowned. “He knows. He visits, sometimes, but not often. We haven’t been able to contact him lately though.” He was too focused on his task to think about whether he should actually,be answering so freely. The second question gave him pause, though. “No? At least, not really? We’re a Rescue Team. Rescue Bots take oaths off non-affiliation. We can’t side with any particular group or individual since our job is to help any bot or being that needs it.” He was reading over the results of his scans, mouth turned down. “We’re more closely tied to the Autobots right now, but that mostly because we don’t know much of what happened with the war. We were in stasis until we crashed.” He let the readings flicker away, and froze when he realized how much he’d shared. “Uhhh….”

Dreadwing only snorted, actually looking fairly amused. “Yes, I think it is quite clear now that you are no warrior, little youngling.” he rumbled. His expression darkened. “I understand why Prime stationed you here, out of sight. Megatron would see you hunted and slaughtered if he knew a Rescue Team still functioned.”

This made Blades freeze, and as he recalled Optimus’s first words to them, and that data pad, dread began to build in his spark. “What?” he asked weakly.

Dreadwing stared. “You were not told?” he sounded…angry. “That is foolish. It is not a pleasant tale, but you should have been told if only to ensure you understand the importance of your existence remaining secret.”

Blades swallowed. “Optimus doesn’t really tell us much of anything about the War, and the data pads he leaves only really cover the basic and important bits, not the details.” he whispered. “Does…does Megatron wanting my team offlined have anything to do with the “end of the Rescue Force”? I read about it in one of the data pads, but it was just a mention. I couldn’t find any details other than that one phrase.”

Dreadwing’s gaze was solemn as the little bot lifted his optics to meet it. “Yes.” he said bluntly. “In the early days of the War, Megatron grew angry that the Rescue Bots aligned with no faction, and he wanted to deprive the Autobots of any who might aid or help them. He ordered the destruction of the Rescue Force. The Headquarters was destroyed, and all Rescue Bots present were massacred. Any who survived, and any who had not been present in the initial attack, were systematically hunted and slain.”

Blades’s knees felt weak. He pressed his hands to Dreadwing’s chest to steady himself, grateful that the larger flyer didn’t protest it. His rotors rattled madly against his back with his distress, and his optics were blown wide.

“But that would mean…”

“You and your team are the last Rescue Bots in existence. All the others are offline and have been for many, many millennia.”

The copter’s knees gave out, and Dreadwing was quick to grasp his frame to keep him from hitting the ground. A sharp keen left Blades’s vocalizer, and the Seeker blessedly said nothing and made no moves to push as the youngling processed the new information.

It was, of course, that moment that the others chose to return.

——————————

Part 2

152 notes · View notes

bangteamhyuk · 3 years

Text

Seesaw (I)

Genre: Mature/Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Neighbors with benefits/Fuck buddies, Producer! Min Yoongi, Fuck girl! OC Y/N, Neighbors AU (a Spin-Off to “Moving On”)

Warning: NSFW! alot of kissing (torrid, soft, neck, and down under😉), protected sex (you can never go wrong with a rubber on, kids!), oral sex, mentions of alcohol, mentions of nipple pierce (pls don’t kill me 😣), mentions of cheating, appears to be pwp but i swear there’s a plot in this..so bear with me please😖, elevator buddies (lol. thanks ggukieland for mentioning this) to eventual lovers. I’m ending this in good terms 😌

Synposis: His outfits are always in black, and if not black then it must be in dark muted tones. You pressed the button on the elevator floor, and positioned yourself at the edge. You watched his back from a distance, and turned away if he moved his head. You were always the one who start your small conversation with him: From “good day” to “good night” to “that’s interesting (whatever it is you find ‘interesting’ from him, even though you were interested in him more than the item)” and other things. You and your little crush to your neighbor who lived on the 18th floor.

Until one rainy night, all drenched and cold, and your eyes smudged all over with kohl, you found him waiting for you inside the elevator. His body slacked on the edge, hair unkempt, his jacket barely settled on his shoulder while holding on to an empty bottle of scotch.

“Rough night?” he asked while you moved to the other side of the lift, pressing the button from the elevator immediately closing its door.

“Yeah, seems you had one too?” you watched him attempt to position himself upright in amusement.

He drank from the empty bottle before he replied and realized straightaway that it’s been drained.

An idea came up to you suddenly and you asked: “I have more of that in my place. Wanna come over?”

A/N: Yoongi have been tormenting me of his visual for weeks and I just have to. Also I owe Producer!Min Yoongi to be happy. :( I hope you’ll enjoy “Seesaw” as much I enjoyed writing it. I decided to make it a mini-series because ideas are just piling up for the two.

And yep, mood song is “Seesaw” by Suga 💖

Word count: 7,190k

“Good morning” you said upon entering the elevator. You walked past him and placed your back on the steel wall for support.

“Good morning” he replied, eyes blinking.

You opened your insulated tumbler to drink your freshly brewed hot coffee you made before leaving your apartment, when you noticed something particularly interesting from the lone stranger you’re with inside the lift. “Nice bean hat” you complimented.

“It’s a gift from my friend” he looks up at the elevator screen, monitoring what floor you two are currently in before it hits the ground floor. “That coffee smells nice, Ethiopian beans?” he turned his head a little to your direction, but wasn’t trying to look back at you particularly.

“No, Tanzania Peaberry” you took a sip and levelled your eyes to the decreasing number before the elevator digital screen until it hit ‘Lobby’. “Well, have a good day!” you smiled at him as you walked past his side. Yoongi let you leave first, like a true gentleman that he is.

It was always the same dry and small conversation. Always the same feeling whenever he is around. Your little crush on the man living on the 18th floor.

——

It started about two months ago when he was running towards the closing elevator, asking for you to wait for him before you could push the close button on the lift. Normally you would mind, and would even subtly push the button hard (about once or twice) so the lift would close quickly before the other person could even enter.

But not this guy, no. The way his eyes looked at you for a second, there was something behind it, something you couldn’t pinpoint exactly. When he reaches out for the door, you knew from that moment on, it was already over. He finally came in and pushed the ‘close button’ before you.

You were charmed.

“Thank you” he panted, as he tried to catch his breath from running and crouched down on his knees right when the elevator door closed. He was wearing a black oversized hoodie and dark blue fitted jeans and black canvas shoes, but were all dripping wet.

“Didn’t expect the rain too” You pulled out your gym towel from your bag. The one you didn’t get to use because, Matt, the cute guy your friend introduced to you during her wedding day, suddenly sent you a message asking if you had any plans for this afternoon.

Naturally, you cancelled your ‘gym day’ to trade it for one steamy workout session with him inside his car. Which leaves you now with your gym outfit and other stuff perfectly unused, including your towel.

“Here” you handed it over to him, feeling sorry for the situation he was in. Wet and dirty from running outside the street. He turned to you, confused, unsure whether to accept the towel you were offering or not. “Oh don’t worry, that’s a new one. I didn’t get to the gym today so it’s not used, like at all…” you smiled.

“Thanks” he bowed a bit and gently wiped his neck and face as he pushed the 18th floor button. He shook his raven short hair a little to his side and tapped it with the towel, hoping to reduce the water trickling from the ends of his straight hair.

You pushed 17th.

“New here?” you asked.

“Yeah, I just moved two weeks ago” he gently wiped each side of his cheek for warmth.

“Has anyone ever welcomed you here?” you took a quick glance at him and furrowed your eyebrows then retracted “Well, besides the management and the security guard?” you snickered, eyes still fixed at the elevator buttons and its screen.

He chuckled at your query “No, unfortunately.”

“Bummer. Well, let that towel be the ‘first welcome gift’ then. From a neighbor” You shrugged then turned to face him and smiled.

The elevator bell rang, ‘17th floor’. You put your feet forward near the elevator door, arguing in your head whether you should ask his name or not. Usually, you don’t ask strangers for their name, especially the ones you just met. You barely knew anyone in this building, except your next-door neighbor who frequently complained about the noises you make at night.

And It’s not like he owes you anything either, so you didn’t expect that he’ll do it so casually… and yet here you are, hoping.

At least, maybe he could ask you a thing or two about you and say ‘thanks’ one more time? That’s just wishful thinking though. You suddenly remember that you did mention the towel was a gift, despite not bothering to ask if he wants it or not.

You began to worry even more, and wanted to ask if he really wants to even keep it. So, you turned around to meet him the eye and “Ah w—”

“Thank you, neighbor” he smiled and held the towel to his ear. The elevator door closes before you, stunned to see him smile. Yes, that damn smile. The kind where you forget where you live for a second, and you just nod. Leaving him behind.

“What’s your name?” you asked no one, and sighed. “Whatever… you’re welcome, neighbor” you turned away from the closed door in frustration and walked along the hallway.

——

Boys are like games. You liked it when they made you scheme so that they could find you interesting, and then trap them once they took the bait. And leave when it becomes dull.

Every so often, you try to lure in guys that interest you so that you could spend about a week or two with them, to fill in the gaps of your own boredom. You despised monotony, the way you hated commitments.

Though you were not always like this before, you once believed in ‘true love’ and ‘fairytales’, until you’ve had your heart broken a few times (mostly due to one-sided love) and then that was it. You’ve had enough. Back then, you were still young and naïve, thinking men will come and save you from this cruel world. You’ve seen it in movies, tv dramas and heard countless songs play about it on the radio, you were hopeful.

Yet no one came to save you, not even one. You came to realize that only you could save yourself from making your life any more tragic. Men are never the key to happiness. Love is not the formula in living a good life.

You looked at your own reflection and marveled at the beauty you created for yourself. And that was the thing, you saved yourself way too perfectly that you just don’t believe in love anymore. And out of nowhere, men were starting to line up.

Not like the teen romance kind of stuff, where they literally line up for you because you started to look like Gal Gadot overnight. More like, you don’t seem to care whether you get asked out or not, either way, men like you because you are a challenge. And who doesn’t like a challenge?

Because men are dying to see one day, that all the walls you’ve built for yourself would fall for them. They wanted to see a damsel in distress behind that wall.

Because men always like their ego stroke, and they always want to have the bigger prize. Unfortunately for everybody, it’s not Princess Peach who they want to save on top of a tower, they just want the game. That’s it, they want to see whether you’d fall for them or not. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s why you never let it. You refused to get too personal and you renounced commitments. You’re too proud.

Because for you, commitments are the epitome of prison. For you, commitments are just a disguise for convenience. In the same manner, convenience is a sugar-coated word for validation, caramelized to perfection.

And for whose validation? For men? Maybe then, they could make you do their laundry, cook them food, satisfy their lustful desires? Are those really an act of love or selfish desire to make their lives easy? Clearly, your choice to keep yourself free from commitments isn’t an act of rebellion against sexims and double standards. It’s actually letting yourself be free from nuisance, which is what they call “love”.

That is why you remain in your stance, that you want men for your own pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less. That you want to see them admire you, kneel if they must, before you. Cry desperately for your touch. Because you’re not giving any, not until a man who thinks the same way as you do, the ones who are smart enough to knock on your door and present to you his pure intentions.

Evidently, that’s impossible, with the way men are in this god-forsaken city? The closest thing you could ever meet to a perfect man is the cardboard stand of Park Seojun, smiling at the entrance of a restaurant beside you right now.

You pat the fabric from your dress, after looking at your reflection from the glass window. Joe, your officemate, from the Design Department, finally asked you out for a ‘little dinner nearby’.

“Y/N, you sure you want to eat here? We can go to some place fancier” he asked while he folded his long sleeves.

“Two seats please” you ignored his query as you grinned over the lady who took on the customer cue. She rolled her eyes upon seeing you again with another man.

Joe went to you close and whispered “Do you have any beef with the lady?”.

“Nah, we’re good. It’s her term of endearment for saying ‘welcoming back’. I’m a regular customer here” you winked at her “so I’m sure she’s delighted to see me every time” she groaned in annoyance and let you in. She remained polite by guiding you both to an empty table.

——

Obviously that’s a lie, because next thing you knew, you were already making out with Joe inside his car, barely reaching his apartment.

“Mmm” you shifted to his seat, knees in between his legs, as he unzips your dress on your back. You helped him pull the fabric down from your shoulder, exposing your lacy lingerie, exclusive for this occasion.

“Can’t you wait until we get into my place?” he parted, panting, leaving him breathless after that torrid kiss.

“I just wanted to give you a little preview with what I can do” you smirked, as you began to kiss his ears and traced it down his neck. “Will get there, don’t worry” you gently bit his ear lobe which made him groan in pleasure. Until, someone came knocking on his window. Joe moved from his seat to see who it was.

“Lara!” he immediately stopped and pushed you away.

“Lara?” you turned to face where he was looking, and to your horror, you saw Lara. Lara, your officemate and your best friend. Lara, who perfectly knew your history and the list of men you slept with. Lara, who stood by you even after office hours and saved your ass multiple times from your mercurial boss.

You didn’t have any slightest clue she was seeing this Joe from the Design department, yet you feel like you’ve done something terribly wrong.

You quickly pulled your clothes up, while Joe immediately left you in the car to talk to Lara.

“I can explain,” he pleaded, shutting the car door hard.

“I don’t need it” Lara shook her head and took a step back.

You pulled down the headboard mirror to fix your hair and lipstick for a moment and let the two do the talking first. You listened to them argue, rather faintly from the inside of his car while you tried to put on your heels.

After you gently pat your lips with your finger, you finally decided to leave the car and went to Lara so you could take on her side and put more misery over Joe, the canker cheater. Besides, isn’t it Joe’s fault that you are all in this muddling position?

“I always knew I shouldn’t be friends with a slut like you!” she spat a disgusted look on you.

Your mouth went agape, bewildered at her reaction “Excuse me? I didn’t know Joe’s seeing you”. You were expecting that above all, she would understand the current situation, that it was Joe and not you who started out all this mess. Why does it feel like you’ve put gas in to the fire? When the one who deserves all these words is Joe.

“So, is it my fault now? That I didn’t tell you I’m seeing Joe?!” she scoffed and folded her arms. Now she’s starting to piss you off too.

“Because I don’t know Lara? We’re best friends? We’re not supposed to hide secrets?” you gave her a sardonic smile, which peeved her even more.

“Of course I should, the way you sleep with everyone’s boyfriend without being sorry? I definitely think I should” she bit at you, barely quivering from the words she chose against you. You must admit, that definitely hurt. Not the words she chose, not the way she barely quivered, but because it came out from someone you trust.

Lara, was the least person you thought who could inflict a burn to your already-distorted ego.

You sighed, forestalling the tears that were slowly looming around your eyes “Right, well at least I learned something about you tonight. Have a great night with Joe, I hope you two sort out things…” you pulled your bag from your shoulder and walked away but then you remember something.

You wanted to slap Joe in the face so bad right now, that the only thing that’s stopping you is the idea of an eventual ‘Physical Harm Outside Office’ complaint against you from the HR Department, well if you were careless enough to actually do it.

“There’s a thong hidden underneath your seat, which isn’t mine by the way. I only wear Kiki De Montparnasse, don’t I Lara? Well, those are Victoria’s. You know I dislike Victoria’s ” you declared, before leaving, not turning your head to face them one last time.

“We’re over Joe!” Lara screeched, as Joe pleaded even more, their voices turning inaudible as you moved farther away.

Of course, that was a lie. There were no thongs left inside Joe’s car. Just the friendship you lost with Lara. And you wanted to retaliate hard, to put everything on equal footing. Except, it didn’t feel that way, because Joe took something away from you forever: Trust.

——

Someone knocked from Yoongi’s studio. “Excuse me sir, but Mr. Park and his fiancé are waiting for you at the lounge area?” one of the staff asked, sticking her head out from the door.

“Right, tell them I’ll be there in sec!” he pushed a few buttons on his keyboard and then left his seat to meet his visitors.

“Hyung!” Jimin stood up from his seat to meet him, together with his fiancé… Yoongi’s ex-girlfriend.

“Hey there kid!” Yoongi went to give Jimin a brief hug, and gestured to them to return to their seats. “Hey there” he nodded and smiled weakly to his ex, not that he’s sour or hostile towards her, but he was just in a tight position seeing the two of them together in one room.

“Hyung, I’ve been really meaning to ask you, but I know it’s pretty awkward considering the two of you well, you were once, you know” he scratched the back of his neck, trying to find proper words but decided to continue anyway “together… and I know this is sudden too, but we reserved a seat for you on our wedding day tomorrow, and hopefully as one of my groomsmen…”

Be there on their wedding day? Tomorrow? As one of his groomsmen? Is this a joke? He was baffled for a moment, but his face remained stoic. “I can’t. I’m sorry…” he nodded coolly.

Yoongi saw how she quickly held on to Jimin’s hand tight, to give Jimin comfort from the rejection they expected from him.

“We understand” Jimin breathed and faced the ground.

“It’s not like that” Yoongi lied. “You know that contract I just had for a soft drink commercial? Well apparently they wanted a full revision on the song, so I just had to finish it before the weekends”

“Oh” Jimin smiled shyly “that’s unfortunate…”

Yoongi turned to face his ex, who knew him fluently. He gulped and smiled weakly, hoping the message would come across to ‘Not tell Jimin’. She nodded, fully understanding what Yoongi had in mind.

He wanted to save everybody (especially her family who knew him for years, and their common friends who’ll come by) to see an uncomfortable scene on their special occasion: An ex on a wedding day.

Hours passed, and Yoongi politely offered to see them leave the office building while bidding them good luck for tomorrow.

“Excuse me, I just need to get this” Jimin took his phone to his ears and left them to receive the call from his manager. “Yeah, they’re there? All areas secured? Yeah, thank you. Hopefully, we can avoid paparazzi and obsessive fans at the wedding venue tomorrow…” Yoongi heard him say, his voice turning faint as he walked far.

“Yoongi” she quickly but subtly held his hand “Just say it…” she shut her eyes and pleaded him.

Yoongi knew what she meant, and even if he still feels something for her, he had to do it. “Don’t do this… I know it’s probably just wedding jitters, and maybe we really haven’t had a proper closure when we broke up, but Jimin is a good guy. He’s better. Please, be with him” he said softly, resisting to meet her eyes.

“I’m so sorry for leaving you that night, I should have stuck out to you then, and understand you, I really lo—“ she started to talk fast, while her eyes glistened.

“Stop” Yoongi, moved back, pulling his own hand away from her. “You made the right decision, and I also made mine. Everything falls perfectly, where it should be” Yoongi bit his lip, maddened to hear her regret. For what? What good does it make to agree with her and run? To destroy a relationship right before their wedding day? He’s not dumb to take the bait.

After years of being left behind, years of putting him in the dark after she left, years of hoping that the two of them can get back together. Only to find later, by chance, that she was already dating his colleague, Jimin. “Stop!” he repeated, taking another step away from her.

Jimin ran back to her side, clueless of what just happened between her and Yoongi. “I’m sleepy, love” she yawned, trying to mask her teary eyes that started when she pleaded Yoongi to take her back.

Yoongi nodded “I’m sure you two are tired from all the planning. I really appreciate you two for visiting. Take care! I need to get back to the studio, client’s calling too!`` He quickly turned away and left, digging his hand in his pockets to hide his shaking palms. The thought of almost agreeing to take her back, right on the night before their wedding, sends shivers down his spine.

He needed a drink.

——

You fumbled on your wallet and realized that you left your transportation card on the office desk. Honestly, you thought you wouldn’t need it when Joe offered to drive you home. “Please, at least a change, at least a change…” you mumbled it like a mantra, praying something helpful would appear, but didn’t.

Even when you dug deeper in your bag, there was no spare change in sight, only your credit card. You didn’t expect the night to turn out so bad. Even worse, it was starting to rain. It didn’t have an umbrella either.

You paused in the middle of the street to cry, not being able to comprehend the series of unfortunate events. You watched the rain flushed down your makeup from a convex mirror hanging on a pole. Your eyes were starting to look like raccoons. Your favorite dress is already drenched and filthy from street dust and smoke. Yet you remained walking, hoping that if you continued to raise your hand every so often, a taxi would come by and let you in.

But even after an hour, no one bothered to let a rain-drenched woman into their dry and pristine car. Until it took you long enough to arrive at your apartment lobby, and you sighed in relief. You shook your head when the security wanted to ask what happened, and declined when the service staff offered you a seat to wait on the couch and bring you a towel. You just wanted to get to your home quickly.

And there he was, inside the elevator, your little crush who lives on the 18th floor.

You saw him drink the last drop from his bottle before he pressed a button, when his eyes widened upon seeing you in a poor state. You walked towards him.

In an attempt to look sober in front of a stranger, Yoongi fixed his posture and quickly pressed the ‘open door button’ and waited for you inside.

“Rough night?” he asked while you moved to the other side of the lift and watched you press the ‘close button’ from the elevator, immediately closing its door. His body fell almost instantly on the slight movement of the lift that shifted towards the upper floors. His body slacked on the edge, hair unkempt, and his dark denim jacket barely settled on his shoulder while he held onto his empty bottle of scotch.

“Yeah, seems you had one too?” you watched his attempt to reposition himself again upright, in amusement.

He drank from the empty bottle before he could reply and realized straightaway that it’s been drained.

“I uh” he gulped “I met my ex a while ago, and she pleaded with me to take her back right before her wedding day” he drunkenly confessed, and giggled to hear himself say it.

“That’s rough buddy…” you folded your arms and watched the elevator screen, as usual.

“What’s your sob story?” he asked, blinking as he tried to mask his insobriety.

“Oh this?” you momentarily look at your drenched clothes. “Well I found out the guy I was out with, ‘double-dipping’ me and my best friend”

“That’s even tougher” he chuckled as he peered on to his empty bottle, wishing that a drop would magically appear out of nowhere.

“I think we’re even” you watched him silently, trying hard not to laugh to see him in his drunken state, until an idea suddenly came up. You asked: “I have more of that in my place. Wanna come over?”

