#to lift people up and celebrate with them. but all i can muster is tapping like on social media and it’s horrific. i have gifts to make and | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enchantestuff · 3 years

Text

promises - red bull Sebastian vettel

as I promised just complete fluff and no smut. our poor seb isn't appreciated enough so here is the four times Sebastian jokingly proposed to you and the one time he actually did

NOT MY GIF

warnings; none really, fluff (btw this made me realise how TERRIBLE I am at writing fluff sorry <3 )

2.1k words, she's long

Sebastian was nervous about getting a new engineer, he so badly wanted to win a championship with Redbull and Christian had confided in him, telling him that this engineer and their new competitive car, would help him live out his dream of being a Formula One champion.

It was nearing the start of the new season and Sebastian had still yet to meet the person that he would be talking to under his most stressful moments and who he had to have full faith in while driving his car. He had begun to think that maybe he never would meet his new engineer when he received a call from Christian, telling him that they both would take place in a race for the Redbull youtube channel, where Sebastain and his new engineer would race against Mark and his, the twist being that the engineers would be the ones driving, not the drivers themselves. Sebastian agreed knowing that it would be a great way to remove any awkwardness between the two of you.

Only a few days later Sebastian was standing on a random racetrack, talking to Mark when he noticed Mark's engineer walking towards them with a beautiful young lady by his side, who Sebastian assumed was his very own engineer. “Hi! It's so nice to meet you Sebastian! My name's Y/N,” you cheerfully greeted him as you shook his hand.

A smile immediately appeared on Sebastian's face at your warm nature and he knew you two would get along just fine. “Please, call me Seb, '' he grinned as he brought a kiss to your knuckles, “now, are you ready to beat these idiots” he joked as he cocked his head towards your opponents.

“Oh, we are going to make a great pair, Seb” you joked as you accepted a helmet off Christian and climbed into the car, getting comfortable inside of the driver's seat.

“Are you a good driver?” Sebastian asked as he secured himself in the passenger's side of the car.

“I don't think I can call myself a good driver with a future Formula One champion sitting right next to me” you smiled as you drove the car to the start line. Sebastian smiled before he braced himself as the flag spun, indicating the start of the race. His head knocked against the headrest as you sped through the track, blocking Mark's engineer as he tried to overtake you and weaving through deadly corners with minimal braking.

It was when the car drifted across the finish line that Seb turned towards you with a wide grin plastered on his face, his heart was thumping hard in his chest with adrenaline. “Please marry me” he joked and you laughed as you high fived him, pleased with your small victory.

* * *

The atmosphere around the paddock was tense, the drivers championship standings were close. Sebastian could almost taste the victory, but he still had a lot of work to do. He had what he would consider a terrible qualifying and had spent the whole night before the race brainstorming ideas on how to improve his time, however nothing seemed to be working.

Everyone was stressed in the Redbull motorhome the following day, which was never something you liked to see, but you understood it as you too had a sleepless night. You pulled Seb to the side the minute you saw him and told him of the new strategy you dreamt up late last night. He was hesitant since it hadn’t been approved by anyone, but he was willing to take the risk if it meant he would win.

“Are you sure?” he had asked you, looking intently into your eyes.

You shook your head. “No not really, but I know you and I know you're the only driver that could make it work” you confided. You both stared at each other in silence for a few moments before Seb pulled you in for a hug, he gently stroked your back as he squeezed you into him. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and hugged him back with just as much force.

“I trust you” he whispered into your ear and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Good luck” you spoke as you gave him a final squeeze and pulled away. You bit your nails out of anticipation and shot Seb an encouraging grin as he climbed into his car.

The race went much better than expected and although Christian was furious that you didn't run the plan through him first, he was satisfied that Seb was currently P1 with a final lap to go. Your nerves were at an all time high throughout the race and you could feel the grin creeping onto your face as the end got closer and closer.

It was when Sebastian crossed the checkered flag that you let out a relieved laugh. “P1 Seb! P1! '' you grinned as you spoke to him through his earpiece.

“Ahhhh thank you, Y/N! Will you and your strategy marry me please?” he laughed

“Congratulations,” you smiled “I’ll see you up on the podium”

You practically ran to the podium with the rest of the team, grinning up at Sebastian as he lifted the trophy into the air and you could almost swear he was grinning right back at you. You clapped and hollered at him and a blush crept up your cheeks when you saw him mouth a “Thank you” in your direction.

* * *

It was inevitable that you and Seb would become close, but you two had a very different relationship compared to the other drivers and their engineers. While the other pairs spent their time going over the car's performance and new strategies, you spent yours pressed up against the wall of your office while Sebastian kissed you with as much force as he could muster. Your most heated and intimate moments were just after a race when he was full of energy and you were full of pride.

Behind closed doors you and Sebastian could almost be compared to lovers, but out in the public eye you two kept things strictly professional, which is why you were full of shock the night that Sebastain had won his title.

The whole Redbull garage and the majority of the drivers went out to celebrate Sebastian as well as an amazing season. You had congratulated him at the start of the night, you shared a quick kiss when you were sure nobody was looking and he had bought you a drink. You hadn't seen him since, however and spent the last few hours talking to random drivers and team principals.

You almost jumped out of your skin when you felt two hands land firmly on your waist. You turned your head to see a tipsy Sebastian Vettel smiling at you with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “And there's the main man himself,” you giggled as you turned around to face him.

“I missed you,” he blurted out as his hands travelled dangerously low for a public event.

“Did you?” you asked “you're the one that disappeared for an hour” you continued as you tapped his chest.

“Kimi wanted to take shots,” he grinned as one hand moved to cup your bum.

“Sebastian!” you scolded as you swatted his hand away.

“What? It's not like i've never done that before”

“Well yeah, but-but not in public’ you whispered as you looked around, wondering if anyone had noticed the exchange between the two of you.

“I want you,” Sebastian declared, suddenly looking much more sober as he stared into your eyes.

“Let's take this conversation outside” replied as you took a step away from him. Sebastian sighed as he took your hand and led you out the doors, he didn’t care who saw as you both walked by, he didn’t care about anything anymore, he was sick of hiding his feelings for you from everyone. He wanted people to know you were his, he wanted to hold your hand in the paddocks and kiss you for good luck before a race.

Sebastain could feel his heart hammering in his chest as you paced back and forth in front of him, your hands rubbing your arms for warmth. He took a step towards you and grabbed your face with his hands. “Look at me. I want to make us official” you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off “No listen to me. I need to say this. i don't want to sneakily glance at you during meetings anymore. I want to marry you one day. God! I want to marry you, Y/N! Is that not obvious?”

“Ok” you spoke, a blush rose to your cheeks and you cheekily grinned at him.

‘What?” Sebastian stuttered

“Let's make it official”.

* * *

You and Sebastian had been publicly dating for a little over a year and you were beyond happy. It was currently his birthday and you woke up early to make him breakfast. You both had celebrated the night before and you had to admit you were still sore but you wanted his day to be as special as him.

Sebastian tossed and turned in his sleep, frowning as he felt the cold sheets next to him instead of your warm body. His eyes fluttered open as his eyebrows furrowed. A smile soon made its way onto his face as he smelt the heavenly scent of breakfast. He turned to stand up but immediately sat back down at the sound of your voice. “No! Dont get up!” you pleaded and he laughed at the sight of you struggling to hold the breakfast tray in your hands.

“You shouldn't have, liebe” he muttered as he helped you place the breakfast tray on the bed.

“Maybe” you shrugged as you sat down next to him, “but I wanted to, now go on! Try it!” you encouraged as you practically shoved the plate into his face.

“Okay, okay” he laughed as he defensively put his hands up. You watched him as he put a fork full of food into his mouth, his eyes involuntarily shut as a quiet moan left his mouth. “Mmm marry me” he said once he swallowed the food.

“Is it okay?” you asked nervously as you played with your hands, it was your first time cooking for him and although it was just breakfast, you still wanted to make a good impression.

Sebastians head flipped in your direction, a shocked look plastered on his face. “It's better than okay, darling. Thank you. I love it. I love you”

Your heart fluttered once you heard those three words come out of his mouth. You grinned so hard that your cheeks began to hurt. “Oh god, please say something” he pleaded and he began to think that he spoke those words too soon.

“I love you, Sebastian” you spoke as you wrapped your arms around him and straddled his hips, placing kisses all over his face before finally collecting your lips.

* * *

It was yours and Sebastains anniversary but you both had decided that you wouldn't do anything special, you were just going to get takeout and watch a movie.

You pulled into the house with the food in your hands. You unlocked the door and called out to your boyfriend, “Honey, I’m home!” you joked, locking the doors behind you kicking your shoes off. You placed the food on the table next to the door and turned around, the sight in front of you shocking you as you let out a loud gasp.

Sebastian was kneeling on the floor with a ring in his hand, rose petals littered around him. You couldn't focus on the gorgeous dinner he had laid out on the table or the sweet music playing on the radio, you could only look at his glossy eyes and nervous face.

“Y/N, darling, I love you. I think i've loved you since I first laid eyes on you on that racetrack.” he laughed and looked down at the floor before connecting his eyes with yours again,”You have been with me through my lowest lows and my highest highs and somehow still manage to look at me with a glimmer in your eyes. There's nothing I can’t do with you by my side. So i’m asking-no-i'm practically begging you to finally marry me, for real this time. Will you do me the honours and become my wife?”

You nodded at him with tears in your eyes as you took small steps towards him. “I want to hear you say it, liebe”

“Yes, Sebastian! Of course I’ll marry you”

#Sebastian Vettel imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #Sebastian vettel #f1 #Sebastian Vettel imagines #formula 1 x reader

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signedaiko · 3 years

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Can I request a mtmte Rodimus x shy reader?

👉👈 :3

Dance with me? [Rodimus x reader]

The reader is Human Feminine | MTMTE based

Recommended Song - Let's Groove by Earth, Wind & Fire

Trying to focus on the report I had to complete was becoming impossible. We were only a handful of hours past a terribly busy day, and unfortunately we suffered a few losses. Not many people were experiencing their best right now. The pounding music from below my room wasn't helping either. I knew everyone else was trying to get their minds off it with a 'celebration of life' dance but that was not an option for me. Much too dangerous for someone of my stature to step into a ring of drunken giant robots. Typing away a sentence at a time was all I managed to muster, and it was beginning to frustrate me to tears. I had to wipe a few away, wanting nothing more than to just sleep the agony off. "Y/N!" I tensed immediately, nearly dropping the little datapad I was using. After that little flight or fight response in disguise I calmed myself and set the device away, turning to the voice I needed to hear right now. "Rodimus." A weak smile creeped it's way onto my face. I would always be able to muster something up for my favorite bot on the whole ship. No doubt he was dealing with the brunt of the pain everyone shared right now. "You didn't get dinner, so I brought it for you." The kind captain sat a box next to me, it radiated with warmth and a nice smell. I opened it to reveal a nice assortment of my favourite foods, delicious. "I missed it?" My eyes scanned to the clock on my desk, "Oh my...I didn't realize the hour!" It was far past dinner, and by extension far past the time I was supposed to meet up with at his habsuite. We were supposed to have a date night before tomorrow... "Consider yourself lucky that I just can't help but adore you, sweet-cheeks!" aaand here comes the pet names. His servos lifted me with ease and I leaned in to give him a little peck on the cheek. I took out my eating utensils and pecked away at the meal, listening to him talk about his plans. I noticed an avoidance in any of the topics regarding today. I really was lucky to have him, but I wished I could do more to get him to open up about his deeper emotions. Rodimus seemed to sit in silence for a moment, basking in the attention I gave him regarding his ideas for the quest's continuation. It wasn't until I finished eating that he said anything more. "Why don't we do a little dancing?" Well that surely wasn't what I was expecting. "You know I don't- don't..." I found myself stumbling over my words as a new song began to play from below. It was one of my favorites from when I was younger! But, how? I could see a smirk play on his face, and I knew very well that he had planned this all out. I would have never expected him to do something so nice for me, but he was full of surprises. When I came back to my senses, I was placed upon an empty berth in the room, now much closer to his height. "No one else will know, it's just us." My heart nearly leapt, he really did know how to wiggle his way into my arms. He shamelessly began to dance along to the songs, and a laugh managed to escape me looking at his silly movements. I very slowly began to not along, tapping my foot to the intro of the song. It was then that an amazing idea came rushing back to me. "There's a dance to this you know, I used to do it all the time when I was just a kid!" He raised an eyebrow and watched me curiously. I moved my arms forwards and back in a clockwise motion, and began to spin with it on beat. Rodimus watched me for a moment before happily joining in on my rhythm, he seemed to be really enjoying it! Such a simple little dance, but it was so fun to do. I laughed watching him stumble his first few times by trying to keep up, and by the time the chorus passed I was all out of breath. "You got it!" I cheered, jumping up into his servo once he extended them to me. I couldn't help but continue to sway into the music all while he held me, continuing a small dance of his own design. "Earth music is so 'groovy'" He chuckled, I couldn't help but agree. Seems he had a new word he was going to use and abuse though! The thought amused me. All my

worries melted away, and we each relaxed into the beat and joyful connotations it held for the both of us. Maybe being up here wasn't so bad after all, I didn't like having too many eyes on me all at once. By the time the song ended, we each found a comfortable seat on the berth. He sat with his back up against the wall, his entire posture had changed since he entered my room. Then again, I felt the exact same. "Next time, I am so showing you this other dance." Rodimus hummed as he listened to my many ideas. He was glad you wanted there to be a next time, he would do anything to see you happy like that more often. In a likely manner, you were happy to see a genuine and personal him. Before much changed, another song flickered on. My eyes widened as I realized it was yet another nostalgic banger. The captain may have not planned this one out, but it was perfect luck that next time got to be so soon. ----------------

Requested by - Anon

Word Count - 1,000

#transformers #idw #x reader #transformers x reader #oneshot #transformers oneshot #mtmte #mtmte x reader #lost light x reader #maccadam #rodimus #rodimus prime #rodimus x reader #rodimus oneshot #mtmte rodimus #idw rodimus #more than meets the eye

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aenaxes · 3 years

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OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

#fun fact: my signature party trick is flirting with a guy and then stealing his blunt ✌️😗#thinking about how schlorbe n i agreed crosshair listens to souncloud mumble rap :/#its ok i kiss him anyways #hc that crosshair’s an econ/finance bro and hunter’s a history major hehe #sequel series: crosshair goes venture capital (gross)#tech's probably at like the space equivalent of mit or something #and i will Die on the hill that wrecker's super smart with kinesiology #crosshair x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #anon #yaej.writes

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

part 2 to the disownment fic pretty please

Here we go, folks. Grab some tissues and some water if you think you’ll need it. This is the first fic I’ve almost cried while writing (it has a happy ending, though, bc of course it does). Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove! Haz, I’m so sorry for putting your boy through this.

Part 1

TW for disownment, grief, vague mention of past abuse, and truly terrible parenting

The house was terribly quiet, save for the rustle of paperwork as Sirius set it down. Next to him, Hattie whined, and he gently put his hand on top of her head.

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, folding his legs in tighter. Sirius stayed silent across from him. “I’m sorry I didn’t take them that night she came to the house—”

“Don’t be.” Sirius cleared his throat. “Don’t—don’t be sorry for that. I’m glad you stood up to her.”

“Are you okay?” Remus asked again, quieter.

“Not really. I kind of knew this was coming, but it still hurts.” A tear dripped down Sirius’ chin and he swiped it away with a bitter laugh. “This fucking sucks. I shouldn’t be this upset.”

“Sirius—”

“They hurt me. They hurt me so many times and I hate them.” The last words came out on a harsh breath and he bit his lip, staring at the floor. “They never wanted me, anyway.”

“Honey.” Remus barely raised his voice above a whisper.

“It’s true. I wasn’t anything more than a tool to them,” Sirius hiccupped around a clog in his throat. “This proves it, right? This stupid fucking paper proves that they never wanted me outside of perfect hockey. And I—and I couldn’t be perfect.”

He held his hand tight over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut as shuddering breaths rippled through his body; Remus stood and padded over to the couch, pressing their shoulders together until Sirius leaned into him with a heartbreaking sniffle. “It’s going to be alright, love,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around him and holding him close. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I hate them so much, but I just want them to want me.”

“I know.”

“I don’t understand.” Sirius wiped his eyes with his forearm, but it didn’t do much more than spread his tears around. “I don’t—why would they do this?”

A pang hit Remus’ heart and his comforting circles on Sirius’ arm stuttered. Because of me. “Because they’re terrible people who don’t appreciate everything wonderful that you are.”

“They are,” Sirius’ voice cracked and he curled tighter into Remus’ side. He looked so small, suddenly. “It’s not fair.”

Remus wound his other arm around him and kissed the top of his head. “It’s not.”

“It’s not fair!” he half-shouted, half-sobbed.

Hattie’s ears pricked up at his sudden volume and she glanced up at Remus; for a moment, he had never been more sure she was a human trapped in a dog’s body, and he nodded to her. She crawled up onto the cushion next to Sirius and gently nosed at his arm until he lifted it, then wiggled underneath so her head rested on his lap.

“I shouldn’t feel like this,” he croaked after a moment.

“Says who?”

“They never loved me and I knew that. It shouldn’t hurt this much.” A furious edge turned sharp in his voice. “I should be fucking celebrating, not sitting here crying over people that didn’t want me in the first place.”

“Don’t do that,” Remus said, running his fingers through the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

Sirius pulled away, sudden and harsh as he scrubbed away the mess on his face. “Don’t do what? Talk about my feelings? You don’t get it, Remus. You have a cookie cutter family and you have no idea what my life was like. You barely even know me.”

Remus kept his face passive and his tone even. He doesn’t mean that, he told himself, forcing the waves of hurt to roll right past. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love you all the same.”

A sob caught in Sirius’ chest, then another in his throat, until he was breathing hard with the effort of keeping them down. Hattie sighed, and Remus reached for his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“Okay.”

More tears tracked down Sirius’ cheeks as he tried to choke back the feelings and it took every iota of self-control in Remus’ body not to wipe them away. He saw the panic and desperation in Sirius’ quicksilver eyes; he saw the tremors in his body, heralds of the repression he had worked to overcome for years. “I don’t want to feel like this.” Sirius glanced down at Remus’ hands and tucked his own under his arms, shivering slightly. “Don’t touch me or I’ll cry. I don’t want to feel like this.”

“Baby, I don’t think you can stop it,” Remus said softly.

Sirius’ face crumpled and a small whine slipped out; Hattie’s eyes flickered to his face in clear concern. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to stop feeling things when you’re here?” He laced his fingers in his hair, covering his ears. “It’s like everything explodes, and I don’t want that to happen.”

Remus crossed his legs and faced Sirius fully, laying his hands palm-up on the couch cushions. “If you tell me to, I’ll leave. But I need to know you’re alright first.”

