#go forth and be happy you beautiful cinnamon rolls

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 5

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: Wanda receives a gift and finishes her final exams, then decides to go out drinking to celebrate with her friends and accidentally makes a very awkward phone call.

content warnings: drinking, vision being a fucking creep, throwing up

word count: 4.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

The door squeaks as Wanda fumbles with her keys, stepping into her apartment and hoping that Kate wasn’t home. She can feel her face burning, her thoughts having been filled with the enigmatic woman that was Natasha Romanoff on the drive home. Her hands, so close to her waist yet not touching her. Her hair, falling over her shoulder as she leaned in to speak. Her lips, so soft and kissable and right fucking there. Her cinnamon perfume wafting over Wanda and making her dizzy with need-

“Hey, you’re home!” Kate calls out, and Wanda groans internally. “Tell me all about the date, don’t skimp on any details.”

Walking around the corner, Wanda sets her bag down as her eyes find Kate grinning at her from the couch. The brunette pats the spot beside her, her eyes lighting up as she takes in Wanda’s flushed face. 

“Okay, fine…” Wanda starts with an air of faux reluctance as she sinks into the couch. She grins, and Kate giggles as she tells the story of her first date with Natasha Romanoff.

—

“Oh my god, Wanda. She totally wanted to kiss you.”

Wanda smiles, ducking her head. Her fingers trace a nonsensical pattern against the blanket thrown over both her and Kate’s lap. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just hoping she wants to and making things up in my head.”

Rolling her eyes, Kate surges forward and grabs Wanda by the shoulders. 

“Of course she wants to kiss you, you dumb lesbian! Literally everything she’s been doing and saying has been to show you that she is interested in you, oh my god.” Her words are emphasized by the small shakes she delivers, Wanda’s body rocking back and forth from the force of it.  

“Okay, fine,” Wanda says, a smile breaking across her face as she lets Kate’s words sink in. 

“She likes you. She asked you out on a date and reassured you that it was an actual date multiple times. Also, she was totally going to kiss you. Natasha Romanoff wants you, I swear on my life.” Kate says, her voice serious. 

Heat spreads across Wanda’s face, and she just smiles as she ducks her head. Kate doesn’t like her lack of response, and Wanda startles when she shakes her by the shoulders again, this time a bit more forcefully. 

“You are quite literally the most beautiful woman I know, Wanda. Don’t roll your eyes at me, you’re the total package. Hot and cute at the same time, smooth skin that I would literally die for, and you’re really fucking nice. Like, I don’t think it’s even possible for you to ever be mean to somebody.” Kate rambles, her eyes wide and earnest. “Do not argue with me on this.”

“Fine,” Wanda chuckles, pushing away the thoughts of self-doubt that begin creeping into her mind. “She’s kind of out of my league though.”

“What, because of how much money she has?” Kate asks, scoffing. Wanda nods her head. Yes, exactly. Natasha Romanoff is powerful and rich and more gorgeous than a 22-year-old about to graduate college could ever hope to be. 

“She’s richer than, like, 90 percent of America. That’s not something I’d compare, Wanda.”

“She’s-”

Kate doesn’t let Wanda finish her sentence, instead shoving her computer towards her. The screen glows brightly, a new email having recently popped up from Vision. Kate clicks on it, burrowing into Wanda’s side as they take in the edited photos from the photoshoot earlier that day. 

God. Wanda didn’t need the reminder that Ms. Romanoff was practically a goddess among mortals. Her striking features stand out on the screen, her eyes piercing yet somehow warm, even through the lens of a camera. Or, maybe Wanda was just going insane and imagining things as her mind attempted to comprehend the photos. 

Her features are perfect. Too perfect. Wanda finds herself flushing, her brain searing Ms. Romanoff’s face into her memory. 

Why would someone that perfect go through the trouble of getting to know Wanda? Ms. Romanoff probably had hundreds of women waiting for a crumb of her attention, what made Wanda so special?

Nothing. She’d just made the unfortunate yet memorable first impression of tripping through a doorway. 

That night, Wanda dreams of cold, green eyes that find her lacking. 

—

“Wanda, there’s a package for you,” Kate calls out, her voice tired. 

Closing her laptop, Wanda rolls her neck, feeling her tight muscles as she does so. She’s almost finished with finals, her last paper in the final stages of edits. Kate was grabbing her keys, uncaring of how she looked in sweatpants and a hoodie as she headed over to campus to take her last exam. 

“I’ll grab it in a minute, thank you,” Wanda shouts, hearing the door close after Kate yells a quick goodbye. Standing, she stretches as she walks towards the front door, her eyes bleary and mind focused on the numerous edits she needed to finish. 

A brown Amazon box waits for her on the counter, the packing slip offering no return address. Wanda blinks, her eyebrows furrowing. Interesting, considering she couldn’t remember ordering anything. 

The kitchen scissors easily cut through the tape, and Wanda considers putting on the kettle as she notices the new box of green tea Kate had picked up earlier. She could definitely use some caffeine. Her eyes return to the box, catching a glimpse of what seemed to be a book. 

Suddenly wide awake, Wanda hurriedly opened the box, her eyes widening as she took in the contents. 

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson lays innocently inside the box, the ornate cover catching Wanda’s eye as she sinks into a chair. Gingerly picking it up, Wanda flips it open slightly, the smell of old paper hitting her nose as she softly thumbs through the pages. 

There, a publication date. The numbers stare up at her, and Wanda resists the urge to scream as she realizes that this book is a first edition. A genuine, authentic first edition. 

Only one person could have sent this, and Wanda gently sets the book on the counter while she digs through the box until she finds a note. The neat handwriting mocks her, the only thing written on the card is the flowing script of Natasha Romanoff’s name. 

Goddammit.

She can’t accept the book. Google tells her how much a first edition is worth, the number sending Wanda’s head reeling as she throws a glance towards the book innocently lying on her kitchen counter. She’s never even possessed that much money in her life, and now a book worth literally thousands is in her apartment. As a fucking gift. 

Wanda needs a drink. A strong one. 

—

Glasses clink as Wanda takes a large swig of her dirty Shirley. As much as Kate makes fun of her, she truly hasn’t found another drink that she likes quite as much. Something about the sweet flavor and distinctive red coloring with a cherry on top just brings her indescribable joy. She hasn’t found another drink that meets her expectations, and she grimaces as Kate chugs a beer while cheers ring out around her. 

“I can’t believe the semester is finally over, we’re officially real adults!” Kate exclaims, her words only slightly slurred as she gestures widely with her arms. A cheer sounds out again, the bar packed with graduating seniors celebrating the end of their college careers. 

Wanda smiles, drinking slightly faster. She hadn’t partied in a while, the stress of finals having consumed her for the past few months. Now that her final grades were in and she would be walking the stage next weekend, she let herself drink and relax. She deserved it. 

“To the end of exams and homework,” Wanda says, holding her glass out. 