——

The moment you two stepped out of the elevator, you found your bodies pressed together.

Lips knotted on each other, wet and tacky. You moved back while he pressed you forward along the hallway. He then moved to force you up against a wall, pressing himself to you even harder.

Yoongi didn’t waste a minute and pushed his tongue in between your lips, and you reciprocated. You roughly brushed your hand towards his hair, and pulled him even closer to you and deepened your kiss. Whatever it is you two were doing.

He parted and pressed kisses on your throat, his fingers reaching down to your waist and clutched your bottoms.

It was so sudden, so fluid, that you almost forgot that you were still outside from your place.

“Oh, bless you two!” your 60 year old next-door neighbor cried, who just went out of her door. Fidgeting while she tried to close it and ran towards the empty elevator.

“I’m definitely going to receive a house complaint from the management tomorrow” you chuckled. You parted for a moment, and stopped by your apartment door. You quickly entered your password on your lock screen, while he continued to press kisses on your neck. You didn’t mind if he saw it, since you were pretty sure he’s too intoxicated to remember every number.

Upon entering your door, he quickly discarded his jacket and left it on the floor, he kicked the door close. You didn’t dare break the proximity between you and him, even if it bears as a challenge to move back while taking off your shoes from the threshold, and still manage to wrestle with his tongue.

He cut the kiss briefly to remove his own shoes, but quickly as a fox. Like a clockwork, he continued where he left, back to hungrily pursuing your lips. You parted and watched your lower lip leave gradually from his soft bite. You smiled at him and began to trace kisses on his neck.

He closed his eyes and revelled from your touch. He then carried you over to your bare dinner table and hurriedly pulled your dress up, exposing your lacy underwear, while you helped him pull his shirt off exposing his pale chest. You pinched your lip, stared at him for a moment, all pleased to see him bare.

“What?” he nervously asked.

“Just thinking how I’ve always fancied seeing my neighbor naked come to a reality” you tilt your head, while your eyes remain focused on his chest.

“What a coincidence, I was thinking the same” he finally realized that you had a zipper on the back and pulled it down a bit.

“Careful, this one’s from Lanvin” you alerted him. He obediently followed and carefully pulled it down your waist. You gently pushed it away and threw it on the carpet.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you had your dress in Versace?” you laughed at his remark.

“Oh, so you could sing that Bruno Mars song? Kinky”

He chuckled at your retort. You then realized how charming he looks up close, his gums flashed before you as he grinned.

“Uhuh…” and just like that he swiftly changed from cute charming to a seductive one, as he shifted his position and watched you react to his finger pressed beneath your cloth that was keeping a barrier between your skin down below and his fingertips. “You’re wet”

You breathed at the sensation and nodded “You know for a neighbor, you are pretty friendly. Yet I never get to know your name” you whispered in his ears and unbuckled his belt. You help him pull down his pants from your seat.

He smiled, seeing you fairly repay his effort by finding your hands gently brushing his length beneath the fabric of his underwear.

“Yoongi” he replied, a bit groaning. You felt his flaccid length grow stiff at your touch.

You turn to look at it, then his eyes “Y/N” you smiled as you pulled it down and began stroking it bare. Nice and slow.

“Nice to meet you… God… that’s it” he shut his eyes and breathed, as he unclasped your bra and began cupping your breasts.

“Nice to meet you too Yoongi…” he opened his eyes, his right hand shifted to lick his fingertip and stick it between your lacy fabric down to your nub, brushing it quickly yet soft.

“That’s… yes…” you shut your eyes at the sudden contact. You were sensitive. “You know we are 3 steps away from my bedroom, why don’t we continue from there?” you gave him a peck on his lips and pulled his hand away from you. You jumped out from the table and waited for him to follow you to your bedroom door.

He just stood for a while and watched you slip your panty down, he gulped at the sight and immediately followed.

——

“Yoongi!” your toes curled, as he pulled you even closer to him. You heard him growl a little underneath you. His hands under your butt cheeks, caressing it gently while he sticks his tongue out for a taste. Seeing stars was underrated, if you must describe how wonderful his tongue techniques were when you are receiving him.

“Yeah, that’s pretty” He parted and licked what’s left of you on his lip while watching you shiver beneath him, slowly coming undone. You lost count how much you orgasm with his tongue alone. He then pushed two fingers in you and slowly stroked it in and out, and watched you unfold for the nth time to his touch.

God, you almost forgot that he’s been pleasing you for almost an hour that you forgot to return the favor. “Yoongi, stop… lie down” you gently pushed him to the side, letting him relax on his back, and began rubbing his length.

“Y/N, it’s okay. I want in” he stopped you before your mouth received him.

“Right now? You sure?” you asked, as he chuckled at the query.

“I’m fully erect, Y/N. What’s there to be unsure of? Lie down…” he commanded, and you gladly obliged.

“The condom is on the bed side table, first drawer on the left.” You pointed. He opened the drawer, and found one. He gently opened the golden foil as you helped him pull the rubber out and placed it on him.

He moaned to the cool sensation “Mmm…” he placed both your ankles on each side of his shoulder as he slowly moved inside of you.

You shut your eyes and opened your mouth wide, surprised to feel something fairly sizable and immense. He rests for a second, letting you adjust to him.

“You okay?” he asked worriedly.

“I’m tough, and I like it rough” you panted.

He chuckled momentarily, but his face turned earnest when he began to thrust inside of you slowly. From a steady placid pace, it gradually accelerated, penetrating deeper into you as he moved further. He wasn’t just hitting your sweet spot, he was unearthing everything within you. To say you’re pleased is an understatement, he definitely did more than that. “God!” he started to move fast to an inconsistent pace and finally came.

You followed.

He pulled out, and rested on your chest.

You gulped and found your throat dry from all that just happened “Want something to drink?” you sat on your side of the bed.

“No more scotch, just water. Know what? Fuck it” he pulled you back to the bed. Swiftly changed his soiled rubber to a new one. He took another condom from your bed side table and immediately entered back into you.

Turns out, the night ended unexpectedly great.

——

🎵 Love me special… love me special… love me special🎵

Your alarm resonated all over your apartment. “Alexa, stop” you commanded, as you shift from your bed and was surprised to see a motionless body you don’t recognize on the other side of your bed.

You slapped your forehead upon realizing who it was on the other end. Your little neighbor crush, now with a name: Yoongi. The song continued to play, stirring the stranger from his sleep “Nngh” he lazily scratched his neck in annoyance.

“Alexa, stop the alarm!” you exclaimed, blinking at the thought of rousing him further from his slumber. You didn’t want the idea of little chit-chats on the morning after sex. You disliked being demanded to answer questions like “how did I get here?” or “was sex good?”and etc., conversation like those are a total drag.

Regardless who it was, whether it was one night stand or a regular fuck buddy. You wanted to casually forget it by the day, then crave for it during the night. It is how you put up with stress from your work. You separate your professional life to your personal life, that’s how you endure having to face bullshit for years.

He turned around to see you put your clothes back. “Oh shit” he shut his eyes the moment his memories stirred him from his stupor.

“Morning. Look, I’ll go ahead? I’ll be late for work. You can stay as long as you like… but not too long… Whatever, just, don’t forget to take all your things on the way. I know where you live so don’t do anything funny” you put on your bra and underwear then quickly move to your open rack to take your satin robe with you to your bathroom.

“Wine” he sluggishly replied.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, you peered from the wall separating the bedroom and the baths.

“You were playing ‘Wine’. I made that.” He snickered lazily.

“Made what? Wine, this song?” you pointed to your speaker “It’s sung by a girl named Suran? Wait, are you still drunk? I have Tylenol inside the drawer– ” he smiled at the thought of you being kind and considerate. He then shook his head.

“No, I meant I produced that. I’m glad you like it enough to make it your alarm” he pulled down the duvet, exposing his bare chest. He sat up, but the brightness from your window made Yoongi squint his eyes.

“What are the odds” you chuckled, but only for a while, because when you took your phone and typed in the song on your search bar you found his name, well his other name that is.

“Suga? Are you Suga? Who named you that?” you smiled, as you turned away from him towards your shower but stopped midway.

“You produced a song for Jimin?! THE Park Jimin? the famous idol? The one who won KMA, MAMA, and Daesang… you made those songs?” you swiped further and saw a ‘breaking news’. You narrated it out loud “Look, you know about this? ‘Park Jimin just married his long time non-celebrity girlfriend’…” then paused. You remember the conversation you had with him last night, suddenly grasping and putting things together “Shit, she’s the ex, isn’t it?” you went back to face him, waiting for his response.

“Yeah” Yoongi sat up, eyes still listless. “Isn’t it Dispatch worthy?” he asked sarcastically.

“No,” you replied dryly. “You know what is?” you rested your arm on the doorway from your bathroom and watched him react “Park Jimin, has a piercing on his left nipple. That’s why you never see him wear a fitted shirt” you raised one of your eyebrows and smiled.

His eyes, which looked formerly lethargic, became wide and lively.

“Wait, what? How? When?” he opened his mouth in shock.

“He was still a rookie then I guess? Anyway it’s been years… and was very single at that… He loves that left nipple a lot, you know? That he came by too soon. He wasn’t that great to be honest, you were better, well more than better to be precise… and I guess that’s what made your ex regret her life decisions?” you shrugged as you watched him laugh hard at your remark. “So don’t be too bummed, okay? You were definitely better, and you deserve the best out there” you smiled and left him there on your bed.

“Thanks” he spoke softly as he watched you close the bathroom door.

That was the very first time you talked with someone you slept with, the morning after. And the funny thing is, you never regret doing so.

——

You didn’t want to come, but you have to, it was such a horrible position to be sitting beside your now ex-best friend while you two try to remain professional at work.

It was the first time you weren’t left with a sticky note with a smiling face, nor placed a freshly brewed coffee for her, first thing in the morning on her desk. You were both working fine, but the relationship was beyond repair.

That night after work, you found Yoongi waiting in line to get a cup of java in one of your favorite cafes.

“Hey neighbor” he smiled. “Fancy meeting you here?”

“Well I was on the way home. Then I saw you. Have you eaten dinner?” you asked, you went beside him on the line.

“Is that an invitation or are you asking me out?” he squinted his eyes towards you, as you rolled your eyes.

“It’s the former. I thought it’s around dinner time by now, maybe we could share a meal? There’s a promo on one of the restaurants nearby…” you took your phone out to show him a copy of an electronic voucher they were giving for free online.

“Sure, I like promotions. The ones that don't require me to shell out a lot” he remained stoic, despite genuinely liking the idea of cutting regular priced foods.

“Exactly” you winked at him.

——

You brought him to a BBQ place, and saw him turn ecstatic to see them actually serving Kobe Wagyu Beef.

“I must admit, you know the perfect places to eat” he affirmed.

“Of course, I’m very particular in choosing my meat” you stared at him for a second, as he watched you chew a piece, your eyes still fixated on him. He gulped.

“Wanna come over to my place, after?” he asked.

——

UPDATE: Chapter 2 is HERE!

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insufferablelust · 3 years

Text

Little Butterfly I (Sugar Daddy Mob Boss!Spencer Reid x Reader AU)

Warnings: Part 1 of an ongoing series (that i hopefully won’t abandon), Upcoming heavy violence, Mafia and Crime related fic, Spencer is a soft dom but is dangerous, HEAVY SMUT, upcoming dark kinks (Gun,Knife,Bondage etc), daddy kink for sure, Manipulation kink, Degradation, Humiliation (yknow the drill with me) spoiling kink?, upcoming murders etc, heavy topic regarding mental illness, College legal age!Reader, Age gap, older!Spencer, Mean!Spencer, BDSM themed, Indication of Subspace, Just heavily dark smutty series (yet again lmao)

Hello, my wonderful readers, i want to thank you all for the patience you all have for this series, hopefully i can stick to schedule an update this once a week like Thrilled. This will be a new territory for me since all i know about mafia and such are from the movies and countless books my father has inherited me with, so i deeply apologize if there’re some mistakes, this is an AU that means its only a story and fantasy. If you are uncomfortable to violence and sex then PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS. Thank you, and Happy Reading.

This series will set around the 80′s New York.

MASTERLIST HERE

There is no hiding from the absolute luxury you indulge in, in fact you love showing it to whoever might want to pry deep enough into your life. You caused no harm by it, and it certainly isn’t anybody’s business but yours and his.

The pair of arms around your waist is a certain remainder of who you belong to, and you loved it. He looked good tonight, almost too good with the suit adorning his perfection like an absolute genius adonis— your genius adonis. You feel your cheeks heats up slightly as he glanced at you, knowing just how shy you get around so many people— his little girl is sensitive after all.

Spencer Reid knows every little thing about you, what makes you tick, what makes you snap, what makes you bow in submission to him, and what makes you feel heavenly. He knows it all, he knows the way you trembled slightly whenever he wrapped his arms around your neck as he leaned down to kiss you, or how squirmy you get whenever he tug your hair, said your name calmly whilst shoving his fingers into your mouth— he knows everything.

—

It was a mutual agreement at first, living on 80’s New York has never been so stressful during your 20’s, all the student loans, the bartending you do sometimes, even the couple of scandalous photoshoots you sacrificed yourself doing to keep your bank account afloat. Your family never really cared much, and the only person that you truly have is Emily, your roommate.The whole ordeal was strange when you found out Emily’s ties to the mafia, being the daughter of one of the strongest mafia’s capo on America during that time. You wondered how on earth she has managed to doesn’t want to get on her father’s good side, and just except the riches that comes along with being a mob, but then again you were a stranger to it too...or so you thought.

The night she asked you to accompany her to meet her father and his boss, you shrugged and said yes, having nothing to do in the apartment other than wallowing in your own debts and sadness— you immediately agrees which put a smile on her cute face.

“I thought you didn’t want nothing to do with your father.” You asked as you raked through the closet to find something... ‘elegant’ but not too much, it’s going to be in a lavish restaurant after all. Your eyes darted to Emily’s who has been staring at her phone, smiling to whoever is texting her— you could only assumed it was one of her secret girlfriend-hookup for the week.

“Well i didn’t but money is tight, fucking inflation.” She looked up for once, lips hanging open at the sight of you standing there in a black dress, short with a slit on the thigh area— looking absolutely ravenous. “Holy fucking shit.” Emily whispered.

“What? is this enough? god i feel like such a prude.” You bit your lip as you await her comments, “You look fucking gorgeous you idiot, i mean are you sure you aren’t gay by any chance?” She laughed, which caused you to giggle, “I never said i’m not gay.. just that i’m not—

“Interested in dating, yeah yeah but we can at least fuck or something.” She jokingly raised her eyebrows as you throw your bra her way and laughed, “I just don’t want to get distracted em, especially that we live together.” You pouted before giving her a kiss on the cheek, which made her roll her eyes and smile.

Only if you knew what this meeting will entails.

—

The wine tasted exquisite on your tongue, the sweet burn of merlot was pleasant on the base of your throat which shocked you at first— maybe you should stop buying cheap wines, because the real ones are heavenly. You looked around nervously, it has been a long time since you’ve gone out to have dinner, let alone one as expensive as this.

“Stop looking like you’re about to die.” Emily whispers as she took the seat next to you, which you humorously giggle and swat her shoulder, “I’m not. It’s just.. new to me is all.” You nervously chuckled, before sipping on your wine some more. It was clear that her dad and his so called mob boss were late— which you rolled your eyes since Emily was basically rushing your make up, you just hoped that you looked decent enough, not that you want to impress anyone, its just good to feel like you’ve fit yourself to the occasion.

“Oh, you’ll get used to it.” Emily chuckled, before you could even process what she meant by that the sound of a soft elderly timbre rang through your ears, “Cara mia! Jesus, you’ve grown!” Emily slapped your thigh softly, gesturing for you to stand up.

Dear heaven, lord save your knees from buckling.

You watched as Emily greeted her father as you stood by her side, she kisses him on both cheeks as they made a small conversation that you pay no mind to since you were distracted, distracted by the pair of eyes that caught yours from the moment he walked in.

A soft yet stern eyes that held yours captive at this very moment, a presence that demands every single person for its attention, and intimidating like no other. A man, a finely sculpted man, standing in front of you in an attire that you were sure was more expensive than your whole closet, His soft looking curls marvelously falls fo his side, his plump lips were begging to be kissed— to be listened, to be heard, his tall lean figure towers over you which has you gulping down nervously— so much so that you failed to acknowledged the presence of Emily’s father calling your name.

“Y/N!” You let out a gasp before turning to shake Emily’s father’s hand, trying your best to smile as you glanced over the towering man, “So this is the Y/N i’ve heard so much about huh?” The old man snickered, looking gentle whilst maintaining a facade still. You giggled softly, “I hope there are all good things, nice to meet you Mr.Prentiss.”

“Oh please, Robert is fine. Oh Emily, Y/N this is don Reid.” He stepped back in.. what looks like an utter fear, you gasped as you realized that this is.. the mob boss Emily talked about, the masochistically handsome man you’ve been staring at— you thought a mafia boss would be someone older, but this is certainly not the case.

“Pleased to meet you both, Spencer Reid.” He extended his hand which Emily gladly took before she nudges your side whilst you were still gawking at the man, the soft yet deep timbre of his voice soothes and intimidate you at the same time, not to mention how he carries himself— practically saying he’s a god.

“Oh— um yes hello, pleased to meet you, i’m Y/N.” You bit your lip as you feel your cheeks hurt from the embarrassment, shaking his hand quickly— before you could even imagine pulling away, he gives you an amused chuckle and squeeze your hand tightly before releasing you.

“Well, let’s take a seat shall we?”

You are so fucking fucked.

“So, Y/N, Emily told me you’re majoring in art department, how’re you liking it?” Robert spoke as you eat your pasta slowly, trying not to show how you were trembling under the very same gaze that held you captive from the moment it arrives here. You gulped down a delicious bite of pancetta, before answering, “Oh i love it, always been my passion— well painting is, but i do love everything about art and literature.” You chuckled.

“I would love to see your art sometimes.” The voice could strangle you and you’d die happily, it really could— you glanced at the man whose been looking at you like a wolf to its prey, fingers skimming over the feet of the wine glass as a soft yet eloquent smile strikes over his face.

“Oh um, it’s not— it’s not that good, i wouldn’t want to waste your time.” You choked on your wine, feeling the burn on your throat as he let out a humorous-less laugh, shaking his head, before bringing his lean fingers to his lips. “Nothing is wasteful, not if it comes to such art like you.”

What?

“Huh?” You felt small, your cheeks heated at the reference as you tried so hard not to squirm and praised yourself by hearing what you thought you heard. Your eyes darted to his in a shy manner as he kept his composure well, licking the rim of his glass before sipping his wine gently.

“Anyways! dad, shall we talk a bit more private? i’m sure Y/N can keep the don company.” You gasped at Emily’s words, still barely grasping the previous encounter— the bottom of your heel jab at her left foot, as you glared at her, “Of course of course, don?” Robert spoke up, eyes lowering as his body turned to look at the smirking masterpiece that still stares at you with the same intensity.

“Go. We’ll be fine, won’t we angel?” You gulped down as much wine as you could without burning your throat before smiling nervously, eyes glancing back and forth to The Don and Emily.

“Y-Yes um sure.” You offered a gentle smile, even though your heels jabbed Emily’s which yet again resulted in her tiny laugh before she walks away to the back area of the restaurant.

The area was thick with intensity and glamorous lights, adding to the headache that already starts due to you being a lightweight around alcohol. Suddenly you realized, that you’re practically alone— with the don of the biggest mafia ring in America. “Go ahead and ask me the question.” He murmured sternly, causing your ears to perk at the sudden thrill that made your goosebumps rose and thrived under the shimmering lights.

“Pardon?” Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your dress as you tried so hard not to stare at the huge man, feeling as if you’re being cornered by a lion, and you his prey.

“Your cheeks are warm aren’t they? you keep biting your lips every time i muttered a word, you can’t even look at me because you know that the second you do, you wouldn’t be able to stop. Emily is right, you’re a pure little thing, its fucking cute really. If this table weren’t here separating us, you’d be across my lap already— for wearing something so slutty like that.” By the time he finishes taunting you, you stopped breathing, thigh squeezing against each other so tightly that you could feel how damp your panties are getting.

“Go ahead and ask, doll. Surely you can’t be dumb enough to think i would just allow anyone to meet me let alone a little college student like you.” His eyebrow lifted, as you nervous squirmed on your seat and breathed out.

“Why did you asked her to bring me?”

“Nicely. You know better, Y/N.”

“Sir...”

—

And the rest was history, the pair of arms around your waist tighten as the owner’s lips caress and nip at the very sensitive part of your neck, causing you to shudder and mewls. “mmh.. t-too early.” You complained, fully knowing that would only amuse him even more.

He chuckled as you had predicted, nimble fingers grazing up and down your front like feathers, delicately worshipping every inch of your skin. The blaring sound of New York’s traffic was prominent, but somehow that adds a thrilling aspect for you, months ago— you were picking up morning shifts by now, working your ass off just to gain enough cash to pay this month’s rent. But now, here you are, in the arms of the most feared yet young powerful don in the entirety of the mob community, Heck if everyone knows who he is and how much power he holds— they’d all fear him, but not you, not his fiery little butterfly.

“Shh, let me love on you a little.” Your heart warmed, familiar feeling of a thousand butterflies swarming on your belly caused your cheeks to warmed at the gesture. He said things like those often, though he made it perfectly clear that you were, you are only here for business arrangements, you knew he likes to toy over affection like this— one you aren’t supposed to get attached to. But how couldn’t you? when his hand so softly glides down the curve of your godly features, warm breath fanning across your skin from behind, whispering sweet words.