“Why do you care so fucking much?” he asked angrily.

“Because I love you.” It was easy to say. There was no hesitation, no catch, no ‘gotcha’ moment. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and I love you. Something fractured in Sirius’ expression.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he gasped through fresh tears. “About—about your family. I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“And I’m so tired of shoving everything down.” His lower lip wobbled, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Remus burned with the need to shield him from everything that taught him to do that.

“Okay.”

“And I love you so much.” The fracture turned to a shatter and Sirius fell into Remus’ arms, clutching the back of his oversized sweater like a drowning man holding a raft. Remus held him just as tight, feeling a prickle in the corners of his eyes. “Fuck, it hurts.”

“It’s allowed to hurt,” Remus’ voice broke a little and he swallowed hard, burying his face in Sirius’ hair. “You’re allowed to feel things, Sirius.”

“Don’t let me go. Don’t you dare.”

Something fierce flamed in Remus’ chest. “I won’t.”

Sirius continued mumbling for a few minutes, but he was crying too hard and Remus’ sweater muffled the sound too much for him to understand anything. Eventually, the aching sobs became slow breaths and the occasional sniffle. Neither of them loosened their grip until Sirius scooted closer to tuck his face against Remus’ shoulder. “I don’t have parents anymore.”

“Who made our wedding cake?” Remus asked, drying the closest cheek with his sleeve. “Whose kids did you watch the other night, even though you had to sing Disney songs for three and a half hours and lost your voice? Who walked you down the aisle? Baby, you are so wanted. By them, by me, and by everyone else who loves you for exactly who you are.”

A few half-shivers rocked through him. “Dumo and Celeste have been better parents in seven years than they ever were.”

Remus pressed a light kiss to the shell of his ear. “Can I be really honest with you, baby?”

“Of course.”

“A flaming dumpster fire and a dead fish would’ve been better parents than the ones you grew up with.”

A startled snort escaped Sirius’ mouth, followed by a tumble of laughter that made him rest his forehead on Remus’ collarbone. “They would hate hearing that,” he said, almost gleefully.

“But it’s true.”

“It’s so true, mon dieu.” Sirius leaned back, smiling through the clear exhaustion on his face until Remus reached up and gently took it between his palms. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Sirius closed his eyes and melted into the touch. “Being here.”

“That’s what I promised, right?” He tapped his left ring finger lightly against Sirius’ cheek. “You don’t deserve to hurt like this, and it’s not fair of them to do this to you, but I’ll be here as long as you want me.”

“I’m always going to want you.”

“Good, because I wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.” He guided Sirius closer until their foreheads touched and traced his temples with his thumbs. “Are you okay, baby?”

“No. But I think I will be, later.” His chest caved a little. “I’m sorry for getting angry with you.”

Remus lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I know you didn’t mean what you said, and I forgive you. For the record, though, I think I know you pretty well.”

A small smile lifted the side of Sirius’ mouth. “Better than anyone.”

A sudden thought struck Remus and he bit his lip. “Are you going to tell Regulus?”

“M—” He clenched his jaw for a moment. “Walburga said she’d call him.”

“Do you want to call him first?”

“That would give him time to think of some good insults,” Sirius mused. “I’m going to take a shower first, I think. I feel gross and snotty.”

“You’re gorgeous. Do you want company?”

Sirius blew out a slow breath. “Yeah, actually. That sounds nice. Can I have a kiss?”

His lips were a little salty from tears, but that didn’t stop Remus as he cradled his jaw and poured all the love he could muster into the kiss. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears and he slid his hands around to Sirius’ back, pulling him in for one more hug before they stood and headed upstairs, leaving the stark white papers far behind.

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martellthemandalor · 4 years

Text

Happy Deathday

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Warnings: Language, suggestion of biting

Rating: T (teen)

Word count: 1.9K+

A/N: This is a small fic for anyone celebrating their birthday! I hope you enjoy this little treat with our favourite vampire sales manager. also no editing because i finished this at 3am lmaoo.

Masterlist!

GIF IS NOT MY OWN. CREDIT TO THE OWNER.

“Happy birthday to you!”

The off-key drone of your co-workers voices finished with an enthusiastic round of applause. You smile up at the gaggle of them, leaning forward to blow out the singular candle protruding from the cake being presented to you.

“Thank you everyone, please help yourself to a slice before you leave. Lord knows I won’t be able to finish it by myself,” You joked, gesturing to the sizeable cake that rested in the hands of your boss. He chuckled at you, setting the cake down and producing a knife to section it with.

You got to packing away your days’ work right away, your colleagues flocking to the sweet treat being offered freely on the adjacent desk.

A cold hand on your shoulder caused you to jump. Your mouth twisted into a small smile as you swivelled to find yourself met with the dark eyes of your manager.

“(Y/N) I need to see you in my office,” He instructed, that damn infuriating smirk playing across his face.

“Come on Boss, it’s her birthday let her go have fun,” Tim protested through a mouthful of cake. You grinned at him, rolling your eyes as you saw him reach for another slice.

“Thank you for your concern Tim, I would almost be grateful if it wasn’t a clear ploy to get more of my cake,” You accused playfully. “Of course boss, I’ll be right with you.”

Max gave your shoulder a squeeze, shooting you a wink as he sauntered back to his office.

“You really shouldn’t let him keep you late, this is literally the one day a year you can break the rules,” Tim mumbled at you, biting off another chunk of cake.

“Tim, I really don’t think that’s true,” You laughed, “But if it makes you feel any better, my plans don’t start until later, I kind of guessed Max would be enough of an asshole to keep me back after work,” You slung your bag over your shoulder and made your way over to Max’s office. Glancing over your shoulder you saw Tim trying to sneak another slice cake.

“Hey Tim, just take the whole thing okay? I’ve got another one coming later,” You called to him.

Tim’s eyes lit up, nabbing the cake off the desk and all but sprinting out of the door. You really did work with some… interesting characters to say the least. It certainly made every day a different experience, especially with the changes that had been happening around the office recently.

You softly rapped on the solid wood of the door, and upon hearing the muffled “Yep!” from the other side swiftly entered.

Max was leant back on his chair, legs propped up on his desk. His eyes raked over your figure as you shut the door behind you. You turned to face him, bracing your back against the smooth wood.

“You never learnt the art of subtlety did you?” You asked him, arching your eyebrow at your undead boyfriend.

“Absolutely not sweetheart, sales don’t come from subtlety,” He claimed, swinging his feet off the desk and beckoning you to come sit on his lap. You rolled your eyes at him, an involuntary action you found yourself doing twice as much since beginning your relationship with him.

“People are going to find out about this if you don’t tone it down,” You said nonchalantly, wandering slowly towards the desk, your eyes locked on his.

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” Max retorted, dramatically rolling his eyes in direct parody of you. “Besides babe, I just know you love it.” He punctuated his point with a wink.

God you wanted to slap him sometimes.

“And… how do you know that?” You asked. Your fingertips trailed across the polished oak of the desk, dancing around the various pencil pots and other knick-knacks he had spread across the surface. Another part of his game with the team, every time he turned someone new, suddenly a new item turned up on his desk.

Max had told you it was a motivation tactic, because of course it was. He said that people don’t like being reduced to objects, explaining that by adding an item, a trophy, each time someone was turned reduced them to just that. By doing this, and drawing attention to it through meetings and whatnot, the non-turned would work twice as hard in order to stay that way, to not be reduced to an object. He may be a smug bastard, but you couldn’t say he wasn’t a clever one.

You slid across the front of the desk, gave Max the smuggest smile you could muster, then hopped up onto the edge opposite him. A blatant shun to his previous invitation. This was another game he liked to play with you, the cat and mouse of it all, and you were more than happy to fill your role.

“Because,” he said, leaning forward in that ridiculous chair and dropping his voice lower. “I could hear your heart beat faster.”

Yeah, he got you there. Damn his upper hand. You tried to keep a straight face as the cogs in mind whirred furiously to come up with a smartass retort. It quickly became impossible to do so though, you knew Max could see right through your struggle as he slowly inched his chair closer to you. You fought back your smile, but lost the struggle with an infectious laugh as his face contorted into a smug duck face.

“Gotcha,” he proclaimed triumphantly. In one swift move he lifted you from the desk and into his lap, his strength meaning you weighed nothing as he pulled you close to him, causing a slight squeal to escape you. It sent a thrill through you whenever he displayed his strength like that, the way he strong armed you around a complete juxtaposition to the feather light way he handled you while doing it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you settled into his lap, his own hands resting comfortably around your waist. He cocked his eyebrow at you, his copyright smirk playing across his lips as he waited for you to make the move.

You smoothed your hands across the back of his neck, over his shoulders and traced your fingers across the rigid lapels of his suit. Then you grabbed onto the lapels and tugged him towards your mouth, leading him into a surprisingly gentle kiss.

His cool lips instinctively moved against your own, hand coming up to cup your jaw as he dragged his tongue across your bottom lip. Opening your mouth you let him slip his tongue in, his gentle taste of mint flooding your senses. You smiled against him when you broke for breath.

He dragged his lips across your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck.

“Happy birthday baby,” He murmured against the warmth of your skin.

“Thank you babe,” You responded, tugging lightly on his hair to pull him from you. You both looked at each other for a minute, his eyes darting over your features, as if trying to memorise you.

The silence was thick and comfortable, but as was normal with Max the quiet didn’t last long.

“Are you sure you want to do this sweetheart?” Max asked. He brushed his thumb softly across your cheekbone, his other hand coming up to caress down your neck. The tenderness of his touch made your heart jump at your ribs. You slid your hands up his arms, resting them at his wrists.

“I’m more than sure Max, we’ve talked about this, I want this,” You reassured him.

“But-” You quickly placed a finger over his lips. For a man so hell bent on turning every other warm body in the office for the sake of efficiency, he was being surprisingly apprehensive with you.

“Max. Look at me. I love you. I want this with you. There’s no one else I can possibly imagine being with, and I- fuck- I want to be turned by you so I can live with you as we are, forever. Okay?” You stressed. Max took your hands in his and brought them to his lips, peppering kisses along each of your knuckles.

“I love you to baby, so much,” He said gently. He leant in and pressed a series of chaste kisses to your lips. Then it was like a switch flipped in his head and suddenly your suave, almost douchebag of a boyfriend was back again. “Come on then sweetheart,” He announced, a tap on your thigh giving you the hint to stand up. You smiled as you dismounted him, heading for the door.

He got up and shot to the door before you could get close, opening it for you. He landed a playful swat on your ass as you crossed the open threshold, his voice following not long after.

“Let’s get you home and turned to the sexiest vamp in the office, rivalled only by me of course”

Entering your apartment was like entering a different world. Max had disappeared on his lunch break and where initially you were confused as to what he could have got up to for the full hour, it was now crystal clear.

He had come back to yours and cleaned the place from head to toe. He had also layed out candles and ruby red rose petals across the floor of the hall, which he was currently, and rather frantically, lighting as you hung up your coat.

Your living room had undergone the same treatment, with the addition of a bottle of red wine, a new wine glass set, a box of fancy chocolates and a small, very neatly wrapped, present sitting pretty in the middle of your coffee table.

“Max you- you didn’t have to do all this,” You exclaimed to your boyfriend, who had now settled himself on the sofa. He patted the space next to him, which you eagerly occupied.

“Of course I did, it’s your birthday and you deserve something extra special,” He responded, hand waving off your concerns.

He then leant forward and took the present from the table, placing it into your waiting hands. Snuggling into him, you began to carefully unwrap the present. The paper fell away to show a black velvet box, opening which caused you to gasp loudly.

Inside was a ring, a beautiful woven band of silver with a small diamond set with precision in the middle.

“Will you marry me?”

The words were murmured next to your ear, soft and laced with anxiety. Your stomach did a somersault for him, your beautiful, self-assured dumbass was really afraid that you would turn him down.

You twisted in his embrace, softly kissing him before whispering “Yes,” against his lips. His answering smile was one you were never going to forget, so full of joy and love, and all for you. Only for you.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Max gently took the ring box from you.

He took the ring from the box and slid it onto your ring finger, sealing the placement with a kiss.

The rest of the evening flew by. Between the glasses of red, feeding each other chocolate and laughing, it felt like time had turned to liquid around you. Max was running his fingers through your hair, his gaze fixated on your neck.

It was time.

“Ready sweetheart?” He simply asked, as if you weren’t about to give up your rhythmic heartbeat for him. The anticipation was making your heart race and you wondered if you would ever miss the feeling of it hammering in your ribs.

“Yes Max, ready as I’ll ever be,” You affirmed, your hand seeking his own and instinctively locking with it.

You skin felt alight, burning hot when you felt the smooth curve of his fangs brush against your neck.

“Happy deathday baby.”

#max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips fic #bloodsucking bastards #birthday fic #my writing

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fandom-collective-writers · 3 years

Text

Dressed to the Nines (Fenrir/Reader/Seth)

Pairing: Fenrir / Reader / Seth Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Rating: SFW - Thriller Prompt: Stalker + Bite Word Count: 1,412 Written by: @moos-cow / @hamster-damn

October 31st.

There you were, standing in front of the mirror, drinking in the reflection of your own clad in a daring midnight blue off-shoulder gown.

“Stunning,” Seth spoke from the threshold of your room with a small box in hand that contained the final touch to complete your ensemble. He strode to stand behind you, warm hands lightly brushing over the fabric of your gown before settling on the curve of your hips, and his lips meeting the bare area between your neck and shoulder, “Absolutely stunning.”

You quickly turn in his arms to face him, "Who do I have to thank for, then?" you ask with a cheeky grin before leaning in for a quick peck on the lips. "Thank you, Seth. This dress looks absolutely beautiful."

"And you take beautiful to a whole new level, sweetie." He says, tucking a stray lock behind your ear. "Ah! We have something for you-" Seth lifts the small box up to your eye level. "Turn for me."

You turn as he unboxes the item to reveal an identical midnight blue choker necklace with a dangling crystal before securing it around your neck. But before you could comment any further, a chipper voice calls out from the hall and light tapping of boots quickly reach your room.

"Yo, Seth! Alice! Ya guys ready to go or-- wow." Fenrir stood by your doorway agape at the sight of you. Although he was already wearing his mask, a blush could still be seen creeping up high on his cheeks.

You take Seth's hand in yours and saunter towards Fenrir, taking his hand in your other free hand. "To the Civic Ballroom, yes?" the two follow after you to the waiting carriage with a spring in every step.

You arrive at the Civic Ballroom with your two escorts by your side. The doors to the annual ball opened before you, and the different sights, sounds, and scents wafted out to greet you. Officials and personalities from every quarter of Cradle had come and gathered to don their best outfits for a night to celebrate the spooky. Albeit masked, some of them you could still identify.

Among the dazzling sights before you, the buffet table caught your eyes the most, making it your first stop for the night. You filled your plate to the point of nearly overflowing, "Enjoying yourself, aren't we?" a chipper voice suddenly called from behind you.

You turned with a pastry-full plate in hand and a charcoal colored macaroon in the other. "Ray?" you call, but alas, there wasn't a sign of a single soul behind you. You study the area only to find nothing out of the ordinary.

You strut back to your table where you found Luka and Sirius with each a flute in hand. "Sirius! Luka!" You called to the two, sliding the tower of pastries you procured from the buffet table in front of them, "Have you seen Fenrir and Seth?"

"Seth's at one o'clock." Sirius tilted his flute towards the crowd around the 10 of Spades. Your eyes meet with Seth's for a brief moment before he goes back to entertaining the other guests.

"I saw Fenrir messing around with Ray earlier." Luka spoke quietly as he languidly reached for a lemon bar, obviously tired from socializing with the guests.

The ambient chitchat from all over the ballroom gradually faded as the music from the string quartet began to play. People from the center of the room moved to the sides as couples walked hand-in-hand to the center of the floor.

"Excuse me, miss" a man extends a hand to you from the side, "May I have the pleasure of having this dance?" Although you were slightly taken aback, you still reached your hand over to take his. A little dance won't hurt.

One became two, then three.

Three songs danced with three different guests, only the last one you identified to be the Queen of Hearts. His unmistakable mint hair and haughty comments resulted to your relentless bickering throughout the whole song. He tired you out so much, you needed to step out for a drink and some fresh air. The balcony on the second floor sounded like a nice idea to you.

Out the doors and into the dimly lit halls you went, pausing every so often to admire the artworks that hung on the Civic corridors. The sounds of the party slowly faded away the further you went, leaving you to the ambient silence and the tapping of your heels.

Moments later you realized that there were taps that weren't in sync with yours. You abruptly stopped and turned, but so do the taps. You strained your eyes to search for whoever or whatever was stalking you. Nothing. You continue your walk down to the moonlit balcony slightly bothered as you recalled the officers' haunting stories of the old building.

'Banging on conference rooms on the 2nd floor', 'Screams of fallen officers from the Gardens', 'The piano suddenly playing in the Main Ballroom', 'Whispers in the hall', and the infamous 'dragging of furniture across the diplomats' offices.'

A chill ran down your spine at the thought of the stories. You glanced at the doors to your sides, fervently wishing for not a single one to sound as you chanted "Ghosts aren't real" repeatedly from under your breath.

Five more doors 'til the balcony.

At your final glance, you catch an apparition trailing behind you. Your eyes widened in shock and you picked up the pace of your walk, racking your brain for ways to get out of this mess. The stairs was far behind you, you were too far down to scream for help, and daring to exit via the balcony was rather reckless. You needed to hide.

You twisted the knobs on the doors that you passed, all were locked except for one. You hurriedly entered and locked the door behind you, breathing heavily to catch your breath.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

You stumbled back at the loud banging on the door. The knob shook for a bit, but then stopped. Leaving you alone again to the ambient sounds of your surroundings.

You stepped out of your heels and began to walk around the room to inspect. The fireplace was on, yet there was no sign of any occupant. "Hello?" you called out for confirmation. Nothing. You slid your empty glass on the sole round table and leaned on the said furniture to calm your racing heart.

Just as you began to relax, the chipper voice from earlier spoke once again, startling you by its close proximity. "Having fun?"

A grin crept up your face as you caught the strained notes in his tone. You knew this voice too well to miss it. "Not so. I expected a bit more... thrill." You replied playfully and abruptly turned to the gentleman behind you.

Your breath hitched and your grin turned to pure shock. Before you was the man you were expecting, but not at all. His mouth and suit were drenched in a carmine liquid that reeked a certain metallic stench. "F-Fenrir," you stuttered, frozen in place as your eyes darted towards what laid behind him, behind the sofa-- a lifeless body.

You take a step back and bumped into the table. The glass tips and breaks as it fell to the floor, causing you to jump once more. Strong arms trapped you between his body and the furniture as he slowly leans in, nuzzling at the crook of your neck.

"Thrill eh? How 'bout a little bite, then?" He whispered in a sultry tone. “You look absolutely delicious tonight.”