Laughing, Kate echoes her words and clinks her glass against Wanda’s. Paul clinks his glass of Diet Dr. Pepper against hers and claps Vision on the shoulder when the blonde sways in his seat as he cheers. 

Vision doesn’t graduate for another year, but having Paul as a roommate meant going out with him whenever he asked. Wanda didn’t mind too much, since having another person in their group meant less money she had to pay when the bill came around. Besides, even though Vision had an obvious crush on her, he hadn’t yet found the courage to ask her out. Wanda hoped he never found the courage. 

“I’m going to smoke,” Wanda yells, her voice barely carrying over the loud music. Kate nods at her, spilling some of her beer on the table as she attempts to gesture with her hands. A goofy smile spreads across her face, and Wanda chuckles at the sight of her roommate attempting to clean her mess with the paper-thin napkins the local dive bar provides. 

Walking towards the exit, Wanda focuses on not stumbling as she pulls her pack of cigarettes from her pocket, fumbling with the lighter as she steps out into the small patio the bar offers. A few other smokers are out, one girl slumped over the bush as her friend holds her hair back and rubs her back. 

Lighting her cigarette, Wanda takes a deep breath and sighs contentedly as the smoke hits the back of her throat. Leaning back against the brick wall, she looks up at the night sky with bleary eyes. 

Pulling out her phone, Wanda glances at the numbers. Her thumb scrolls, the names in her contact list blending together as she takes in another breath full of smoke. Ah, there. She stops scrolling, her thumb hovering over a new contact. 

Natasha Romanoff. 

Fuck it. Wanda’s thumb presses on the number next to her name, the action barely registering in her mind as she leans harder against the side of the building. Her fingers loosely hold her cigarette as she flicks some ash onto the ground. 

She answers on the second ring. 

“Wanda?” Her voice has a hint of surprise, and Wanda giggles. Honestly, she’s surprised that she had the guts to call, but she wasn’t much in control of her own actions after a few drinks. Then, a thought hits her. How does Ms. Romanoff know it’s her?

“Why did you send me the book,” Wanda says, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth. She brings the cigarette to her mouth, listening for a response as she takes a deep breath.

“Wanda, are you alright? You sound different.” Ms. Romanoff’s voice is laced with concern, and Wanda just raises an eyebrow. Not that the other woman can see it. 

“I’m not different,” Wanda retorts, her mouth spewing words before she can think about them. “You’re the one who’s different. All mysterious and reclusive, ooooh.”

There’s silence for a beat, and Wanda takes another drag of her cigarette. One of the other smokers drops his used cigarette on the ground, crushing it beneath his heel before pulling out another one. Wanda does the same, fumbling in her pockets for another. Then, Ms. Romanoff’s voice sounds out through the speaker, firmer this time. 

“Have you been drinking, Wanda?”

“Maybe, why do you care?”

“I’m just curious,” Ms. Romanoff says, and Wanda hears fumbling on the other side of the line. “Where are you?”

“I’m at a bar, it’s not suitable for you.”

“Not suitable?” Ms. Romanoff’s voice sounds slightly strained. “Which bar, Wanda.”

“A college bar.”

The woman changes tactics, and Wanda hears more fumbling through the phone. It sounds like the woman is getting dressed, and she’s immediately greeted with thoughts of what Ms. Romanoff might wear in bed. Hopefully nothing. 

“How are you getting home?”

“I don’t know,” Wanda can hear her words slurring. “I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m only going to ask this one more time, Wanda. Which bar are you at?”

Sighing, Wanda lights her second cigarette. Letting the silence drag on for a moment, she smiles at the huff of breath she hears through her speaker. “Why did you send me the book, Natasha?”

“Wanda, tell me where you are. Now.”

Giggling, Wanda remembers how much of a control freak Ms. Romanoff is. The image of the woman wearing a latex bodysuit with a corset and a riding crop flashes through her mind, and Wanda can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. 

“God, you’re so… dominant.”

“I swear to God,” Ms. Romanoff trails off, and Wanda smiles at the exasperation in her voice. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Oh, Ms. Romanoff. So naughty, using bad words like that.” Wanda feels her head dropping as she says the words, the contents of her last drink finally working their way into her system. Fuck, she’s lost her cigarette somehow. Her fingers fumble around in her pocket, drawing another one from the pack and lighting it. 

“Wanda, so help me-”

“Goodnight!” Wanda calls out, sucking in a large breath and admiring the smoke that she exhales into the cool night air as she hangs up the phone. Then, she frowns. She never got an answer about the book. Oh well, the only objective she had tonight was to get drunk… and she had successfully accomplished that mission. Her vision swam, and Wanda took the last few puffs of her cigarette before crushing it on the ground. 

Fuck. Did she really just call Natasha Romanoff? Who does that?

The phone rings, and Wanda answers it without looking at the caller ID. Only one person would be calling her right now, and she hates the way her voice sounds as she utters a meek ‘hello’.

“I’m on my way, don’t leave the bar.” Ms. Romanoff says, and Wanda feels herself blushing at the commanding tone as the woman hangs up.

Wait. 

An ice-cold awareness makes its way through Wanda’s veins. She feels herself sobering up, and blinks blearily as she remembers the phone call. Fuck, is Ms. Romanoff actually on her way? Did she really just talk back to the woman over the phone? 

It was the alcohol, Wanda decides. All the blame is on the alcohol… and now that she’s sobering up, she should definitely take another shot. She walks back into the bar, ordering a shot of fireball and telling herself that it’s not because the smell and taste remind her of Ms. Romanoff’s cinnamon perfume. 

“You’ve been gone for a while,” Kate says, slinging an arm around Wanda’s shoulder when she returns to the table. “Where were you?”

“I was smoking,” Wanda says, and her roommate doesn’t argue, instead cheering when Wanda knocks back the fireball in one smooth motion. 

“So what now?” Paul asks, his cheeks flushed from the humid air of the bar. His hair is sticking to his forehead, and Wanda is suddenly acutely aware of just how stifling the air is. She can feel her shirt sticking to her skin, and suddenly feels as though the room is too small for her. 

Wanda manages to mutter something about fresh air before she pushes herself onto unsteady feet and makes her way towards the exit. She can feel the beat of the music thumping through the floor, and breathes a sigh of relief as the heavy door closes behind her, muffling the sound slightly. 

The parking lot is blurry, and no matter how many times Wanda blinks, she can’t seem to focus her eyes. The ground seems unsteady, and she leans against the wall as she gratefully sucks in the cool night air. 

“Hey.”

Fuck.

Wanda turns, a half-smile plastered on her face as she takes in the figure of Vision next to her. She can feel it turning into a grimace, and decides to look down at the moving concrete instead of his face. Ah, bad choice. Now she’s nauseous. 

“Are you alright?”

“I just think I’ve had a bit too much to drink,” Wanda says, her smile dropping further when Vision steps closer to lean against the wall next to her. 