“Look so pretty for me, butterfly.” He whispered, causing you to yet again whimpers, hand clutching the sheets tightly as he moves down down down until he turned you over and settle between your legs, smiling at you. “If heaven is real, you’re definitely it.” He nipped and bit the exposed skin of your thighs, last night and the night before and before still there but like he said,

“If you agree to the terms, i’ll give you every damn thing you fucking want. Your bills, rents, loans, plus each and every single thing you wished to buy.”

“And in retur—“

“In return, you will be mine, mine to have whenever wherever i want, you won’t be my chained slave or nothing, but you’ll be mine.”

So marked you again and again he did, tearing your satin panties he did, panties that cost more than a week worth of luxury meal that he only grunted with “I’ll buy the whole fucking store, now shut up and let daddy eat his breakfast.”

You swore you’re in god’s heaven then and there, even if you aren’t sure that you believe in one, you can’t help but to think that this is some kind of miracle, your life is, here you have a perfect adonis, suckling on your clit as his fingers pump your delectable cunt in and out with such a fast pace that made you feel all floaty and flustered. The same man that commands the room whenever he walks in, the same man who pay all your bills, the same man who bought you a new lavish apartment and hands you gifts every damn day.

“Oh! oh please daddy right there..” You moaned out loud as your fingers latched onto his hair, softly tug on them as he moaned against your drippy cunt and suck your clit even harder,earning a particularly loud and lewd moan from you. “mmh! a-ah! i’m gonna—“ He held his finger up then, eyes finding yours as his mouth continues to work on your now sensitive clit. Spencer wasn’t too strict or nothing about your rules but if there’s two that he’s strict about is for you to cum only if he gives you permission— no matter the place or time, if he wants you to cum, you’ll cum— not that it’s hard, with someone as skilled as him.

When you begged and begged, he slapped your thigh only to grunt darkly, “If you can’t shut up and let daddy enjoys this, i’ll fucking take you on the balcony and fuck you for all Manhattan to see. Do you want that, Butterfly? want everyone to see what a filthy college girl you are getting fucked by someone as dangerous as me?” He slapped your cunt then, over and over again as you pant, and mewls.. Body jolts and pulsed at his ministration.

“You’re going to cum like this—“ He paused to spit directly onto your swollen clit, watching it wet the sensitive nub, “Going to cum with daddy slapping your greedy little cunt. Or you are not getting an orgasm.”

“Yes, daddy— oh!” True to his words, he spank you, over and over again, leaving you quivering and brokenly cried at the burning pleasure, “Cum princess, come on, you surely know how to thank daddy don’t you?” Your hole clenched around nothing as you arch your back and sobbed,

“Can’t— daddy please i-“

“You were so fucking desperate to cum, why not now huh? your sensitive cunt surely looks wrecked enough.” He scoffed before he spank your clit so hard you jumped at the sensation before he licked his fingers and caress your clit in fast fanning motion, not giving you enough time to even breathe as your cunt pulses and throb with overwhelming need of release, building up up up, up until you finally trembled and cum all over the bed— an orgasm so intense that you blacked out for few seconds straight.

“Shh.. shh good girl, that’s it— fuck you look so ethereal like this, butterfly.” He muses as he settle his head on your lap and admire your pulsing body, “T-Thank- y-you.. daddy.” You gathered all the strength you have left as he smiled proudly.

Your head laid on his chest as you both cuddle in silence, trying to enjoy the serenity and calm environment around you as the city below you buzzed all round. It was calming for awhile before his phone rang and you involuntarily sighs, “I know pretty girl, i know.” He muttered, before smiling apologetically- Not that he needs to.. Business arrangements, not like you’re his girlfriend or nothing.

love on you,

let me love on you,

You forced your fuzzy subby mind to get the thoughts out, as you watched his figure put on his robe, and leaned down, “I’ll be back later okay, don’t forget to check your phone.” He kissed your forehead for a bit, letting it linger as you held back your tears, wishing he could stay with you, you need your daddy, you really really do need him now. Feeling all small and fuzzy like this. But with the blaring noise of his ringtone, you knew the don has business to take care of and of course you’re not important enough to held such important task to be left.

So you smiled all nicely and kissed all the rings finger on his fingers before bidding a tiny whimper of, “Best of luck, don.” Your head bowed a little in respect as he noticed the true and true sadness flashed across your eyes, but paid it no mind as his other burner phone blared.

“Thank you, Butterfly. Get dressed soon, and i’ll have Morgan bringing you that sandwich from the deli you love so much. I’ll see you soon.”

Oh how nice would it be if this is your life, but life doesn’t always have a happy ending after all.

——

Comment or send me a message if you want to be added to this series taglist!

#spencer reid smut #littlebutterfly #mob!spencer #daddy!spencer #matthew gray gubler smut #mgg smut #insufferableblurb

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cobble-stone · 2 years

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i can't believe i chose the mountains every time you chose the sea

*unfounds your found family* team BEST angst because well. as much as i love them i don't think there's gonna be a team BEST for much longer. enjoy.

i am not a writer why did i make this

ao3 link

Four stand in the walls of a castle built of snow, painted more of a pinkish hue in the sunrise. They are teammates, but they do not stand together.

Two stand side by side, arms resting on eachother's shoulders, using eachother as support. One of those two have danced with death twice too many.

One stands alone, he had fallen from practically unkillable all due to the others. Three lives lost saving so-called teammates. It wasn't worth it.

And the final stands alone, furthest from the rest, across a rocky line drawn ages before. Hair the same color of the blood that had spilled on the ground of where he died before.

"Give him a life, Etho." Tango had been used for his lives for weeks, demands of handing out fractions of his soul like candy. It was about time that someone else was the one to give up a piece of themselves instead.

Etho saw differently. Did his loyalty lie in a team that was starting to fracture at the seams, or in himself? He would answer himself, but his loyalty truly lied in neither. It lied in the metal band kept safe on a necklace, in the mossy scarf gifted to him by his closest friend. He would never admit to it, though. "No, not doing it."

"What do you mean- I gave up so many of my lives for Bdubs, and you won't even give up one for Skizz." How could Etho be so selfish. Tango had lost nearly every life he held last session- due to fucking Bdubs. Oh, how he wanted to throw his fists into that man's jaw until he looked like he had been dropped off the nether fortress ten times over.

"Hey, now don't bring me into this- this is your problem, not mine." He had done nothing but switch between red and yellow for the past two weeks, and he was tired. Tired of dealing with this bullshit, tired of the relentless anger that once flowed through his veins, and just straight up drained. The last thing that Bdubs wanted was to be dragged into the drama between his teammates.

Etho sighed, breath visible in the early morning fog. "I'm not doing it. We can get him a life from someone else, like I did with Scar that one time. But I need my life." A truth, but not the full extent. There was already countless targets on the back of the person next to him. His green name was insurance, a safety net to prevent the inevitable death of his best friend- his husband- for as long as possible.

"And we need Skizz back on this team- Do you even hear yourself right now Etho? You're being so fucking selfish." An ultimatum had to be made "If you don't give up a life, Skizz will be out of BEST, and so will I."

Silence, as the four stand together, waiting for a decision to be made.

And Etho would lie if he said the decision was instant. This team had grown to be something of a family, but last session the flaws had started to shine through. Was he really going to give up one of his few lives for a team that was so close to shattering? Especially if they may end up having to fight to the death regardless? A shield placed into the snow in front of him, one with a red painted E. "It was inevitable, this was always going to come to an end. Alliances don't last on this kind of server."

"What- Etho. Just give Skizz the goddamn life-" Bdubs protested.

"I've made my decision. I'm sorry Skizz." Etho looked over to him, whose face looked torn between anger and heartbreak.

And oh, how Skizz was. Team BEST was his team, these people were his family. How had it had all fallen apart so quickly? He trusted these people, it was supposed to be the four of them against the world, until the very end. And yet, the illusion of this so-called family unwound in front of his very eyes.

Tango blinked, but held back his rage. "Fine. Come on Skizz, they're not worth it." He looks over to Skizz, still frozen in place. He really was the glue that held us together, Tango thought. Without another word, Tango turned around and left, never even considering looking back.

Skizz did look back. Almost as if he was hopeful for a second chance, one that everyone knew he wouldn't receive. If he was any stronger he would have thrown his blade straight into Etho's chest, into Bdubs' as well for good measure, but he would never win against both at once.

"Why did you do that," in a voice even colder than the frigid air surrounding their home.

Etho didn't have an answer, not one he could bring himself to say, at least. It was leaving him on red or not being able to save you. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it fucking does, Etho. You just threw away everything because what- you didn't want to give up a life? Tango had a point- what if it was me? Huh? Would you have given it up for me?"

Etho was barely audible, despite the dead silence, "I would. That's why I didn't."

Silence sat between the two, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. "I'm going to the nether, we need more blaze rods," and before Bdubs could say another word, Etho had left. The blaze rods were a lie, all he wanted was a place to be left alone. The burning flames and the stench of death was more peaceful than the deafening silence the two would have shared.

Bdubs stayed behind. How could one man be so smart yet so stupid, to not see how much he destroyed in one choice. He didn't need protecting, he didn't need Etho to stockpile lives for him in case he died and went back to red. He needed Etho to have reunited the team. Bdubs twisted the ring sat on his finger, debating taking it off for good. He didn't.

Across the world, another joined the group of red lives who resided on a bridge near a cliffside. They welcomed Skizz with open arms, but he didn't want to feel welcomed.

Elsewhere, a yellow name sits in the forest, having left the snowy walls far off in the distance. Shards of a broken shield burning made for better warmth than that so-called team ever did. He frowned at seeing the blue text of the hand-painted T burning away into smoke.

Four once stood in the snowy walls of a castle, four once called eachother teammates, friends, family, in a twisted sense of kinship was doomed from the start.

#last life #last life smp #ethoslab #bdouble0 #tangotek #skizzleman #team BEST #i apologize if this is ooc i wrote this at 1 am and i do not care #apollo please do not interact for my own mental stability #the hardest part of writing this was finding a goddamn title jdsgkjhds

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joannasteez · 3 years

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𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: EZ Reyes x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Mature Themes.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.7k

Credits to who made the gif @angelreyesgirl

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered

Let me know if you’d like a tag!!!

✞

Your annoyance was simmering, daring to merge into the depths of some irreversible state of agitation. The engine of the classic Dodge Charger RT in your possession had, with incredibly poor timing, began to knock. The unsavory noise resonating into the thick air of the street, stilled heat of the day pushing back the regular ebb and flow of the Santo Padre streets to make way for the obnoxious sound of your engine. Your head was spinning, dazed by the bitter humidity and a steady brew of fear trembling in your fingers to dance just under the surface of your skin. The classic car was given by your father, who'd gotten it from his father, the mass of glistening matte black metal of significant value. If the engine failed, you'd be reduced to tears, wading in the dread of some existential crisis.

Your grandfather had had this car for twenty years, the imprint of his essence etched into the leather seats, and when he became grey and withered, he relinquished it to your father for another fifteen years, till finally, it was yours.

You pulled over just as the last knock sounded, the tremble in your fingers worsening. Your eyes welled, sure to leave a soft red glassiness. The need for air consumed you, the space to walk freely about, a puff of smoke or two maybe.

The pavement was hard under your feet, slam of the door accented by vexation. You picked behind your ear, that nicely rolled spliff safely kept and waiting to be lit. The lighter in your front pocket an easy grab, the flicker of orange a short friendly blaze as it singed the paper. The pull you took was slow, measured, as if to savor this minuscule moment of stillness that lived among others not so still. Not so peaceful. With release, you blew into the air, dried eyes taking in the vast blue of the sky. The never ending expansion blurring your vision as your mind sifted through slim courses of action. If you could just get the car to your garage, then you could figure the battery out on your own, saving time you didn’t have on a mechanics trips you couldn’t afford. All you needed was a—

"Need a boost?"

"Yes". The answer was so quick, it nearly gave you whiplash. The tension in your bones dissipating as you got rid of the sizzling flame around your spliff.

The stranger spun his car from its position just beside yours, the hood of it now facing yours head on before he turned it off and got out.

"Thanks so much for this".

"No problem. It's a nice ride you got, don't really see too many classics rolling around Santo Padre much", he said, eyeing the shine of the paint job. His fingers skimming the hood before he lifted it. "Where'd you get it?"

You step closer to him, a grin stretching your lips at his admiration. The RT was your pride and joy, the height of your ego bursting through to rise above some invisible ceiling whenever folks gave it compliments and stares of approval. "My dad had it for a while, gave it to me when he couldn't keep up with it anymore".

With a nod, he retrieved the cables from his trunk, the wide stretch of his back shifting just under the white fabric of his t-shirt to reveal the curve and ripple of muscles. They traveled down his arms, the bulge of them mixing with defined veins that ran across thick powerful looking fingers. He stretched one of those hands out toward you.

"Ezekiel Reyes".

You considered his hand for a moment, slipping it into your own as your eyes racked him with all the subtlety you could muster. It mustn't have been enough because that innocent friendly smile he gave you had turned into something more knowing. He knew you were checking him out but he didn't mind much. "Y/N".

His thumb skimmed the back of your hand just before letting go, turning his attention to attaching the cables to both cars properly. You minded his movements with the cables closely, triple checking the order in which he connected them with a hawks eye, a concentrated intensity that your dear old Charger RT deserved. Abruptly then, like the quickness of a blink or some single strike of lightning, a thought came to you. "Wait, not Reyes as in Carniceria Reyes?"

"Yeah it's my pops shop",

"Felipe's a real sweet guy. It's not everyday you can look through a deep book collection while the butcher cuts up your dinner". You paused, giving the beauty of his face another glance. "He should've warned me though, never told me both his sons were so handsome".

"You met Angel", he stated, a low dip in his tone. Was it disappointment?

"A couple of weeks ago. He was passing through when I stopped by to pick up somethings. He's a real charmer your brother, but I wouldn't worry. I don't think he's messed up your chances just yet", you flirted.

The assurance produced from him a toothy grin. "I'm not worried".

Silence took ahold of you then, anticipation of the moment charging the pressure in your chest to fall straight to your gut. ‘Please work' you whispered while swinging the door wide to slide into the warm leather of the drivers seat. With the key in the ignition, you twisted your wrist forward, a huff of relief puffing from your chest when the engine roars to life. You close the door quick, that relief bubbling under your skin, your head sticking out the window.

"Thanks again Reyes".

He stepped to the window, those warm endearing eyes taking in the summer glow of your face. His tongue slipped just over the plump flesh of his bottom lip. It was a rosy color, the curving dip of it enticing. He liked the way you said his last name.

"It's no problem".

You put your RT in reverse, backing away from his broad body. "See you around?"

"Maybe", he called.

You speed off, the rev of the engine blending into the ebb and flow of the town once again. Existence dipping into the horizon.

✞✞✞✞✞

You'd saw him again at some hole in the wall you frequented at. The smooth slow tempo of some classic 70s song strumming through the stereo to seep into your ears richly like fresh honey. The atmosphere was subdued, the short clinks of beer bottles and incomprehensible murmurs of frivolous conversations sating the air. It was the perfect place to think, to allow your mind to wander directionless through the never ending abyss of happenings and circumstances that had presented themselves down through the week. You made idle chitchat with the bartender about a laundry list of things of no particular significance, small smiles and light chuckles ringing from you both every now and then.

The night was going good, till you felt a creeping touch just at the low end of your back.

"Let me buy you a drink". The voice was rusted, withered by too much tobacco.

You held up the beer in your hand. "I've got already, I'm good".

This guy was tipsy, blood red creeping into his eyes, body swaying just the slightest bit. "Don't be like that, let me buy you another".

"I said I'm good", you asserted. The coolness of the bottle creating a tingling sensation in your hand. You'd crack it over his head if he touched you again.

"Sorry I'm late, everything alright?", another voice asked, but this one you knew. That deeply textured tone wrapping sweetly around your senses. You tore your irritated gaze set on the almost-drunk guy, softening it as you took Ezekiel in. He looked slightly different, refreshed it seemed, or maybe it was just his barbered hair. A Mayans kutte rested over him, comfortable like a second layer of skin, the black leather accentuating the swell of his muscles. You'd have to figure out later why your eyes diverted to them so often, they were becoming a hindrance to your thinking.

"Everything's good now", you played. Giving him a light peck to the cheek to sell the story. His arm wrapped around you in what appeared to be some reflexive reaction, all natural like he'd done it countless times before. When he realized Ezekiel wasn't leaving, the guy swayed away in true tipsy fashion. Mumbling incoherent things with a griped attitude. Ezekiel took his chair, the proximity of it in regards to yours making the point of his knee knock and slide the smooth plain of your jeans. You watched him take a glance over the bar before he called for a beer.

"Thanks for that".

"No problem", the corner of his lip turning up. "Seems like you've been needing my help a lot lately".

"Don't flatter yourself Reyes, this is just a coincidence".

"Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

Your face screwed up in a show of confusion, but you could guess quickly the reason for the question. "Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

He sipped at his beer. "Outside gets loud sometimes y'know, hectic. It's quiet in here. Good place to think".

"Exactly".

"A little unsafe for you though no?" And there it was.

"Everywhere's unsafe for me Ezekiel, I'm a woman. I mean I couldn't guarantee safety in my own home if I wanted to, but that's just how the world works". You paused, mischief rising in your face. "Don't worry though, I've got a little surprise for anyone who wants to test their luck".

"Oh really".

"Yeah, you men are dangerous out here. I gotta be prepared always".

His brows furrowed. "That's a bit of a big generalization to make".

"But if it's true it's true. Name one thing a man doesn't get dangerous about. Doesn't even have to be rejection", you say, turning to fully face him.

He considers the question for a moment, staring into the color of your eyes as if he'd find the answer in them. "Love".

"A man who loves, whose in love, would do any and everything, no matter how mad the shit is. He'd risk lives, his life even. If that's not dangerous then I don't know what is".

A speck of something lit in the hazel of his eyes. As if your words had brought to the present some memory buried deep within the grave of his soul. What you said hit rather close, closer than expected. "Who is she?"

"Doesn't matter, it's in the past".

"Humor me".

His jaw ticked before he spoke. "Her names Emily, but that shits all just history now. Doesn't matter". He turned the focus from himself. "What about you. Whose going all reckless about you".

"Who says he exist"

"You just did, I never specified who in particular".

So much for playing dumb. "His name is Jason".

"Sounds like an asshole".

You snort, the teasing of a headache coming as you thought on the insufferable man that was Jason. "He is. He's got that weird alpha male thing about him. Has to be in control of everything, doesn't know when to leave well enough alone".

The muted energy of the bar rose between the two of you, each taking quiet sips of your beer. You took notice of the way he surveyed the room from where he sat. That golden gaze sifting through the space and over bodies with quick ease. He was assessing, the gears in his head turning, calculating and considering every and all the possibilities of danger. It reminded you of someone.

"How long were you in for?", you ask.

"How'd you know?"

"You've been on the defensive since you sat down, lookin’ everywhere like someone's gonna up and shank you for no reason. My cousin was the same way when he got out, always looking over his shoulder". You shrugged. "Grew out of it eventually.

His eyes were a bit sullen, as if the truth would scare you. "Eight years".

"He was in for fifteen, and that prison shit is unbelievable, I mean the stories he's told me are crazy". You laugh suddenly at a memory, the resonance of it making him smile in admiration of the sound. "He did this thing for a while when he got home where he'd only have one knife, one fork and one spoon in his kitchen and I swear it was the funniest shit".

The smile falters, his body shifting awkwardly in the bar stool, embarrassed.

"Oh my God Reyes don't tell me you've been doing the same thing".

"In my defense I live alone".

"But what if you have a special guest over, you'd be a sorry ass host", you tease.

"If you wanted to have dinner with me then just say that".

You force away the heat daring to rise in your cheeks. "We have to take a trip to home goods before I even consider a dinner with you”.

You both give hearty laughs, till the vibration in your pocket pulls your focus. With a quick slip of your phone, you realize how fast time had gone on. “Shit I gotta go, but it was real nice seeing you again Ezekiel".

"It was good seeing you too".

You press your hand against his patch, laying a sweet lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Make it home in one piece for me yeah".

"I have to. You might need me again".

"I'm counting on it".

✞✞✞✞✞

You were a joke it seemed, the universe and fate in a gaming mood, as they were using you as a source for their own amusement. Commissioning their faithful associate to do the heavy lifting of masking their scents. The two of you were at the right place, at the right time again, what a damn coincidence. Before the present week, you'd never even seen Ezekiel's face, just learning of his existence a week or so before that, and now you'd seen him twice in a matter of days. This night being the third.

He was surrounded by men who donned the same kutte as him, curious eyes swimming through the sea of bodies as they did in every other setting, till they met yours. He came to you without a second thought, eyeing the tight leather of your pants and how they clung to your thighs. The cropped cut of your vintage top revealing skin he longed to touch. Since the first time he saw you his mind raced with thoughts of your voice, visions of your lips touching his skin again, plaguing his body with the desire to have you.

You stepped away from your group of friends, meeting him half way. "You're just stalking me at this point. Not that I mind".

He clutched the openings of his kutte, that signature grin lighting his face, even with the casting over of the nights darkness. "Something told me I'd see you again. How's your RT?"

"Good, resting in my garage. I've been kinda scary about replacing the battery".

"Why?"

"I'm good with cars don't get me wrong, but something about fucking it up just makes me sick. It's a lot of history behind that car. I don't wanna destroy it".

"Understandable", he nodded. Noting the caution behind your words, the way you spoke with such passion and care about the thing you loved. It was endearing.

The heavy crunch of gravel and sand tore through the beginnings of some silent stare, an undeniable enticement brewing. It was Angel.

"I see you met this asshole already", the older Reyes said.

"I'm not an asshole Angel, just 'cause I turned you down".

He sent a smirk your way. "You didn't turn me down, we made a mutual decision that you couldn't handle me remember?"

"Right. That's exactly how it went".

A call sounded through the dewy air of the night, signifying the start of a race. You started toward a cherry red car.