With all your strength you can muster, you pushed him back and ran towards the door. Fumbling with the lock in the rush to unlock and open it. As the door swung wide open, Seth was there by the opening.

"Seth!" you screamed and pushed him away from the room. You grab his wrist and scrambled on your trembling legs to make a run for it with him. But he jerks you back and pulls you right into his chest, wrapping an arm around your waist to lock you in place.

"Fenrir, what did I tell you about playing with your food?" the older man scolded as he pulled you back into the room. You cry and you kick, but his grip never faltered. “Look at you, you’re a mess!”

"Forgive him, sweetie. He's still... adjusting."

#ikemen #ikemen series #ikemen revolution #Fenrir Godspeed #ikemen revolution fenrir #seth hyde #seth hyde x reader #fenrir godspeed x reader #ikerev seth #ikerev fenrir #Jonah Clemence #luka clemence #Sirius Oswald

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moos-cow · 3 years

Text

Dressed to the Nines

Halloween Ask Event

Pairing: Fenrir / Reader / Seth Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Rating: SFW - Thriller Prompt: Stalker + Bite

Written for @ikemen-discord-writers . (hello, it's me-@hamster-damn )

October 31st.

There you were, standing in front of the mirror, drinking in the reflection of your own clad in a daring midnight blue off-shoulder gown.

"And you take beautiful to a whole new level, sweetie." He says, tucking a stray lock behind your ear. "Ah! We have something for you-" Seth lifts the small box up to your eye level. "Turn for me."

"Seth's at one o'clock." Sirius tilted his flute towards the crowd around the 10 of Spades. Your eyes meet with Seth's for a brief moment before he goes back to entertaining the other guests.

"I saw Fenrir messing around with Ray earlier." Luka spoke quietly as he languidly reached for a lemon bar, obviously tired from socializing with the guests.

One became two, then three.

Five more doors 'til the balcony.

You twisted the knobs on the doors that you passed, all were locked except for one. You hurriedly entered and locked the door behind you, breathing heavily to catch your breath.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

You stumbled back at the loud banging on the door. The knob shook for a bit, but then stopped. Leaving you alone again to the ambient sounds of your surroundings.

Just as you began to relax, the chipper voice from earlier spoke once again, startling you by its close proximity. "Having fun?"

"Thrill eh? How 'bout a little bite, then?" He whispered in a sultry tone. “You look absolutely delicious tonight.”

"Forgive him, sweetie. He's still... adjusting.".

Happy Halloween! 🎃👻🦇

#ikemen revolution #ikemen kakumei #Ikemen discord writers #Ikerev #ikerev sirius #ikerev luka #ikerev seth #ikerev fenrir #ikerev jonah #seth hyde #fenrir godspeed #luka clemence #sirius oswald #halloween asks #thriller #jonah clemence

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sakuwriteshere · 4 years

Text

Pretty Little Liar: Chapter 3

General warnings (for the whole story): Fluff, comedy, angst, sexual innuedos, roommates AU, Ketch is a douche

Beta reader: Rosaline 💖

Words count: 5001 words

PLL Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: I had so much fun writing this chapter, I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I do. I you want to be tagged just send me an ask ;) And don’t forget, comments are loved! <3

______________________

Chapter 3:

The next morning, a soft light illuminates the room, announcing the first hours of a new day. Slowly, Y/N shifts on the bed, waking up as her ears pick at a distant sound. She can feel something warm against her, her head is turned at a weird angle but the position is somewhat cozy. As her eyelids flutter open, she realizes she’s sleeping on someone’s body, though she doesn’t have the time to freak about that because something else, more important, is about to happen.

“Rise and shine, boy!” A bearded man exclaims loudly as he barges into Dean’s room, the door shaking behind the force he had used.

Dean jumps from his slumber, startled by the intruder while Y/N simply falls on her butt, the impact is quite hard thanks to Dean’s abrupt movement.

“Bobby!” Dean groans angrily, half because he’s been scared- like every freaking time- and half because he’s worried about Y/N. Kneeling on his bed, Dean bends over, searching for Y/N on the other side of his bed.

“You alright?” She nods, wincing as her butt hurts a bit and chuckles when Dean adds “Told you, pretty laid back family.”

“Oh, didn’t know you had company, Dean.” Bobby apologizes as Y/N stands up, waving awkwardly at him while her other hand secures the sheets around her.

“Y/N, this is my uncle Bobby. Bobby, this is Y/N my-” Dean introduces them and sucks in a breath, the last word getting stuck in his throat.

“Girlfriend.” Y/N finishes for him, a cute pink color staining her cheeks. “Hi.”

“Bobby Singer, would you leave those children alone, you grumpy old man.” A woman's voice, one that Y/N has never heard before, booms from the other side of the opened door. A blond woman appears just behind Bobby, pushing him on the side.

“Hi. I’m Ellen, Dean’s aunt. Sorry about that. We’ll talk to you when you won’t be freaking out anymore.” She says, a friendly smile on her face before closing the door, giving Dean and Y/N some privacy.

The both of them fall silent, Y/N wondering what the hell just happened exactly while Dean’s rubbing his tired face, running a hand through his bed head hair, in a failed attempt to tame it. Yep. Pretty laid back people.

Joining the rest of the family in the kitchen for breakfast, Y/N thinks that Dean may have forgotten to tell her that more family members were coming to celebrate the Winchesters’ 40th anniversary, as new faces she hadn’t met the day before are now greeting her.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is everyone.” Mary makes a generic introduction while she puts the last waffle on top of the already huge pile.

“Hi Y/N!” They all cheer, turning their heads to face her. She recognizes Bobby and Ellen from earlier, but there is another one person she doesn’t know...yet.

“Um...H-hi everyone.” She gives them an awkward wave, her other hand taking hold of Dean’s wrist. “Could you excuse us a minute?” She excuses herself, pulling Dean with her and walking into the main hall.

“What the hell, Dean?” She hissed, making sure no one could hear them.

Dean scratches the back of his neck with one hand and sneaks the other one in the front pocket of his jeans. “I told you it was a family thing, right?” He sheepishly smiles at her.

“Tell me it’s the last surprise, please. Lying to your parents and brother is one thing but lying to your whole family…” She trails off, already imagining the worst.

“More are coming later actually.” Dean admits and he’s quick to stop her from running away. “Hey, wait! It’s just for one night, I swear.” Standing in front of her, Dean’s mustering his best puppy look. He knows he’s not Sam’s level, but he had practiced it pretty hard. Seeing she’s not giving in, Dean held both of her hands in his, his thumbs drawing circles on her skin. “Sweetheart, don’t make me beg for it.”

The physical contact brings her back memories from this morning when she had woken up in his arms, the thought making her blush even more than she already does. This is really a stupid and very bad idea, they should tell everyone the truth before it is too late but how can she say no when he’s looking at her like that? It’s the same look that has pushed her into this mess in the beginning. Rolling her eyes she grunts something that sounds like ‘yeah ok whatever’ and Dean is pumping a fist in the air, relieved that she’s still in.

“Yes! You’re the best!” He exclaims, cradling her face with both hands and pressing a kiss on her forehead.

Dean freezes when he realizes what he’s doing, his lips still in contact with her skin nonetheless. They have agreed about doing some PDA on their way here, so it shouldn’t be a problem. They have just held hands until now, nothing too intimate, so this kiss, even if it’s done as a friendly gesture, is still surprising. They’re both thinking they wouldn’t mind doing it more often, and that thought clearly scares them. They part instantly, as if their skin burns under each other's touch.

“I-I’ll um..” Y/N stutters, pushing back a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze lowered so she doesn’t have to look at Dean’s face. Dean does exactly the same by looking at the ceiling, looking for anything that is not Y/N’s face.

“I’ll take Snowball for a walk.” She finally finds a good enough excuse to leave the house. Jessica protests weakly, telling Y/N she doesn’t have to because Sam is going to do it anyway.

“Someone’s talking about me?” Sam asks, coming into the hall, Snowball’s new leash in his hand.

Y/N really needs some air, there are too many people inside at the moment, she needs some time to think and clear her mind. And so, she can only accept to go with Sam, at least it’s not Dean.

The little white ball of fur is running right and left as soon as it’s released. Sam and Y/N watch the little puppy running sometimes in circles and sometimes in a non-defined figure in the grass behind the Winchesters’ house. Sam and Y/N laughing as the little pup seems to have the time of its life.

The yard behind the Winchesters’ house is a decent size. Not too big and not too small. You can easily throw a party in there, and apparently it’s going to happen tonight, Y/N thinks as she watches John and Bobby getting things ready for the party tonight. Seeing the several chairs on display, Y/N knows there’s going to be a lot of people, family, friends, maybe even the neighbors. Is she really ready to lie right to their faces?

“You know, it’s hard to believe that you and Dean are together.” Sam tells her out of the blue, making her sicker than she is already. “But when I see how he’s looking at you, I know it’s for real.”

Oh God, can she open a hole in the ground and hide herself inside? “You’re exaggerating, Sam.”

“No, really. I mean it. I know my brother, Y/N.” Sam stops walking, planting himself in front of her. His tall size dominates her easily, she’s used to lifting her head when she’s speaking with Dean, but thinking Sam as the little brother is quite difficult sometimes.

“He’s nervous when he’s around you. I’ve never seen Dean being nervous with any girls he, er, well you know?” Sam’s suddenly at a loss for words. Speaking about his brother’s previous conquests with his current girlfriend is truly not his best idea.

Y/N lowers her gaze, kicking into a tiny rock at her feet. “I don’t think it means anything.” She says, because it’s the truth, it doesn’t mean anything. They’re faking it, Dean’s only nervous because he’s scared of crossing a line that would ruin their roommate arrangement, that’s all.

“On the contrary,” Sam’s quick to deny, a huge smile stretching his face. “I think it means that Dean really cares about you, Y/N.”

Her head snaps, her eyes searching for Sam’s ones so she can see if he’s joking or not. Sam’s face is clear of any amusement, he seems truly sincere. Y/N doesn’t know what is best, because on both ends it hurts. If Sam’s joking, then it means he knows they’re lying, and he’s making fun of them, laughing at them as he watches them digging their hole a bit more. And if he’s honest, then… A little voice is laughing in the back of her mind as she surprises herself thinking that Dean could feel anything for her. Let’s be realistic, Y/N, there’s no way someone like him could like someone like her. Why does she think about that kind of stuff, right now? Clearly, that fake dating thing is getting to her head. Once the weekend ends everything will be back to normal. Just hang there a little longer, Y/N.

“I’m not giving you the ‘if you hurt my brother’ talk” Sam’s chuckle brings her back to the present. The younger Winchester must think that her silence is a sign of awkwardness, so that’s why he’s throwing a little joke to ease the tension.

“But I’ll give him the ‘if you hurt her, I’ll beat you’ talk. Definitely.” He adds, a warm smile on his lips.

***

Standing in the far corner of the yard, Y/N’s starting to think that Dean forgot to tell her a lot of things. He did tell her to pack a few sport clothes she doesn’t mind getting dirty but failed to tell her why exactly she needed them. Now that she is standing between Mary and Jessica, waiting for one of the brothers to pick her, she understands why. Wearing an old red tank top and a pair of black shorts, she’s looking at Dean menacingly, her arms crossed over her chest and one foot tapping nervously on the ground. The man doesn’t seem to see her as he’s completely focused on a more important mission. Sam and Dean are in hard stare context, one fist resting in their opened palm waiting for Mary’s queue.

“Alright boys, on three. One. Two. Three!” Their mother shouts from her spot and on three both brothers use the sign they had chosen between rock, paper, and scissors.

“Always with the scissors, Dean.” Sam mocks his older brother, he knew from the beginning what his brother would choose, he was so predictable.

Dean shows his discontent by kicking at an invisible rock, mumbling that one day, one freaking day, he will win.

“Alright! Mom!” Sam doesn’t waste his time, starting to pick the members for his team for their little game.

“You chose her already the last time!” Dean whines, the wrinkles on his forehead growing more and more. “Ok, I’ll go with Dad,” Dean calls back.

“I’ll pick Y/N.” Sam’s second choice seems to be you, he’s not even trying to hide the smug look on his face.

Dean is once again bothered by his little brother's choice. “Really, Sam? Then I’ll choose Jess.” He doesn’t really choose her since she’s the last one but Dean needs to show his shitty little brother who's the older one among them and that he always gets the last word.

Jessica and Y/N join their respective captains, standing behind Sam, she glances at Dean who is looking at her strangely. She can’t decipher what he’s thinking but when their eyes meet, Dean licks his dry lips and quickly looks away, clasping in his hands and shouting that it’s time to start the game.

“I don’t know the rules.” Y/N points out, looking around her as the family members take their position.

John comes towards her, pushing a football into her hands. “Keep the ball, run for the opposite goal, and dodge.” John gives her the short rules, a playful smile on his lips, accompanied by a wink.

“D-dodge?” She repeats the words, and she jumps when Mary blows hard into her whistle, informing everyone that the game is starting. As John and Dean are already running towards her, determination written all over their faces, Y/N panics, throwing the ball at Dean.

“Ah, thank you, Sweetheart.” Dean laughs, turning around and running towards the goal.

“Y/N! What the hell?” Sam throws his arms in the air, giving her a dumbfounded look.

“Sorry.” She winces, realizing she has made a mistake. Far from them John and Dean are shouting happily, sharing a high-five as they have just marked their first point.

“Ah! It's so easy. I knew she was madly in love with me.” Dean jokes as they come back in the center, winking and blowing a kiss at her.

Y/N blushes once again but rage boils in her veins. She doesn’t particularly like losing a game. “Wait for it, babe.” She forces a smile. Be prepared, she's seriously on.

One would think that Dean’s team would have the upper hand in the game, having two men out of the three, but the secret weapon in all of this has a name: Mary Winchester. The woman is good, really good. Jumping high to catch the ball in midair, and running towards the goal right after her feet touched the ground.

The current scores are:

Sam’s team: 3

Dean’s team: 1

“Come on gals, only 2 points left!” Sam encourages his team, clasping their hands as they form a circle, getting ready for the next round.

“Mom cheated!” Dean argues, coming closer, checking his steps carefully as he tries to not step on Snowball, the little furball running after him and barking.

“How is that?” Mary asks, her fists resting on her hips.

“I had to dodge Ball!” Dean grumbles, pointing an accusing finger at the dog. He knows her name is Snowball but one, it’s too long and two, Ball suits her better.

“Congratulations, babe, you’ve just understood the rules.” Y/N mocks, winking at him as she held the dog in her arms.

Dean rolls his eyes and gives her a not amused look. She flips her hair with one hand as she turns around, making sure Snowball is safely tucked in a corner before the next round. By doing so, she misses Dean’s pleased look as she walks away. Honestly, she’s having fun, she’s tired and she knows that the next morning her muscles will painfully remind her that she’s not used to running so much, but for the moment it doesn't matter. The Winchesters really are a welcoming family and she doesn’t have to pretend to be someone she’s not. Well, except for the fact that she’s the fake girlfriend of their oldest son, that is.

The next round is finally, finally, her time to shine. She dodges every opponent on her path, bending her body swiftly, jumping to avoid a tackle, or throwing the ball to the nearest free member of her team. After running at lightning speed, she's in the clear zone, waving her arms rapidly and shooting at Sam to give her the ball. Another point for Sam’s team.

“Woohoo! Take that, Winchesters!” The sweet victory is pumping adrenaline into her veins as she makes a little happy dance.

“You didn’t tell me she was good.” John taps his son’s back, a breathless laugh escaping his lips.

“That’s because I didn’t know,” Dean whispers, the sentence not really reaching his father’s ears and Dean doesn’t care actually. He’s more busy watching Y/N dancing happily. She’s clearly having a good time, and Dean is so glad to see this. He’s promising to himself to do whatever he can to make that happen as much as possible.

“Ready to lose?” Sam smirks, nudging his brother at his side. “Remember, the loser gets to give Mom the first dance.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean waves him away, he doesn’t care about the game anymore. The only reason Dean wants for the game to keep going is because it means Y/N can have fun longer.

The ball raises high in the air, Jessica and Mary watching it like an awk, waiting for the perfect moment to catch it. Jessica is good, but Mary is better and she has the upper hand, hitting the ball hard and sending it in Sam’s direction. Sam and Y/N are running side by side, Mary being nowhere in sight. John neither.

“I got him! I got him!” Jessica informs Dean she’s taking care of Sam’s case, both of her arms circling his waist, her face pressed on his stomach as she tries to push him down with all her might. Sam stops running after he has thrown the ball to Y/N and simply looks at his girlfriend giving her best. A fond smile on his lips as Jessica’s feet slip on the grass, repeating to anyone who was listening that ‘she got him.’

Four players down, just two left. Looking in front of her, the land is clear, nothing could stop her from winning the last point. Or that is what she thought, but she’s being pushed down suddenly, the attack coming from her right side. They are both rolling on the grass, Y/N ending on top of Dean and looking at him completely baffled, the ball bouncing twice before stilling next to Dean’s head. They both glance at the ball then at each other.

“Oh no, you’re not!” Dean threatens, holding both of Y/N stretched hands and lifting his pelvis, forcing both of them to roll over.

Now that she’s trapped under him, there is no way for her to run away and Dean makes sure of that by dropping all his weight on her.

“Dean, you’re heavy.” She whines, wiggling her body in hope to free herself, but it’s really no use.

“That’s not very nice, Sweetheart. I need to punish you.” He laughs, holding both of her wrists in one hand and brushing his free one over her side.

“No! Don’t- don’t you dare Dean!” She orders him in vain, she knows he won’t stop and her eyes squeeze shut when she feels the first tickle.

Loud laughters and pleas surround them, Y/N thrashing around in a desperate attempt to free herself, but the more she pleads the more Dean laughs and tortures her.

“Surrender!” Now both of his hands are tickling any surface of her body, he doesn’t remember the last time he had so much fun.

“N-no. Yeah ok!” She can’t take it anymore and gives in.

“Say it,” Dean asks her, he wants a complete and formal surrender from her. He will only stop when she’ll say the words.

“I- I surren-der!” She’s breathless and as soon as the word crosses her lips, the torture stops.

They’re both out of breath, keeping their position and giggling like teenagers as they look at each other. The playful tension around them subsides as they get their breaths back slowly, their heart rate calming down. None of them dare to move, fixing each other’s gaze, and realizing in what position they are at the moment. After a beat, Dean is the first one to move, a hand brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes, the touch as light as a feather. He has to be gentle and careful, he doesn’t want to scare her.

Y/N eyes fall on his lips because the tip of his tongue is running over them. It’s not fair really. Does he know what it does to her? The movement is just the sweetest invitation she has ever seen. Slowly Dean leans in, bringing his face closer, his eyes flick into her, checking that she wants it too, leaving a safe distance for her to part if needed. God, he hopes she wants it. She must be a mind reader because she’s now bringing her face closer, crossing the last few inches, hot breaths mixing together as her lips brush his. He’s so close to taste her, so painfully close.