“So have I,” Vision says, and Wanda gets the sense that he meant for the words to sound suave, but instead they’re slightly slurred and his eyes are glazed and his hair is all mussed and out of place and all Wanda can see is his stupid face leaning closer and closer and-

Ducking her head to avoid his lips, Wanda pushes him away firmly, her palm connecting solidly with his chest. “I’m okay, Vision. I just needed some space and fresh air.”

“Wanda,” he says, leaning closer and placing his hands on either side of her head, his body almost pressed against hers. “Please.”

“I’m a lesbian,” Wanda hates how soft her voice is and how weak her hands are as she tries to push him off her. “I’m sorry Vision, but I don’t like you that way.”

“I like you so much,” he says, and Wanda wants to bleach her nostrils as she catches a whiff of his cologne. 

Her hands are more forceful now, pushing against his chest as he stumbles back slightly. It has barely any effect, his wide blue eyes locked on hers. Wanda tries again, her voice panicked as he leans in again. “Vision, no. Stop it.” 

Wanda closes her eyes, feeling Vision's body press against her as he ducks his head. She can feel his boner pressing against her pelvis, and feels bile rise when he sloppily trails his lips against her jaw. Everything feels wrong, and Wanda’s head is spinning and she feels like she’s suffocating and drowning in cheap cologne as her brain goes into overdrive, her body freezing as Vision’s hands start running over her shoulders and down towards her-

Cold air hits her face, and Wanda sucks in a deep breath of fresh air as Vision’s presence is ripped away from her. Her eyes fly open, meeting furious dark green irises for a moment before Ms. Romanoff starts backing Vision up against the wall. 

“She said no.”

Holy fuck. Ms. Romanoff’s voice is ice cold, and Vision’s eyes go wide as he begins to stutter and attempt to explain. The woman is having none of it, and silently points towards the door of the bar, her face stony and posture tense. Taking the hint, Vision quickly mutters an apology in Wanda’s direction before scurrying back inside. 

“Holy shit.”

“Language,” Ms. Romanoff says, her eyes softening as she slowly walks towards Wanda. She makes it three steps before Wanda’s stomach decides it’s had enough excitement for the night. 

Her throat burns as bile rises. Wanda turns towards the bushes, expelling the contents of her stomach as she feels a firm hand pull her hair away from her face while Ms. Romanoff gently rubs her upper back. She doesn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed, and decides to never drink again. Her body heaves one last time, before Wanda sucks in a breath and coughs, her throat feeling scratchy. 

“Would you like some gum?” 

“Please,” Wanda says, pushing away her embarrassment as she accepts. She pops the gum in her mouth, snorting at the cinnamon taste. Of course Ms. Romanoff would chew cinnamon gum, it seemed to be her signature thing. 

Leaning her forehead against the cool stone of the wall, Wanda feels her stomach settle slightly as her mind clears momentarily. Panic worms its way into her chest. What was Ms. Romanoff doing here? At this bar? Actually…

“How did you know I was here?”

“I tracked your phone.” There isn’t a trace of humor in Ms. Romanoff’s voice, and Wanda just accepts the answer. Of course a multi-millionaire would have the capabilities to track phones. Glancing over, Wanda takes in the strong silhouette of the woman. It’s intimidating, but leaves a certain warmth coiling in Wanda’s stomach. 

“Ah, well. I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Standing up fully, Wanda lets her eyes roam over Ms. Romanoff’s figure. She blinks, taking in the soft fabric of an expensive-looking hoodie. The woman must have been relaxing at home, before receiving a phone call from a very drunk college student. 

“For the phone call and the…” Wanda gestures towards the bushes, and is rewarded with an amused smirk. 

“It happens.” Ms. Romanoff seems to brush off the apology, her eyes intense as they lock on Wanda’s. “It’s all about knowing your limits, dear. And as much as I enjoy pushing limits, it’s quite dangerous to go too far with drinking, do you understand?”

A tendril of irritation rises within Wanda, but then she hiccups and remembers how much of a drunk fool she’d just made of herself. The reprimand was well deserved, but that didn’t mean Wanda had to like it. Some part of her was vehemently against being told what to do, or being spoken to like a child. 

“I don’t drink like this often, but we’re celebrating our graduation.” Wanda can’t help the edge in her voice, and judging by Ms. Romanoff’s single, raised eyebrow, the woman doesn’t approve. 

Scowling slightly, Wanda attempts to push off the wall with the intention of escaping the weighted look the older woman is pinning her with. She still doesn’t understand why Ms. Romanoff cares, or why she drove to a bar late at night. Her head spins, and Wanda stumbles right into the CEO’s arms as her vision goes slightly fuzzy. 

The warmth of Ms. Romanoff’s body pressed against hers and the weight of her arms around Wanda’s shoulders is only making her more dizzy. 

“I’m taking you home,” she says, with an air of finality.

Wanda just nods, her head beginning to pound as her stomach twists. Her thoughts seem scrambled, the main thing on the forefront of her mind was how good Ms. Romanoff smelled, and how much she liked the closeness of the woman, and how soft her hair was-

“I need to tell Kate.”

“Tell her what?”

“That you’re here and that I-” Wanda hiccups again, and pretends not to notice the small, endearing smile that graces Ms. Romanoff’s lips. “I’m going home. She’ll worry if I leave without saying anything.”

“My sister is already inside,” Ms. Romanoff says, her voice gentle. 

“What?”

“My sister, Yelena,” she explains, her voice low and words clear. Wanda would pout about the tone, but her head is far too scrambled to care. “She’s inside speaking with your roommate. She was with me when you called.”

Pushing away the embarrassment that rises at the thought of Ms. Romanoff’s sister hearing her drunken phone call, Wanda manages to look the woman in the eye. She feels the tips of her ears burning as she flushes under the intense look she receives, but manages to speak, her words only slightly slurred.

“I want to tell her myself, she’ll worry otherwise.”

“Fine, do you need help?”

Wanda wants to say no. But, she can barely see straight, let alone walk. So, she nods and allows Ms. Romanoff’s arm to wrap around her waist. It’s not that bad, the woman’s muscles flexing against her as she holds her up, her fingers digging slightly into Wanda’s hip. It makes Wanda want more of her touch, and she immediately shakes her head to clear it of those thoughts. 

Horny thoughts and a drunk brain never mix well. 

The humid, stale air of the bar hits her as Ms. Romanoff opens the door. Wanda immediately wants to go back outside, into the fresh air and the tension and the comfort of the other woman’s presence. Instead, she walks on unsteady legs with the sexiest woman alive holding up half her weight. 

“Kate!”

“Oh my god, Wanda are you okay?”

Sitting down, Wanda leans in towards her roommate’s ear, ignoring the wide-eyed look the brunette is giving Ms. Romanoff. Her eyes are glancing between the CEO and the muscular blonde woman, who Wanda assumes is Yelena, as they speak to each other quickly in Russian. 

Vision is nowhere to be found, and Wanda smiles. 

“Uh, ‘m gonna… gonna go. Home! Going home, with a hot woman,” Wanda says, breaking out into giggles. Kate smiles at her, putting an arm around her shoulder as she attempts to focus. After all, Kate was almost as equally fucked up and wasted as Wanda was at this point in the night, it was her graduation too. 