"That's me", you said. In regards to the call.

Ezekiel was confused, intrigued. "You racing?"

"Yeah, the mustang", you called, strutting over to your 1970's Mustang, adding the slightest dip to your hips. Giving the brothers something to admire, before dropping low into the leather seats.

With a quick twist, the mustang roared to life, the rumble tearing through the air, growling like a fierce rolling thunder through hazy storm clouds. Another car pulled up on your right, the blue electric color of it dazzling, clashing against the fine cherry red of your own to deliver a sweet contrast for the eyes that watched on in excitement. A woman, with a dangled bandana in her hand, set herself between your car and the other, whistles of admiration thrown her way as she gave the summer evening crowd an alluring smile. At the point of her finger you revved your engine, adrenaline pumping through your veins, rushing from your chest to pulse under your skin. The leather feel of the steering wheel was smooth, the grip you held to it steady. With the downward pull of her hands she set both cars to race and you pulled your mustang swift into the night.

The road before you was a muddled darkness, the outward spreading glow of your headlights stabbing it and tearing it apart as your wheels took a glide against the smooth road. At the mark line, you shifted your car into reverse, whipping left, back into drive, soaring back down the road to where the crowd watched and waited. Their rigid bodies of anticipation lit by your headlights, bellowing screams waning under the busting sound of your revving engine. Your mustang tore through the finishing mark, the tingle of victory surging through you.

Pulling back up to the crowd, you rolled your window down, a slim roll of hundreds placed in your hand by the guy who’d set the race up. You showed up to win and now you were done.

Ezekiel and Angel were a little ways away from your car, your voice carrying over to them. "A little party at my place. You and your guys are cool to come".

They both nodded, heading to their bikes when Angel answered after you. "We'll follow you".

Ezekiel swung his leg, resting on the seat of his bike as he buckled the helmet over his head, his fingers gripping the ape hangers, feeling the vibration of the engine as he followed the sleek vibrant red of your car. The afternoon he met you, he'd been turmoiled, plagued with the natural uncertainties that came with being a member of the MC. That new patch stitched into the upper corner of his kutte had bought a sense of pride and belonging he hadn't felt in forever, it gave him drive, fueled his determination, but as the saying goes, all that glitters is not good. Expectation deceived him, the reality of all things made clear. And that reality was shoveling makeshift graves for men whose names he couldn't even remember, but he remembered yours. Committed himself to it like the loving kiss he gave to the jar that held the remnants of his mother every time he stepped a foot into his fathers house.

He found you flustered, out of yourself with anxiety in the dimming light of the afternoon, and then at the bar, body rigid, eyes wired and ready to do your worst to a guy who could barely keep his posture straight, and now he was following behind you, backing his bike toward the sidewalk that laid just in front your home.

Upon entry, the knock of the speakers bled a thumping bass that pulsated through the floors. Your home had seemed to expand with every new corner that came into view, the walls pushing back to make room for the swell and scatter of bodies. Sweet smells mixed with more pungent ones, the hazy aroma of weed slipping past him as he walked further into the house. A hand placed itself at his side. It was you.

"Can I get you a drink? A beer or something".

"Yeah a beer is cool".

You intertwined your fingers with his, leading him to the kitchen where the sound settled some. Beer bottles clinked, the air releasing as you opened them, handing one over to him.

He gave a quiet "thanks" before sipping, eyeing the way your lips wrapped around the top of the bottle to taste the liquid. They looked soft, full and alluring. He redirected his gaze before the temptation overtook him to do something impulsive that had the prospect of unnerving you. His eyes flitted to the side of your face, an illustration about two inches or so etched into your skin. He hadn't noticed it till now.

You could feel him staring as you tasted the beer, the heat of it tingling your skin. "It's a dagger".

He reached forward, thumb skimming over the finely crafted design, it was a professionals work. With the simple touch of his thumb, your nerves were riling, heat rushing to pulse under your skin, he could feel it. It drew him closer, lured him in. "Did it hurt?".

"Like hell, but when you've felt more painful shit, tattoos like this don't really compare". You lifted the hem of your top some, bringing his fingers to feel the raised skin there. Four inches or so worth of a healed gash rested under his considerate touch. "Got it when I spent a year and a half inside. Grand theft", you admitted.

The reasoning behind telling him wasn't sound in the slightest bit, but what was reasoning when Ezekiel had awakened such dormant feelings inside you. With those beautiful, sunny colored eyes and the warm hand caressing your side, you were liable to tell everything. Truths you hated and dark secrets that laid deep inside your past. You reached up to lay a kiss to those pouty lips, the feel of them mesmeric, dazing. Fulfillment burdened itself onto you, finally you'd got a taste of that rosy pink bottom lip, and now your body was calling for more. Begging for it with such longing that you licked your way through his mouth, his tongue acting in kind. It was slow and all consuming, his body pressing you into the counter to surround you.

"Come with me", your voice airy. Breathless. You lead him to the back of the house. Your room first on the right. A gasp left you when your feet left the floor, body in his arms as he laid you against the fresh feel of the sheets. You kicked your shoes off with ease but the discarding of other pieces left behind a sinking feeling, a pressure forming in your chest to push down straight into your gut. He was glorious, the plains of his skin bound by rich thick tanned muscles and long veins. The dilation of his pupils darkened the air around him, physique imposing. This is what you’d wanted, Why were you feeling so anxious all of a sudden?

"What's wrong?"

Your body had raced miles ahead of your mind and now you were trying to catch up. "I don't know, I just... I feel..."

"Nervous".

"It's sounds so stupid when you say it out loud".

"But it's not, It's natural, and I'll do whatever you want me to do. Whatever makes you feel comfortable baby".

He sounded so sure of it, it made you believe him. You laid against the pillows, beckoning him with the outstretch of your fingers. "C'mere".

He obeyed, body atop yours, your legs wrapping loosely around his waist as your head tilted up to give those lips another kiss. It was messy this time, fueled by desperation, your tongues slow to lick as they tasted each other's. The remnants of beer still there. He took hold of your lip, sharp teeth pulling before he kissed his way down to the heated flesh of your neck. There he sucked, bombarding your skin with pressure causing your hips to grind against the coarse fabric of his jeans. The thin cotton layer of your underwear leaving you to erupt with a fresh wave of need. He feathered kisses down your body, pushing your legs up and apart to open yourself for him. A shudder drove down your spine, that soft wide tongue of his licking so close to where you needed him. He peeled away your underwear leaving you bare before him.

"Talk to me baby. What do you need".

You could hear the pulse of your heart in your ears. "Take care of me Ezekiel, make me feel good".

He hummed, loving the airiness of your voice. So drenched with need for him you were. He was methodical despite the desire boiling in his blood threatening to burn through his skin, so he'd settled with toying with you for now. Giving that sweet glistening clit teasing licks. They were measured, the constraint of them existing solely to wreck you, to kill your resolve completely till you were reduced to in-apprehensible words filled with air. The wide-ness of his tongue felt so good, your nails running over the faded part of his head as your hips drew tight circles.

The teasing, the game of it all. He didn't know but you loved it so much. "That feels so good baby, so good", you praised.

Your words were disembodied, wandering in another plain of existence as they rolled off your lips. Your senses were bursting at the seems, and then reborn again to erupt on impact when he sucked against your sensitive nub, lapping your slick salaciously. As if he'd been starved for years, only just finding you now. The line of your spine arched, waist swiveling, grinding to meet his wet tongue. A low "fuck" fell in the air as your felt the rise of your impending release. With taut, rough fingers he hooked at the back of your knees, pushing them into the sheets. The action opened you completely to him, no choice but to surrender to his will and the feel of his lips as he drew you closer to the edge.

"Please, I'm so close", you whimpered. Vision splotchy, thump in your ears intensifying.

He sucked at you again, holding his lips still as your body shook. Quivering against the sheets. He reverted back to soft licks, tasting as you rode the high.

He rose when you settled, eyeing the heavy rise and fall of your chest as he did away with his jeans. "You Ok?"

It took you time to register the question but when you did, you threw a pillow at him. "You just sucked the soul out of me, don't ask me that damn question".

He laughed, watching your eyes dim in bliss. You hadn't noticed, but he'd done away with his underwear as well, the weight of him causing the bed to dip as he came up to where you laid. His thick fingers rolled you over, setting your face to rest against the pillows as your hips raised in the air to rest against the hot flesh of his length, the veined skin laying along your slit. You moaned in anticipation, pushing back against him.

He gripped your cheeks, spreading them to see the quivering flesh of your opening, the flushed pink shinning in the dim light of the room. His tongue slipped against his bottom lip again, reveling in the taste of you as he pushed in. He groaned, and you gave a single fleeting "yes" , the thickness of him giving a delicious stretch, rigid length hot as he pushed and pulled in and out of your depths in a slow manner. Wanting to test the waters same as he did moments ago before building you back up again. The squeeze of you made his chest tight, head swimming with delirium.

"You feel so good mama, so tight around me", he groaned.

His thrust were dizzying as they picked up to set a steady pace, your hips rolling and pushing to take him deeper. To reach that place in you that would force your vision to blur and be replaced by disfigured stars. You reach to lay a finger at your overstimulated bundle of nerves, rubbing the soft slick flesh with lazy pleasuring circles that spurred the knot in your gut to grow. A single tear fell to dampen the pillow, your depths tightening at how full you felt, at how unrelenting the stimulation of his strokes were.

The sharp drive of his hips made you go rigid, the vice like grip you formed around him causing him to fall into his own high. Pace going all slow sloppy to ride out the blissful feeling.

He pulled from you, both your body and his collapsing against the bed. His face formed with satisfaction, a beautiful buzz running through him. "You know what this means right?"

"What", you asked.

"We’ll have to see each other around more often now".

#ezekiel reyes x reader #ez reyes x reader #mayans mc #ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes imagine #ezekiel reyes imagine #joannasteez

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sunny-sings-sooth · 3 years

Text

Daphne

Words: 4.5k

TW: Sexual assault, abuse

Here's my retelling of the myth of Apollo and Daphne! Highly experimental, as I usually write in first person and not so poetically. Hope you enjoy, and if anything doesn't make sense lemme know and I will add some context here. (Also FYI some of the dialogues are pulled directly from Homer's narration)

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Phoebus Apollonas had been alive too long.

He was young by god standards, barely over a millenia old, and still one of the youngest Olympians. And yet he had grown exhausted. He’d been suffering the curse of life long enough to see the boy he used to be -- Phoebus -- die. The demise of the boy began when, in attempt to protect his sister Artemis, he had committed his first murder and thereby lost her forever. The boy decayed further when he’d held the corpses of his sons in his arms. And he’d finally killed the boy with his own hands when he turned his grief-fueled wrath on mortals. Phoebus, the bright, the innocent, the golden prince of Olympus, was dead. All that remained was Apollonas, the destroyer, the terror, the monstrous god of plague.

Except he no longer wished to be Apollonas. Apollonas was addicted to alcohol, drowning himself in it so that he wouldn’t have to face the memories that had murdered Phoebus. Apollonas had struck his younger brother Hermes, the only friend he had left, in drunken rage. Apollonas was despicable and deserved death. He could never be Phoebus again; that he knew and had accepted. But perhaps he could rid himself of Apollonas and become just Apollo. That did not mean erasing Apollonas; he had too many crimes to pay for, and running away would be a dishonor to all those who had suffered at his hands. He would repent for everything he had done as Apollonas, and thereby recreate himself as Apollo.

The first thing he needed to do was to break alcohol’s hold on him, which meant distancing himself from Dionysus. He didn’t want to abandon his youngest brother, but the temptation to drink was too strong in his presence. He hoped Dionysus would understand, and that he would one day be strong enough to bridge the gap of his creation.

He had been clean for three whole days. It didn’t seem like much -- blink of an eye in the lengthy lives of gods -- but that alone had taken him all his willpower. In the absence of the gallons of drink he had been consuming daily, not only was he plagued by memories and sheer self-hatred, he suddenly became highly attuned to the gossip that trailed him. Every moment on Olympus, hundreds of eyes were trained on him, and the whispers never escaped his sharp ears. It wasn’t that he was not used to being the center of attention, but rather the harsh truth of their statements. Phoebus Apollonas is a murderer. He flayed Marsyas alive for daring to challenge him. He curses anyone who questions his authority. He has killed thousands with his plague arrows. He is a monster. He knew these were all true and that he deserved to be pierced by such words, but the anxiousness caused by his withdrawal made them unbearable, and he had to escape to the woods. Here he found solace. Here he could work to slowly put himself together again until he was strong enough to face those who he wronged.

If he hadn’t been so lost in thought, then perhaps he would’ve heard the flap of wings before Eros was standing before him. He nearly dropped the silver bow that he’d been restringing and looked up to meet the other god’s gaze. Eros was the only man Apollonas considered a possible competitor in terms of beauty; his fair skin was smooth as a pearl, his wings the color of one, his features the aspiration of every artist’s portrait. And yet there was something unnerving about the other god. Perhaps it was his hair that, while comparable to a young maiden’s blush, was also the same shade as blood. Perhaps it was the deep red hue of his eyes, made of crushed hearts and rubies. And perhaps it wasn’t his appearance at all, but the mystique that surrounded him; he was the fourth being to come into existence and was old as time itself, and that was one of the only two things Apollonas knew about him.

“Phoebus Apollona,” Eros stated in greeting, and Apollonas hated how wrong it sounded, though he couldn’t tell if it was the names themselves or simply the one who spoke them.

“What do you want?” He couldn’t hide his irritation. The other thing he knew about Eros was that he was the god of love, and love had only ever caused Apollonas pain. He had no reason to like the god nor felt the need to veil his displeasure. All he wanted was the solitude necessary to rework himself.

“I was simply admiring your bow, oh He Who Shoots From Afar.” There was no missing the mockery in Eros’s voice, and his eyes gleamed as he gazed at the weapon. “Why, your skill is almost comparable to my own! Perhaps with some effort, you can become the greatest archer in the land.”

“Are you implying that you are the greatest archer?” Eros nodded, and one glance at the winged god’s slim arms and the modest bow slung across his back sent Apollonas into a fit of laughter. It was many moments before he could calm himself enough to speak. “What have you to do with the arms of men, you feeble thing?”

“I am merely suggesting I may be god of archery as you are god of plague.” Apollonas’s head snapped up at the idea, and his hands curled into fists as he stood, towering over the shorter god. If Eros was a painter’s fantasy, then Apollonas was a sculptor’s. His toned body was the epitome of perfection, the ideal balance between strength and beauty. He was well aware of this fact, and though he rarely preferred to use his appearance for intimidation purposes, Eros’s insult necessitated such action.

“Do not lay claim to my honors,” he hissed, his sky blue eyes glinting with divine power. Archery was the one constant he could always rely on. With his bow and arrows, he could protect and punish, wound and save. It was the one part of him that stayed no matter if he was Phoebus or Apollonas or whoever, and he’d be damned if he allowed this worthless winged wretch to even suggest taking that from him.

“Let us put it to test, then,” Eros declared, unfazed by the archer’s anger. What would the ancient deity have to fear from the youth? He was well aware of his capability, and little did Apollonas know he was falling into another trap, his emotions and naivety deceiving him once more. He was but a pawn in Eros’s game. “What say you to a battle of skill?”

Apollonas did not grace the other with an answer, lifting his weapon and drawing an arrow from his golden quiver in response. The toned muscles of his back flexed as he pulled back the string and released, and the arrow had barely gone forth an inch before he sent forward another, and then yet another. His arms were but a blur as arrow after arrow went flying, striking the most minuscule of targets: the pupil of a fly’s eye, the thread of a spider’s web, the stem of a single olive. Apollonas did not stop until his quiver lay empty, and he took in the perfect shots before him that seemed almost artistic by his hand. No matter how low he may have descended in these past years, there was no denying the masterpiece he created from the most basic of weapons. This was his domain. He couldn’t keep his lips from curling in conceit as he turned to Eros.

“That gear becomes my shoulders best,” he declared, setting his bow back beside his quiver to draw emphasis to the weapons that had adorned him for centuries. “I wound my enemies; I wound wild beasts. My countless arrows slew the bloated Python, whose vast coils across so many acres spread their blight. You and your loves!” Apollonas couldn’t hold back his scoff at the mention of Eros’s inferior work. “You have your torch to light them. Let that content you. Never claim my fame!”

“Your bow, Phoebus Apollona, may vanquish all, but mine shall vanquish you. As every creature yields to power divine, shall your glory yield to mine.” At Eros’s threat, an enraged response was making its way up Apollonas’s throat, but before it could spill off his tongue, the love god drew his own golden-tipped arrow. In the blink of an eye, he shot it forth right into the other god’s heart before taking flight.

Apollonas stumbled back, a gasp more of shock than pain escaping him as he clasped his hands over his chest, fingers fumbling for the arrow. However, it had already dissolved into him, its magic making its home in his body. He felt something ooze into his heart and bloodstream, shoot up his spine, ensnare his mind. He turned his attention inward, trying to identify the invader, but he could not locate it, nor could he compare it to anything he had ever felt before. What had Eros done? He lifted his head, searching for the god, but instead his gaze fell upon another figure altogether.

There, a few feet away, stood the sweet river nymph Daphne. He knew her -- he knew the names of many of the nymphs that resided in these woods -- but beyond a passing glance and a murmured greeting, she had never caught his attention. But now… he couldn’t seem to look away, his lips parting in awe as he stared at her, dumbfounded. Had she always been so breathtaking? How could he have missed such a beauty? Her dark locks flowed down like a waterfall of ink. What it would be to hold that silky hair between his fingers, to braid it and adorn it with flowers and beads! Her eyes were a startling shade of not blue, not green, but something between the two, and he could spend hours drowning in their depths. Her figure had the slightest curve to it, the outline of a river, and he imagined that her body had been crafted to fit against his perfectly. He saw her, loved her, wanted her.

“Daphne.” Apollonas whispered her name, marvelling at the nectar-like flavor that coated his tongue. If just her name was so sweet, then how must her lips taste? Looking was not enough. The urge to find out was unbearable, the earlier argument stolen from his mind entirely as he found himself tossing aside his bow and quiver. What did archery matter when he could master the bow of her lips instead? He would claim it, make it and the rest of her his and his alone. He took a step forth, a giddy smile alighting his features.

“St-stay back,” the nymph stammered, icy fear coiling in the depths of her stomach. She could read his intentions clearly on his face, from the crazed look in his eyes to the wolfish grin he wore to the way his hands reached towards her. Daphne knew all too well what this man planned to do with her, and that should she fall into his grasp, she would not be able to stop him from having his way. So when he took another step forward, she turned and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Apollonas gaped only a moment before rushing after her, an arrow released from its bow.

“Daphne, please wait! I am no foe! You don’t need to fear me!” he cried out after her. Daphne did not answer him, her thoughts only on escaping. Thorns and brambles tore at the bare skin of her calves, yet she refused to slow down. “You run as if I am a wolf and you a lamb, but that is not so! It is love that spurs me! Don’t fly so fast, lest you fall and wound yourself!”

“Leave me be, you horrid man!” she shrieked, not stopping even as her dress got caught on the surrounding plants and began to tear, revealing her to him little by little. Apollonas’s brows furrowed in worry at the sight of bloodied cuts on her legs. From within him a voice called out: What are you doing, Apollona? Why are you tormenting this poor girl? Leave her be! You will not have your way with her! But before the voice could say more, he caught a glimpse of the bare skin of her thigh, and everything left his mind. His conscience was once more bound and gagged by Eros’s power, forced to watch it all in horror. Speaking of the god of love, he also watched, flying unnoticed above them, yet he felt only amusement from the sight. The sheer terror that had contorted Daphne’s face and drawn panicked tears from her eyes made him smirk, and Apollonas’s frantic yelling drew out peals of laughter. They had both bent to his will so easily, and he was eager to see how this played out.

“You run because you do not know. I am no peasant, no shepherd!” Apollonas called out to her again. She was only afraid because he didn’t know who he was. He knew the moment she realized his true identity, she would stop and turn to him with a blessed smile. “I am the son of Zeus, prince of Olympus, lord of Delphi. By me things future, past and present are revealed. I shape the harmony of songs and strings. You will be happy as my bride, dear Daphne! I will see that your every wish is granted and that no desire goes unfulfilled. Please stay!”

“No! My only desire is to escape you!” Yet this would not be granted, as her body was beginning to fail her. Try as she might, she could not outrun Apollonas; he was strong from years of training and battle, and though she was swift and sure-footed, she had used up all her limited mortal strength. Her legs trembled with every step, her lungs two pits of fire in her chest. And so her traitorous body came to a stop as she gasped for breath, and Apollonas finally had her. He held her hip tightly, freezing her in place. Had he been in his senses and had control over his own body, he’d never have done this, and his conscience screamed within him. But he was deaf to it, the lust coursing through him silencing all else. His eyes soaked in her bare skin when he would’ve shielded them, his hands pulled her closer when he would’ve let her go, and he was ready to claim her when he would’ve done anything but this crime.

“My love.” His warm breath brushed against her ear as he leaned down, pressing his lips against the pale column of her neck. Daphne gasped and tried to pull herself away, but his grip was too strong, utterly unbreakable. How could she escape a god? She was helpless and frail, trapped and alone. There was no one to aid her, no one to stop Apollonas from running his hands down her body and forcing himself against her. And then he was turning her around, wishing to taste her lips, and a final plea escaped her.

“Help me, Peneus!” she screamed for her father. She knew her father could do nothing against an Olympian, but perhaps he could do something to her, and she would accept any escape from this fate. “Open the earth to enclose me, or change my form, which has brought me into this danger! Let me be free of this man from this moment forward!”

Daphne’s prayer was answered, and she was changing.