“Game over losers!!” Sam shouts happily, breaking their magical moment.

They both blink, coming back to their senses and both looking like deers in headlights.

“Huh, Dean?” His name never sounded so good before, right? It’s not the first time she’s calling his name so why does it feel different now?

“Yeah?” He asks in a strangled voice.

“You’re heavy…” She whispers, her eyes never leaving his.

“Ah. Sorry.” Dean quickly shuffles on the side, freeing her.

She doesn’t say a word as she stands up and walks towards the house in haste, one hand clamped against her chest. Dean watches her disappearing into the house, his heart acting funny.

“Everything is alright, son?” John asks, coming closer.

After a beat, Dean answers genuinely. “I don’t know.”

***

When he enters his bedroom, Y/N is walking in circles in the middle of the room. If she keeps going like this, she’s going to dig a big hole in the wooden floor.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks as soon as the door is closed.

She stops and looks at him as if he has a second head growing. “What’s wrong?” She repeats his words, scoffing loudly. “This- this thing is going too far Dean! We- your family thinks we’re really together!”

Dean shushes her, reminding Y/N that his family is in the house as well. “That’s good, right? That’s the whole point.”

“Yes but no. This is too big, I can’t…” She trails off, hiding her face in her hands as she’s feeling totally lost.

“Come on, I’m not that bad of a boyfriend, right?” He tries to make her laugh, making girls laugh is always a good thing, right? She’s just nervous, he just needs to calm her down. Everything will be alright.

Uh-oh. The guilty look she gives him doesn't feel right. “We have to tell them the truth, Dean. Now.”

“No, no, no.” Dean cradles her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. ‘Listen, there’s only tonight left. Tomorrow morning we’re leaving, they won’t suspect anything, I promise.”

“That’s not the problem here! They’re too nice people. Your family is wonderful and we’re lying to them. It’s not fair. They truly care for you, Dean. They deserve to know the truth.” She’s looking straight into his eyes, praying silently for him to listen to her. She knows she’s right, it’s the right thing to do.

“I can’t do that to my parents. It’s their big night tonight. It will break their hearts. I promise you I’ll tell them we broke up, just not tonight. Please.”

“There will never be a good time, Dean and you know it. It’s better to make amends now, before your whole family knows we lied.” Once again, she’s the voice of reason and deep down Dean knows it.

“Please. I don’t want to hurt your family more than what I’ve done already.” Her pleading look is going to kill him, he’s sure of that.

Dean closes his eyes and sighs heavily, his hands falling down his sides. “Ok. I’ll tell my mom before the party starts.” He gives in, looking on the side and fighting the angry tears.

“Thank you.” She whispers, her small hand cupping his cheek.

What’s the worst? Telling his mother the truth or losing this? Dean doesn’t know anymore.

***

The weather is particularly nice today, a real chance for the Winchester family as they’re throwing the party outdoors. People are slowly arriving, warm hugs and friendly pats in the back as a greeting. They have invited more than just a couple of close friends. Dean and Y/N are staying in a corner, smiling and waving back at the few people who spot them. They are dressed properly despite the fact they’ll surely leave before the party has really started. Dean’s wearing a three-piece blue suit with a white shirt underneath. He even thought about the blue tie to complete the look. Y/N’s wearing the only black little dress she has, nothing too formal but she likes it.

“Your mother is here.” She whispers in Dean’s ear, spotting the Winchester matriarchy exiting the house.

Dean is fidgety, glancing at Y/N to check if she still wants to tell the truth. The look she gives him means that she still does.

“I can go with you if you want.” She tries to reassure him, showing him her support.

“No, no. I’ll do it. I’m the one who lied first, anyway.” Dean reasons, gathering his courage the best he can, sipping the rest of his champagne before nodding at Y/N. “Ok, wish me good luck.”

“Good luck.” She whispers sincerely.

Dean joins his mother rather quickly. She’s chatting with some family friends and turns around when Dean lightly taps on her right shoulder. Y/N watches from afar the conversation. If only she could read on their lips, but she can only count on her eyes to observe the muted conversation.

Dean’s nervous, she can tell just by how fidgety he is, his hands moving more than usual as he speaks. His mother tilts her head on the side, she certainly senses Dean’s nervousness.

“Hey? Are you feeling better?” Jessica asks, standing in front of her, blocking her vision on Mary and Dean’s serious talk. “You left so suddenly after the game, we were worried. Dean told us you weren’t feeling well.”

“Hum?” She hums, stretching her head slightly so she could keep an eye on Dean. “Oh yeah, yeah. Sorry, must be all the running.” Another lie she thinks.

Jessica keeps on talking but Y/N’s attention is fully on Dean. His mother is now cupping one of his cheeks, surely a motherly gesture to show her son that he can tell her anything. Y/N’s heart beats faster when she sees the sheepish smile he’s giving Mary as he looks her right in the eyes. He told her, Y/N thinks.

Yeah, no doubt he told her. Because Mary’s hand drops from Dean’s cheek as she covers her mouth. Well, she seems to take the news pretty well because she’s wrapping one arm around Dean’s neck, giving her son a side hug as her other hand is still holding her drink. Y/N tilts her head on the side when she sees Mary and Dean turning their faces towards her, Mary giving her a soft smile. Does that mean that she forgives Y/N too? She wouldn’t mind staying friends with the whole family, on the contrary.

“You’re really cute.” Jessica giggles. “You can’t take your eyes off him.” She adds.

“Oh, um well yeah...you know.” Y/N blushes, fortunately for her, Dean’s coming back.

“Hey, Jess.” He brushes against his future sister-in-law as he tries to reach Y/N. Wrapping an arm around Y/N waist and bringing her closer to him. “Would you excuse us a minute?” He forces a smile.

Jessica nods and winks at Y/N before leaving the two love birds alone. Once she is far enough, Y/N checks that no one is around before asking. “How did it go?”

Dean opens his mouth and shakes his head, his hold tightening around her, involuntarily. “Well… pretty good actually.”

Y/N can finally smile and she lets out the breath she was holding. “Really? I’m so happy for you, Dean. See? I knew it was the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, my mom is the best. What do you think we leave before the main event starts, huh?” Dean doesn’t let her the time to respond, his arm letting go of her waist and grabbing her wrist instead, pulling her with him towards the house as people are gathering in the middle of the yard.

“Wait, I should apologize to your mother first, don’t you think?” Y/N pulls back, stopping Dean from going anywhere. A clicking sound resonates behind them, the crowd falling silent as Mary’s going to make her speech.

“Oh no, I don’t think it’s a good idea. You’re not her favorite person at the moment.” Dean says, pulling on her hand once again and motioning with his head to keep moving.

“Really? She didn’t look mad at me a few minutes before.” Y/N wonders before turning around and listening to Mary’s speech.

“And I’m truly happy that each of you came here today. Forty years is a big number, especially when you’re spending so many years with John.” The crowd laughs heartily, John smirking as he kisses Mary’s hand.

“Today has been an important date for us, it was the day we both exchanged our vows, a promise to love each other until the end.” Mary pauses, her eyes flying over the crowd.

“But tonight, this date marks a new milestone in our happy family.”

“Come on, Y/N, let’s go.” Dean hissed nervously, pulling her again but Y/N doesn’t bulge.

“Shh. I want to listen to her speech, it’s beautiful.” She shushes him, pulling harder so she can free her arm from Dean’s grip.

“Today, is the date my oldest son, Dean, chose to ask his girlfriend to marry him and she said yes! I just wish them this date will bring as much joy and love as it does to us. Congratulations to both of you! To Dean and Y/N, cheers!” Mary raises her drink and the crowd cheers as well.

All the faces are now turned towards them, Dean smiling awkwardly and waving at the people looking at them.

“Surprise!” Dean gives her a fake surprised face while Y/N simply watches him, a look of horror written all over her face.

Pour Toujours tags: @drakelover78, @akshi8278

PLL tags: @eliwinchester99, @paiswhite, @vicmc624, @metalfangirl

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #female!reader #roommates au #spn fanfiction #series #pll series #fake dating

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noona-clock · 4 years

Text

A Familiar Face✨🏰 - Part 4, Final Chapter

Genre: Harry Potter!AU

Pairing: Eric Nam x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4 | Words: 3,582

When McGonagall announced the Celestial Ball at dinner that evening, the Great Hall instantly filled with excited gasps and murmuring. Just about every student turned to chatter to their friends, though you quickly spotted the ones who didn’t. That would’ve been you. (You made a mental note to have a talk with those particular students in the upcoming weeks to let them know you would cover for them if they wanted to skip and stay in their dorm all night.)

The Ball was set to take place in a month, right after the end of exams and right before the start of Christmas break. And while it was good there was plenty of time to prepare... it also meant there was plenty of time for you to be anxious about it.

“Are you okay?” Eric asked softly once dinner was over and everyone was making their way out of the Great Hall.

“Hmm?” You blinked, turning to glance at him as the two of you headed to the side door. “Oh... Yes, absolutely.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eric quirk one brow. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you told him with a soft chuckle. “Just... Balls are not my absolute favorite thing. But this one is a Celestial Ball, so it should at least be beautiful.”

“Ah,” Eric murmured. As the two of you slipped through the side door, you briefly felt his hand on the small of your back, and your heart sped up. “I can see why you wouldn’t like balls.”

Even though his tone was one of pure understanding and gentleness, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. “I just --” you stammered, bringing your hands up and hugging your arms close to your chest. “I don’t like dancing, all those people watching you... But now that I’m a professor, I highly doubt the kids will be paying any attention to me, so -- It’ll be fine.”

At least, you were telling yourself that.

“Don’t worry,” Eric assured you in a very cheerful tone. And then he brought his arm around your shoulders, squeezing you gently as a show of comfort. “You’ll have a friend there. If you want, I will attach myself to your side and never leave.”

Oh, if only he knew. If only he realized how his offer made you both incredibly anxious and incredibly happy.

“Thank you,” you replied as a small grin tugged at your lips. “Plus... I get to wear a pretty dress.”

“Exactly! You’ll look beautiful, and we’ll get to make fun of how awkward the fourth-years are.”

You tried to laugh thinking about just how awkward the fourth-years would be, but... the fact Eric had just said you would look beautiful had sucked every single breath right out of your lungs.

So, you simply nodded, a strangled chuckle making its way through your lips before you said, “It won’t be so bad.”

But then... you realized... if you were wearing a pretty dress that meant... Eric would be wearing a nice suit. With a tie.

You had a month left, apparently. A month left until your soul left your body.

During that month, the Celestial Ball was basically all anyone could talk about. Many of your female students (and some of your male students, too), asked your advice on what they should wear -- even asked what you would wear. They shared their fears with you about who would or wouldn’t ask them, who was already going together, if anyone would ask them to dance...

You also made sure to pull aside those few students who were as shy and quiet as you had been at their age, assuring them it wasn’t absolutely necessary for them to attend. Two of them took you up on your offer to cover for them so they could stay in their dorm all night, while the rest said they felt better just from having spoken with you.

To be honest, that made you feel more proud than earning an Outstanding on all ten of your N.E.W.T.S exams had.

By the time the ball arrived, you were quite thoroughly exhausted. Even though you hadn’t done anything to help prepare for it, all the conversations with students and all the worrying you’d done had drained you.

But, on the bright side, you had conjured up quite an exquisite gown, if you did say so yourself.

You now stood in front of the full-length mirror in your room, your brow furrowed as you turned from side to side and examined yourself. Your gown was long, the edge of the midnight blue velvet just brushing over the floor and the top of your feet. It cinched right at your waist, the skirt flowing out gently and the V-neckline showing off the bejeweled necklace your grandmother had gifted you many years ago. Your gown was also bejeweled, the majority of the sparkling, silver gems gathered at your waist and dispersing both up and down the dress. The gown’s short sleeves hit the middle of your upper arm, and while some nice, long gloves would’ve finished the look off perfectly, you had opted out, instead choosing to wear a gauzy shawl the same color as your gown.

Once you’d waved your wand to sweep your hair into a smooth chignon, you let out a deep breath. You looked pretty amazing, but you were still nervous.

McGonagall had informed you that all professors had to arrive before the students, so about ten minutes prior to the official start time of the Ball, you apparated down to the Great Hall.

As soon as you opened your eyes, your breath caught in your chest. The Hall was decorated more beautifully than you’d ever seen it. The ceiling had been transformed into the night sky, the color of the faux sky the same midnight blue as your dress. The stars were sparkling and twinkling like Christmas fairy lights, and soft, transparent clouds floated across them every now and then. Probably a thousand or more candles were floating ten feet above your head, and the walls were swathed in velvet. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought you had known about the decorations beforehand and created your dress to match.

Of course, the large Christmas tree was still standing in the corner of the room, but the decorations had been transformed to match the theme and blend in more with the surroundings. Star and moon-shaped baubles adorned the branches, and the lights twinkled softly.

“Wow.”

You jumped a little at Eric’s sudden declaration, your eyes wide as you looked down and over at him. You hadn’t noticed him arriving at your side because you’d been too busy admiring the Great Hall.

“I know, I’ve never seen it so beautiful in here,” you replied.

When your eyes landed on him, though, you almost choked on your own breath.

He was, indeed, wearing a suit; a sleek black jacket and pants which fit him like a glove, and a black bowtie contrasting against his crisp, white shirt.

But the best part?

His dark hair was slicked back and combed away from his forehead, a style you truly hadn’t known you’d needed to see on him. But now you never wished to be parted from it from this day forward.

“No,” he said, breaking your concentration on just how wonderful he looked. “Not the decorations. You look beautiful.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you shyly looked down at your dress. “Oh -- thank you. I -- you look great, too.”

Eric simply stared at you, his mouth slightly agape. Your cheeks grew warmer by the second until you finally reached out and pushed his shoulder gently.

“Stop,” you said with a soft chuckle. “Come on, the students will be here soon.”

The two of you made your way over to where the other professors were standing, and when you joined them, many commented on your appearance just as Eric had. Your cheeks were perpetually pink from all the compliments, and whenever you glanced over at Eric, he looked like a proud friend.

You weren’t used to so much attention, and frankly, it made you a little uncomfortable, so you breathed a soft sigh of relief when the doors opened and the students began pouring in.

Soft, orchestral music started playing, and the Celestial Ball had now officially begun.

McGonagall allowed a few minutes for the students to settle in before she tapped her wand against the podium at the front of the hall.

“Good evening students and professors alike,” she began, her lips pulled into a small, soft grin. “You all have worked incredibly hard this semester, and I hope tonight is a welcome reprieve from the stresses of work and school. This evening is about enjoying yourself and celebrating everything you have achieved so far this year. And now, without further ado, let the Celestial Ball commence!”

She waved her wand through the air, sending a shower of sparks out into the hall. The sparks dissolved into glitter, slowly floating through the air and landing on the heads and shoulders of the students and faculty. The music then got louder, and Professor Longbottom led McGonagall out to the middle of the dance floor.

Applause swept through the crowd, and you watched as a few more staff and some of the senior students joined Neville and McGonagall, dancing to the lilting waltz now playing.

You shouldn’t have been surprised when Eric held out his hand toward you, but for some reason, you were.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked, one corner of his lips lifted into a tiny smirk.

Your heart began to race, and your stomach turned over a few times as you raised a shaky hand and slipped it into his. “Sure,” you whispered. You’d wanted to be more eloquent than that, responding with something like ‘I would be delighted.’ But a ‘sure’ was about all you could muster right now.

Eric grasped your hand and led you out onto the dance floor. He pulled you close, sliding a hand around your waist and pressing it firmly against the small of your back. Your heart leaped up into your throat when he began to lead you in a waltz, and you were honestly surprised your legs were even working properly.

You were so concentrated on controlling your breathing and not stepping on Eric’s toes that when he spoke, you almost let out a startled cry.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” he asked softly.

“Wh-- what’s not so bad?” you stammered.

“The dance,” he grinned. “You can’t even tell that everyone’s looking at you. I mean -- they’re not looking at you. But if they were, you wouldn’t be able to tell.”

You simply chuckled awkwardly in response; you had no idea what to say because it wasn’t the thought of everyone else looking at you that made you nervous. It was the fact that Eric was so close to you, the fact he was looking at you.

You honestly weren’t sure if you would survive the night if he kept this up.

After a few more dances, one with Neville, two with Eric, and one with the Ravenclaw Head Boy, and some chaperoning, you were beginning to feel quite tired. All of the socializing was draining your mental energy, and you were on the brink of excusing yourself to go back to your room.

It was a lovely ball, actually, and you were having a much better time than you’d anticipated... but still. There was only so much you could take before you needed to recharge.

Just before you made the decision to sneak away, though, Eric appeared by your side and leaned in, placing his mouth next to your ear.

“Will you come with me?”

“Come with you?” you murmured. “Where?”

“Just come with me,” he said with a barely detectable grin, taking your hand and leading you over to the side door you always used to exit the Great Hall.

“Where are we going?” you asked once you’d stepped through into the empty corridor.

You had barely finished the end of your question when Eric apparated, pulling you along with him.

When you arrived at your destination, your head was spinning just slightly from the unexpected journey, and you clutched Eric’s arm to steady yourself.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “I should have warned you.”

“No, it’s --” You trailed off when you opened your eyes and realized he had taken you up to the Astronomy Tower. “It’s fine... The Astrono -- Why are we --”

“It’s the Celestial Ball,” Eric said with a somewhat cheesy grin. “I thought it would be appropriate. And you looked like you needed a break from all the people.”

He stepped away from you then, letting go of your hand and moving over to the railing to look up at the actual night sky.

“I did, actually,” you confirmed, waiting a few seconds before joining him. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful.”

The two of you gazed up at the stars for at least a minute in silence before Eric’s quiet voice cut through the darkness.

“Have I told you already how beautiful you look?”

“Stop,” you chuckled bashfully, already feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks.

“I’m serious,” he urged. “You always look beautiful. I... I want to tell you all the time how beautiful you are, I just...”

He trailed off, and you discovered you were holding your breath.

“You just what?” you whispered.

“I don’t want to ruin what we have,” he said as he avoided your gaze by staring at his hands grasping the railing. “The past several months have been some of the most difficult and best months of my life. Getting to know you, I... To be honest, I never thought I could feel this way about someone before.”

Oh my -- was he...? Surely he couldn’t be saying what it sounded like he was saying.

“I like you. A lot. Since the beginning of the school year, even, I’ve thought you were one of the most incredible people I’ve ever --”

You weren’t sure what took over you, but when you heard Eric say the words ‘I like you,’ it stirred up some sort of confidence in you. He was still staring down at the railing, speaking to his hands, so you reached out to cradle his cheek in your palm and forced him to look at you.

And then you wasted no time in pressing your lips to his.