“I think I’m gonna go home with her sister, have you seen her muscles?”

“You know I… only have uh, only have eyes for,” Wanda hiccups again. “Only for Ms. Romanoff.”

“Aww, you useless lesbian.” 

Wanda lightly shoves her, reminding Kate to check the Life360 in the morning to make sure she isn’t in a ditch somewhere before she stands. Ah, wrong move. 

Swaying, Wanda reaches out her hands in the general direction of Ms. Romanoff. Strong hands catch her by the shoulders, the scent of cinnamon wafting over her and wrapping her in a tight embrace. Wanda catches a glimpse of red hair, and feels a water bottle pressed into her hands with the stern command to sip slowly. She barely registers the walk outside, pausing to light a cigarette as she leans against a large car. 

“Is this a bad habit of yours?”

“Only when I’m drunk,” Wanda responds, her mind hazy and eyes blurry. The smoke hits the back of her throat, and she closes her eyes as the world spins. The rumble of an engine reaches her ears, and she feels herself leaning forward. 

And then she doesn’t stop. She just keeps falling and falling and there are strong arms and a soft voice and the most beautiful eyes she’s ever seen and a long road and bright lights and soft blankets and gentle hands wiping off her makeup and and and-

“Goodnight, Wanda.”

Next Chapter

---

Dm or comment to be added!

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato @justarandomreaderxoxo @godhatesgoodgirls @snowdrop1026 @maximoffmorale @noturlondonboy @wandaspuppy @xenaizogie @imjustvibingsworld @tobiaslut @subby-lesbian @xenaizogie @sxlfishbrokenheart @huggingkoalas 

[melliejellybellybean]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

Echo/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k, this was not supposed to happen

Warnings: none that I can think of?

When Echo is invited to your Life Day celebration, he's elated. That is, until he learns about gift-giving aspect of Life Day. But it's okay, he's a trained soldier with six men who will always have his back. Together, surely they can figure out the perfect gift to give you. Right?

So, I decided to participate in another @cloneficgiftexchange, Life Day edition, and this time, I was lucky enough to be able to write a fic for @ghostofskywalker herself. I was very excited to write this one, and the prompt "tell me I'm crazy" - "you're crazy" coupled with "agonizing over whether or not the gift character a got character b was something they'd like" seemed like they'd be so much fun to write.

ghostofskywalker, I love your fics literally so much, so I'm very excited and nervous to give this one to you! I hope you love it, happy holidays!!!

Echo liked his routine. He liked knowing exactly what he was going to do, when he was going to do it, and in what order it was going to be done. For example, once the transport touches down on Coruscant, Fives is going to throw his arm around Echo and shout something about “hitting every single club on Coruscant,” which really only meant 79s. Echo will laugh, shove his brother’s arm off his shoulder, and tell him that it didn’t matter how many clubs he went to, no one would want to dance with any one with a face as ugly as Fives’. They’ll go back and forth, with a few more brothers piping in every here and there, but once those doors open, Echo’s gone. His legs take him, almost as if they have a mind of their own, straight to a little shop on a level slightly lower than planetside. Without even really thinking about it, his legs take him straight to you. 

Echo will walk into the shop, a little bell announcing his presence from above the door, and be hit with the smell of freshly baked pastries, cakes, and cookies. Although glass display cases attempt to draw his attention with colorful examples of the sugar-filled desserts the shop offers, Echo will glue his eyes to the person behind the counter. When you look up, your lips will break out into a blinding grin and his will have no choice but to follow. And for the first time since being shipped off the battlefield, Echo will feel peace. 

Which is why it was twice as jarring for Echo when not only were you not at your post by the register, but there were green plants, candles, streamers, and hanging lights covering almost every surface with a cinnamon spice scent dancing in the air. 

“Echo!” A voice to his right called, and as he turned, he finally saw you. On a ladder. Hanging another one of those circular lights. You quickly finished mounting the decoration and then scrambled off the ladder, faster than Echo thought safe, before throwing yourself at him in an embrace. 

That was new. 

Echo felt his face heat up as he lightly returned the hug, but he wasn’t able to fully pull his thoughts away from the drastic change in interior decor. “What happened in here?” 

You stepped back and smirked, “Well, it’s great to see you too, Echo.” 

“It’s everywhere.” He murmured. “Did you get pranked?”

“No!” You laughed. “It’s Life Day!” 

Your voice held a lightness that made Echo’s gaze snap back to you, like a magnet. He noticed the joy that shone in your eyes and almost radiated from you. Stars, you were beautiful.

“Life Day?” Echo questioned, “Does Coruscant have an extra day in its standard week?” 

Your eyes widened, “You don’t know what Life Day is? It’s my favorite holiday!” 

Echo shook his head, “We don’t exactly celebrate a lot of holidays on Kamino. I think any sense of joy would make the long necks roll over and die.” 

“Life Day is a Wookie tradition, although by now most of the galaxy has adopted it, it’s a huge celebration of family, joy, and harmony.” Echo listened to your explanation and heard the compassion in your voice. Compassion, not pity. Never pity. You never pitied his loss of childhood and normal life experience. It was one of the things on the, admittedly very long, list of things he loved about you. “Most people spend it with the people they love. They’ll make food, spend time together, give gifts, and some cultures even have little mythological figures to go along with it. There’s this one planet who believes that a fat man breaks into their house every Life Day to–” 

“There you are, vod!” The little bell on the door rang out followed very closely by Fives’ irritating, grating voice, “I was starting to think you deserted, almost called the General to get a manhunt going.” 

Echo turned, opening his mouth to respond, but Fives caught sight of you and his face lit up. His eyes bounced back and forth mischievously between you and Echo, “Oh… so this is where you disappear to whenever we’re on Coruscant.”

“Fives…” Echo warned, but it was useless. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when a woman tolerated my brother’s company.” Fives pushed Echo aside, smoothly catching your hand and placing a kiss on it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss, the name’s Fives. I’m sure you’ve heard all about me.”

Echo knocked Fives’ hand out of yours and glared at him. Fives just raised his arms in surrender. “What? I’m the light of your life, what else would you have to talk about?” 

Before Echo could hit him, you laughed, “Oh, I have heard about you, Fives. It’s nice to meet the man who loves my snickerdoodles so much. That actually reminds me.” 

You ran into the back of the bakery, returning with a paper bag that seemed stuffed to the brim. “I added some extra pastries that I think you’d enjoy, Echo. And tell Hardcase that I ran out of poppy seeds, so he’ll just have to settle for lemon muffins.” 

Fives’ jaw dropped. “This is where you get these from? Vod, you’d better keep her!” 

“She’s not a massiff, stop talking about her like she is!” Echo snapped, but Fives turned to you and started gushing. 