A stiffness had taken over her body, the swiftness that had protected her for so long sacrificed to escape Apollonas. Her arms lifted of their own accord, her fingers elongating up and her feet rooting into the ground. The dark waterfall split into a hundred streams that lightened to a soft green. Her curved figure fell away as her body thinned into a single arc, her legs fusing and her hands reaching higher and higher. Bark was creeping up from her extremities, down what were now branches and up what had transformed into a trunk. It conquered her shoulders, her chest, her neck. A soft sigh, her last breath, escaped her just as her lips were encased.

Apollonas’s lips met rough bark that cut at his soft skin. With a small gasp, his eyes flew open and he looked straight into Daphne’s piercing eyes. The waves in them had finally calmed, as the storm that had tormented them could no longer ripple its waters. He stared into those beautiful orbs, breathing her name, and watched as they shut forever.

Apollonas couldn’t tear his gaze away, his mind still unable to process the transformation that had unfolded before him. His hand trembled as he raised it, placing flat against the trunk of the tree. A steady pulse graced his fingertips -- a heartbeat. Daphne’s heartbeat. She was this tree, this sorrowful laurel tree, lost from him forever. His legs gave out beneath him as he wept, wrapping his arms around her and leaning his head against her bark. And yet the lust hadn’t left him, and he was kissing the wood over and over, whispering her name and an endless string of apologies as the skin of his lips tore and blood dripped down his chin.

“Oh, Daphne. My Daphne,” he cried, yearning what could’ve been. He thought the image of her smiling sweetly at him, kissing his cheek and calling him ‘husband’, was a vision, a prophecy promising that he could be the source of her happiness until the end of time. But he was wrong. It had been a fantasy, a dream that had slipped out of his grasp. And now she was gone. His sobs doubled in intensity as grief wracked him, and he didn’t notice Eros approaching until he spoke.

“Isn’t this a beautiful sight?” the god of love asked, his lips twisting into a smirk. “Phoebus Apollonas, broken and filthy inside and out. A slave to his desires. Do you accept defeat, oh lustful one?”

Apollonas turned to the other god, and the grief in him sharpened to rage. His beautiful Daphne, the love of his life, had been stolen from him, snatched right out of his hands, and the cause of it all was simply standing there, taking amusement in his loss. He reached for his bow only to find it missing, and so he lunged forth and tackled Eros to the ground, wrapping his hands around the smaller man’s thin neck.

“You monster,” Apollonas growled, his sky blue eyes glowing with divine power. This horrid creature had taken his Daphne from him and deserved nothing less than death. Apollonas would deliver him to the gates of Tartarus himself if necessary. The man must pay for his crimes. He increased the pressure, causing the other god to choke under his iron grip. “You did this!”

“Oh no, Apollona. I merely gave you a nudge. The rest was all you,” Eros gasped out, managing to laugh even as his windpipe threatened to collapse altogether. The sun god’s brows furrowed at the statement, and Eros subtly waved his hand, calming the effects of his magic. “And who knows what you’ll do next if I keep nudging you forth? You’ll be giving your father quite the competition, won’t you?”

The spell finally broke, and Apollonas’s grip slackened as the lust drained out of him and the truth became clear. He had chased Daphne. He had chased Daphne with the intention to force himself on her. He had tried to kiss her and claim her as his own with no care for her terror. He pushed her so far that she thought it better to lose her humanity than to be his. Oh Fates, what had he done? You are the most wicked person to live, Phoebus Apollona. You are no better than your father. You did this to that poor girl. You ruined her.

“N-no,” he whispered, backing away from Eros and clamping his hands over his ears, but it was in vain. The voice came not from outside but from within, where his conscience was finally free to reclaim its owner. And so Apollonas relived the incident that had just taken place. He saw himself chase after her just as Python had chased him and his family, heard his plans to ruin her just as he believed Orion had intended with Artemis, felt himself force himself upon her just as Zeus did to his mother Leto. Never in his life had something been so achingly clear to him as this truth: while he had spent his whole life painting others as wicked, he had been the most terrible monster all along. Apollonas doubled over, spilling his insides onto the earth as though he could purge the maliciousness from his body. But alas, he could not; he was born the destroyer, and he had truly lived up to his name. He could not tell if his scream remained in his soul or ripped out of him. He didn’t know if it was tears or fire spilling from his eyes. All he knew was the terrible truth that he has been blind to all his life.

“You are weak, boy. But I can make you strong,” Eros declared, towering over the hysterical god. He wondered how Olympus would react to seeing their golden heir broken on the ground, sobbing like a spoiled child. He could only imagine they’d be just as entertained as he. Still, the time for games was over. Making sure to avoid the pool of vomit, he crouched down and placed a thin finger under Apollonas’s chin, forcing the young god to meet his gaze. “Here is my offer to you: vow to me on the river Styx that you will follow my every command, and I will save you from further humiliation and heartbreak.”

“What, so I can spend my life blind and deaf, a mindless slave to a heartless man?” A dry, humorless laugh slipped out of Apollonas’s lips. He had seen and tasted truth, and he would not give that up to become Eros’s puppet. He scowled and spat at the love god’s feet, glaring into those blood-red eyes. “That is what I think of your offer.”

“I expected the god of intellect to be wiser than this, but I now see the difference between you and Athena.” Eros sneered, wrinkling his nose at the sorry display. “Do not be hasty, godling, and ponder my words carefully. I am offering you invulnerability. I will harden your heart to stone so that none may hurt you. Without your greatest weakness, you will be unstoppable. You will never have to feel such pain again.”

Apollonas paused for a moment, considering Eros’s claim. To never feel this soul-tearing agony again? To be free of the organ that rebelled against his mind at every moment? Now that he contemplated it, the offer was quite tempting. Without his heart, he would only have to rely on his body and mind, both of which were immaculate. He would indeed be unstoppable, finally the golden heir of Olympus he was expected to be. And yet… his gaze moved to the laurel tree, and a single leaf drifted down before him. Apollonas caught it in the palm of his hand, carefully tracing its pale green veins. If he were to remove his heart, to lose his ability to feel, would that not be a dishonor to Daphne? After all he had put her through, did she not deserve to be mourned and remembered? And what about all the others, every mortal that had suffered at his hand? He would be spitting on their graves by choosing to run away from the pain that, in the face of what torment they had lived through, was nothing. And so Apollonas rose to his feet, stretching to full height and then kneeling down so that his face was merely inches from the love god’s. “Rot. In. Tartarus.”

“You really should have chosen the easy path,” Eros muttered, the smirk sliding off his face as he grit his teeth. Apollonas wanted to regret? Then he’d give him reason to regret. His hands flew to Apollonas’s temples, freezing the younger god in place. Eros’s eyes glowed, twin pits of lava, and his voice boomed as he invoked his ancient power. “I curse you, Phoebus Apollona. May love be your enemy and your heart a traitor. May you be powerless to control the whims of your desire, and may you be the cause of pain to those you love, over and over until the end of time itself.”

Apollonas fell to the ground once more, struggling as the curse rooted itself deep in his soul, at the very essence of his being. By the time his throat had grown too raw for him to continue screaming, Eros had already flown away, leaving behind nothing but punishment. He found himself crawling back to the laurel tree, to Daphne, leaning his forehead against her trunk as he wept. He wept for her, for those before her, and for those after her.

“I’m sorry, Daphne,” he whispered, holding on so tightly the bark dug into his skin and realizing how powerless he really was. “I’d change you back if I could, sweet nymph, but I cannot. Instead, I swear by the river Styx, I won’t let you be forgotten. I bless you so that your leaves are never shed and instead will be woven in wreaths that will become a symbol of honor, the very thing I tried to steal from you. Let mankind see me to be the monster I am if that means your memory will live on. And even if your name no longer forms on the lips of men, they will live on eternally upon my own. This I vow to you.”

With this, he lay one last touch upon the tree before turning away, trudging his leaden feet back to Olympus. He heard the whispers as he arrived in the city, but he paid them no mind and made way to his house. Barely moments after he entered, his fingers scurried over the wall until they found the loose brick that he yanked out and tossed aside. His hands trembled in a moment of hesitation before reaching in. He grasped the bottle of his poison, his secret, his solace. Apollonas lifted it to his lips, tears running down his face, and drank his worries away.

#Apollo #apollon #apollo deity #greek mythology #greek gods #greek myth #daphne

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imagineyourworld · 3 years

Text

The Plan

Echo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend just broke up with you, but you have the perfect plan to get him back (Set before Citadel)

Warnings: Alcohol/drinking, slight allusion to sex, teeny tiny bit smutty towards the end

Check out more of my work here and what’s coming soon

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Sure, maybe you were being petty. Maybe you should have spent the evening on your couch with a romantic holo and a bowl full of ice cream. Maybe this plan would backfire and you’d regret it for the rest of your days. But you had to try, not just for yourself, but also for Echo. Echo, who less than twenty four standard hours ago had broken up with you and who you knew would be spending his last night on Coruscant before being deployed again at 79s. And even if he wouldn’t realise that he’d made a mistake by breaking up with you, you could at least spend an evening out with your best friend and her girlfriend while wearing your new fabulous dress. Though you were sure of your plan just a few moments ago, and it had sounded even better coming from your friends mouth, you were no longer certain. As soon as you entered the bar a couple of eyes fell on you and your companions, and though you knew both your friend and her girlfriend looked fabulous, you couldn’t help but feel like they followed you on your way to the bar. “You need to relax”, your friend whispered to you after ordering your drinks. All you managed to do was a shaky nod, and luckily you were saved from having to answer her by someone you weren’t sure you really wanted to see. “You clean up nicely, mesh’la”, someone behind you said and made you turn around. “Thanks, Fives.” Your voice was not as smooth as you wanted it to be. If Fives was here, talking to you, that could only mean that Echo was not far. “I suppose you’re not just here for a drink, are you?” At first you wanted to lie and tell him that that’s exactly why you were at 79s, then you considered telling him that you wanted to forget about Echo by looking for someone else, but you knew that Fives would be able to see through any lie, he could read you almost as well as Echo could. “I suspect Echo told you everything?” Fives didn’t even need to confirm your suspicion, his expression told you everything. “Listen, mesh’la”, he started. This time there was a sad ring to the familiar nickname, that had almost become an inside joke between the two of you. “I understand why Echo did it. I don’t think it was the right choice, but I understand and I know you do too.” You took a moment to answer. First you reached for your drink first, using the movement to glance at your friend, who was in deep conversation with her girlfriend and wouldn’t be any help. “Whose side are you on anyways?”, you asked Fives. He just shrugged, his eyes fixated on something, or someone, behind you, but your pride told you not to turn around. Instead you tried to focus on the familiar warmth of Fives’ hand as he held onto yours and the words you knew would be coming out of his mouth. “You’re one of my best friends, but Echo’s my brother, my vod. But I suppose if everything goes according to your plan there won’t be sides to choose from after tonight.” He didn’t give you time to reply before he placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head and disappeared in the crowd. But for a few more moments you could feel a familiar pair of eyes on you, a pair of eyes that had been watching your entire interaction. “I think Echo saw all of that”, your friend whispered in your ear, confirming your suspicion.

——-

It took you about half an hour to realize that your plan had to change. You knew your dress would catch Echo’s attention, his eyes would be drawn to you and every now and then you caught him staring from the other end of the bar. The blue and white dress mirrored the 501st’s amour, both in colour and in style, was tight at the top and came loose around your knees, which, combined with a sparkling necklace that rested where your breasts began, drew attention to what you knew was Echo’s favourite body part of yours, your boobs. And your eyes, he would always insists. And though you believed him from the countless times he had gotten lost in your eyes, you knew that deep down he was a boobs man through and through, so of course the dress for the night had been strategically chosen. The downside, however, was the second part of your plan. You had been hoping to catch Echo’s attention with your dress and then make him realize what he was missing by flirting with as many of his brothers as possible, because even though he wasn’t possessive, he wasn’t the biggest fan of his brothers getting more of your attention that him. But to really get to him it had to be one of the brothers he was close to, preferably someone from the 501st. Though it seemed as if Echo had warned all of them not to approach you, because every time you caught someone’s eye you saw them looking at Echo before nodding at you and disappearing in the crowd. Only Fives had actually talked to you, but since Echo knew that he was almost like a brother to you that was no use. The next step in your plan would have been to find someone else to flirt with, maybe someone from the 212th or 104th, only this time it wasn’t Echo, but your dress, that ruined your plan. The dress that seemed to be made for you, that made you feel beautiful and confident, also told every clone that you belonged with the 501st, or rather someone in the 501st. So here you were, sipping on your third drink of the night while your friend and her girlfriend were having the time of their lives on the dancefloor. That is until a voice pulled you out of your depressing thoughts. “Since when do you drink alone?” You jumped up from your chair to hug the blond clone. “Rex! It’s good to see you.” You felt rather than heard his low chuckle from how tight you were hugging him. “What are you doing all alone at the bar? The others have a booth in the back and I was just about to join them, why don’t you come with?” You knew that if he set his mind to it, Rex could be quite a good actor, which is why you weren’t sure whether he even knew that Echo had broken up with you. “Rex-”, you began, but before you could protest he slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you along with him. By the time you reached the booth you still hadn’t come up with a good excuse, which is why you found yourself sitting next to Kix at a table with a few members of the 501st, but no Echo. It was quite awkward at first, but after a few minutes of idle conversation with the boys it was as if you had been there with them all evening, as if nothing had happened. “I really like your dress, by the way. The colours are really-”, Jesse said with a smirk, but he was interrupted by a familiar voice behind you. Yes, most people said that the clones all sounded the same, but you could have told Echo apart by just his breathing, there was no way anyone else would ever say your name like that. “(Y/N), you’re in my seat.” You could tell that Echo was really trying to be casual, to pretend you were acquaintances, maybe even friends, and had never been anything else, just from the way he said your name. But you had heard him say and scream and whisper and moan your name often enough to tell every single emotion he must be feeling right now. And despite the anger, that was practically radiating off of him, it was the love that made you turn around. “Echo.” That’s all you said. Other than him you didn’t even try to hide your emotions, the quiver in your voice or the love in your eyes. There was no point in trying, you knew he could read you just as well as you could read him. “You should leave.” Echo’s tone was harder now that he’d had a moment to conceal his feelings. But there was no way you’d leave now. You finally had his attention, his full attention, and he was actually talking to you. You didn’t say anything, just looked at Echo, who was staring back at you. You knew it would only take a few more seconds, maybe a bit more sadness in your expression, and he’d relent. But then Hardcase, sweet, clueless Hardcase, just had to break the spell. “Don’t be like that, Echo. You can sit next to me, there’s no need to make (Y/N) get up.” What choice did Echo have but to agree? So there he was, almost across from you at the same table, with Kix on your right talking to Fives and Rex and your left putting a reassuring hand on the small of your back. But no matter how much you stared, how much you tried to force Echo to look at you with pure willpower, he ignored you. As time went on he talked to his brothers, laughed with them and pretended you weren’t even there. Even ‘accidentally’ kicking him underneath the table or ‘fixing’ the top of your dress didn’t make him as much as glance in your direction. You were almost ready to give up, to ask Fives or Rex to walk you home, since your friend had found you at the table and asked if it was alright if she and her girlfriend left a while ago, when a clone you didn’t know walked up to you. His amour was a light, almost pastel, green, his hair styled almost exactly the same as Echo’s and a tattoo of some sort of flower ran up the side of his neck. “Sorry to bother you”, he started. Though his words didn’t catch everyone’s attention, they caught yours, and apparently also that of Echo, Fives and Rex. “I was just wondering… Are you with anyone or would you care to dance with me?” He was looking at you with a hopeful expression in his eyes. And even though you had been ready to admit defeat for tonight and just go home, you couldn’t deny his puppy dog eyes and the sweet smile. But it wasn’t just that, the moment the other clone spoke up Echo’s eyes had finally drifted over to you and all of the sudden it seemed as if your plan might work after all. You gently nudged Rex so he’d stand up and let you out of the booth. It wasn’t until you were standing in front of the clone that you answered. “I’d love to dance with you. And no, I’m not with anyone.” You could hear Echo’s sharp intake of breath, which only caused your smile to widen. “Great! That’s great. I just thought that maybe, because your dress is the same colour as their amour that you were in a relationship and I wouldn’t want to come between that. My name is Primrose, by the way.” As you linked your arm with his and looked up at him you noticed that the flowers on his neck were in fact primroses.

——-

“You know, it’s your fault.” “Shut up, Fives”, Echo growled at his brother. “Not only were you the one who broke up with her, you’re also the one who’s been ignoring her all night long.” “Shut up, Fives”, Echo repeated, this time accompanied by a slight kick against his brother’s leg. Echo felt his brothers’ eyes on him as he finished his drink while watching you dance with Primrose. The two of you were closer than you needed to be, your smile was wider than it needed to be and his hands were on your body more than they needed to be. “He’s right”, Jesse said with a nod in your direction. This finally made Echo tear his eyes away from you. “Not you too”, he sighed, wishing he’d either have another drink nearby or that the song would end and you’d return without Primrose. “But Fives is right”, Kix insisted. For just a brief second Echo considered murdering his brothers. The moment passed as soon as it had come, but the desire to make them shut up remained. “Why did you even break up with her? You’re clearly still in love with her”, Rex asked. By the time even his Captain opened his mouth, probably even earlier when Rex had dragged you along with him, Echo knew the entire universe had to be against him. “She deserves better.” That’s all he said. All he had said when he had broken up with you, all he’d tell his brothers. “That’s banthashit and you know i-”, Fives was interrupted by your return to the table. The moment your arse hit the worn out cushion you downed the drink in front of you, not caring that it wasn’t yours, but Rex’s, who stared at you in dismay. “Wow there, mesh’la, was he that bad of a dancer?”, Fives laughed. You shook your head with a smirk. “Quite the opposite, actually. But I’m thirsty and he had to leave because his company is being send on a mission early tomorrow. Speaking of leaving, I think I’d better get home, it’s getting late. Would one of you boys walk me home?” Before anyone could say or do anything Echo shot up from his seat, almost upsetting the table with the rapid movement. “I’ll do it.”

——-

Though you had been happy when Echo first announced he’d walk you home, the happiness didn’t last long. The entire way he didn’t say a word, even to your questions he only nodded or shook his head instead of an actual answer. “You didn’t have to walk me home, you know. One of the others could have done it, or I could have walked alone.” You hadn’t expected Echo to your annoyed statement since he hadn’t said anything to things you had hoped would force him to talk to you. “You know I’d never let you walk home alone in the dark, cyar’ika.” You could tell from the way he tensed up next to you that he hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to call you by the nickname he knew you loved so much. It was more of a force of habit than anything else. “It speaks”, was your sarcastic reply. You refused to look at Echo, but you had a feeling he was biting his lips to keep himself from saying anything else. Lucky for him you stopped in front of your building just then and there was no need for him to say anything other than goodbye. You walked over to the door, shifting your small purse before looking at Echo over your shoulder. “I guess I’ll see you around.” Quickly you turned back around so he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in your eyes. The evening, the plan, had been a disaster. You were now a hundred percent certain that Echo didn’t want you back, didn’t have feelings for you anymore, and had only walked you home due to… what? A sense of obligation? To not be an even bigger dick? It wasn’t until you had already punched in half of your access code into the keypad next to the door that Echo spoke up. “Can I walk you to your apartment?” You finished typing in your code before you turned around, hoping Echo wouldn’t be able to see how much his words affected you. But all worries, all reasons not to let him into your flat, into your life, again, vanished the second you looked at him. There was no way you could ever say no to him, no way you could deny him anything when he was looking at you with so much hope and fear and… love… in his eyes. “Okay”, you whispered. A weak answer, but the only one you managed without your voice breaking. “Okay”, he repeated, a smile brightening his handsome face. In the blink of an eye he was next to you, holding the door open for you, then guiding you towards the lift. He was standing closer than before, you could feel his body heat through your dress and his amour on the ride to your flat. Once you arrived on your floor you hurried to your door, typing in the code before Echo could see it, but you should have known the ARC trooper would catch the numbers you pressed. “You still have my CT number as your code?” You let him into your flat before following and closing the door behind you. “I didn’t have time to change it yet.” The small smile on his lips vanished at your words. For once it seemed that he had bought your lie. “So you wanted to change it?”, he asked. His voice was quieter than before, his eyes went from you to his shoes and back to you. “Did you come up here to talk about my acess code?” You couldn’t hide the annoyance in your voice. All night Echo had been either ignoring you or glaring at you, then all of the sudden he was being nice and calling you “cyar’ika” again and then all he wanted to talk about was the stupid code for your stupid door? “I… No, that’s not why I wanted to come up. I… Can we sit down?” You nodded and lead Echo over to your small couch, where the two of you sat down, but this time a bit farther apart. Though still close enough that you could touch him if you reached out. “Cya- (Y/N), you need to stop whatever it is you’re doing. Wearing that dress you know I adore, flirting and dancing with my brothers and drawing my eyes to you every waking moment.” He took a deep breath, not meeting your eyes but instead focusing on your nose, your lips, your breasts, your hands. Though he didn’t look into your eyes, his never left your body. “We’re not together anymore.” If it wasn’t for the way his voice shook as he said the last words, the way a single tear threatened to slip out of his left eye, the way he looked at you as if wanting to commit every detail to memory, you would have believed him. But you couldn’t. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you couldn’t believe he actually meant what he said. “But why? You never gave me a reason for breaking up with me. Maybe, if you told me why, I could accept it, maybe even understand it.” His fingers twitched. Your hands were laying so close together on the couch, it would only take a few millimeters for the to touch. “Echo, why did you break up with me? Why did you break my heart?” Finally he looked at you. Really looked at you and saw you. More tears were welling up in his eyes, though none of them escaped. “I never meant to break your heart, I wanted to save it.” His words were a soft whisper, so soft you could have sworn you had imagined them, but before you could ask him to repeat himself, Echo continued. “I had to break up with you, don’t you understand? I had to make sure you wouldn’t get attached, because if we’re not together, if you don’t love me, your heart won’t get broken when I eventually die in this war.” You opened and closed your mouth a few times, but no words came out. Finally, after what felt like hours of silence, hours of Echo just looking at you, you managed to answer. “Is that the only reason?” It seemed as if he was at a similar loss for words, because Echo simply nodded. You shook your head. You couldn’t believe it. Of course you knew there had to be some sort of reason for Echo to break up with you, the two of you had been happy after all, but you wouldn’t have thought that that could be the reason, though it did explain his hot and cold behaviour. It wasn’t that Echo didn’t want to be with you, didn’t love you, he simply wanted to protect you. Slowly and gently you reached out until your hand cupped Echo’s cheek. You shifted closer to him and held his hand in your other hand. “I’m not even gonna discuss the fact that you think it’s inevitable that you’ll die in this war, that’s a conversation for another day. But Echo, my love, how could you think I wouldn’t be heartbroken if anything were to happen to you just because we’re not together? I love you. I have loved you before we started dating and I didn’t stop when you broke up with me, I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I’ve never felt this way before and of course I don’t want to imagine the heartbreak of losing you, but my heart breaks a little every time you leave, with every single scratch you get and everything you’re forced to endure in this war. And whether or not we’re together doesn’t change that, doesn’t change my love for you.” It wasn’t until you felt Echo’s thumb gently brushing across your cheek that you realized you had started crying. And so did he. Softly you placed your lips on his cheeks and kissed a few tears away, the salty taste speaking of love and hope and heartbreak. “I guess I’m pretty stupid, aren’t I?”, Echo tried to joke. But you shook your head. “No, never. You tried to protect me, even if it was the worst plan in the history of planning, that’s not stupid, that’s brave and selfless and I love you even more for it.” Echo nodded. He nodded and he cried and you cried until you started laughing and couldn’t stop. And when Echo joined in on your laughter you could have sworn your heart was soaring right out of your chest. “So, we’re together again?”, you asked. Instead of answering Echo leaned in until his lips were only inches away from yours and with a small sigh you closed the gap. Kissing him was familiar, but that didn’t make it any less loving and exciting. The kiss started out slow and careful, but soon you gently bit down on Echo’s bottom lip before soothing it with your tongue. Only when both of you needed to catch your breath did you part. “Do you love me again?”, you whispered against Echo’s lips just a second later. You felt, rather than saw, his grin. “I never stopped.” A chuckle made his way past your kiss swollen lips. “Me neither. And I never will.” He hummed in something you interpreted as both agreement and content before he touched your lips with his again. “One more thing, though”, he said between pressing pecks to your lips, his hands winding into your hair. “I hope you’ll wear that dress again soon.” You laughed. That you could do. It was a pretty dress and solely based on the looks he had shot you all night it had quickly become your favourite garment. “Sure. But how about I take it off for now?” Echo didn’t answer. Instead he started kissing, biting and sucking on your neck. You supposed that was a yes.