Like I said, you had no idea what had taken over you.

It took Eric a couple of seconds to respond; apparently, you weren’t the only one shocked by your actions. But when he did, you felt his lips curve into a smile and his hands move to hold your waist.

You had imagined Eric confessing feelings for you countless times. All throughout school, you had daydreamed about it. Since the beginning of September, you had thought about what he would say and how you react and how you would feel.

Out of all the emotions you’d thought a romantic confession would stir up... relief was not one of them. But that was exactly what you were feeling right now.

You were utterly and incredibly relieved.

You suddenly realized it had been exhausting holding your feelings for him in all this time. And now that you could share them, release them into the wild, you’d never felt so free in your whole life.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured against your lips when you pulled away from the kiss. “I’ve just been too scared to tell you.”

“Scared?” you chuckled, your hand still resting on his cheek as you gazed up into his eyes. “You’re a Gryffindor, you’re not supposed to be scared of anything.”

“I am, apparently, when it comes to you. You’re a whole different kind of intimidating.”

“Nonsense,” you smiled.

“No, really,” Eric assured you. “You’re smart -- a genius, really. You’re generous and kind-hearted and witty and clever and just as gorgeous on the inside as you are on the outside.”

“But I’m also shy and quiet and awkward and nervous and anxious and --”

Eric cut you off with another kiss, and you gladly let him.

But then you realized what he had said before he’d admitted to being too scared to tell you how he felt.

“You’re wrong, though,” you said softly.

“Wrong about what?”

“I do have an idea of how long you’ve wanted to kiss me.” Your heart began to hammer inside of your ribcage because you were about to admit something you never, ever, ever, ever thought you would.

Eric’s brow furrowed gently, and he frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I...” You stopped to take a deep breath, though it did nothing to calm your nerves. “I’ve liked you for a long time, too. Since... the beginning of school.”

“Well, that’s how long --”

“No, the beginning of school. Like... our first year at Hogwarts. As students.”

Eric simply blinked at you.

“I had the biggest crush on you all seven years,” you said quietly, though it actually did feel pretty great to finally say it out loud.

“What?” he asked with a breathless laugh. “You -- did you really?”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks warm under his incredulous gaze.

“Why didn’t you --” But he cut himself off, most likely because he already knew the answer to that question. So, instead of asking why you hadn’t said anything back then, he simply leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. “I was such an idiot back then.”

“No,” you replied immediately, a confident urgency in your voice. “You were not.”

“If I had noticed you, I would have liked you,” he continued, seemingly ignoring your protest. “How could I have not liked you? I was just too stupid to --”

“Eric, please,” you pleaded. “If you were that stupid, I wouldn’t have liked you.”

He chuckled at that, and your lips curved into a smile.

“And if you had noticed me, I would have been too shy to actually do or say anything. And I was too focused on my studies. I liked you, yes. Tremendously. But I probably wouldn't have actually dated you.”

Eric lifted his head, a quizzical look forming on his features. “I... don’t know how to take that.”

“I just think things were meant to work out this way,” you told him with a soft laugh. Though, to be honest, you were even surprising yourself with your words. You hadn’t actually ever thought that before because you hadn’t let yourself dream about getting together with him. But now that you were, it was crystal clear to you. If he had noticed you while you were students at Hogwarts, if he had fallen for you then, you probably would have rejected him. You wouldn’t have wanted him to get in the way of your studies, and he most definitely would have distracted you.

But now you no longer had to worry about exams and grades and O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts and all that. You had work now instead of school, but it wasn’t nearly the same. Now you had time and, frankly, now you had a bit more confidence and security with who you were.

“I wasn’t ready for it back then,” you explained.

“But... you are now?” Eric asked somewhat hesitantly.

“Yes,” you replied immediately. “Oh, yes. And, trust me, I think you’re worth the wait.”

Eric’s cautious expression left his face, and a teasingly surprised one replaced it. “Oh, you think?” he asked. “You think I’m worth the wait?”

You shook your head, a playful smirk on your lips as you rolled your eyes. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Well,” Eric huffed, tightening his hold on you and bringing you even closer to him. “I know you were worth the wait.”

Instead of replying bashfully or teasingly or rolling your eyes again... you stood on your toes and kissed him. You captured his lips in exactly the kind of kiss you’d always wanted to share with him: soft, tender, sweet... loving.

And it was everything you had imagined it would be. Everything and more.

As you kissed him, you couldn’t help but think back to September, back to the staff meeting when you’d first seen him sitting next to Neville. You had been so shocked, frozen in place until McGonagall had forced you to move.

To you, Eric had been sort of like an unreachable dream. Someone so far out of your league you hadn’t ever entertained the idea of any sort of relationship with him, friendship or romantic.

You realized now that hadn’t been fair. He was just a person like anyone else, and he didn’t deserve to be put on such a high pedestal. He was perfect, yes, but he was still human. A wonderful human. A lovely, handsome, fearless human. Your human. Your person.

He had been an unreachable dream, and you? To him, you had just been a familiar face. Someone he’d seen but never met. Someone he’d known of but never actually known.

And now the two of you had managed to meet in the middle somewhere. You had found that sweet spot, and things had worked out exactly as they should have.

Yes, it was definitely worth the wait.

#kwritersworldnet #eric nam scenarios #eric nam imagines #eric nam au #eric nam fluff #eric nam fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop harry potter au #eric nam

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hadestownmodern · 4 years

Text

Carnival

Hello this is Demeter and Theo’s time, thank you all for coming. I have some soft Orphydice on deck but you all know how I feel about our dear young Demeter

-Danielle

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

Theo sees her before he can hear her; Demeter, all wild curls and overalls, comes bounding over to his little honey stand waving a piece of paper in her hand. When she makes it across the market her smile consumes her, and she can barely manage greeting him with a hug before shoving the paper in his line of sight.

“Look at this!” She gasps, “Are you going? Do you want to go together? Please?” If he had planned on saying no to her, he isn’t sure he would have been able to. The excitement illuminates her, catches in the air around her in a way that would infect anybody in her path. She’s holding the flyer out still and she grabs his hand, puts it inside and closes his knuckles around it.

The flyer advertises a fair-one that comes to town every year, one that he and his family hadn’t been to in a long while. The hype of it all hadn’t seemed necessary; the same rides, food, games…he’d become occupied with other things, had been busy throughout these years helping his family turn their business around. He’d been so busy growing up that he’d forgotten the love of something that had always been such a staple of living in such a small community; things like this brought the world together, gave them a reason to celebrate.

“Have you been before?”

“No, I never got to. Nana tried-she tried a lot. But my mom always used to say things about dirt and germs and money being spent on pretty things that help you ‘show yourself’ which…explains private school perfectly.” Demeter shrugs, kicking her sandals off and sitting herself on her usual perch atop Theo’s cooler. He finds it hard to believe that the wild-natured girl had once been so spoiled, raised so intently on the value of placement in society.

“I wish you’d have gotten to see it as a kid. Some of my best memories are from this fair.”

“Which is why we have to go! Are you really going to deprive me of some of the best memories of your life?” the way she articulates her words, pushing her syllables out with emphasis on every other word, has Theo teasingly rolling his eyes at her. He holds his answer purposefully, watching as she impatiently taps her feet against the cooler.

“I don’t know, I’m pretty busy.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Yeah, I’ve just got a ton of work, I don’t know how I could ever get out of it.” Theo fails at his attempt to hide his smiling-Demeter tilts her head, watches as he awkwardly shrugs at her. He maneuvers around his little stand under the pretense of suddenly being very busy, shifting the crates of returned jars and adjusting his sign. While Demeter watches, he turns each jar on his table so the label is facing out, continuing a rant about how business is booming lately and his grandfather needs help with something she can’t quite understand. She hops up from her perch on the cooler and follows along behind him, sneakily turning the labels any which way. When he notices her he narrows his eyes, unable to stop a laughter that mirrors hers.

“I have a lot to do!”

“Okay.”

“I do!”

“Sure.” She raises an eyebrow at him, taps her fingers on the counter before swiping a bottle of honey from the back of his stock. She twists it open with a snap, dips her finger in and pops it in her mouth with a satisfying hum. “You’re really busy, and I had the best childhood ever. Come on, bee man, we have to go!”

“Only if you promise to buy me some cotton candy.”

“I’ll buy you twenty.”

“Deal.”

Demeter pumps her fist in success, freckled cheeks lifting with a wide grin as she brings one arm lazily around his waist in thanks. She’s a flurry of energy as she gathers her things; a soft, slightly flimsy blanket, a water bottle, and sandals she sticks in a worn canvas bag. She turns to leave but immediately whirls around, snatching the open bottle of honey from the counter.

“You’re stealing!” She throws her hands up in the air, looking at Theo from over her shoulder, airy and light.

“You’ll have to catch me if you want this bottle back!”

He watches her go, barefoot and waving at every person she passes, and tucks the flyer into the pocket of his apron.

They meet on a Mondy night; the rush of the Sunday farmer’s market is over, the clean-up, count, and re-stock typically taking a good portion of the day. Theo had finished even quicker in anticipation, washing and drying jars, stacking them on shelves.

“Where are you off in such a rush to?” His grandfather had smiled at him from his place at the sink, peeling potatoes and watching Theo check tasks off a list with ease. His grandson had never been lazy-not since the day he’d been born-but he’d also never been prone to working so quickly through his jobs.

“My friend and I are going to the fair, and I promised I’d meet her at her house in an hour.”

“Oh?” He picks his head up from his work, his grandfather. Years of working had brought thin lines to his features; across his forehead, in the space next to his eyes, and near the cheeks that bore the trademark dimples he’d passed down to Theo along with his name. They make his expressions sharper, more pronounced. Theo ducks his head as he watches the lines spread upward in question, unamused. “New friend?”

“Yeah, kind of. We’ve been friends for a little while now. She moved into the old farmhouse past the Clancy’s, where that sweet old woman used to take in all the cows that weren’t needing milking anymore.”

“I know the house. And you think this is a good idea?”

“Let him have his fun, Theodore.” It’s his grandmother’s sweet voice that comes around the corner, and Theo looks away instinctively from her pitying eyes. His grandmother’s hands, tiny and shrunken like her stature, reach as high as they can toward his cheeks, before falling on his hands instead. She clicks her tongue, waits for him to meet her gaze. She takes him in, all six and a half feet of him, and nods her head.

“You have fun tonight, Teddy.” She brings his big hands to her lips, kisses them softly. “And you be safe!”

---

She’s ready when he gets to the little farmhouse, visible through the window as he pulls into her graveled driveway. When she sees him coming she hops up, disappears for a moment before flinging open the door, waving. He hasn’t even gotten out of the car before she’s gotten in, throwing her house key in the cupholder.

“Let’s go, bee man!” She pumps her fist, exuberant as he backs out of her driveway, Theo shakes his head as she sings loudly to the radio, bops along to the familiar chords of an acoustic guitar. The ride only lasts for three songs, all of which are belted with the feeling of a performance. He drums lightly on the steering wheel and Demeter sings into her fist, stopping only to pretend to strum a guitar with careful passion.

When they park she hops out of the car, runs to his side and waits impatiently for him to unbuckle. She’s dancing, this time to the muted sounds of the band that’s set up halfway across the fairground. Demeter’s grinning from ear to ear, still singing, grabbing hold of his hand only to reach up on her toes, pushing his side to spin him around. He isn’t much of a mover built so tall and muscular, but he shuffles his body along with hers with about as much grace as he can muster. She wraps both arms around one of his when the song ends and moves quickly toward the entrance.

It’s a lot to take in, the lights and the crowd of people, and Demeter stops for a moment to let her wide eyes soak everything up. Her lips are parted in the beginnings of a soft gasp, completely entranced by the rickety rides and the smell of fresh buttered popcorn from a nearby stand. Then, she’s gone; he follows her rapid footsteps just as she’s fished a stack of dollar bills from her bag, placing them on the counter and giving the cashier a bright, slightly mischievous smile.

“So, here’s the thing.” She leans effortlessly against the counter, gaze cast at the gigantic cotton candy machine. “My best friend here-you probably know him, he knows everybody around here-said that he’d come here with me if I bought him twenty cotton candy’s. The thing is, I don’t think we could eat twenty all in one night and there’s also popcorn that needs to be eaten. So I was hoping that maybe, if you’re up for a challenge, you could try something for me.”

She looks back at Theo before leaning closer to the cashier, speaking low and intelligible. He takes only a moment to think, then shrugs and puts her money in the register. Demeter bounces on her toes as she watches the man get to work, masterfully twirling the large paper cone in the wide, circular machine. When he’s finished, she’s handed a wad of cotton candy bigger than her head.

“Better than twenty?” She takes a big bite, puffy candy hanging from her lips before dissolving. She holds the cone out to him with a sideways nod of her head. He takes his bite and Demeter bops the cone of candy against his nose.

“Better than twenty.”

“I’ve never had this before.” She rips off another piece, stopping mid-air as Theo’s jaw drops.

“You’ve never had cotton candy?”

“Nope.”

“Ever?”

“Never.” Demeter shrugs, holding the cone out to him once more. “The upper crust of society frowns upon cotton candy and fun, especially fairs.”

“Do they also frown upon wearing your own clothes?” He teases. Demeter sticks her tongue out, backs up from where they’re walking to strike a dramatic pose. She’s modeling one of his sweaters, a burnt sort of orange color that falls just above her knees. She’s paired it with slightly worn brown boots; simple, yet bold on the girl who spins lightheartedly in front of him.

“You left it at my house!” Her argument is just as teasing as his call-out, a shrug and a brush of her hair from her face. There’s a catalogue of his things there now, shirts and socks and even a blanket. “I can give it back.”

“That’s okay,” He holds out his hand again, gestures to a row of carnival games. “I don’t need it.”

They play for a while, Demeter’s competitive side showing as they take turns at knocking over a pile of neatly arranged cans, a stuffed elephant the sole focus of their attention. They aren’t sure who chose it first, the white animal decorated with primary colors, but once it’s been decided the pair hangs around the carnival game without so much as another thought.

They egg each other on, taking turns swiveling between trash talk and cheering as they attempt to knock every bottle down. As they win smaller prizes, candy and smaller toys, Theo wheels around and hands them to a group of children that had come to watch. They cheer, too-whether it’s for their win or a loss that will bring them more toys is debatable. Demeter’s in the middle of a long string of tongue-in-cheek mocking when Theo hits the center of the pile, causing all the cans to topple over. She jumps, waves her hands and lets her smile double uncontrollably as Theo holds the head-sized elephant out to her.

“First prize for the baby.” He says. He’s so proud, so enraptured by the moment that all she can do is smile back convincingly, unable to find her focus as he leads her to the ferris wheel. She holds the toy on her lap, nodding to the inflections in his voice. As the ride begins to move, he quiets.

“Something’s wrong.” It’s not a question; he’s known her long enough now to see the sudden change in her demeanor, the way some of the light has disappeared from her eyes.

“It was negative again…I meant to tell you Sunday, but….”

“Are you okay?”

“I just…thought having a baby would be easier. That’s what they teach you in private school-that’s all they teach you. But I think I’m making it harder on myself. I know it’ll happen, I can see it. It hasn’t even been that long…I just need to relax a little bit.”

“Words I thought I’d never hear you say.” She wrinkles her nose, pushes her side against his in defiance. The wheel whirs upward and the pair watches the ground move away from their feet. Demeter turns, watches as he stares at the lights that light the sky around them, whirring in their multicolored show. He seems lost, in a way, and she wonders if he can feel the disappointment she tries so desperately to shake from her veins. The wheel stops right as their carriage hits the top, and they lean against the railing.

The fairgrounds aren’t as sprawling as he’d remembered, their magic having disappeared with time and familiarity. What once had felt like crowds of thousands had dissipated; from this vantage point he can see where they’d danced-where Demeter had stopped in the middle of the crowd and looked up at the lights just turning on to illuminate the places that dusk had begun to darken. He can see where she’d pulled him by the hand, asked to go on the tilt-a-whirl immediately after their feast of cotton candy. He can see where the sugar high had led them to stand apart, tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths.

The seemingly worn-out experiences had been renewed with his company, who leans over the safety bar, pointing and narrating, unable to take in the whole scene at once. The slight breeze rustles her hair, brushes her nose and cheeks with a pink that matches the softness of her features. She hides her hands in the sleeves of his sweater, already a monstrous thing on her small frame. It’s a picture all in itself, the way she brings things to life with her wide eyes and exuberant narration. When the ride starts whirring again she settles herself back against the seat, and he softens at the feeling of her head on his shoulder. It takes Demeter a moment to collect herself, bringing her knees to her chest and her body pressed against his side.

“Hey, at least we’re here, right? I might not have a baby yet, but I’ve still got you.” She sighs, content, and the wheel begins to make another ascent.

#hadestown #hadestownmodern #young demeter #demeter and bee man #she started calling him bee man too it's fine #my apologies to Oli and Annika they know the true ending to this fic I just can't write it #demeter #theo

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rorykillmore · 4 years

Text

so today is @firelxdykatara‘s birthday!!!! she asked for a fic with natasha in it, and i thought, well, villanelle went home a few days ago on denny but we never got to rp her’s and nat’s reunion. so i did a little fic of it!!! i hope you enjoy, kitty (and i hope i wrote nat okay, im love her) because i do adore this dynamic and i am just so happy we’ve gotten the chance to build it together as much as we have

also, have a wonderful wonderful birthday!!! i know this is not exactly the easiest time of year to be celebrating, but keep your chin up and know that you have friends who love you and certainly love getting to spend a little bit of extra time with you. you have lifted my mood more times than you know by just being around and making me laugh, so i hope i can return the favor <3

Natasha is telling her little parts are enough, and oddly and inexplicably, Vilanelle thinks just then that maybe this is the safest she’s ever felt with another person.

The house is quiet the night Villanelle finally goes home. For a moment, she stands there out on the front porch and just breathes in the familiarity, the smell of the ocean and fire pits from down at the beach on the breeze, the sound of waves crashing against the shore in the distance. It soothes her, even if imagining what might be waiting for her inside does not.

With her and Draco gone, maybe Natasha and Fox have already cleared out. Personally, Villanelle doesn’t see grief or mourning as very good reasons not to live in a gorgeous and expensive mansion, but people and their emotions can be so unpredictable sometimes.

Maybe they are just out doing something. Maybe they are planning her funeral. Villanelle had considered further delaying her return for the sole reason that it would be incredibly fun and dramatic to crash her own funeral.

But barring that, she should probably stop standing here wondering about it and actually go inside, she figures. So she steps up to the door, and --

Damn it.

It’s only when she tries the handle that she remembers she does not exactly have a key on her. To her own goddamn house. Wonderful.

Villanelle steps off the porch in favor of prowling the perimeter of the house instead, making for the pool deck in the back. Neither she nor her roommates are exactly the “hide a spare key under the doormat” type (they are all much too paranoid for that), but fuck, what is she, an amateur? If she cannot even break into her own home?