“Never in my life have I eaten anything as good as the things you make. Your hands must be blessed by whatever it is that’s out there in the galaxy. If this one ever gives you any trouble, you let me know, or any of our brothers in the 501st, and we’ll knock some sense into him.” 

“Time to go!” Echo interjected, grabbing Fives’ by the shoulder and shoving him towards the door. “So many baked goods to hand out, so many clubs for you to hit, remember Fives?” Fives continued blabbering and Echo continued talking over him, but you were laughing too hard to understand anything either of them were saying anymore. 

“Echo,” you called out, right before he was about to step out of the door, “you can totally say no, if you want, but would you want to spend Life Day with me?” 

Echo wasn’t sure if the sudden silence that fell was real or just his imagination, but it felt as if time had stopped. He glanced back at you, and seeing you standing there, surrounded by your silly and over-the-top decorations, he knew there was no place he’d rather be. “I’d really like that.” He nodded. 

Then he stepped away from the door and let it close. He sighed, disappointed that his time with you had been cut so short, then turned and came face to face with his brother, who was wiggling his eyebrows at him. 

This time Echo really did hit him. 

…

“So…” Fives spoke around his mouthful of snickerdoodle, breaking the collective silence in the 501st barracks as everyone ate their pastries, “the baker?”

Echo sighed. It was his fault really for assuming that Fives could mind his business and drop it. “What about her?” 

“She’s cute.” Fives shrugged. 

“You met her?” Jesse blurted from his bunk across the room. If everyone wasn’t listening then, they sure were now. 

“Yeah, I followed Echo after we landed and caught him with her. Someone’s,” Fives gave Echo a pointed look, “been hiding her from us. Can’t imagine why.” 

“Maybe it’s because I value her sanity.” Echo mumbled into his fudge. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

Fives nudged his brother. “Look, if you want alone time with your girlfriend, just say that.” 

“Girlfriend?!” Hardcase yelled, accusingly looking at Echo. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Echo defended, before any more of his brothers got any ideas. 

“But you want her to be.” Fives countered. 

“Well, ye–no!” The truth had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop, and now that it was out, there was no turning back. Gasps erupted throughout the room. Jesse had to sit down, Tup dropped his piece of pie, even Dogma looked over with interest. 

Fives cheered triumphantly. “What’s stopping you then? Go get her!” 

“She’s not into me.” Echo slumped in defeat. “She’s brilliant and talented and beautiful. And she deserves so much more than a guy who’s not sure if he’ll make it back every day.” 

A thicker silence fell over the room. Every man in it knew about their reality. They were bred, born, and raised to fight in a war that was not theirs, for a galaxy that was not theirs, for people who were not theirs. Many clones turned to sunny, loud personalities to hide the pain and loss they felt after every battle. There was this unspoken rule that each clone had to live out his life to the absolute fullest while he could, because he didn’t know when it might end. Now that Echo had verbalized it, the entire barracks was reminded of the injustice of their own existence. 

“Vod,” Fives broke the silence again, this time with a seriousness in his eyes that looked foreign on his face, “we don’t get many chances to connect with someone like you have. Most guys would desert if it meant getting your opportunity. You can’t let her get away. At least let us know if any of us have a chance with her, if you don’t want it.” 

His joke released the tension in the room, each brother chimed in with their own eagerness to date Echo’s baker. 

“Even if I wanted to, she’s not into me.” Echo repeated. Groans erupted from all over the room, Jesse even threw a pillow at his brother. “What? I’m telling the truth!” 

Fives’ voice rose above the noise, “Echo, di’kut, that is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. She’s so into you, it kind of hurt to be in the same room as you both.” 

Echo rolled his eyes, but Fives kept going. “Look, tell me I’m crazy, but–”

“You’re crazy.” 

“She gives you free food, every time you go to meet her–”

“She’s a generous person.” 

“She had her eyes glued on you the whole time–” 

“Well, maybe you were scaring her. 

“She invited you to spend Life Day with her–”

“She what?!” Kix was the one who interrupted this time. “You’re going right?” 

“Well, of course, I told her I would. Why would I accept if I wasn’t going to go?” Echo sputtered. “Should I not have? Is that a bad idea? Should I tell her I’m not coming?” 

“No!” The entire room shouted. 

“You have to.” Kix got up and started pacing. “This is perfect, confessing on holidays is so much more romantic than confessing on your random Zhellday. Just give her something for Life Day, declare your love, and bam! Mission accomplished!” 

“That’s ridiculous.” Echo groaned, “Even if I wanted to, I don’t know the first thing about telling a girl you’re in love with her.” 

“Well, you’re lucky that you have six brothers right here that will do all the work for you!” Jesse gestured to the occupants of the room, all of whom had their own versions of their scheming faces on. 

Echo glanced at Fives, hoping that he would say something to put an end to this madness for once, but when Fives looked back at him, Echo could see the mischievous glimmer in his eyes. 

“Vod, we’re going to get you your cyare.” 

… 

It was Echo’s own fault. He really should’ve done something, anything this morning instead of blindly following his brothers across the Coruscant shopping district. Anything would be better than standing, in front of this very judgemental old man, in a jewelry shop meant for anyone but him. 

“I’m sure this piece is out of your budget, young man.” The shopkeeper barely glanced at the necklace Echo was asking about. “Perhaps you’d be better looking elsewhere?” 

“Aw, come on, how much is it?” Fives argued, “It can’t be that bad.” 

Echo had not been aware that jewelry was even sold at a price as high as the one that came out of the old man’s mouth, much less jewelry that was sold at a shop on one of the lower, dingier levels of Coruscant. 

“That place is a scam.” Fives quipped, the moment the old man had shut the door in their faces. “Let’s try somewhere else.” 

Echo glanced around. “I get the feeling that we’ll run into similar problems everywhere. The GAR doesn’t exactly pay well, where would we even find jewelry that any of us could afford?” 

“Nonsense. The way to a woman’s heart is through expensive things.” Fives was already looking for a new place to try. “Especially shiny, expensive things. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, girls go crazy for that stuff.” 

“I don’t know…” Echo trailed off as he thought about you. You were kind, funny, loving, and selfless. He didn’t take you as the type to get carried away with shine and credits. 

“Echo might be right.” Jesse piped in, “There’s only so much we can do in the expensive-jewelry department. But that doesn’t mean we’re completely down for the count. We’ll think of something else.” 

Fives slumped his shoulders, but didn’t say anything in his defense. All six of the men began looking around, wondering which one would give the next idea. 

“What about…” Tup shyly started, “flowers? Girls like flowers, right?” 

“Yeah!” Hardcase nodded, “That way Echo can still buy something for his baker and not have to spend too much money.” 

“What’s her favorite flower?” Kix asked, pulling the attention in the conversation back to Echo. 

Echo felt his face warm. How was it that in all the hours he spent in your company, all the attention he gave to every detail about you, he didn’t know what your favorite flower was? His brothers looked at him with expectant faces. Would they make fun of him if he told them that he didn’t know? Fives would have asked a girl immediately what her favorite flower was. 