——-

Honestly, I don’t know what this fic even is! The original idea was smutty with a but of fluff, now it ended up being a fluffy and slightly angsty mess with just a sprinkle of suggested smut. But maybe it was enjoyable nonetheless, let me know! <3

#echo x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #tbb echo x reader #echo x you #arc trooper echo x you #star wars clone wars #clone wars imagine #tbb echo imagine #echo imagine #arc trooper echo imagine #echo x y/n

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purrincess-chat · 3 years

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Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH28

What does Chloe have in store for Marinette? Find out next week! As I stated on AO3, once I post chapter 30, I’m going to take another month off to let my betas finish up the last few chapters, then in October if we are all finished, I will be posting two chapters a week on Mondays and Fridays to finish this story out. It’s been a long journey rewriting it, but I’m much happier with the outcome this time. I hope you’re all excited to see the rest of the changes to this story. I know I can’t wait to share them!

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Chapter 28: End Game

Morning light streamed through the window, casting golden rays across Marinette’s cheeks. The urgent screech of her alarm blared on the shelf above her head, vibrating the loft in its tantrum. She blinked, then immediately squeezed her eyes shut again, sitting up out of the sun. Kicking the blankets from around her legs, she palmed for her phone, clumsily tapping the screen with a yawn. Sleep had eluded her most of the night for more reasons than one, and the previous day’s events replayed on loop as she slogged through her morning routine.

Had all of it really happened? The museum, her old friends, the akuma, Emerald Shell, Lila… And she’d gone to Chloe of all people for help. When had she fallen so low? And how long did Marinette have to be on this rollercoaster? Wasn’t there an emergency exit she could use?

She splashed water on her face, leaning against the sink with a sigh. Not all of it was bad at least. She and Adrien got to spend the evening together, though the sweetness diminished as a result of the afternoon’s events. Even still, there were worse ways to end a trying day than being spoon-fed chocolate mousse by the boy of her dreams.

Marinette stared at her reflection, droplets dripping from her chin like the countless tears she’d cried the past month. So much had changed since she left. Her face still looked the same, but the girl inside was different than the one who walked out of Francoise-Dupont a month ago. Her eyes carried a new determination.

Lila had gone too far, and Marinette wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. Starting today, everything was going to change.

“Marinette! You’re going to be late for school!” her mother called up the stairs.

Marinette dried her face and slipped on her blazer.

“Coming!”

Things were normal at school. People were buzzing about the latest akuma and the appearance of Emerald Shell. Martin held his head a little higher, though his cheeks never lost their rosy hue, especially when Macy gushed about how Emerald Shell saved her. It wasn’t until art class that they realized Marinette was being unusually quiet.

“How did things go with Adrien?” Eliott asked, looking up from the fruit bowl they were all painting.

“Adrien was fine,” Marinette said. “It was Lila I had to worry about.”

“Still?” Macy winced. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story…” Marinette sighed, wiping her brush on a rag.

“We’ve got a whole hour.” Martin pointed out, and they all looked at Marinette expectantly.

Marinette smiled, reassured by their eagerness. They really were the best friends in the world. She took a deep breath before diving in, and her friends listened to every detail intently.

“Whoa, she really did that to you?” Lisette asked when she finished. “And I thought Gabrielle was awful.”

“Lila is an attention-seeking manipulator, and she crushes anyone who gets in her way,” Marinette said bitterly. “I hate to drag you guys into this—mostly because I barely want to be dragged into this—but-”

“Oh, we’ll totally help,” Macy said. “If there’s one thing rich people love to do it’s brag about our accomplishments and make other people look inferior.”

“I can text around and try to set up a hangout with Prince Ali next time he passes through Paris.” Eliott offered.

“My dad’s in a group that plays tennis with a few ambassadors. I’m sure he could help us set up a youth program to push a Go Green effort here in Paris.” Martin added.

“Sometimes I babysit for the president’s niece, so I could see about getting her deported,” Lisette said with a cheery grin, and everyone turned to her with horrified expressions. “I’m kidding, but it’s an option.”

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re kicking awful people out of the country.” Eliott nuzzled her cheek with his nose.

“Anything you need, Marinette, we’ve got your back,” Macy said, placing a hand over hers. “We’re behind you all the way.”

Marinette pulled her in for a hug, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Even though she regretted running from her problems, Marinette didn’t regret meeting her new friends. They helped her when she needed it most, and for that, she would always be grateful. With these people by her side, Lila wasn’t going to know what hit her.

♪♫♪ This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things ♪♫♪

Marinette paced the length of the living room a week later, chewing her nails. The awards show had finally arrived, and Clara would be walking the red carpet in one of Marinette’s original designs. It was the biggest moment of her life, and she couldn’t sit still.

Her mom smiled, setting the cake she’d just finished decorating on the table. “Everything is going to be fine, dear. Your designs were wonderful, and Clara loved them.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean all of the famous fashion critics are going to. People talk about award show outfits for weeks, mom! If everyone hates Clara’s dress, I’m going to be front-page news for worst-dressed all month!” Marinette groaned.

“There’s no way anyone will hate your designs. My daughter has all the talent in the world!” Her father scooped her up, planting a kiss on her cheek.

The doorbell rang, and Marinette rushed to answer it.

“Congratulations!” Her friends cheered.

Macy pulled her in for a tight hug. “I can’t wait to see which design Clara picked! They were all so good.”

“I can’t believe Clara picked you over Gabriel Agreste. You are so lucky, Marinette,” Lisette said.

“She’s amazingly talented. My father didn’t stand a chance,” Adrien said with a laugh. He presented a bouquet of roses with a shy smile. “Congratulations, mon ange.”

Marinette stretched up to kiss his cheek. Taking his hand, she ushered everyone inside where they didn’t hesitate to make themselves at home. Eliott and Martin moved for the snacks while Macy and Lisette settled on the couch. Marinette’s mother reached for a vase on the top shelf, stretching up on her toes.

“Let me.” Adrien stepped in and grabbed it with ease.

“Thank you, dear. Marinette picked such a sweet boyfriend.” Her mother beamed. “She used to talk about you so much. Every day, she’d come home from school and tell us all about how green your eyes are and-”

“Mom!” Marinette shot her a silencing look.

“I’m flattered. Marinette is a wonderful girl. You and Mr. Dupain must be really proud that a celebrity like Clara commissioned her,” Adrien replied smoothly. He shot Marinette a wink when her mom changed the subject. Why was he so perfect?

“Ooo! It’s starting!” Macy squealed.

Marinette and Adrien squeezed onto the couch next to Macy and Eliott. She leaned her head on his shoulder, twining their fingers together. Having her friends around eased some of her nerves, but her heartbeat escalated every time someone new moved to the front of the line.

“How long until we get to see your dress?” her dad asked.

“I don’t know. The red carpet doesn’t really have a set schedule.” Marinette shrugged.

“Okay, we’ll just wait,” he said, trying to seem nonchalant, though his impatience showed each time he shifted or cleared his throat.

Marinette chewed her nails as other artists and celebrities made their appearances, leg bouncing until Eliott reached over to stop it. She flashed him a sheepish grin but resumed tapping the moment he turned away.

Clara’s name flashed at the bottom of the screen, and Marinette cupped her hands over her mouth. Everyone leaned forward as she approached the camera in a colorful, flowing gown.

“She’s wearing my favorite!” Marinette squeaked between her fingers. Her dad patted her knee as her mom turned up the volume on the television.

“Standing here on the red carpet with Best Pop Artist nominee Clara Nightingale,” the reporter said, turning to Clara with a smile. “Clara, can I just say you look lovely tonight? Who are you wearing?”

“My dress was designed by someone sweet; a teen whose talent can’t be beat. More beautiful than any melody I’ve ever sang, this dress is by Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Clara twirled around, the skirt of the dress rippling with color.

Marinette buried her face in a couch pillow with a shrill scream. Adrien rubbed her back with a laugh. She shot up again, eyes glued to the screen as Clara gushed about the details of her dress before the conversation steered toward her award nomination.

“Can I just say? Stun-ning!” Eliott said.

“That dress is everything! It looks even better than it did on paper.” Macy agreed.

“A celebrity wearing my daughter’s original designs! I always knew someone would recognize how amazing you are.” Her dad pulled her in for a tight hug.

“We’re so proud of you, honey. We know how hard you worked,” her mom said.

“You did an amazing job, Marinette.” Adrien pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Well, we have to get back to the bakery, so we’ll let you kids watch the rest together, okay?” Her mother passed Macy the remote.

“Good night.” Marinette waved as they stood and took their leave.

“Actually, I should go too. I forgot to do my physics homework,” Macy said, standing up. “Martin, can you come help me? It’ll take me hours if you don’t.”

Martin flicked his gaze over to Marinette and nodded. “Uh, yeah, I can do that.”

“Oh, ya know, I just remembered that I promised my dad we’d help him with that thing,” Lisette said.

“Oh yeah! Sorry, it’s like a big, complicated thing. We need to go too.” Eliott nodded. “Congrats again. You’re amazing and wonderful, and you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Thanks.” Marinette smiled.

“See you tomorrow!” Macy called as they all shuffled out the door.

“Is it just me or was that a lot of lame excuses?” Marinette tilted her head.

“I asked them to give us some time alone.” Adrien admitted.

“Oh.” Marinette’s cheeks warmed as Adrien wrapped an arm around her.

“I know things have been crazy lately, but in a way, I’m really glad all of this happened. I might not have ever realized how I felt about you if it hadn’t,” he said. “It’s a weird positive that’s come from everything.”

“Yeah.” Marinette leaned against his shoulder with a smile. “I’m happy things worked out. I never would have told you how I felt otherwise.”

“Did you really tell your parents how cute I was?” he asked with a smirk.

“I- Well, I didn’t- I mean-” She buried her face in his shirt with a groan.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you stammer like that. I forgot how cute it is.” Adrien chuckled.

“It’s your fault.” She jabbed his chest with one finger. “You’re so cute. It makes me all flustered.”

“Hmm, then I wonder how you’ll react to this.” He reached into his pocket to retrieve a long jewelry case, opening it to reveal a small pink diamond necklace.

“Adrien!”

“I wanted to get you something to remember me by since we go to different schools now. I miss you like crazy, so I thought that maybe you could at least have a small piece of me when we’re apart,” he said. “Do you like it?”

“Adrien…” Marinette cupped a hand over her mouth. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

The gem was warm against her skin as Adrien fastened it around her neck, a physical reminder of his love. They’d overcome so much together, and while their fight was far from over, at least Marinette had him.

Adrien turned her jaw to face him, brushing her cheek with his thumb. Those warm green eyes softened as he leaned in, and Marinette closed her eyes. His breath swirled hot on her lips when they brushed, sending a jolt up her spine. Her heart hammered in a frenzy, building rapidly in anticipation. But just as release came, his pocket buzzed, and they both crashed down to earth again.

With a short sigh, Adrien pulled back and retrieved his phone, quirking a brow at the caller ID.

“It’s Chloe,” he said. “Hell-”

“Were you two going to list Dupain-Cheng designing for Clara Nightingale among our assets, or was I just supposed to figure that out myself?” She scolded.

“Sorry. It was kind of-”

“No time for excuses. I need to propose this to you before I change my mind. I know the perfect way to enact your plan,” Chloe said with a groan. “I hate myself for even considering it.”

“What are you suggesting?” Adrien’s eyebrows furrowed.

“We’re going to make Dupain-Cheng famous, and I think I know the perfect way to do it.”

#mdcspr #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist remix #my writing

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ginnyweasleymybeloved · 3 years

Text

heartbeat on the high line / fred weasley

unresolved angst for freddie because i felt like it <3

summary: fred broke your heart a long time ago and a walk through diagon alley brings up old memories for the both of you

word count: 2.9 k

warnings: post-war timeline, mentions of torture sort of?, mentions of being underweight because of said torture, fluff sort of if you squint?, angst, open ended, tiny mention of death, let me know if i missed anything!! <3

let me know what you think <3

this is based on the song “cardigan” by taylor swift but it’s not a song fic <3

Skies of dark grey released heavy sheets of rain onto the cobblestone streets below, the pitter-patter of the torrential downpour barely muted the sound of your high heels against the all too familiar stone street. A stark black umbrella held primly above your head shielded you from the typical English weather as you strutted through Diagon Alley.

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned on showing your face in the magical hotspot, not so soon after the war anyway. Years worth of memories haunted every twist and turn of the street you seemed to own in the moment, light grey stones darkened and slick from the rain completely devoid of any feet other than your own.

You recalled all of the significant moments, each bookmarked by a certain area of the various alleys. Flourish & Blotts; where you’d met your first love all those years ago, at the age of eleven you’d been so bright eyed and sure of the future, sure of him. In the distance you could make out the bright orange exterior of Weasleys’ Wizard wheezes; where you’d walked away from your first love, all those years later however not so long ago that the sight of his legacy, as vibrant and joy inducing as it always had been, didn’t elicit an uncomfortable pang to spring in your chest. As you progressed past Olivander’s, your lips quirked up ever so slightly as the aging paint of the shop expelled all misconceptions you had about the boy who still haunted all of your “What If?”s, the lightly rusting windows screaming at you as if to remind you that, actually, he hadn’t been your first love. Olivander’s Wand Shop had been the true site of your first love and you’d found that first taste of true, pure, untainted love in the form of your phoenix feather core, thirteen inch, English oak wand.

A wistful giggle left your lips, your feet unmoving, rain lashing down aggressively and sliding off the edges of your umbrella, creating streams of water that fell around you but never got close enough to you to so much as dampen your outfit. Losing yourself in the joy of recalling how happy you’d been upon being chosen by your fateful wand, you failed to notice the familiar frame who had made his way to the doorway of the shop. The creaking of the old door pulled you from your thoughts, a dazzlingly grin broke out on your face as Mr. Olivander himself leant against his propped open door, keeping himself dry inside the comfort of his warm shop.

A grin similar to yours adorned his lips as he called out rather loudly over the rain, “I do recall that smile getting you out of quite a bit of trouble, back in your Hogwarts days,” your smile only widened at his recollection.

“To this day it’s the secret to my success,” you beamed jokingly as Olivander shook his head and released a low chuckle. He had no doubt that you’d be going places, ever since the first moment he’d clapped eyes on you he knew you were destined for success, of course, it was also no wonder that bewitching smile of yours had helped you get there. Like your wand; you chose your company carefully, held nothing but passion for the things you craved, were fiercely determined and surprisingly flexible without breaking your morals.

“I also recall thinking you’d grow up to become one of the brightest witches this country had ever seen. It seems as though you proved me right, dear girl,” he spoke with such reverence that you almost wished to cower away from his gaze, however, you held your confident stance and let your smile melt into an adoring grin once more.

“Don’t act as though you had nothing to do with it, sir,” your voice carried through the wall of worsening rain between yourself and the older wizard, “If it hadn’t been for your encouragement during the war, I think I’d have simply given up in the cellar of Malfoy Manor,” it was a dark time, of course it was, it had been a war after all. You supposed, the love you held for your coveted wand extended to the man who had supplied it to you in the first place; Mr. Olivander, he was more than just the slightly daft wand shop owner, he had been- for longer than you cared to remember- your cellmate, the man who had slid you his rations from across the dungeon when you’d faded to nothing but skin on bones, the one who encouraged you to pursue your dreams of becoming a journalist with the hopes of shining light on issues far more important than the ones covered by that roach Rita Skeeter. He was a lot of things, but above all else, he was your friend.

“Now, now dear,” he chastised teasingly, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes as lively now as it had been on the day he was born, and, every day since, “You better be getting to Gringotts. Lots of galleons and sickles to collect I’m sure. Being the head of the Daily Prophet surely keeps those money bags heavy, eh?”

Your laugh echoed through the street one again, your lips which were painted black, supplied him with the very best smile you could possibly muster. “I suppose I should get going. Look after yourself.” Olivander shot you a wink before retreating back into his shop.

A familiar lamp caught your attention, the ghosts of your past passions rising as brutally as the rain fell. You could remember it, clear as day.

His laughter mingled with yours, the hearty belly laughs bellowing through the darkened street as the pair of you stumbled out of The Leaky Cauldron in the early hours of the morning, systems altered by the copious amounts of fire whiskey you’d managed to consume. His hand held yours in a tight grasp, he swung your interconnected arms childishly.

One second you’d been walking and the next he was twirling you around beneath the spotlight of the flickering post above you. Drunkenly, you’d spun your little heart out, spurred on by his slightly slurred, yet somehow sweet, singing. He admired you as you shimmied ahead of him, completely free, fresh out of school and not yet weighed down by the darkness that loomed in the distance. When your eyes caught his you shot him a smile, he knew it well, it was the smile, it shun like sequins when they caught light and he knew it was worth more than all of the gold in Gringotts. You beckoned him over to you with a finger, taking his hand when he got close enough you spun him around and laughed weightlessly.

The feeling of his hands gripping your waist would be imprinted on your skin for as long as you lived, you’d thought, charmed by the look in his brown eyes when you internally swore that you would’ve loved him for a lifetime.

What you didn’t know, as you shook off the phantom hands on your waist, was that he’d seen your eyes that night and despite his heavily intoxicated state, he noted your devotion and even now, when he’d lay awake and think of you; it was that look and that sequinned smile that haunted him. Just as the streets of Diagon Alley haunted you.

Thinking of the sequence of events that led you to walking away from the person you’d honestly believed to be your once in a lifetime, perhaps even your once in twenty lifetimes, or infinite lifetimes, did nothing but torment your already scarred heart. He was always hard to pin down, how could he not be? With a face like his and the world wrapped around his finger, he knew he didn’t have to settle for only one of each thing.

Chasing two girls excited him, at the time. All of the secret keeping, high stakes secret meet ups, illicit affairs and sensual politics had kept him energised. Until the novelty wore off and he was left with nothing but a side-piece whose favourite colour he hadn’t bothered to learn. But he’d known yours, he knew everything about you, he still did. He knew you, he remembered how you’d stared at him, eyes heavy with betrayal and filled to the brim with tears the day you’d confronted him, your bags already packed as you made it clear that; yes, you love him, but no, he couldn’t fix this. No matter how hard he’d fought to change the ending to your fairytale-esq love story, you’d slipped through his fingers like water.

Various knick knacks that had once been yours still lived in his flat, above the shop you’d encouraged him to open, back in school. For weeks, your scent lingered like a tattoo kiss on his skin, his clothes, his bedsheets, his everything as a constant reminder that he’d forced you away. He’d practically paid for your ticket for the last train out of London that day. He told himself that he was only seventeen; what on Earth did he truly know about love? And again he reasoned; he knew you.

Months before the war he swore time and time again that he’d seen your face amongst the busy, condensed crowds of Diagon Alley. On countless occasions he found himself chasing down strangers like a madman, hoping for nothing more than to catch even a glimpse of the woman who made his heart smile as beautifully as she herself did.