She’s just trying to figure out a way to do it without having to pay a window repair man -- and that’s when she rounds the corner of the mansion and sees that she was wrong. The house is not completely dark.

There is a light on in (what she estimates with a fair amount of confidence, considering how long she’s been here) Natasha’s window.

And suddenly, Villanelle gets the perfect idea.

Experimentally, she grips some of the ivy casing crawling along the wall and, once she’s sure it’s not going to give, she starts to climb. Natasha’s bedroom is only on the second floor, thankfully, so it’s not like she has to make it the whole way. When she gets up to the window, she pauses briefly to readjust herself before giving it a quick tap. She doesn’t even detect any movement in response, but she knows that’s most likely because Natasha is smart enough not to put herself in plain view of a potential intruder.

Sure enough, the curtain gets pulled back a second later, though, and Villanelle finds herself face to face with her friend with only a panel of glass to separate them.

Natasha stares.

Villanelle grins, and uses her free hand to give her a little wave.

She holds her position as Natasha finally seems to remember herself, unlocking the window and pulling it open, and by way of greeting -- “You... realize you could have knocked.”

“I did,” Villanelle responds innocently. “Technically.”

“At the door.”

“I thought you would respect me making an entrance.”

Natasha’s lips twitch, like she wants to smirk, but she doesn’t. Maybe she’s still a little too rattled. Villanelle will have to try harder. But that will have to wait until she actually climbs inside, which she does carefully when Natasha moves back in clear invitation.

“Surprised to see me?” she asks once she’s steadily back on her feet, offering Natasha a crooked grin.

Natasha doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she first takes a moment to study Villanelle, who studies her right back, taking a quiet sort of delight in how good she’s gotten at reading Natasha’s usually inscrutable expressions.

She takes less delight in the troubled shadow of sadness she sees in Natasha’s eyes, but... well, what can she do? She can’t take back the fact that she was forced into the Games. Or the fact that she died there.

“There were rumors some of the tributes were coming back,” Natasha finally responds. “But the RID hasn’t gotten anywhere close to verifying all of them. So... yes.” She gives Villanelle a tired sort of smile.

Unexpectedly, Villanelle wants to reach out to her. That’s a relatively new impulse -- so far, she’s shied away from too much physical contact with most of her reunions, or at the very least being the one to initiate it. Maybe the difference here is that Nat has always been so unexpectedly grounding for Villanelle -- not that she would ever be sappy enough to put that into words. But --

-- In some ways, it’s only now that she’s here with Natasha that it finally registers that she’s home.

She curbs her impulse and sits down on the edge of Natasha’s bed instead, shrugging. “It was a surprise to me too,” she admits simply. Understatement of the century, but that part probably doesn’t need to be said.

Carefully, quietly, Natasha sits down beside her. “...I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because at this point that’s a stupid question.”

Villanelle hums in agreement.

“But depending on your level of... not okay, I’m... you know. I’m here.”

And Villanelle supposes that she wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of scaling the wall to climb in through Natasha’s bedroom window if she had not, on some level, wanted her to be. She considers for another stretch of silence before she attempts a response. “...You know what it’s like.” Perhaps not the Hunger Games specifically, but extreme conditions of survival, endless cycles of violence, trauma? Villanelle is sure Natasha’s on the same page. “Sometimes it is best to just compartmentalize and move on.”

Natasha exhales slowly, but there’s nothing remotely judgmental in her expression. “It’s certainly easiest,” she agrees, without pushing. Villanelle instinctively relaxes a fraction. “Especially since you haven’t exactly had a lot of privacy over the last few weeks. It’s just... sometimes it’s also good to have people you don’t have to hide everything from.”

It’s the way Natasha says it that makes Villanelle pause before just shoving the idea away completely. Most other people, Villanelle knows, would have said “you can talk to me” or “you don’t have to hide from me” or some bullshit like that, expecting her to open up like a book waiting to be read.

But Natasha knows that for people like them - people who have worn and shed the skins of many, many different personas, who may not even know who they really are if they dig deep enough underneath all that - it’s not such an easy thing to do. An impossibility, even, to give someone the whole of yourself, or even just the whole of a singular feeling, when you are so used to only chipping off and offering little parts.

Natasha is telling her little parts are enough, and oddly and inexplicably, Vilanelle thinks just then that maybe this is the safest she’s ever felt with another person. She sighs, and then laughs, the sound rusty with disuse. “It feels weird. Giving your life for someone else. Not good. Not special.”

Silence answers her briefly as Natasha turns to stare at the wall opposite, her mouth twisting wryly, sadly. “...Yeah. I know what you mean.”

And she does, Villanelle realizes belatedly. Everything before the Games feels so much further away now, but she still remembers that ridiculous future marriage they’ve both avoided talking about. And she still remembers what Natasha told her, even if she has been trying to do Natasha the courtesy of pretending that she didn’t.

“I know what you did in there must go against all of your instincts. And everything you’ve been taught,” Natasha starts, her voice hitched with just enough emotion for Villanelle to know she’s speaking from experience. “...But you made your own choice. And you did it for someone you love. And whatever else you want to think about it, Villanelle, that still proves that you are so much more than just anything anyone could train you to be. Than every fucked up thing you’ve been through.”

Villanelle swallows without saying anything and stares down at her hands. It makes her think of what Natasha said before, when she had described the sacrifice she’d made for Clint. That she was broken. Villanelle has never thought of herself as “broken”, at least not in any kind of self-deprecating way, but she feels a little bit like she is now.

Mostly, though, she thinks about how Natasha came here after dying. How Natasha has probably not had anyone to tell her these things. And Villanelle, surely, would not be very good at it if she tried, but...

...She finally reaches out the way she wants to, and squeezes one of Nat’s hands with her own. “So are you,” she asserts firmly, determinedly, staring back at Natasha with all the adoration she can still muster (surprisingly, a lot, even given how exhausted she is) as if she can single-handedly, telepathically convince Natasha of how amazing she is.

And when Natasha squeezes her hand back tightly, Villanelle thinks, maybe she can’t fix everything for Nat just like Nat can’t fix everything for her.

But maybe they can do it in little parts, just like everything else.

#fic #[disaster russian assassins who have never known normalcy in their lives grasping hands]

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diabhals · 4 years

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as promised, i have no fucking self-control, so below the cut is approximately 2k words of sappy wedding fluff. no i’m not sorry.

Bea's fingers run, fleet-footed, tap tap tap over the mahogany. A dance conducted by her thoughts, and the orchestra sails on, minutes ticking down to seconds of tap tap tap. Now she misses her little finger; now the dance is disjointed, the beat faltering as it comes to that knotted scar, tap tap stop. Now her hands move to straighten her tie again, for the fifth time, and they shake.

"How do I look?" Flicking her gaze to Matei, she licks her lips, expectant. A clock ticking over before the chime.

"Horrendous." He reaches up to brush an imaginary speck of dust from her forehead. "I'm sure he'll run away in horror at the sight of you."

"Oi." Bea huffs a laugh, her breath hot enough to blossom into a crystalline cloud; her jacket keeps out the cold of the room, though it still knifes at her fingers. "He wo-- what if he does?"

It's not a joke when it's a possibility, when she's stamping her feet in the antechamber and wondering exactly what part of the ceremony calls for husband and wife to freeze to death. For contemplation, Kiriya had said, in case you get cold feet. It's not a joke when those words are breathed into a fine mist of physicality, when she knows her Kit and she knows there's always some knife in his broken soul, ready to cut all mooring ropes and cast him into the stormy seas again. Such sharp things must be handled gently, softly, kissed by cherry lips and told they are beautiful, or they will not stay. They will not come to the call of a woman whose lips are chapped and whose hands are hard.

"He won't." Matei's words are a firm finality, even as the breath that spoke them dissipates. Bea returns to her pacing and tap tap tapping.

Looking around the antechamber, she can't believe this is where the last moments of her unmarried life are slipping away: the same place where they prepare bodies, the same place where squalling babies are brought in nests of blankets and greeted by the priest for the first time. She understands why it's so cold, now: it keeps the bodies from rotting on that marble bed, white shot through with tear-tracks of black. It keeps the soon-to-be-weds on their toes, keeps them walking, walking, needing to hear the sound of their footsteps echoing into the vaulted ceiling to know that they are there and this is real.

The door clicks open to admit an altar-maiden, her spider-spun skirts rustling over the threshold. Everything about her is soft: the hair that cascades over her shoulders, the milky, blue eyes that stare up at Bea.

"It's time." What was her name again -- it escapes her, but Bea follows the girl just the same. One last glance over her shoulder to make sure Matei is coming with her, then into the body of the church.

It never fails to take her breath away, the stone pillars like ribs stretching up and bowing together overhead. The way her footsteps echo, a heartbeat filling the cavity of space between her and the stone as she hurries to the altar, taking her place in front of it; she longs to savour it, light pouring in, a sticky-sweet blood, through a stained glass window, but her own heart is hammering. Her eyes are too fixed on the other end of the aisle, the door that seems to do nothing but stare at her. Asking, do you consider yourself worthy?

If the waiting room was supposed to still her doubts, it hasn't worked. They all flood back in a rush: if she were him, this is when she'd do it. She'd spend the whole night pacing as she was, debating, only coming to a decision the moment before she sealed her life away. She'd run, though Bea can't imagine he'd get too far, he limps all the worse these days, and a bad leg is an easy weakness to spot. What she can imagine is that he's afraid, that he'd fold himself into some dark crevice and dissolve into the shadows, to reappear somewhere else, under a different name.

He may also persuade Tammy to put rat poison in her whiskey, but in light of all they've been through, Bea considers that quite rude.

With a sound like the groaning of gears, the door opens, letting in another shaft of sugared-pink sunlight.

Letting in Kit.

Her first thought is that dress must cost a fortune; her second thought: no, it's alright, we have the time and the money for a dress now. Her third thought is nothing at all, just an intake of breath.

Walking slowly, supported by Micah, Kit's skirt rustles across the stone like a whisper. The dress is white, white as a funeral shroud, as a newborn's shawl; its train stretches back, a wave of taffeta topped by the veil, a frothing of lace. She barely gives the dress more than a cursory glance, though, searching underneath that veil for his familiar face. Even through it, the white deepens the colour of his skin, a warm brown almost set alight by the sunrise's caressings. Even despite it, she can piece together the contours of his face, the scar, the freckles, and lose herself in them: call him beautiful, call him majestic, call him mine. Hers because she knows him in every detail, knows him down to the rhythm of his steps -- even in a good dress, they don't change. Quick-slow, soft-heavy, the weight always falling on his good leg.

She's just about ready to succumb to wonder when Matei elbows her in the ribs.

"Stop it. You're embarrassing yourself." His wolfy grin says wait until I tell the others about this, as if they aren't already watching.

"He's going to be my husband, you know," Bea whispers, pouting. "I'm allowed to look."

"Don't I know it." Matei snickers, loud enough that the altar-maiden shoots him a venomous look. "Beatrice Poisontongue, scourge of two kingdoms, a blushing bride. I never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Fuck off, it'll be your turn soon enough." Doesn't she know that; she would tease him about the way he drapes himself over Vall, but Micah is handing Kit up the altar steps, and she reaches down to help him.

As Bea takes Kit's hand, Micah's eyes meet hers, the message in them clear. Look after him. It's something she's heard from Matei, Tammy, even Kiriya -- a promise she's already made, and intends to keep.

Handing Kit up the steps, she gives him a smile, as gentle as she can muster. Beneath the veil, it's returned; his hand grips hers, tightening like the fastening of a good rope to a mooring post.

Finally, they both stand before the priest, before the Stitched Goddess, or at least her stained-glass effigy. It seems to smile at them, perhaps a touch indulgently, making Bea want to spit in its eye and hold Kit all the tighter. I know I've not earned him, but I have him. And I don't know why either of us decided to get married before you.

"Beatrice and --" The priest doesn't manage to say it and earn himself a kick in the teeth before Kit interrupts.

"Kit. It's just Kit." He returns the squeeze of Bea's hand, and she wonders whether she would've had to get in line to deliver the teeth-kicking.

The priest gives Kit a nod, one Bea supposes must pass for understanding.

"Beatrice and Kit, we are here today to celebrate your union before the Goddess, and before your family." Family -- she glances back across the audience, mostly full of Sewer People. Free citizens of Den Tiel now, part of her family. "Do you understand the commitment you are about to make?"

Last chance for you to back out, her eyes say.

"We do." The unison surprises her; Kit's shrouded eyes whisper back, why would I want to?

"Very well. Beatrice, repeat after me --"

Bea doesn't need his prompting, not when she's been repeating these words to herself for weeks, perfecting their exact cadence. For a moment, everything else fades away, and she sees nothing but Kit as she speaks:

"Kit, I promise to be your safe harbour and your mooring post. I promise to be your lighthouse and your wind. I promise to keep a lamp lit for you in my heart wherever I am, wherever you are, in poverty and in riches. In happiness and strife. With this necklace--" somehow Matei remembers his cue, pressing it into Bea's hand, "I also promise you myself." Til death sees fit to take me, she's supposed to add, but just let death try and take her without him.

Slipping her hands under the veil to clasp the necklace, her stomach churns with excitement. There's something strangely illicit, an open secret, in breaching the lace, feeling his pulse flutter beneath warm skin. She had wanted to get him something more ornate, but in that silvered moment the simple gold chain seems fine, a single ruby dripping like a drop of blood onto the white dress.

"Now, Kit, if you would--"

"Bea." He almost cracks; she can hear the laugh in his voice before he continues. "I promise to be your compass and your road home. I promise to be your north star and your map. I promise to keep a lamp lit for you in my heart wherever I am, wherever you are, in poverty and in riches. In happiness and in strife. With this necklace, I also promise you myself."

Tammy hands him the necklace; it's equally simple, an emerald-eyed snake on a gold chain. Clasping it, Kit's fingers brush the back of Bea's neck, sending a shiver webbing across her skin.

All too soon his hands are gone; the priest smiles, placid and fatherly.

"My children, at the dawn of the world, the Stitched Goddess knew you. She sewed every part of you together, and wove the paths of your lives; now she has seen fit to weave those two colourful tapestries together. With the utmost joy, and my heartfelt blessing, I charge you to cherish each other always, as husband and wife." Say it, Bea thinks, say it. "You may now kiss."

She lifts the veil almost reverently, revealing the divinity beneath -- and Kit pounces on her, drawing her into the kiss. Rapacious, hands cupping her cheeks as if afraid she'll slip through his fingers. All she can do, all she wants to do, is offer herself up, leaning into the kiss. Every part of it is known to her now: the way he tastes, bittersweet, the way his passion washes over her, the way it baptised her the first time she knew it. They way it wasn't exactly freely given, not this vulnerable, and that -- she must've done something to earn it.

Somehow, that's the best part of it all: that when they pull away, everyone's clapping, and she finally knows the answer. She is worthy.

Her slips her hand into his, wanting to never let go. A look passes between them; Bea's heart swells when she catches his smile, a genuine smile. Turning back to the aisle laid out before them, she gives his hand a little squeeze, then one more glance at her new husband.

"Walk with me?"

"Always."

They begin to descend the steps; idly, she wonders how much the house with the turquoise door costs.

#joan.docx #oc: bea #oc: kit #ship: bea x kit #right for some context:#they've been through a LOT of shit #including a war #to get to this point #bea used to be a mob boss before she ended up founding her own city-state #alongside kit #who basically led a group of outcast people #and she's so afraid of loving him because he's been through so much #(ie an abusive father #which is why he has a bad leg and why he doesn't like his full name)#and she doesn't want to make it worse #micah is his adopted dad #tammy is their mutual friend #a courtesan and renowned backstabber #as for the dress #theyre both gnc af #and this was a test of how much i could stop fangirling over the dress #ANyway #'walk with me' is their little thing #micah said it to kit after he first had to relearn to walk #bea said it again after he had to do so AGAIn in the middle of a war #and now it just passes for 'im here to support you'#/end rant

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mizmahlia · 4 years

Text

My life's on the run and you know it's kinda awesome

Summary: All he wanted to do was watch the Rugby World Cup in peace.

Apparently 80 minutes of solitude was too much to ask.

TW: Some blood and a stab wound, nothing graphic.

AO3

The match was set to begin in half an hour and John weaseled his way through the crowd, his eye on the lone open seat at the bar. Two tall, muscular men swore under their breaths after he bumped into them and didn’t apologize, but went back to their conversation about the match ahead.

John slid into the chair and smiled to himself. The cloaking sigils he painted on the outsides of the pub at three a.m. that morning were doing their jobs so far, shielding him from anyone and anything he didn’t want to find him. It had been one hell of a week, bad pun intended, and all he wanted to do was have a few pints by himself, watch England play New Zealand, and get absolutely smashed if they won.

To be honest, he planned on that regardless of the outcome of that match, but pretending it was to celebrate a win made him feel like slightly less of a drunk.

He nodded when the bartender looked his way and smiled.

“Long time, no see, John. What’ll you have?”

“Same as always, mate.”

He grabbed a glass and began the pour, glancing sideways at John.

“Never took you as the superstitious type.”

John snorted.

“Me? Superstitious? Not in the slightest.” He slid a twenty-pound note across the bar. “Make that a double, Roger. Before you get too busy.”

“Too busy for you?” Roger asked, managing to hide his blush from everyone but John. He bit the inside of his cheek as he poured the second pint and slid it across the bar. “Never.”

They locked eyes for a moment and John smiled into his beer, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Good to know,” he said, wiping the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. “You busy later?”

Before Roger could answer, he was called to the other end of the bar, but not before he met John’s gaze one more time.

“Depends on how the match goes. England wins, I’ll be here late.”

John sipped his beer again, dragging their exchange out as long as possible.

“Good thing I’m a bit of a night owl then, isn’t it?”

Roger laughed and nodded before heading over to wait on the other side of the bar.

If this was how his night was going to go, John had no complaints whatsoever.

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

England were up 10-0 at the half and John was working on beer number four when he nature called. He slid his wallet into his pocket and left his coat on the chair, nodding at Roger before he weaved his way through the sea of people toward the back. As per usual, there wasn’t a queue for the men’s toilet, so he got right in and took care of business.

He washed his hands and stared at his reflection in the mirror, nothing how absolutely knackered he looked. To say it had been a rough week would be an understatement even by British standards. Between the anniversary of Astra’s death, a nasty case of possession in Argentina, and having to fight Enchantress yet again, he felt about ten years older and none the wiser for it.

Splashing cold water on his face, he reminded himself he had plans for later and that moping would do nothing but put him in a foul mood, something Roger didn’t deserve to witness.

Outside, there was still a queue for the women’s toilet, and he gestured to the next woman in line, holding the door for her.