“I’ll know it when I see it.” Maybe Echo didn’t lie. Maybe you had a vase that held a certain type of flower all the time in your shop and Echo had never fully noticed it. Maybe you mentioned it in passing a few times. Maybe Echo would see a flower that he would be dying to put behind your ear. 

As it turned out, Echo underestimated how many flowers there were in the world. And some of them looked so similar, he couldn’t even begin to guess which one you’d be partial to. This whole gift-giving thing was a lot harder than he thought. 

“What about this one?” Jesse emerged from behind a wall of flora, holding a giant, yellow flower. 

Echo winced. “I think that one’s too obnoxious.” 

“I found one!” Kix shouted from across the flower shop. Looking up, Echo could just see a black-gloved hand holding a dainty, purple flower above the shelves. 

That one was better, but it still didn’t speak to Echo in any way that reminded him of you. “I’m not so sure.” 

Fives groaned and tossed the bouquet he was about to offer Echo over his shoulder. “You’re impossible. She’s got to like something from here. Where’s Tup? This was all his idea.” 

“He’s flirting with the cashier.” Dogma pointed towards the entrance. To his credit, Tup didn’t burst into a noticeable blush, but his shoulders tightened in a subtle motion that told his brothers that Tup heard them call him out. Nonetheless, the flower shop cashier was giggling at whatever he had said. 

“At least someone here is striking gold.” Hardcase grumbled. “Now if only Echo could take a page out of Tup’s book. Tup’s book of all people!” 

Echo knew his brother’s frustration wasn’t entirely on him. They would die before they admitted it, but none of them really knew anything about women, and this experience was showcasing that for all of them. His brothers huddled together, brainstorming the next plan while Echo ran his eyes over the shelves once again. 

It felt like the millionth time he looked at this wall of flowers, but this time, one flower stuck out to him. It was elegant, but simple. Echo knew the petals would bring out your eyes in the best way. 

“That one.” Echo pointed to it. His brothers stopped bickering almost immediately. 

Fives hopped into motion first, “Perfect! Let’s go.” He marched Echo, who now held the bouquet in his hands, straight to the cashier. “Move over, Tup, you can flirt later.” 

This time a blush did erupt on Tup’s face. He turned away to hide it, but the cashier just laughed lightly before turning to Echo and Fives, a more professional mask slipping over her features. “I take it you’re Echo?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Echo nodded, “Just this one please.” 

The cashier nodded and began to ring up the bouquet. “I couldn’t help but overhear some of your situation, and Tup filled in a little bit. I just wanted to let you know that these flowers are commonly allergenic. Most people are pretty mildly allergic, but it’s not uncommon for a person to have a pretty severe allergy to them.” 

Echo froze. “I can’t give that to her then! What if I put her in the hospital?!” 

“Hospitals are not romantic.” Hardcase agreed, wisely. 

“I’ll try something else.” Echo sighed, “Thank you for all your help.” 

The cashier sympathetically nodded at him, and began to open her mouth to offer more help, but Echo was already being ushered out the doors of the shop by his brothers. 

“It’s alright. Shake it off.” Fives assured, “The guys and I have already talked, and we’ve got a plan that’s a sure winner this time.” 

… 

“I can’t do this.” Echo threw up his hands. 

Dogma glanced up from his own project. “Sure you can. There’s nothing that screams ‘Life Day’ more than a pair of mittens, and nothing says ‘I’ll be here to protect and provide for you’ more than the honorable discipline of knitting. Ow-” 

Throwing the ball of yarn at Dogma probably wouldn’t help him learn to knit, but it did make Echo feel sort of better. 

The plan that his brothers cooked up after the flower shop had not worked. And neither had the next. Or this one, apparently. 

In Hardcase’s defense, Echo hadn’t even attempted to put together a 60-piece marching band to parade down the bakery’s street for Life Day. But he had attempted to learn to play the guitar because, according to Jesse, every woman dreams of the day a man plays a guitar and sings for them as they awkwardly avoid eye contact and shuffle in their seats for lack of better things to do. While he was sure the love songs he had tried to learn were beautiful, Echo found out that he didn’t have the musical ability to portray them in any flattering manner. 

He was getting so desperate for a good plan, he’d even asked Rex one day, “Captain, if you were a beautiful baker, who was completely out of my league, what would you want for Life Day?” 

“For you to leave me alone, probably.” Was the only response he got. 

It had been weeks since he last met with her, weeks since she invited him to spend Life Day with her and started this whole mess. He knew that he couldn’t look her in the eyes until he had the perfect Life Day gift for her, but now that was Life Day Eve, Echo was getting hopeless.

Dogma glared at his brother. “You’re going to make me roll that ball back up, aren’t you?.” 

“Yup.” Echo met his glare. 

“Okay! New plan!” Kix jumped in. The entire room groaned in protest. “Shut it, all of you. I’ve listened to all of your awful ideas, I apologize to the woman you fool with them by the way, but I’ve got something you all don’t: a working brain.” More yarn balls got tossed in Kix’s direction along with insults that drowned out Dogma’s protests. 

“Echo,” Kix ignored them, “this girl seems like she’s really special. And really special girls aren’t going to be swayed by things. She’s probably already into you and just needs to know that you’re in love with her. All you need to do is tell her, and the best way to do that is with love letters. They’re simple, heartfelt, and genuine. Three things that women love.” The men in the room had quieted over Kix’s speech, and all seemed to be absentmindedly nodding as they thought this new plan over. 

“You’re right.” Echo stood up. “This is ridiculous. I just need to get it off my chest and tell her how I feel. A love letter is the perfect way to gift that.” Cheers erupted from the room this time. 

I’m proud of him. Fives thought as Echo sat down and began writing. This was really important to him, but he could probably give her a rock off the ground and she’d kiss him.

Good for him. Jesse thought as Echo threw away his first draft of his love letter. He’s really thinking about what he’s going to say. He’s making sure it comes out just right.

He’s dedicated, I’ll give him that. Dogma thought as he laid down to go to sleep, Echo still writing. It’s not his fault that he can’t understand the value of knitting, but I guess this is the next best thing.

That must be some letter. Tup thought when he rolled over a few hours later, Echo’s pile of discarded letters getting taller and taller. I hope she likes it.

What time even is it? Hardcase thought when he woke up in the very early hours of the morning, Has he been writing this whole time?

I’ve created a monster. Kix realized when he got up the next morning, seeing no trace of Echo, but a huge pile of crumpled up pieces of flimsi next to the desk that he had sat at all night long. Maker help that Baker. 

… 

“Happy Life Day, Echo!” You greeted the clone standing outside your door. He returned your grin with a smaller one. You noticed that he looked slightly disheveled and he seemed to be breathing a bit heavier than normal. Instead of pointing it out, you decided to politely ask, “How has your morning been?” 

“Awful.” Echo blurted before hastily correcting himself, “-ly great. I’ve had an awfully great morning. How about you?” 

“I guess my morning has been awfully great too.” You awkwardly shuffled aside, “Would you like to come in or…?” 