Chin tilted upwards as you passed his renowned joke shop, you walked with a sense of importance willing your feet not to stop, but you couldn’t deny the urge you had to check up on him.

The last time you’d seen him, the world around you had been in complete chaos. You’d only just been saved from the months of endless torture you were forced to endure. Nothing like now, you’d been frail and weak and hollow. But still, you’d saved his life. Without a word you’d saved him from being crushed, as if he had been just another person to save, as if he hadn’t shared the most intimate of moments with you, before rushing back off, back into the fray until the battle had been won. That was the last time he’d seen you in the flesh and he ached to see you again- so he could thank you, so he could tell you that he was grateful to be alive but his life wouldn’t be worth half as much if he never got to hold you in his arms again.

The rain smashed unyieldingly against the windows of the shop as he worked on the tills, the shop was unusually empty, nobody willing to do any sort of shopping on a day so miserable. With a bored sigh, he stared out the large window before him, only one woman walked the street, an umbrella struggling to fight off the rain. The raindrops that accumulated on the window blurred his view of the lady’s face but there was no amount of rain in the world that could hide your signature strut of defiance from him.

Quickly he scampered out from behind the counter, “George! Watch the counter!” He screeched, bombing it out the front door while George released a tired sigh, hoping his twin wasn’t regressing back to his chasing strangers phase.

As soon as he’d entered the open air, he was completely soaked to the bone. Your heels clacking like the countdown on a ticking time bomb as Fred stood frozen as few meters behind you. His hair sopping wet, his shirt sticking to his body and his face completely desperate as he called your name.

His heart was beating so aggressively that he was positive you could hear it from up the street. You’d stopped in your tracks upon hearing his voice, your stomach erupting with butterflies while simultaneously dropping in anticipation when you turned to face him.

“You’re here,” he stated dumbly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he took you in. As beautiful as you’d always been, he carefully inched towards you, you stayed rooted in your spot but let him advance on you. The phantom feeling of his strong hands on your waist clouded your judgment and made you long to have him come back to you.

You nodded your head, “I’m here.”

Fred nodded too, exhaling a deep breath now that he was sure he wasn’t imagining your presence as he had countless times before. Before either of you knew it, you were standing within arms length of each other, however, far too unsure to touch. The rain was roaring and Fred began to blink rapidly, the water hitting his eyes ruthlessly before you took a single step forward and saved him from the onslaught of droplets. You were close now, so close Fred could smell your perfume and see every detail of your face. The handle of your spacey umbrella rested in between the both of you, acting like a barrier so he wouldn’t tug you against his shaking form and hug the daylights out of you.

“You never let me say thank you,” he started, tears very quickly forming to mix with the raindrops that slid down his freckled face. “At the battle. If you hadn't been there, Y/n, I would’ve died.”

“Don’t say that,” you begged, you’d mulled the scenario of “what if I’d been too late?” over in your mind, more times than you were willing to admit, and the image of Fred cold and dead, despite how terribly he’d hurt you, made your gut wrench so violently that you thought you might be sick. “I was there. That’s all that matters.”

His brows furrowed and suddenly the hands on your waist weren’t that of a past ghost anymore, they were his; very real and in the moment. “Why didn’t you stay? After you saved me you just ran off, I couldn’t find you after it was over-“ his voice was so vulnerable, it cracked and hitched and you forced yourself to cut him off, your umbrella shaking in your hand.

“Because I didn’t want you to see me like that- the way I was after Harry got the others and I out of Malfoy’s,” you told him honestly, biting back tears as you offered him more elaboration while he shook his head in a frantic sort of disbelief, “I was weak and skeletal, I couldn’t face you. Not when I saw the way you looked at me.”

“I looked at you the same!” He exclaimed and you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Exactly, Fred! I was vulnerable and damaged beyond belief and even after everything- every screaming match, or slammed door or horrible words that we wish we could take back you still looked at me like I was your favourite thing!” You rambled, chest heaving painfully as you tried, uselessly, to keep your building tears at bay. Fred didn’t waste a second before he was pulling the umbrella from you and tossing the thing, that had become more of a hindrance than a help, away from you before he cupped your cheeks urgently.

Rain enveloped the both of you and Fred knew he shouldn’t have been thinking it, but merlin, you seemed to glow in the rain and he acknowledged the fact he’d been aware of all along; you were truly an angel.

“Because you were! You are,” his voice was dripping with honest desperation, “I might not have known anything else back then but I knew I missed you, I knew that hurting you would be the worst thing I ever did and when I saw you that day I knew I still loved you and my life wasn’t worth living if it wasn’t spent with you!” You were at a loss for words at his shouted, emotionally charged confession. His eyes searched yours for the look that haunted him, the promise to love him forever that was hidden beneath your irises and after the next words slipped from his lips, he thought that maybe he’d uncovered it.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make things up to you. You’re quite literally the only reason my heart is beating and I’d sooner actually die than let you go one more second thinking that you aren’t the greatest thing that has ever happened to me in my stupid, idiotic life.”

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n

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queenmuzz · 3 years

Text

Sins of the Father...

Based off an ask a Nonnie sent me. Not sure of where, or if I want to go with it.

Vergil wasn’t worried. After all, Nero was only second to Dante when it came to tardiness. He had never made it on time to any meeting or gathering since Vergil had first met him, when the young man had been late to dinner two years ago. Sure, Nero was almost never more than a half hour late without a hurried apologetic call explaining his latest excuse reason. But Nero had many responsibilities, three children, a mobile business, a snarky mechanic, so it was obvious that it would take some time to make it to the office. Vergil wasn’t worried at all.

So, why was he tapping his fingers on the varnished desk? Boredom, most likely. Why was he staring at the front door like he was trying to drill a hole in it? Agitation at being made to wait yet again. Why did he have a cold pit in the base of his stomach? Probably being forced to eat the last of the edible food in Dante’s fridge this morning. And why did, when the phone rang, did he lunge for it like a hellhound on a bone?

“Devil May Cry.” He hadn’t quite gotten his brother’s aptitude at answering the phone, he saw no need for faking pleasantness, especially when most people calling were in no mood for faux joviality. Besides, he was ready to upbraid his son about making him worry about being late.

“Ah, I was hoping I would reach you first.” an unknown voice of a woman, her voice slightly raspy with age, or from smoking, he couldn’t quite tell. “Makes things a bit simpler, a little less messy. I don’t wish to involve more people than I have to.”

That ice cold pit grew, beginning to climb up his spine. “Who are you?.” “That’s not really important right now,” the woman sidestepped his question. “It’s who YOU are that’s the key, Urizen.”

Vergil instinctively gripped the desk, so hard that the wood began to protest. “I no longer go by that name-”

“What would you prefer to go by? ‘The Monster of Redgrave’? ‘Executioner of Innocents?’ or maybe something more simple? Murderer?” The voice was serene, almost otherworldly so.

Vergil’s mouth went dry. He hadn’t tried to hide his actions, never made any excuses for it, but neither had he tried to make it well known what he had done. It was far too difficult to explain to people who were friends of Dante. (Arkham’s daughter always had a hand on the grip of one of her pistols when he was near her.) Let alone the general public.

“What are you getting at?” Vergil barked with far more emotion than he had expected. Why should he care about what a random person thought about him? Why should this accusation trigger a wave of guilt?

The voice on the other end deepened to a hateful hiss. “You, who took countless lives, who stole EVERYTHING I ever cherished and loved, yet...you get the love and adoration of those closest to you, even after all that you’ve done.”

In any other situation, Vergil would have strongly argued against the idea of being ‘adored’ by Dante and Nero, but he couldn’t say anything.

The voice regained its emotional control. “So, I decided that if the Fates, Karma, or the Cosmic Scales of Justice won’t make you pay… I will. You won’t feel a millionth of the pain I have, won’t shed a fraction of the tears I have spilled, but at least you will know a pale echo of my grief.” He heard the sound of footsteps echoing in a vast space, like a warehouse, and then heard what sounded like a person kicking a bag of potatoes. “Wake up,” the voice ordered, directed not to him, but someone with her.

And then a sluggish groan, a pained moan that caused his mind to grind to a halt. There was no mistaking whose voice that was, not to Vergil.

Nero.

Instinct took over. “Touch him again,” he growled, and he could feel the scales of chitin begin forming down his arms, his tail materializing and swishing around in agitation, “And you will never feel the sun on your face ever again.”

A soft chuckle knocked him back to reality. “Trust me, you’re not in a position to bargain, Vergil, Son of Sparda. Besides, my goal isn’t to kill him...yet.”

Vergil couldn’t help himself, not when Nero’s life was in the balance. While Yamato could get him anywhere in an instant, he had no clue of where his son was being held, no idea of how to rescue him. And so he broke down...and began to bargain.

“What do you want?”

“What I want….” the voice drawled, obviously savouring this moment, “Is to have you watch your son die before your very eyes, unable to do anything to save him. To be powerless. But…” there was a pause, “if you decide that you’re not up to the job, or send someone else to retrieve him, I’ll settle for killing him outright and sending you his body. Not as satisfying, but it still sends the message. Make your way to the ruins of the Phantomisa Theatre in Redgrave, I’ve set instructions and coordinates in the phone booth at the front doors. Follow those instructions to the letter, and come alone or else....” another thud, another pained moan, the threat was made clear. “Unlike you, I’m not the monster, I don’t want to make him suffer anymore than I have to. You have three hours.”

“Let me speak to-” Vergil practically yelled into the receiver, but all he got was the soft click of a hang up and a dial tone. How he managed to place the phone back on its cradle without smashing it to pieces was a miracle in itself. Three hours. That’s all he had. Perhaps it was bad luck, but this was the worst time for this to happen Dante was far off, clearing out a demonic filled cave, completely unreachable, and both Lady and Trish were somewhere across the continent, probably on yet another shopping spree. If this wasn’t just bad luck, whoever this person was had done their research...which was not reassuring at all.

Vergil stood up, and forced his demonic features back down. Right now, he needed a clear head, that was Nero’s only saving grace. He grabbed his coat, and unsheathed Yamato and after a few fumbled attempts, he managed to make a portal to the approximate location. He WOULD save his son...even if it cost him everything else.

He left behind a desk with a large chunk, gouged out, it’s splinters still embedded in his fingers.

#Devil May Cry #Dadgil #angst #Look what you made me do #Nonnie #Post DMC5 #Vergil

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ssa-babygirl · 3 years

Text

Out of My League [Part 4]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Single mom!Reader

Word count: ~3.2k

Summary: Why on Earth does everyone think you and Spencer are dating? That’s just ridiculous! Right?

Warning(s): the pining is strong with this one, alcohol consumption, i think there were like one or two swear words?? pretty tame

Author’s Note: OH MY GOD WE’RE BACK AGAIN!!!!! yeah it’s been WAyy too long I’m so sorry guys. ON THE BRIGHT SIDE!!! I’m almost done with the next part so the wait won’t be NEARLY as bad this time around. Ok love yall hope you like it!!!

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

The play was a lovely way to spend your evening. You could hear Spencer beside you muttering the words along with the actors. The monologues were beautiful coming from the talent on stage, but it was nothing compared to your best friend’s whispers when he thought you couldn’t hear him. You looked straight ahead to the stage, fearing that he’d stop if you indicated that you were listening, but you still felt his eyes on you as he gently uttered, “I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, to die upon the hand I love so well.”

Hearing the words you had read and swooned over countless times before coming from Spencer’s soft voice made a shiver run down your spine.

Spencer Reid did not just give you chills, that did not just happen, you told yourself.

The chill that ran across your body contrasted nicely with heat in your face when you felt his gaze roll over your features. You didn’t always like the feeling when someone’s eyes were on you, but something about it being Spencer’s eyes felt… right. You weren’t uncomfortable, quite the opposite, actually. You found yourself being overjoyed in your seat, but you couldn’t tell yourself why.

Or at least you refused to.

When the show ended, Spencer led you out the door you entered from, and you left the library with a dopey smile on your face as you stepped into the chilly autumn night. The sun had gone down during the play and the streetlamps glowed white against the black sky.

“You hungry?” Spencer asked.

“Starving.”

“It’s a little late for dinner, you think we’ll find a place?”

“It’s only eight o’clock, there’s gotta be somewhere.”

“A McDonald’s maybe?”

You laughed harder than you normally would, but his smile when he made his joke pulled an airy giggle from your lungs that you had no control over.

You wandered for blocks, finding restaurants that were still busy with long waits. A cute ice cream shop caught both your eyes from across the street and you and Spencer thought the same exact thing.

Some things really didn’t change since you were kids.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Of course I am, Y/N, why are we still on this side of the street?”

You crossed the road together, way too excited for grown adults to be about having ice cream for dinner. There was a line, but it was only a few people long, so you decided to wait for this more than worth it opportunity. As you approached the store, a young family was leaving. The daughter, a young girl in a pink sweater, was so focused on her cake batter flavored cone, she didn’t realize she dropped her stuffed rabbit. Spencer nearly stepped on it, but he picked it up and called after the family. They didn’t hear him, so he went after them and tapped the father on the shoulder.

“Hi, sorry, I think she dropped this.”

“Oh my goodness, Lucy, you dropped your bunny!” The mother shrieked.

“Thank you so much, really,” said Lucy’s dad, “Say thank you, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, sweetheart!” Lucy took the toy from Spencer and smiled.

About ten feet behind the scene, you were losing it. Spencer turned around after the family left and made a face while you laughed your ass off.

“That was the cutest thing I have ever seen!” You giggled as he held the door open for you, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Spencer cracked a smile and bit his lips, gaze dropping to the floor as he blushed.

Okay, maybe that was the cutest thing you had ever seen.

“I miss when Jamie was that little. He was so cute!”

“He’s still a cute kid!” The line moves forward, you’re next up.

“Well, yeah, of course, he is! But now he knows what words mean and that’s not as funny.”

“Children learn through imitation, so it makes sense he copied things you did and said because you're his mom, he looks up to you.”

“He looks up to you, too, you know.” The family in front of you got their ice cream and left, leaving you to order, “Can I get a sugar cone of cookies and cream?” The girl behind the counter nodded and scooped your ice cream. She then turned to a catatonic Spencer, who was staring at you, cheeks flushed and lips parted. He snapped out of it and ordered a cup of rocky road with extra marshmallow fluff on top.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked as you pulled out your credit card.

“Paying for our ice cream, what does it look like?”

“No, I’ll pay—” He reached for his pocket, but was too slow.

“Oops, too late,” you said, swiping your card and smirking. The girl behind the counter smiled and waved to you as you left.

“Did you mean that? Jamie looks up to me?”

You turned to look at Spencer, whose eyes were full of stars as he grinned back at you, “Yeah! Of course, he does!”

“Really?”

“Oh, don’t be so surprised, Spencer, you’re like his real-life superhero. You saved his life, genius, he wants to be just like you.”

“He wants to be a profiler?”

“Not necessarily. He thinks you’re a secret agent. Like a spy.”

Spencer chuckled, “And how do you feel about that?”

“Oh, it’s terrifying, I hate it.”

“Yep,” Spencer spooned some ice cream into his mouth, “That’s what I thought.”

“I mean, Jesus, Spence, I get retroactive heart attacks from all the shit you tell me about your cases, I don’t know if I want my kid getting into that. I’d worry even more than I already do.”

“You worry about me?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“What?”

“You’re my best friend, genius! Of course, I worry about you!”

You finished your ice creams on the metro and walked home in comfortable silence. As you turned the corner onto your block, you grinned up at Spencer.

“Thanks for playing tour guide today. I had fun. Haven’t gone out with friends since I moved here.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t have any friends here to go out with.”

His eyebrows jumped as he sputtered out a sentence, “Oh. W-well why don’t you come out with the team and me sometime?”

“No, they’re your friends I wouldn’t wanna intrude—”

“You wouldn't be intruding, you're my friend too.”

“Spence—”

“One of my teammates is having a dinner party tomorrow night. He’s a great cook and would love to meet you.”

You dug around your bag for your keys, “I don’t know anyone else on the team!”

“You know JJ! And Derek, too. He’s been asking about you.” Spencer’s eyes dropped to his shoes again as your welcome mat became way more interesting than your face.

“Really?” He pursed his lips and nodded. You thought it over for a moment and decided, “Fine. Text me a time and address.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, “No, I-I’ll pick you up.”

“Woah woah woah, you’re gonna drive me around?” You laughed in disbelief, “Sorry, Doc, I know our whole dynamic has changed a bit ‘cuz we’re both grown-ups now, but I’m not sure either of us is quite ready for that.”

His smile finally flashed back across his face, “Come on, I owe you.”

“For what?”

“You bought the ice cream!” His voice was high pitched.

You matched his tone, “You took me to the Shakespeare library!”

“You took me to McDonald’s 106 times in high school! I’m sure the amount of money you spent on my food could buy the whole gift shop!”

Your jaw fell open, “You counted?”

“I can’t help it!”

You rolled your eyes, failing to fight back a grin, “Goodnight, genius.”

He bit his lips and smiled, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You jam the key in your door and push it open, closing it with your body as you sigh, leaning your head back against it.

“That good, huh?” Said a voice from the living room, causing you to jump.

“Jesus, mom, what are you still doing up?” You sigh, clutching your chest.

“Well, I put Jamie to bed, I figured I’d wait up for you so I can hear about your date!”

“Wh- mom, what are you talking about?”

“With Spencer! How was your date?”

“That wasn’t a date!”

“Really? So you guys just walked around for hours in silence doing nothing?”

“We didn’t just walk around!”

“So what’d you guys do?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh my god, mom.”

“You’re not denying anything!”

“Mom!”

“You can tell me, it’s just us girls.”

“He took me to the Shakespeare Library! We got ice cream! That’s it! Nothing happened!”

“Shakespeare Library? Ice cream?” her eyebrows darted up so far it was almost like a cartoon character, “Toots, that’s not nothing!”

“It’s nothing. We just saw a play-”

“What play?”

“Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

Your mother closed her book and tossed it next to her on the couch. “Oh! You mean your favorite! Silly me for thinking this was a romantic outing!”

“It wasn’t!”

“Who paid for the ice cream?”

“I did.”

“Did he offer?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t let him.”

Your mother sighed, “You’re telling me it wasn’t a date, but all I’m hearing is that Spencer thought it was.”

“Then why didn’t he make a move?”

“So many reasons! He’s shy! He’s a gentleman! Maybe he thought you weren’t into him.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

Is everyone a profiler now? God!

“Mom, it’s getting late, I walked the length of the city today, I’m going to bed. You can stay over if you don’t wanna drive, but I’m getting some sleep.”

“Right, you need to be rested for tomorrow night. Got a dinner party to go to!”

“Were you listening?”

“The window was open just a crack, I may have heard some of the conversation.”

“Jesus…”

“What? You’re meeting his friends already, this is big.”

You groaned, dragging your feet up the stairs to your bedroom, changing out of your clothes, and hopping in the shower before cozying up for bed. Whether or not you wanted to admit your mom was right, you knew she was. And that terrified you.

(Spencer’s POV)

I rang the doorbell of her house at exactly 6:30, just like I said I would. Seconds later, the door swung open and revealed her smiling face shimmering with her makeup. I took in her outfit, a cute floral dress reaching the tops of her knees. I tried to make sure my eyes didn’t linger on the neckline for too long when I noticed a thin silver chain resting on her collarbone. A small heart-shaped pendant dangled from it.

“Wow.” Was all I could manage, “You look—”

“Totally overdressed, right? Cuz I can dress this down a bit, I just need to change the shoes and throw on a jacket. You know what? I have another dress upstairs I’ll just cha—”

“No, Y/N, you look…” Beautiful, enchanting, stunning, like the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen, I thought about saying all of that, but instead, I just said, “Great.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” I tried to say it as sincerely as possible, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yep!” She reached around the door to take a denim jacket from a hook on the wall, throwing it over her shoulders, “Lemme just get my purse—” she glanced around the room and cut herself off with a groan.

“What?”

“I left my bag in my room. Here, come inside, it’s chilly out.” She rushed down the hall to hurry up the stairs to what I’d assume was her bedroom. I stepped across the threshold and into the warm home. There was a faint glow of light from the kitchen, where a child’s laugh bubbled from the room. I followed the sound and found Jamie and Mrs. L/N sitting at the table doing a puzzle.

“Oh, hi, Spencer!” She called.

“Doctor Spencer!” Jamie jumped up from his seat and ran to me, wrapping his arms around my legs.

“Hey, little man!” I ruffled his hair and flashed a grin to Y/N’s mom.

I heard the tapping of shoes descending the stairs behind me, “Okay, got everything, you ready?”

I quickly turned around at the sound of Y/N’s voice and saw her smiling at Jamie beside me.

“Goodnight, Jamie-baby, I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Have fun with grandma,” she cooed as she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Goodnight!”

“Bye, buddy!”

“Bye, Doc!”

“Have fun you two, be safe!” Y/N’s mom grinned as she waved us away.

“Oh my god, mom, stop.”

“Okay! Goodnight, my loves!”

“Goodnight!”

Y/N marched out the door and followed the path down to the street, where my car was parked.

“Last chance, Doc, want me to drive instead?”

I passed her to open the passenger side door for her, “Not a chance, I promised.”

“What a gentleman! Now let’s see if we make it there in one piece first.”

The laugh I let out was half-mockery, half-nerves, as I was not the best driver. I had a Ph.D. in engineering and understood more about physics than most people, but that doesn’t mean I knew how to focus well enough to apply that knowledge. When it is literally impossible for me to forget that I have a 1 in 96 chance of dying in a car accident, my hypervigilance does more harm than good.

“So who am I meeting? Who’s on your team?”

My anxieties were somewhat quelled by the sound of her voice, allowing me to pull my thoughts away from the possibility of becoming one of the 20% of fatal car crashes that occur in intersections.

“Well, you already know JJ and Garcia. Hotch, my boss—”

“Tall, dark, handsome? Never smiles?”