“No line for the gents, love. Might as well take advantage.”

She blushed and darted beneath his arm.

“Of you, or the empty loo?” she asked, loudly enough that he heard it, but not so much anyone else did. Her grin was flirtatious, the sparkle in her eye proof enough she wasn’t drunk and very much meant what she said.

John grinned and shook his head, not believing his luck tonight. He waited until she held her hand to catch the door before he let go.

“Perhaps another time, but don’t think I’m not tempted.”

She blushed and closed the door, allowing him to wade back up to the bar. When he got there, two large men were in his way, one sitting in his seat and the other blocking John from even getting close.

“Excuse me, mate. That’s my seat.”

They ignored him, though he was certain they’d heard him. He counted to three before he spoke up again, carefully tapping the enormous shoulder of the man in front of him and stepping back. He turned and looked down at John, everything about him screaming that he wanted to fight.

“Oi, fuck off, will you? This seat was open.”

John shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, nodding to his coat on the chair.

“Under normal circumstances, I’d do just that. But you see, I sat there the entire first half and Roger will vouch for that.”

Large and In Charge followed John’s gaze and spotted Roger, who answered their un-asked question with a nod.

“So with as much respect as I can muster, get out of my seat. I’ll even buy you a round.”

The one in his chair turned and gave him a once-over, scoffing at John’s build.

“And what are you gonna do if I don’t move?”

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. All he wanted to do was watch the second half, have a couple more pints, and perhaps go home with a certain charming bartender, if his luck held. In no way, shape or form did he want this to come to blows.

He pulled out a fifty-pound note and waved it between them.

“This is my final offer, boys. There are two of you and only one chair. You were perfectly situated in front of the bigger screen over there,” he pointed behind him with his thumb, “so just take the cash and walk away.”

The one in his chair took the cash and stood, grabbing John by his collar.

“Outside. Now.”

John rolled his eyes and waved to get Roger’s attention, holding a finger to signal he’d be right back. Roger raised an eyebrow, but John shook his head.

“Be right back,” he hollered. “Just gotta sort something out with these blokes first.”

They both clamped down on his shoulders and steered him to the back door. The crowd had thinned out a little, making their exit faster. Once outside, they slammed John against the brick of the shop across the alley, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“You’re awfully chatty for someone who’s gonna get his arse kicked,” Large and In Charge said. He rolled up his sleeves and looked over at his buddy, grinning. “You want first go at him?”

The buddy nodded and took hold of John’s collar, bringing his arm back before he swung through. John easily dodged the blow and his fist met the brick wall with a sickening crack. He screamed in pain, falling to his knees.

“He broke my hand!”

John backed up a step and straightened his collar, though his shirt remained wrinkled.

“Nah. That was all you. You telegraph your punches something terrible.”

The other one reached into his jacket and pulled out a small switchblade, flicking it open.

“Bad idea, you tosser. You’re gonna regret that.”

He lunged at John and jabbed the blade toward his stomach. John easily grabbed his wrist and pushed it away, though it left him vulnerable. A massive fist connected with the corner of John’s mouth and he stumbled but remained standing, wiping the blood away with his thumb with a grin.

“That the best you got?”

That angered him further and he came at John again, his movement clumsy and sloppy due to the alcohol. John countered every move he made with little effort, until he was frustrated enough he came at him, wrapping his arms around John’s waist in a full-on rugby tackle.

John’s back hit the wall hard and he stumbled, scraping against the rough brick. He felt a pinch as something jabbed into the muscle above his right hip, but it was the least of his worries at the moment. The man’s arms still wrapped around his waist, John repeatedly brought his elbow down on the back of his neck, striking until he found the right spot and the guy hit the ground, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.

“Now if you two bell ends will excuse me, I have a match to watch,” John said, tugging on the hem of his shirt and swiping at the drop of blood on his lip again. He left them in a heap in the alley and went back inside, but not before he crouched and swiped his money from the guy’s pocket.

He found a full pint at his spot on the bar, perched on a coaster with a washcloth full of ice next to it. With a grin, he held the ice against his lip and took a sip of his beer, savoring the taste as he took a seat. Roger appeared a moment later and raised an eyebrow all the while watching John curiously.

“What was that about?”

John shrugged and pulled the washcloth away to see if his lip was still bleeding. It wasn’t and he took another pull of his beer.

“They wanted my seat.”

Roger rolled his eyes and turned to check on other customers when his eyes moved down John’s chest to his waist line. He leaned over the bar and his eyes widened.

“Uh, John? You might wanna check that out.”

John plopped the soggy washcloth on the bar and looked down as he lifted the hem of his shirt. Sure enough, blood was seeping into his waistband from a small puncture wound. He probed around it with his finger and decided it wasn’t deep enough for stitches.

“Bollocks. This was my favorite shirt.” Before he could ask, Roger handed him a clean washcloth and he held it over the wound, pressing until it stung a little.

“You alright?”

He waved a hand and drained half of his beer as the place went crazy with another England penalty. They were up 16-7 in the 63rd minute and John held up his glass.

“Never better, Rog. Never better.”

Roger smiled and rolled his eyes before walking away.

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

There was a monstrous roar when Nigel Owens, the head referee, called time on the match with England taking down New Zealand, 19-7. John drained his glass and leaned back in his chair with a stunned laugh, his cheeks flushed from excitement.

“England back in the final,” he muttered. “What are the odds?”

He made himself comfortable at the end of the bar, watching as the crowd began to thin out around eight p.m. Throughout the evening Roger stopped by and chatted when he could, carrying on with their easy banter from earlier.

John caught him staring at the red stain on his shirt and leaned forward.

“I promise, I’m fine. I’ve had worse, trust me.”

Roger blinked and shook his head.

“Somehow, I believe that.” He waved at someone leaving before his eyes met John’s once more. “The owner is coming in to close the place down- he’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

John toyed with the coaster, enjoying how shy Roger had become all of a sudden.

“Are you saying you won’t be here as late as you thought?”

Roger shrugged one shoulder and dunked several empty glasses into a sink full of cleaning solution.

“And if I am?”

“Does your offer still stand?”

The glasses in his hands went into plain water before he set them on a mat to dry and he leaned his forearms on the bar.

“Are you feeling up to it, after your little skirmish earlier?”

John leaned in a little closer, a sly smirk working its way across his lips.

“Are you going to answer my questions with questions all night?”

Roger laughed and hung his head for a moment to compose himself.

“Just one more, then.”

The statement hung in the air for a moment and Roger appeared to savor making John wait for it. When he looked up again, his brown eyes bored into John’s blue ones.

“Do you drink tea or coffee in the morning?”

John threw his head back and laughed, slapping his hand down on the bar.

“I’ll take whatever you offer,” he said, draining the last of his pint and handing the glass to Roger. "Makes no difference to me."

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

A bit later as they wound their way through the side streets back to Roger’s flat, talking and laughing, John realized the universe had a way of giving him exactly what he needed, when he needed it.

He just wished it didn't include getting stabbed.

#Whumptober 2019 #Whumptober Day 8 #John Constantine #MizMahlia's Fanfiction #Whumptober prompt #DC Comics #Constantine

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maskedmuses-archived · 4 years

Text

Snake of Golden Wings

This is a story of how a mother molded a man.

Please be advised of the following tags: tw death, tw mental abuse, tw abuse, tw child abuse. Readmore for content and length.

Within Rusephine’s domain, good fortune had always been categorized by the colors white and gold. When the queen had produced a pearly egg, the kingdom had rejoiced, thinking her to have consummated a relationship with a new found king after three hundred years of rule. Whispers of a visitor from the Reptile Kingdom joining Rusephine had come to fruition when Gyasa, prince of the Snakes, had been discovered leaving behind the woman and egg he had helped borne into this world to return to his jungle.

There was no celebration when there was no King to accompany their Matriarch. No merriment when the egg shifted towards a gold, then twisted to a green sheen across its shell. Only fear erupted, when the crown prince emerged from the cracks in his birth casing. Golden hair dribbling down his face, and green eyes pupiless stared up at his mother, who glowered at the hatching of her only child.

Ensuring he imprinted upon her, Rusephine made eye contact merely once in the birthing room to bestow the hatchling a name: Osiris, the ancient human god of death. Then, with a purposed step, turned away from her newborn son, never to meet his gaze again for the next few years.

As a young child, he only aimed to impress his mother, to get her to look upon him with a smile without any success. Whether he made small drawings, or behaved well, nothing but a scowl was given before his mother would retire into her locked room, incapable of penetration by any aside whom Rusephine allowed.

His tiny wings began to flourish, the golden color predicted by his egg’s hue giving them a glittering color as he tried to flap and use them, honing his skills for flight. His body grew lanky, his tail stretching to accommodate his form, but the reptilian aspects taking form. Points along his canines, the skin that sloshed off of him in baths, his pointed ears coated with soft scaling.

Of course, there were those eyes that even the servants within the palace would not look directly upon.

Once Osiris managed to hover for more than a few seconds, he requested an audience with his mother. A proud child of five, able to hover longer than any else who had wings double his age, displayed the ability before his mother in the royal throne room. As she stared upon her creation, Rusephine’s face was cemented into a frown before she extended her hand, her feathers shooting out and surrounding his wings.

“No monster like you should be flying without permission.” Her voice echoed in the hall, striking his chest hard. Pain began to surge through his wings, his mother’s feathers crackling with a hellish static. A cry resounded in his head, only to realize it was his own screech as the power from the General took to his wings. Suspending them in time, they no longer grew, stumped, and the pain was blinding as he fell to his knees.

Nothing hurt more than the pain of being considered a monster.

Months began to pass and with the inability to fly, Osiris had become trapped within the palace. Creeping about and exploring new ways to make his home more interesting, Osiris stumbled upon guests that had been invited to their home. They were humanoid, one of them very pregnant. They had come to check up on his mother. A meeting of the Generals, as it would be later told to him by his room’s guard.

Crawling out of the vent in his room and to peer upon the meeting, eight adults surrounded a table, the boy finding it fascinating. All different people with so many names, Osiris had only ever seen bird-like Enterrans before. One was a large Taurian of sorts, one aquatic, one that seemed like a lion, one armored and bug like, a blond like him, who had fearsome green eyes. Then, there were the two humanoids.

The brunette, who began to speak, sounded kind. “Rusephine, Osiris seems to be growing very well. You should send him to Shindou sometime.” A gentle pat to her swollen stomach. “Koyakumo will need someone to look after her.”

“He is not some caretaker for your spawn, human.” Rusephine spoke flatly, riling the male humanoid before letting out a sigh. “I will consider visiting your little village when he is older. He needs to be taught his duties first.”

A huff came from the blond man, who crossed his arms and frowned at the Bird Queen. “He ought to learn it from his father. After all, my cousin may have his own quirks, but you did allow him into your chambers without any consult.”

A fist slammed down on the table, eclipsing the small gasp from the rafters, feathers bristled, but the woman was smiling. “Ryuma, you know I dislike mention of him at these meetings. Shall we move on from talking of our progeny, when you have none after your failure to make the human your bride?”

The silence that fell upon them was ignored as Osiris began to shift quietly away. He had a father. A father! He wanted to know more and plotted to greet the guests as soon as they left.

Crawling back to his room and bursting out of the room he had been sequestered in, the boy rushed down the hall, encountering the group as they began to exit. The female human had spotted him, and tugged on the male’s arm at her side, beckoning him to look. The violet haired man turned, the small child coming only to his knee.

“May I…May I visit you?” He blurted out. “You and your egg?” He pointed towards the brunette’s stomach causing laughter to ring from the woman as she nodded.

Smiling down upon the boy, she leaned down, gently patting his head. “Come any time you like, Osiris.”

A gasp emitted from his tiny frame. “You…know my name?” The two nodded, before Ryuma began to encroach.

“I’m sure Rusephine calls him something quite different.” As the woman’s hand began to move away from his golden locks, the man’s fingers extended down, giving him a small tap along the head. “I’m sure the boy hasn’t heard his name in years.”

“Ryuma!”

“Don’t scold me, huma—Yakumo.” A glance towards the male beside the woman made Ryuma reconsider his words. “Just because Mushra has bested me before does not make me wrong.” A turn and wave to them before he walked beyond the large doors, leaving behind the couple that had stopped. Both of them offered a smile to him before waving and giving pursuit to the other general.

Osiris stood in awe for a moment. A smile, a kindness. His name. It was all so new, his clawed fingers coming to touch the top of his head where he had been patted and given affection. Yet, it still felt empty; he only yearned it from his mother.

Sneaking out into the world had become common place for him when his mother’s attention was distracted by the Generals—people she had come to learn and understand their roles in the world as he grew—and met with the people in the city. Most were afraid of his appearance, but appreciated the help he could muster to them, from carrying groceries, to helping people with household chores.

Finally, cultivating enough bravery from those he helped, Osiris mustered enough strength to approach his mother once more. To ask to fly to this place that had been established: A city called Shindou.

“Alone? Little monster, are you mad?” Rusephine scoffed before looking away. “Guards—“

“Mother, if I am to be a good heir, don’t I need to see the world?” That was what he had deemed his role as a prince was, to become the successor to her throne. To make her proud. With how suddenly the Queen was upon him, her fingers digging into his face to the point he feared he might bleed and the rage swirling in her eyes, Osiris realized in an instant he had been far too mistaken.

“You are not my heir. I will rule for all time, do you understand?” A hastened nod that made her grip tighten painfully was made from his frame. “Good. Now, we can put this to rest—“

“If I see this place, I can become of better use to you!” Osiris sputtered out, his mother releasing his face and staring upon her son as he began to explain. “I…I can fly there and we can use this.” Plucking one of his small feathers, he knelt down and offered the golden gift to her. “My power can communicate with you. I can tell you if they are plotting anything. So that way, no one can challenge your authority!”

Silence fell between them, only the sound of the guard’s armor shifting nervously as Rusephine inspected the feather. Finally, her hand came down, placing firm upon his crown. “What a good little thing you are, thinking of your mother.” Slipping her hand away, Osiris was able to peer up, seeing his mother, wings expanded, and a smile stretched across her features. Truly, she was angelic and the boy felt weak before her.

“Let’s restore those wings of yours, my little monster.”

Shindou was a wondrous place to Osiris. All sorts of people were bustling around and finding the two who led the city—Mushra and Yakumo—hadn’t been easy. Practically lost, it was a small voice that had found the boy. “Hello!” Sounding akin to a chirp, confusion filling the prince as he glanced about, only for the voice to beckon once more. “Down!” It offered out.

The boy dipped his head, finding a violet haired child bowing to him before lifting up and smiling broadly. “Birdy!” She giggled out, he furrowing his brows in confusion until the girl pointed at his wings. “Mama said to find birdy!”

Once he arrived at the home of the Generals, Osiris had learned that was not what Yakumo had told the child, Koyakumo. Instead, she had told her to find someone with wings, but the three year old barely knew what that meant, so her father had clarified it was like a bird.

Osiris already felt tired and he had just arrived. Feeling as if this might have been a mistake, he turned, but his shirt was tugged on by the child, beckoning him to look back at her. When he did, he expected her to cower, just as all other children did. But instead she stared in awe at him, her mouth forming a circle in surprise. “Birdy has pretty eyes!” She cheered out, boy’s cheeks turning a bright red with a sputter.

It was a first, and the woman, Yakumo, swooped in to garner her child. “Forgive her, she speaks her mind ever since she learned to talk. Reminds me of someone I know.” A playful gaze was thrown to Mushra who chuckled. “Make yourself at home, Osiris.”

Home. That was what Shindou became for the boy.

Especially when it was where his father could meet him without the hounding from his mother.

Osiris had not held up his end of the bargain, instead giving his mother some information, but not all of it. Some that had been withheld was that of meeting with Gyasa within Shindou’s walls. It had been his mother that banished the prince from seeing his egg, and truthfully, the man seemed grateful. As Osiris grew towards a man, the more and more he realized the Snake Enterran would never have offered more than simply conflict within his life.

But the rebellion felt nice. The doors began to open to Osiris and upon his sixteenth year, he was openly helping the city, quelling their fears of him and instead his connections began to rise, not only of the other nobles, but of the common people. However, no matter what, any say of his succession was squashed, his mother always on the tip of his silver tongue.

She only left his mouth when his chambers were filled, those wishing to taste royalty, and deprived as he was, Osiris welcomed them, even without any enjoyment of his own. They smiled at him and relished his presence.

Even if they avoided his eyes.

The playboy was settled in his life, at least, until a visit when he was seventeen, and Gyasa had brought with him an attendant that wanted to meet his lord’s son. Older than him, the man was a reptile Enterran, a long green tail and scaling around his eyes and shoulders. His golden eyes were enticing, and despite being within the center of Rusephine’s domain, Osiris welcomed his father and his guest, Dipil, into the palace for the former to have conference with his mother.

The latter? Within days has Osiris wooed and welcoming him into lover’s embraces, all other expelled from his chambers in favor of his lover.

For the first time in years, things had seemed to be going well for the man, he was in love. He finally felt like the walls of the palace were a safety, not a prison. He could relish his company and fall asleep in his arms. A blissful dream.

But nothing more than that.

On the eve that Gyasa was to depart, a small glimmer of steel reflected the moonlight that filtered into the prince’s chambers. Dipil awoke the naïve man with blade to his throat, threatening to end his existence. He was a danger to those in the reptile kingdom. A posed false king among those in the actual ranks who worshiped his father. “Who could ever really love a monster like you?” A hissed out insult that snapped the last thread of hope in his heart.

“I do.”

The woman’s voice radiated, the reptile hissing as he was lifted up from atop his former lover’s frame, instantly his limps being split by razor sharp feathers. Blood rained from above, splattering the prince with crimson, which cleared only when tears rushed down his cheeks, leaving pale streaks in their wake. His mother stood at the door, holding the feather he had given her years before. “I never trusted this man. Finish this, Osiris.”

A command from his Queen, his mother, Osiris could not refuse. His body moved on its own, green stare unable to break away from Dipil. A trembling hand reached for his longer feathers, intending to turn them to steel, as the barely living man whispered from above. “…I’m sorry. I love you.”

Before Osiris could strike, the man disintegrated into a card, which felt helplessly through the air and landed upon the floor. The prince crumpled to the ground, weakened, and Rusephine rushed in, wrapping her arms and wings around him, pulling his feeble frame close to her chest.

“It’s alright now.” Tears were renewed along his face, confusion lighting his features as his mother hugged him. “This is why you should listen. Why you should never leave. People will want to kill you, no matter how much good you do in this world. Do you understand why?”

Shaking his head, Osiris couldn’t comprehend. He had done everything, given everything, done everything to know what love was. Rusephine smiled, leaning close to his ear with a small whisper.