“Oh!” Echo quickly walked past you, and you noticed as he did so that he was carrying a large sack with him. It was made of dark green cloth and looked suspiciously like something you had seen other clones use to carry their gear. You found it odd, but decided not to mention it. Maybe clones had a regulation that stated they couldn’t go anywhere without their gear, and if him being able to wear the very flattering civilian clothes that he currently had on meant he had to carry around a giant sack everywhere, who were you to complain about it? 

“Thank you so much for coming. I know I kind of sprung the invitation on you.” You gestured to your table, which you had set for two people with a candle in the middle. You blushed as you realized that you just presented him with a candle light breakfast, but continued on. “I made a sort of late breakfast for us, and then I have a full day of Life Day activities planned for us. I really wanted to make sure you have the full experience for your first Life Day.” 

Echo prided himself in being a very observant and aware man, but he had not heard a word you had said after looking at the table. “It’s only us today?” 

Your smile faltered, “Yeah, I had planned the day for just the two of us, is that okay?”

“Yes!” Echo coughed to clear the eagerness out of his tone. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

Echo had never been to your apartment, and so when he first got the comm asking him to meet you there, he got even more nervous than he already was. But his nerves were calmed as he looked around the room during breakfast. Your unique fingerprints were everywhere. Just like the bakery, every inch of this house was decked out in Life Day decorations. Little replicas of a decorated Tree of Life were scattered over various shelves and counters, garlands were hung with Life Day orbs, candles and other decorations covering everything. You even had a larger Tree of Life replica set up in your living room, also decorated to the nines. The entire house screamed the passion and love that you put into all things you care about, and the knot in Echo’s stomach loosened more and more with every minute he spent with you. 

Breakfast was amazing. You were a great baker, Echo already knew that, but you were excited to show him that you were an almost better cook. While the day had started off on a bit of a stumbling foot, conversation began to flow easily between the two of you as more time passed. It was nice to see Echo relaxed and smiling. You don’t really know when it started, but these days, your life seemed to revolve around the little moments you were able to spend with Echo. He was sweet and gentle with you, but you knew that he was also brave and courageous. You adored every aspect of him. You hoped that one day, you’d be able to openly show the depths of that adoration. The rest of the day seemed to fly by. The two of you decorated cookies, built orgabread houses, played games, and before you know it, you were snuggled up on the couch, large mugs of wroshyr louse syrup cocoa in hand, watching the third Life Day holofilm of the night. At some point between the start of the second holofilm and now, Echo had managed to sneak his arm across your shoulders, allowing you to bury yourself into his side. His warmth seeped to you, and you were well on your way to falling asleep when he mumbled, “Cyar’ika?”  

“Hm?” You didn’t know what the word meant, but you somehow knew he was referring to you. Lifting your head up, you met his gaze. How long had he been staring?

“When you first invited me over, I had no idea what Life Day was, but I did some research, and my brothers yelled at me, and now I think I have a pretty good idea of what it means. You’re really special to me, and my brothers told me that you give special people gifts on Life Day. So I spent the past few weeks, losing my mind, trying to find the perfect gift to give you.” A blush started to creep up his face, but he didn’t let that deter him, “I tried many things, and each one didn’t work, so I tried something else.” He carefully untangled himself from you and left the room. Before you were able to fully wonder where he went, he returned with the sack. “I couldn’t decide on one thing to get you. Each place I went to had something that reminded me of something that I like about you, but I like so much more than one thing about you and choosing which one to show you was impossible.”

He opened the sack and pulled out a necklace. It wasn’t anything big or flashy, but the chain was decorated with little pearls, “This isn’t the original necklace I looked at, the GAR doesn’t pay enough for that one,” Echo joked, “but it represents my point a little better, I think. When I looked at this, I saw all the little kindnesses that you do. Not just for me, but my brothers, other customers at your bakery, sometimes even just strangers off the street. I see a world that is mean and cruel everyday, but when I’m with you, I’m reminded of all the beauty and good that’s in it too.” A lump had formed in your throat, so the only thing that you could do was reach out and take the necklace. 

When you looked back up at him, he was holding out a single, purple flower, slightly crumpled from being held in a sack all day long. “I searched a flower shop for hours to find this. I don’t know what it’s called or where it’s from, but when I saw it, I knew exactly where it belonged.” He reached out and gently brushed your cheek as he settled the flower behind your ear. “Right there.” 

“Echo,” You smiled, starting to see where this was going, “thank you, I–” 

“I’m not finished.” Echo reached into the sack and started pulling out item after item. “I bought you mittens, sorry they’re not homemade, a music box, I didn’t have time to put together a 60 piece band, I even brought Jesse’s guitar!” Your eyes widened as he pulled the instrument out of the sack, along with pages and pages of flimsi with music written on it. “I wanted to find the perfect way to tell you how much you meant to me, but all I did was drive myself crazy and waste so much time. Because none of these things can possibly show how much I look forward to every moment that I spend with you, and every smile of yours that I get to see, and how much I love everything about you. I love you.”

A beat of silence fell over the both of you as you both processed the weight of Echo’s words. “I have a Life Day gift for you too. But you have to close your eyes before I give it to you.” Echo’s shock displayed on his face for a moment, but he nodded and dutifully closed his eyes. 

You took a deep breath. Echo’s leap of courage inspired you to take your own. You slowly leaned closer and closer into Echo, allowing yourself all the time you wanted to observe his features. His strong brow, sharp jawline, and full lips. You were most focused on those lips right now. Echo stiffened when you placed a hand on his shoulder for balance and when he began to feel your breath ghost over his lips. “I love you too.” You whispered, and then closed the gap.

Echo still had one gift that he hadn’t given you, but something told him he wouldn’t need that letter anymore. 

…

Echo loved his routine. He knew exactly what he was going to do, when he was going to do it, and what order it was going to be done. Once this transport touches down on Coruscant, Fives is going to throw his arm around Echo and shout something about “making sure that the pretty baker sets aside the good stuff for me.” Echo is going to laugh, shove his brother’s arm off his shoulder, and tell him that it didn’t matter what he brought back with him, anything from that bakery is “the good stuff.” They’ll go back and forth, with a few more brothers piping in here and there, but once those doors open, Echo’s gone. His legs take him straight to a little shop on a level slightly lower than planetside, straight to you, but now, he’s thinking about it a whole lot. 

Echo will walk into the shop, a little bell announcing his presence from above the door, and be hit with his favorite smell in the world, but now, a pair of eyes is already looking back at him. The baker will leave her post behind the counter, as fast as she can, and throw herself into his arms. And for the first time since he left you, Echo will feel like he’s home. 

[thelivingdeceased]

Happy Valentine’s Day !! | Edith and Nadia Appreciation Post :3

She stops suddenly, squinting at me against the sun. She holds her hand up to block it and I can see she's smiling. I laugh. "What?"

"I think I'm in love with you."