I chuckled, “That’s the guy.”

“He seems fun at parties.”

“He’s actually not that bad. Just a bit too serious sometimes.”

“Okay, and who haven’t I met?”

“The host, David Rossi, Emily, you’ll love them.”

“Is Derek coming?”

IQ of 187 and I still don’t think anyone could have explained to me why that upset me as much as it did. It’s not like Y/N was my girlfriend or anything, she was allowed to want Derek, most girls did, so there was no reason for me to be jealous. She wasn’t mine to lose.

“Yeah. He’ll be there.”

We pulled up to Rossi’s mansion a few minutes later, after riding in semi-awkward silence. She waited for me next to her side of the car, not wanting to walk up to the door by herself. I reached out to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder as I drew closer. She gave me a tight-lipped smile before dropping her eyes to the ground between us.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m nervous, what if they don’t like me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, what’s not to love?” I didn’t even realize how much I meant those words at the time, so I doubt she understood how serious I was, but her smile softened and her shoulders relaxed slightly under my touch. I led her up to the front porch and rang the doorbell. Shortly after, Garcia opened the door and beamed at the two of us.

“You’re here! Oh my goodness, so nice to see you again!” She pulled Y/N into a hug that she very quickly accepted.

“Hi, Penelope, good to see you too.” She pulled away and grinned at me, the worry mostly drained from her eyes now.

“Come here, boy genius, you get one too!” She wrapped her arms around my waist and my face found its place in her blonde curls. We all went inside and saw the whole team sitting around a coffee table with glasses of wine in their hands. JJ put her glass on the table and got up from her seat on the cushy leather couch to hug Y/N.

“You’re not one of mine, are you?” Rossi sipped his drink and eyed Y/N.

“Um, this is Y/N, my uh, my friend.” I stammered.

“Ah! You’re the doctor’s little lady friend I’ve heard so much about!” Rossi put his scotch down on the table and crossed the room to kiss her on both cheeks, “Lovely to meet you, bella, I’m—”

“David Rossi. Yes, Spencer’s told me about you. Nice to meet you,” she grinned, shaking his hand.

“Ah,” he scoffed, “call me Dave.”

“What? No fair!” Emily piped up, taking a big sip of wine, “You just met her and she gets ‘Dave’ privileges? I’ve worked with you for months!”

“Emily, look me in the eyes and try to call me Dave.” She looked at him and opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but she just took another sip while JJ and Morgan laughed at her.

Hotch flashed a rare smile to Y/N, “Good to see you again.”

“Yes! Glad it’s under better circumstances, Agent Hotchner.”

“Me too. And please,” he extended a hand to her, “call me Aaron.”

This time it was Morgan who spoke up, “No way! Only Rossi calls you by your first name!”

“And me,” Emily mumbled.

“And now Y/N, too.”

“I’m honored, Aaron.”

Looking at her face now all remaining anxiety had just about vanished. I told her she had nothing to worry about, and now she was finally listening to me. Rossi called us all to the kitchen where he told us to grab a plate so he could serve us before we sat down at the table. He gave us each a plate of his famous spaghetti carbonara before taking his seat at the head of the table. The team all chatted about their lives, as we ate. Hotch showed Y/N pictures of Jack on his phone, Emily probed JJ about Will, Morgan, and Rossi poked fun at me for bringing Y/N, but I just rolled my eyes and tried to ignore them. Plates were cleaned, stories were told, and wine bottles were emptied. Mostly by Emily and Y/N.

JJ was the one to try to cut them off, “Don’t you have to drive this one home?” She gestured to me.

She put her hands up defensively, “He picked me up.”

“Reid, you hate driving!” Garcia pointed out, prompting Morgan to spare a knowing glance to Rossi.

“You do?”

“I don’t hate it, I just prefer not to.” I was a profiler, but that didn’t mean I was a good liar.

“Spence, I offered to drive you.”

I shrugged, “I didn’t mind.”

Her eyes lingered on me for another moment before taking another sip of wine and resuming her conversation with Emily. I knew they’d get along. Towards the end of the night, Rossi proposed a toast.

“To familia.”

Y/N smiled, staying quiet.

“Oh, come on now, you too, bella.” He raised his glass to her and clinked the crystal, “You’re stuck with us now, get over it.”

“I’m not complaining, Dave.” Her words were to Rossi, but she never stopped looking at me. Probably just had a bit too much to drink.

Right?

Taglist~~~

Lmk if you wanna be added! Some names didn’t work so if you don’t see your name as a tag just dm me a url and I’ll try to fix it

@lawnmoa @ellvswriting @baby-pogue @rottenearly @confused-and-really-hungry @thatsonezesty13 @deni-gonzalez @irjuejjsaa @randomfandomshitposts @bisoner @moonstarrnghtsky @smurfflynn @eldahae @t0xicllama @undeniablyyou @staplernpaper @theweirdobella @sammypotato67 @k-k0129 @helloniallslovelies @dazzlingnights @uhuhuh @booksarekindaneat @crimeshowtrash

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vnderoos · 3 years

Text

what could've been ✷ fred weasley

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner) warnings / language word count / 2.1k

masterlist in bio ↴

IT WAS THE FIRST TIME IN months that Y/N had mustered up enough courage to visit Molly and Arthur at the Burrow, after the battle and all. It was the first time she'd even been able to think about stepping foot in the place when everything in it reminded her of the man she'd lost that day. She'd spent the whole day with his parents, after Molly had spent so much time begging for her to visit, but for some reason, Y/N couldn't bring herself to leave when the time came.

Being in the home had placed yet another crushing weight on her chest, but something about it was exactly what she needed, so Molly had offered up one of the children's old rooms, even though they were far from children now, due to age and experience alike. Y/N had thanked her for that, but something about going up the stairs seemed very, very wrong to her, and she decided to take the couch instead. The redheaded woman had made sure she was comfortable, with a nice, fluffy pillow for her head and a thick quilt to keep her warm, and she'd turned in for the night herself.

This had all happened hours ago, before Y/N had fallen asleep and woken up from a bad dream all the same. She couldn't say that she was surprised as she laid in the darkness of the living room, fidgeting with the ring on her left hand, that Fred Weasley still occupied her thoughts—definitely not when she was sitting in his childhood home—but she couldn't deny the way that it made her ache. Sometimes, when she woke up like this, she hoped that everything had all been a dream, but when she reached up to touch her cheek, to touch the scar that had been left as a reminder of a time she wished she could forget, she knew it had been anything but.

This night, though, seemed infinitely more painful without him.

The Burrow used to be a place of comfort, a safe haven of sorts. She had memories of countless summers spent there, playing under the beating sun with the Weasley kids and Harry Potter, and how full it had felt with all of them around, but after Fred's passing, after they'd all moved on with their lives and left the nest, it felt so empty. No longer was it noisy with the laughter that used to filter through them all or bright with shared smiles or zipping with fireworks set off by the twins.

Instead, it was hollow with the shells of their rooms—of his room—and void of belly laughs. It felt as tilted as it looked on the outside, like it was barely holding itself together anymore. It was empty hallways covered in shadows and quiet walls filled with moving pictures that made you want to stare at your feet.

It was less of a shelter now, and more of a memorial.

Y/N stared up at the ceiling, her right hand still on the engagement ring they'd found in his pocket, and she ran her thumb over the diamond. She could feel tears prickling in the spaces behind her eyes when she flipped her hand over and her eyes flickered to her finger, watching the only words he'd left behind for her light up like soft, orange embers. Forever yours — Fred. She watched the letters fade away in a matter of seconds, before she swiped her thumb over the diamond again. She did that a couple more times, before she couldn't bare it anymore, and she swallowed thickly to get rid of that familiar knot in her throat.

She pushed the quilt off of her body, finding it rather suffocating, now, and she sat up on the couch. She brought her knees over the edge and tugged her hands through her hair, and as she felt the cold band of her ring brushing against her forehead, she realized she'd forgotten what he smelled like. "Oh, God," she whispered into her wrists and the tears—fuck, they stung. The whole realization stung, in fact, and it felt like something had sucked the wind out of her lungs, because she couldn't remember.

If six months was all it took for her to forget the smell of maple syrup, fireworks, and a warm, summer evening, then she didn't want to know how long it would take to forget the sound of his laugh, or the shape of his nose, or the way it felt when she tucked herself into his arms after a long day.

She couldn't take it.

She couldn't sit there and let herself forget him when there was half a room dedicated to nobody but him, so she found it in herself to stand up, and make her way to the staircase. It seemed almost haunting, staring back at her as she looked at it, and it took her almost three minutes to take the first step. The railing was cold against the warmth of her palm and it sent a shiver running down her spine, but she shook it away.

Y/N pushed all her doubts to the back of her mind and she walked up the staircase, making her way to the door of the bedroom that he used to share with George. She put her hand on the doorknob and ripped it open like you'd rip off a bandage and she nearly crumbled. The smell of old parchment, broom polish, and stale gunpowder, along with what she'd recalled earlier, hit her like a ton of bricks and her knees buckled.

She took a step into the room and it felt like the walls were closing in on her, like her chest was caving in on her, but she made her way over to one of the two beds, the one that he used to sleep in, and she ran her fingers over the red quilt. It was cold to the touch, after months of sitting dormant, and she clenched her fingers into a fist. She remembered the nights where she'd be wrapped up in that very quilt, with Fred cuddled into her side, after she'd walked in after a nightmare, and he'd told her he'd keep her safe.

And he always did.

As her fingers brushed over the quilt, they ran over something else, something softer. She picked it up gently and leaned over towards the bedside table. She slipped her free hand under the lampshade and she turned on the light, washing the room in a soft yellow, and when she looked down at her hands, her breath caught in her throat. Christmas was only a month away, but in her fingertips, there was a sweater. It was a deep red and there was a golden 'F' stitched on the chest and she could feel her heart sink in realization.

Molly had still knitted him a sweater this year.

Y/N brought the fabric to her nose and she took a whiff, shutting her eyes tightly when the tears started to well up. She wasn't sure how long it had sat in the room, but it smelled just like him, all the same. She could feel that knot forming in her throat again and she decided to throw the sweater on over her own shirt, pulling the sleeves around her hands and hugging her arms to her body. Maybe, if she closed her eyes tight enough, it would feel like he was the one doing the hugging. She squeezed her eyes so tight, she could see starts, but even then, she couldn't change the fact that he wasn't. He wasn't hugging her and he never would be, not anymore.

Fred would never be there to wrap an arm around her in the mornings and pull her into his side while he held a cup of coffee in his other hand. He would never be there to scoop her up off of the ground after a good day at the shop and tell her how much he loved her. He would never be there to give her a bear hug when she wasn't feeling well. He would never be there at all, and the more she thought about it, the harder the tears started to fall, and she could feel her first vocal sob sputtering from her lips.

She didn't stop it, like she had when she was downstairs, but instead, she laid down on his bed and turned her back against the lamp, curling up into a ball and letting her cries get the best of her. She couldn't help but wonder what he would've done if he'd seen her like that, but she could only imagine. She remembered how after particularly bad nightmares he would hold her so tightly in the darkness, thread his long fingers through her hair, and tell her that everything was going to be just fine. She remembered how he would talk about other things to take her mind off of it and how, when he thought she'd fallen asleep, he'd start to tell her that he was going to marry her one day. He would talk about having a large family together, like his own, except with how well the joke shop was doing, they'd be able to spoil the kids. He would talk about having a nice, cozy home like the Burrow and a big yard where he could teach the kids how to play quidditch, and she couldn't stop sobbing now. She was so overtaken by the fact that she'd never get to have that with him, that she couldn't even breathe.

"Y/N, is that—" she'd barely even heard the door creak open as Molly walked in, and the woman stopped in her tracks when she did. The sight of seeing Y/N, who she'd looked after like her own all these years, in such a weak state was enough to make her own eyes water, and she brought a hand to her chest. "Oh, darling," she whispered, because her voice refused to go any higher, and she made her way over to the bed. She sat down beside the girl, whose body shook with every cry, and Y/N moved to hug her almost immediately. Molly didn't think she'd ever felt the girl hug her as hard as she did now, feeling her bury her face into her chest, and she wrapped her arms around her just as tightly. "I've got you, dear," she muttered sadly, and she laid back against the wall, a tear slipping down her own cheek.

Y/N's fists were balled up around the fabric of Molly's shirt and her eyes were squeezed shut as she sobbed. "I'm sorry," she whispered against the woman's chest. "I'm so, so sorry, Molly," she repeated, and she could feel herself breaking into pieces. Everything she'd tried to be since Fred died just came unraveling.

"No, dear," Molly whispered into her hair, pressing a kiss into it softly, and resting her chin on her head. "Don't be sorry, we all miss him. It's okay," she promised, giving her a good squeeze.

Y/N shook her head against her. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him," she elaborated, the moment flashing through her head like it had happened the day before—the smile that had been on his face, before it wasn't. "I should've stayed with him."

"Don't talk like that, darling." Molly leaned down to grab a fuzzy blanket that had been folded at the foot of the bed and she pulled it over herself and Y/N gently. "It wasn't your fault in the slightest," she reassured her and Y/N nodded, another son wracking her body, and Molly's eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"We would've gotten married," she said, acutely aware of the ring on her finger, and it was in that moment that Y/N absolutely shattered. Her hands tightened around Molly's shirt and she let out a strangled scream, feeling the woman tug her impossibly closer. "He was supposed to be the rest of my life, and without him, I'm nothing," she admitted, her lip quivering as she did.

Molly brushed her fingers through Y/N's hair softly, just like Fred used to, and she pressed her forehead against the girl's head. "You are still everything to me. To us," she promised on behalf of the rest of the Weasleys, and she smushed her cheek against her head. "We love you so much, sweet girl."

At that, Y/N just nodded and she continued to cry into Molly until she fell asleep.

In the morning, when the sun filtered through the window of the twins' old room, the woman was gone, and there was a plate of warm biscuits sitting in her place. The fact that Y/N was still in the room was the only indication that the last night had even happened at all.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagines #james phelps #james phelps x reader #james phelps imagines #george weasley #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #.

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wondernimbus · 4 years

Text

wishful thinking — harry potter

pairing: harry potter x female!reader

request: Hey you know the dancing scene between Harry and Hermione in the deathly hallows part 1? I was wondering if I could request a one shot with Harry but he's dancing with the reader instead, and when they stop dancing Harry confess his love for her and kiss her?? ❤️❤️❤️ It would be awesome if you could do it!

a/n: probably not gonna be able to post as much as i used to since i’m starting an online summer program thing tomorrow :(

It gets overwhelming, sometimes, the whole Boy-Who-Lived business. The only one to ever survive the Killing Curse, the boy who defeated the Dark Lord before he could even walk and talk, savior of the wizarding world—Harry Potter.

Whenever people say his name, they either speak of him as if he's a saint or an annoying teenage boy desperate for attention. It's either he's the slayer of Lord Voldemort or that kid who thinks too highly of himself just because he got lucky enough to not die. He's many different things to many different people depending on which side of the story they heard and who they heard it from.

But Harry is.. well, he's Harry. Just Harry.

And Harry is a boy like any other. Harry doesn't spring up out of bed and start plotting Voldemort's downfall; he's a seventeen-year-old boy who finds joy in things like spending summer days playing Quidditch and joking around with his small circle of friends out by the Hogwarts courtyard just like anyone else. He loves and hurts and hopes and laughs—just like anyone else.

And Harry feels pain, too. Just like anyone else.

But what sets Harry apart from an ordinary teenager is that his eyes have seen far too much death than anyone his age is supposed to. Harry has witnessed it countless of times knowing that some, if not most of them were his fault. He has loved people only to lose them in the end; he has carried the burden of grief on his shoulders for as long as he can remember. And after all of those losses, it's only inevitable that he starts noticing:

Everyone close to him dies. One way or the other.

So when he starts noticing his heart growing too close to her—when he finds his gaze lingering on her far longer than necessary, when images of her smiling face sneak into his head in the dead of night—Harry decides to put a stop to it. He has to, while it's still early.

But feelings like these don't just go away. No matter how hard Harry tries to convince himself that [Y/N] is a friend just like Ron and Hermione and every other, his feelings linger like an echoing noise inside his head that surfaces whenever he lets his guard down; loud and incessant and unwilling to go away.

And so two years pass with him having a tug of war in his head between letting himself succumb to his feelings or pushing them away to protect her. Because really, no matter how much he feels for her, he is scared that one day he will wake up and hear that she has been captured and killed like so many before her, just because she is close to Harry.

He wishes he could be selfish. He wishes he could think to himself that, okay, you've been through a lot and you deserve this—you deserve to love and to be loved, but he can't risk putting her life on the line like that. He has risked far too much and lost too many—he can't add her onto that list.

Except it doesn't get any easier to restrain himself.

Every waking moment he spends with her he is left in disbelief because Harry has never thought that he could feel this happy and this miserable at the same time. Happy because he feels like he's at home and at peace, but miserable because he knows he can never have her.

Harry wonders if he will ever let himself feel love the way it's supposed to be felt someday.

He wonders it now, sitting in silence with her in the tent they've been sharing on the run for quite some time. It's at times like these that everything that has happened to them for the past few months starts to pile up on his shoulders; terror and pain and loss that has been set aside too often but now demands to be felt.

They've run from Snatchers and escaped the clutches of death more times than Harry can count. Each time, he inches ever so closer to losing her, as he has feared for so long. And he feels it now, stronger than ever before—the fear.

He stares at her from a few feet away. [Y/N]'s gaze is fixed on the floor, eyes gazing absently. She looks tired. Her cheeks have gone hollow and there are tiny scars on her face and on her arms that hadn't been there months ago, some fresh and some just beginning to heal. Harry wants to reach out and press his lips to each one of them in turn like this will somehow heal them, one by one.

But instead he sits there, staring, hoping against hope that she can't see the love threatening to burst right out of his chest.

It's the kind of love you hold between your lungs and your ribcage and hope that no one can see it glowing through your skin. The kind that you keep to yourself. The dangerous kind.

But the night is quiet and so are the pair of them. There is a song playing on the radio. [Y/N] and Harry are the only living, breathing souls for miles and miles aside from a rabbit or two, and there are no Snatchers around nor anyone hoping to kill them.

For the first time in a long time, Harry feels like he is allowed to breathe.

So he pushes away all of the burdens resting on his shoulders. He will acknowledge them at a different time. For now, he isn't the boy destined to bring about the Dark Lord's downfall, and for now, he isn't trying to protect anyone. [Y/N] included.

For now, he is just Harry, and there is nothing else in the world but him and [Y/N] and faint music crackling through the radio.

Harry gets to his feet and walks over to her. It takes [Y/N] a brief moment to realize that he is standing in front of her. Once she has snapped herself out of her reverie, she looks up at Harry, who has his hand held out.

"Care for a dance?" Harry asks her, and his voice is quiet but there is a ghost of a weak smile on his lips.

She blinks once. Twice. And then she lets out a long breath, nods, and lets Harry take her hand and pull her to her feet to the middle of the tent.

They are slow, at first. Hesitant. Neither of them quite know what they're doing—Harry definitely doesn't. The practice he received from McGonagall for the Yule Ball all those years ago is of little use, so he finds himself stumbling a little on his feet and repetitively stepping on [Y/N]'s toes by accident. But somewhere along the fifth time he does this, [Y/N] starts laughing—and once she starts, she can't seem to stop. So Harry starts laughing, too. And then he raises her arms and twirls her, over and over, laughing all the while as they dance erratically to the music until she spins back into his arms and stays there, hands on his shoulders, his on her waist as the song fades to a close and the moment of uncontrolled joy vanishes.

[Y/N] rests her head against his, silent.

Harry closes his eyes, waiting for her to pull away but not really wanting her to. As if she has heard him, she stays where she stands. And then, quietly, as though this brief moment of peace will slip away if he speaks too loud, Harry whispers, "What if we just stay here?"

She doesn't respond. Harry knows why—because it's impossible. There are too many people counting on them; too many lives to be saved and too little time. But Harry hopes, anyway, because it brings him even the slightest bit of comfort to envision a world where there is only him and her.

"We can grow old here together," Harry says, voice soft, and his chest aches. There's a lump in his throat and a painful prickling feeling behind his eyes as he keeps going, "We can stay and hide here until the war blows over." He doesn't mean it. But Harry can't quite have what other young boys do—normalcy and love and a life safe at home—so he is at least allowed to imagine. "We can stay and stop trying to find Horcruxes—stop trying to kill You-Know-Who."

"And leave everyone to die," [Y/N] finishes quietly. He both hears and feels her take a deep, shuddery breath; his grip on her waist tightens.

Harry wishes the world was different—or at least his. He never wanted to be famous. He never wanted his parents, nor anyone, to die for him. He wishes he could have grown up with a family he felt safe with, wishes he could have had more than a few months in his mother's arms and that he could take back all of the lives that had been sacrificed for him. And most of all, right in this moment, he wishes with all of his heart that he could love as freely as he wanted without having to worry about the consequences.

But those are just wishes, and nothing in the world can grant them. Not even magic.

Maybe that's why, when he pulls away and leans his forehead against hers, a single tear slips out of Harry's eyes. It's not like he doesn't know; he has known for a long time that some things in life he just can't have. But he's frustrated and desperate and the love in his chest that he has been trying to reign down for so long finally spills out and has him admitting, voice a hushed whisper, "I love you."

And then his lips are on hers, hesitant and slow and gentle, and it feels like finally as much as it feels like I can't do this.

He half-expects her to pull away. But she only moves his lips over his, just as slow. Harry tastes salty tears on his tongue—wonders whose tears they are, his or hers—and then she breaks away a little and replies in a mere whisper into his lips: "I know."

And for now, Harry thinks to himself, that is enough.

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter oneshots #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter x reader #hp oneshots #hp oneshot #hp imagine #hp imagines #hp x reader #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic

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