“Because you’re a monster that only I can love.” Her smile turned wicked as the light began to dim from Osiris’ eyes. “Do as I say, stay here with me, and we can rule this world, together. Have whatever toys you want, but in the end?” Pulling her face back and placing her hand on his bloodstained cheek, the boy unable to divert his gaze from the woman’s. “I shall give you whatever you wish, as long as you obey me. None else shall suffer this fate.” Her wing brushed against the fallen card, scratching into it. “As long as you be a good little monster and offer me all of your power whenever I call upon it.” Her smile turned tender, a gentle stroke of her thumb against his cheek. “Do you understand, Osiris?”

“Yes…Mother.”

#||Snake of Golden Wings|Osiris||#tw death #tw childhood trauma #tw child harm #tw child abuse #tw mental abuse #tw abuse #tw gaslighting #Looooots of triggers here unfortunately #Please read at your own risk #About Osiris

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detectiveguapo · 6 years

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The Gates of Hell

A Mayans MC one-shot (it was supposed to be a drabble, lol) featuring Miguel Galindo / Reader. I don’t do character/reader fics (usually) as I’m not totally sold on self-insertion in stories. But I do enjoy writing in 2nd person POV so I thought I’d give it a shot anyway. Let me know what you think.

Warning: sexual content, lots of swear words and body parts with naughty names.

“You're the most beautiful woman in the room.” The whisper caresses your ear as his finger traces the line of diamonds across your neck. It’s a gift — one that toes the line of elegant and obnoxious. You’d rather never find out how much the necklace costs at the risk of causing yourself a stroke; but you have your suspicions. The size and clarity of the stones suggest it costs more than a year’s rent. So if you die from a clot in your brain from trying to process how much money is wrapped around your neck, at least you can store your ashes in the pretty velvet box it came in.

“This was a bad idea,” you say as you look on at the infestation of retail investors and venture capitalists.

“Having you around makes it less likely that I kill one of these imbeciles.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” You take his hand as he leads you farther into the hotel’s ballroom. “All these people networking and negotiating all the different ways they can fuck up this town… sounds like my idea of hell.”

Miguel grins, knowing he’s not left out of that equation. He leans over your shoulder and lets his lips linger on your ear. “The gates of hell have opened and you are my plus one.”

The statement and the depth of his voice sparks a flame that radiates desire through every nerve ending. You close your eyes and think of something un-sexy like that Chucky guy who works at the scrap yard and comes to your shop a few times a year to ask if you’re selling pornographic magazines. It kind of works because you’re able to muster up enough courage to turn in Miguel’s arms. You tilt your chin up to look him square in the eye. “I don’t know how you convinced me to say yes to this.”

Miguel smirks. “I can be very persuasive, cariño.” His hands run down your exposed arms, squeezing lightly at your wrists. He lowers his head, his gaze softening. “I know this isn’t your idea of a good night, but I promise to make it up to you when I get you home.”

You roll your eyes at the suggestion, but the corners of your lips lift into a sly smile.

He waves back at a man gesturing for him to come join their conversation. Groaning, he presses a kiss to your cheek. “Come save me in ten minutes.”

And just like that, he’s gone off to charm the suits into investing money toward the Santo Padre expansion project.

One moment, you’re at the bar nursing a gin and tonic while watching your man make deals and shake hands; and the next, you’re overhearing a conversation with a representative from a bookstore chain about how opening a store in Santo Padre stands to make him a big bonus this year. It’s certainly a lot more than you would ever make running your independent bookshop in La Unión — a neighborhood that celebrates both the old and the new in your border town.

“Our research has shown that our stores opening up in these communities leads to lower crime rates and higher education. So, really, we’re doing these people a favor.”

You nearly spit out your drink. “Excuse me?”

The man shifts on his stool to face you. “I wasn’t talking to you, sweetheart.”

“George —” his friend tries to interrupt.

“You were talking about my community, so please tell me more about how your big-box bookstore is going to save Santo Padre.”

The man smirks and takes a swig of his drink. “It might be too complicated for you to understand, but it’s really just basic business development. Commercial chains open up in wasteland communities like yours, then all of a sudden, property values skyrocket and rental costs rise —”

“— And pricks like you displace the people who have lived here for generations.”

“Please,” George says with a roll of his eyes. “Half this town is made up of illegals.”

“George, you shouldn’t —” his friend tries to interrupt again. He grabs him by the arm and tries to nudge him away from the bar.

“— Let me finish,” George says, jerking away. “All the more reason to drive those border-jumpers back to the other side of that wall.”

In a split second, the glass in your hand is empty and the man in front of you is drenched. The room goes quiet and you don’t have to see it to know that all eyes are on you right now. George stares back in shock as the gin and tonic drips from his ruddy cheeks down to his off-the-rack suit.

“You bitch!” He lunges forward and you stumble back, landing on a hard body that catches you by the arms. The body turns, shielding you from the impending attack. When you look over your shoulder, you see the dark braids and realize it’s Nestor — your boyfriend’s head of security.

Behind Nestor, George is being pulled away by his friend before the rest of the Galindo security detail can get to him, which they eventually will before he even makes it outside the hall. “You’re fucking crazy, man!” his friend cries out as he steers him away. “That’s Galindo’s girl!”

The taps are turned on, water running down the porcelain sink to drown out the noise from the hotel ballroom. Staring back at your reflection, you wipe the tears and take a deep, steadying breath. You repeat the mantra in your head: you will not cry, you will not cry, you will not cry.

“Shit,” you remark as you notice the black stain under your eyes. The mascara was supposed to be waterproof but it doesn’t hold up, and now you just want to cry even more because there’s no way you can go back out there without looking like a hot mess. You’re dabbing at your eyes with a tissue when the door bursts open and in walks the man of the hour.

Miguel’s on top of you in a few, quick strides, his hands cradling your face and his big, brown eyes searching for answers. “What the hell happened out there?”

You slink away from his hold, crossing your arms protectively over your chest. You shrug, not really knowing what you’re most upset about. Was it you coming to this event tonight even though you were reluctant to go in the first place? Miguel never forced you to go, but you saw how excited he was when he offered the invitation. He never passed up an opportunity to see you dressed up and have you be the woman on his arm — as possessive as it may sound. Was it the preposterous argument with the man at the bar? You’ve had a few run-ins with xenophobic assholes and you’ve always held your own and never let them get to you. But why cry now? Was it the comment about being Galindo’s girl? Was it the fact that you were only going to be respected because you were associated to the man standing in front of you?

“Por favor dime que esta pasando.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you invited big-box stores to invest in this expansion?”

Miguel’s brows knit in confusion. “You’re mad about this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be mad?” You cry out. “I’m an independent business owner and you’re letting Barnes and fucking Noble have 50,000 square feet of your land to sell discounted books and burnt coffee.”

“Baby,” he says, a tentative smile on his face. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious, Miguel.”

“Santo Padre is one of the fastest-growing towns in Southern California. The first phase of the development was a success. The agri-firms created thousands of new jobs. New houses are being sold before we’ve even set the foundations. But, now, we have to meet the demands and that means letting these developers into town so the people can have their Targets and Best Buys.”

“Don’t pretend you’re doing this for the people. It’s greed. You want their money.”

“And so what if I do?” Miguel challenges back, his body looming over yours and his eyes devoid of any care. “You know who I am.”

“Yes, I know about the cartel,” you hiss out the last word. “But I also know you leased out your property so I could sell books for a living. And, similarly, you did that for countless other people in this town who were down on their luck.”

“— Babe, I did that because it was a lucrative business decision.”

“Well, I’m glad this lucrative business decision has paid off in more ways than you could’ve imagined.” You storm off, heels clicking on the marble. He grabs you by the arm and spins you around to face him. “Let go of me.”

“I wasn’t done.”

“I am.”

He loosens his grip just enough for you to walk away if you really wanted to, but his eyes are pleading for you to stay. “Meeting you was unexpected, and you know I’ve been grateful for that ever since. But please don’t be under the impression that I’m developing Santo Padre and employing half of its population out of the goodness of my heart,” he says with a scoff. “You know I don’t make business decisions out of emotion, but I’m willing to make the exception for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know what this is all about. You’re worried Barnes and Noble is going to drive you out of business because you won’t be able to keep up with their competitive prices. No matter what happens, your business will stay above water. I’ll make sure of it”

“Fuck you, Miguel.” The urge to shove him or slap him across the face is so strong that you feel as if your hands are charged with electricity. Clenching your fists, you take a deep breath and turn away from him. “I’m not going to be your pity side project.”

“I never said you were —”

“While all of these local businesses are going under because they can’t compete, mine stays afloat because I’m Galindo’s girl.”

“Who would say that?”

You gesture to the door and, with a sigh of defeat, you begin to explain what truly got under your skin. “Those guys at the bar. The guy I threw my drink on — he was giving me the rundown of how gentrification was going to save this town from all the uneducated and criminal Mexicans. And he wouldn’t have stopped, but his friend told him who I was. Galindo’s girl.”

“I’m —” he begins to say.

“— And I know I am,” you say with a heavy sigh. “I know I’m yours. Not yours as in your property; but yours as in we’ve chosen each other. I’m with you in spite of all the reasons why I know I shouldn’t be with someone like you. And you’re with me because —”

“— Because I enjoy your company.” His hands rest on your waist, his breath in your hair. “And because you’re the only person who can say ‘fuck you, Miguel’ and make me so hard I could drill concrete.”

You laugh. “No one wants to see that.”

His lips graze the shell of your ear, his hips molding to yours. “But you can feel that?”

You swallow hard. There’s no doubt his presence can be felt from the base of your spine to the curve of your ass. Arching your back, you release a moan that invites him to press into you a little harder.

“I’m sorry those guys were assholes,” he whispers, his arm snaking around your waist. “I’m sorry for being a capitalist criminal.” He shifts his stance so you’re both facing the mirror, staring back at a reflection that makes you revel in the idea of being a woman possessed — of being Galindo’s girl.

Your breasts are heaving, the diamonds across your neck refracting the warm glow of the lights above the sink. His hands course down your hips, fingers dancing around the hem of your little, black dress. He hikes it up your thighs, just far enough to catch a peek of French lace and silk. You reach around to grip the back of his neck, turning your head to skim your lips over his jaw.

“Look at yourself.”

You roll your hips and feel his length, rock solid, down your backside. God, you want nothing more than to be rid of the layers of clothing between you and have him slide in, fill you, and make you scream until you feel like he’s splitting you apart.

“All of this makes you hot.” Miguel’s hand disappears under the skirt of your dress, his fingers trailing upward along your inner thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat when his fingertips slide along the seam between your legs. “All of this makes you wet.” He moves smoothly along the folds toward the apex, and your torso lurches forward, hands braced on the marble counters. It gives him a chance to press farther against your ass, his strong legs on either side of yours, which are already so unsteady in six-inch stilettos. “All of this — all of this corrupt shit that I do — it makes you want me so bad.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“Fuck. No.”

He hikes your dress up so it’s bunched up your waist, while his free hand dives into your lace panties, fingers parting your slit. You gasp as he lunges in, two digits full, wasting no time to curve inward to find the spot that has your knuckles turning white and your lungs fighting for breath.

“Miguel,” you plead. But he doesn’t relent as he thrusts his fingers up your walls, thumb circling where you need it most. “Please.”

“Look at yourself getting off.” His voice buzzes in your ear, his lips tracing down your neck. “Admit it. Tell me it turns you on knowing you’re in bed with el diablo.”

As much as you try to suppress it, the moan that you release gives him the satisfaction he craves. Your mind wants your body to be stronger than that, but he’s got a hold over you so powerful that it’s both terrifying and alluring at the same time. Your lids are heavy and your vision is clouded by a haze of lust. The picture in front of you is so pornographic it makes your skin burn and makes you shy away into the safe warmth of his neck. Breathing in the scent of his cologne, the coils at the base of your stomach tighten. It’s like a Pavlovian response; you can’t help that his scent makes you salivate for him in an animalistic, illogical way. Your knees tremble, and you feel like you’re only tethered to the ground by Miguel’s arm around your waist.

He’s working to bring you close to that release like only he can. Someone with a natural ability to get a woman off just by looking at her a second too long. Someone who isn’t satisfied with mediocrity — a woman needs to be studied; her undoing needs to be perfected.

You’re so close to the edge as your body thrums with expectation. His name is poised at the tip of your tongue as you hold your breath. And then he slides his fingers out of your walls. He raises them up to show you they’re coated in your arousal, and it’s all too obscene that you have to bury your head farther into his neck. But he tugs at your hair, arching your head to the ceiling, and he presses his fingers to your lips so you can taste yourself. You’re going to fucking kill him after he makes you come.

As your lips part, he slips his fingers into your mouth, down your tongue. His eyes darken until they’re almost black and he swallows hard as he watches you take the length down your greedy throat. Miguel barely has his fingers out of your mouth before he’s kissing you, pushing you against the sink, pulling his tie, hiking your legs around his hips, tugging on his belt. You take his hands to still him, kissing him back slow and steady.

“I have to have you,” he rasps almost desperately. He’s right where you want him.

You push him just far enough to work on his belt and the button of his trousers. “You can have me when I say you can have me.” Holding onto the waistline, you jerk him back so he loses his footing. Then you have his trousers down his thighs, taking his underwear down with them. He’s hard. So. Hard. You can tell by the strained expression on his face that he’s been trying his best to stay patient while getting you off with his hands, but all this time all he wanted to do was fuck you within an inch of your life.

Miguel’s eyes are filled with lust — a desire that’s only reserved for you. It’s a look you know well. It’s a look that makes you weak in the knees, but also makes you feel so emboldened. To have this man at your mercy is a high you can’t even begin to describe in words.

Wrapping your arms around his neck for support, you lift your hips to slip your panties off then shove them into the pocket of his vest. He looks down at the lace fabric peeking out of the silk pocket, and looks up to give you a cheeky smile.

Miguel takes you by the swell of your hips, pressing you against his cock, grinding deliciously against your heat. He takes a sick satisfaction in watching how much it arouses you, how much your body responds to him. But there’s an element of tortuous self-control that twists him up inside as he restrains himself from penetrating you. He watches you as he moves, licking his lips when the head of his dick bumps your clit. You grip onto his shoulders with more force than necessary, and all it does is urge him on as he enters you slowly and then all at once.

Full. You’re so full of Miguel’s cock. And he’s pounding into you so hard that every thrust feels like a challenge, like he’s asking you if you can take more of him. He pulls your hair to the side, exposing your neck so he can leave hot kisses along the side. Your back arches, head resting on the mirror. His palms squeeze tighter on your hips, raising you off the counter just a little so he can get that extra leverage to fuck you even harder.

“There’s something about how much you love this fucking town,” he says in between grunts of pleasure. His voice is muffled by his lips pressed into the tops of your breasts. “I’ve never wanted anyone so devoted. So passionate.”

Your heart beats like a drum, but your brain can’t help being a smartass in the moment. “You’d know the feeling if you cared about something other than yourself.”

He pulls away, slipping out of you so fast, you whimper when he’s gone. His palms press against the mirror behind you and he tilts his head to the side. “I care about you, don’t I?”

You arch a brow.

“What do I have to do to make you believe it?”

“Finish fucking me,” you tell him as you take his dick into your hand, wrapping your fingers over the velvety skin. He stiffens even more as the head leaks with precum. “We’ll talk about your hard-on for Targets and Best Buys when we’re done.”

“Fuck you.” Miguel thrusts into your pussy so hard and deep, it hurts. But the pain gives way to a pleasure that quickly takes you back to that precipice. You wrap your legs and arms tighter around his body. But he’s not even touching you — his hands braced and eyes trained on the mirror behind your head. There’s something so erotic about this sudden shift in him. It makes you ache for him even more. It’s maddening how his intensity — either hot or cold — can make even the most stubborn cell in you beg for him to make you come.

You moan loudly and Miguel’s eyes dart to the door, and suddenly you’re reminded that you’re in a public restroom. Your body stills and you grasp onto the fabric of his suit in fear of getting caught. He shakes his head to assure you not to worry. “Nestor’s outside. No one’s getting in.”

There’s something so messed up about Miguel’s security detail standing outside of the restroom while you two are fucking. But that’s just the nature of sleeping with the head of the Galindo cartel. You thought you knew what you were getting yourself into when you let him kiss you between the stacks of historians and philosophers. You knew the risks. But you let him into your bed anyway because he’s handsome and charming and dangerous. And it’s only a transient period of your life when you can say you’ve truly lived. But what was transient has lasted over a year, and now everyone in town knows you as Galindo’s girl.

You close your eyes as his thrusts even out in pace and rhythm. You moan a little louder this time, and you’re pretty sure the person standing on the other side of the door can hear you. It won’t be the first time.

“Baby, I’m so close,” you say in between shallow breaths. “Kiss me or I’ll scream.”

“Let them fucking hear it.”

Your hands rise to the back of his ears, urging his face to yours but Miguel remains firmly in place. Your lips part and the orgasm tears out of your lungs and echoes into the room. The orgasm is so good it radiates across your belly, to the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. It’s electric.

Your heart is beating so fast and you can’t seem to catch your breath, especially when Miguel is fucking you harder and faster, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. His palms slip from the mirror, then he’s holding you again. Hands all over your body. Fingers digging into your flesh, lifting you off the counter, sinking his hard cock deeper into your cunt.

“I love —” He pulls and pushes and buries himself to the hilt, grinding down so fucking good, you’re about to climax once more. “— fucking you.”

He growls to match your moans. And you tremble when he captures your lips, kissing you like a man starved of affection. He bucks violently as his grip becomes unyielding, and he releases molten hot and deep inside of you. He arches his hips up into you, every muscle clenched taut as he finishes.

When he pulls out, Miguel lays heavy on your limp body, forehead pressed against the mirror. His heart is racing against your own chest. He turns his head just enough that his lips brush against your temple. “Being Galindo’s girl has its perks,” he says with a soft laugh.

You playfully push him away, hopping off the counter to straighten your dress. “I’ll have to review the cost-benefit analysis of being with you.”

“I look forward to seeing your report on my desk in the morning,” he says, swatting your ass.

You narrow your eyes at him before turning to the mirror to wipe the dried mascara from under your eyes. You press your lips together for a blotted effect, knowing you’ll need a whole train case of makeup to conceal the aftereffects of being freshly fucked.

Behind you, Miguel buckles his belt and shoves the lace panties deeper into the pocket of his vest. He catches your eye through the reflection and winks. “Shall we?” he asks, holding his hand out for you to take. You slip your hand in his and let him lead the way back out to the ballroom.

Outside, Nestor is waiting. His face is serious the second you walk out. He holds it for all of two seconds before he breaks out into an impish grin. “Can I just say one thing?”

“Don’t,” Miguel warns one of his oldest friends.

Nestor giggles and ignores the warning. “If it means anything, chica, you might be Galindo’s girl, but you got my boy here whipped, talking about feelings and shit.” He slings an arm over Miguel’s shoulder and roughs him up a little. “Ain’t that right, Mikey?”

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