Something in my chest tightens but not in the way it did when Lynette and Nikolai said the same thing. It's a good feeling, as if I've been waiting to hear her say that for years. Maybe I have.

I smile back. "Yeah, I think I am too.

(Book Three of the Unreality)

It's a woman. She's painting worthy. Her dark hair is pulled back in a loose bun yet doesn't fall in her face much. It appears to be damp. Her skin is tan and freckled and she wears a leather jacket and a cool t-shirt. She kind of looks like she's judging me.

"Please be careful with my guitar. It was expensive." she says, borderline cringing. I adjust my hands to hold it more gently.

"Who are you?" I ask.

She steps towards me and holds a hand out, reaching for the guitar. She smiles. "Who are you?"

(A short story about Edith and Nadia living in New York as young adults)

"Me too." she slumps down until she's practically laying on the floor. I copy her, feeling my hair stick up against the couch. She looks up at the ceiling, her eyes darting back and forth as if she's observing the shapes made by the ceiling pattern. I look at her, observing the light makeup she's put on and the way some of it glitters in the warm overhead light. She turns to me and the glitter goes away. "Do you want to go get some ingredients to make cinnamon rolls? I don't want to sit around all Christmas. That's boring."

(Christmas Blues, Cryptid Falls)

And then she grabs my hand, and we sit in the hallway of the hospital, florescent lights keeping us awake. In another universe we might be sitting in a school office or something like that. But instead doctors walk by and there's a million different things beeping. I grip her hand tighter.

(Windell Falls, Cryptid Falls)

"I was in America when they landed on the moon." She whispers.

"Oh really?" I say. I didn't think she could get any cooler.

(Sleepless Cities)

It's a watercolour portrait of me and my guitar. And it's much better than Andre's macaroni bat. The detail is incredible, like something I would see in an art book or something. The colours blend naturally and the shade of the guitar in the painting matches the colour of my own guitar perfectly. It's beautiful.

I read the card. It's from Edith. I smile. "This is really lovely, Edith. When did you paint this?"

"Um, back in November I think. When we were doing game night or whatever."

"It's beautiful."

She sinks down her chair a bit. "It's nothing really. I do it for everyone."

"Liar." Andre grumbles. "You've never painted me."

Edith rolls her eyes and turns to grab the pillow behind her, saying, "That's cause you never hang out with me, you prick." She throws the pillow and hits him square in the head.

"I hang out with you all the tim—" She throws another pillow, interrupting him. Basira steps in.

(Christmas Blues, Cryptid Falls)

[hoidn]

Could I make that decision? To leave my husband and daughter behind?

Another Life 2x10, D-Day

[embearsilly]

Hello! I hope you're having a good day/night!

Request - platonic! SBI with a reader who leaves little gifts for them with nice little letters!

Gifts?

I’m having a wonderful morning thank you for asking! This is such a cute little idea! I didn’t know if you wanted individual or together but I did them Together. I hope it is to your liking!

Pronouns - They/Them

Warnings - Slight explicit language, mentions of nightmares, slight angst

Parings - Platonic!SBI x reader

When Phil had brought home the new child, they were around 15 so basically a teenager, Wilbur was very intrigued about them. Apparently they were his new sibling according to Phil.

One night they had a nightmare and Wilbur had found them in their room crying after hearing muffled sniffles from behind their door.

He had comforted them playing his guitar for them and singing to them to help calm them down.

The next day he had found them sneaking around his room, and when they noticed he was there they bolted out.

What he found next surprised him to say the least. It was a cinnamon roll with a small letter next to it.

Dear Wilbur,

Thank you for comforting me last night. I really needed it. Here’s a cinnamon roll for a token of my gratitude.

Sincerely,

Y/n

Wilbur brought the letter to Phil who thought it was adorable. Wilbur was just still confused, he was slightly worried about taking bite out of the cinnamon roll in case of any malicious intent.

Eventually, he gave into the delicious smell of the cinnamon roll and took a bit. His mouth exploded with delicious flavors.

Maybe this new person wasn’t so bad.

Eventually the two of them would both jam out to his songs or make music together. He would teach them how to play guitar if they hadn’t already known and them teaching him an instrument they knew how to play.

The next day Techno had gotten a small gift as well from them as well as a book about greek mythology. Apparently Techno had once told them that he enjoyed mythology and they remembered.

Techno had gone to Wilbur about it showing him the book the child had given him as well as a letter.

Dear Techno,

I heard you like mythology so I got you this! Hope you like it!

Sincerely,

Y/n

Techno had read through the book in a day not knowing that someone was watching him enjoy the gift. Not creepily of course.

The two of them eventually would hunt together and take turns telling stories about mythology or about themselves.

Apparently Tommy had gotten something as well. A day after the other two had gotten their gift something was left on Tommy’s bed. It was a hand sewn plushie of a cow. Tommy had acted like he didn’t care about it, though inside he was silently fan buying about it.

Beside the cow was a small folded note with the words “To Tommy” inscribed onto it. It had read:

Dear Tommy,

I heard you had a cow named Henry so I tried my best to make a plushie that looked like him. <3

Sincerely,

Y/n

Tommy would sleep with the small plush from that day forth, which made them extremely happy that their work wasn’t all for nothing.

They would read stories to the young child about the stars and the gods. Telling him the ancient tales from long ago, from stories of a crimson evil, to the Wild West.

He had fallen in love with the stories telling them that he would become a great warrior like his father.

Phil had come home to find Tommy running over to him jumping up and down excitedly as he revealed the cow plush.

Next thing he knew Y/n came running up to him handing him an emerald and a small note.

“I’m heading off to the village to get some ingredients for dinner.” They walked past the hybrid Tommy trailing after them.

“Can I come too?” he queried. They glanced up at Phil who gave them a soft nod.

They smiled looking down at the young boy, “Why not.” he pumped his arm in the air in success as he ran off to grab his coat Y/n now trailing after him.

The crow hybrid smiled at the sight looking down at the object you had handed him. It was a beautiful green emerald that had a long black chain going through the top of it. He cocked his head to the side confused on what the small chain was for.

He glanced down at the folded note opening it softly reading the text of the small paper.

Dear Philza,

Thank you so much for inviting me into your home and taking me in as one of your own. If not for you I’m not sure where I would be now. As a small thanks I give you an emerald which I believe symbolizes friendship. You can hang it around your neck or hang if off the side of your hat which ever you wish. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Y/n

Phil glanced back down at the emerald staring at it for a moment before he took it in his hand and hung it over the side of his hat so people could see.

He glanced back up as he heard the loud foot steps of the little gremlin. Behind Tommy stood Y/n who had a large smile plastered onto their face.

Tommy had ran out the door waiting for Y/n. “You coming slow poke?” he called out to them.

They giggled and ran after Tommy, “Yeah I’m coming!”

[inkykeiji]

hope you don’t stop running to me, cause i’ll always be waiting

character: dabi | todoroki touya - raver!dabi

genre: extremely sentimental fluff + smut with a sprinkle of angst

notes: okay so essentially, this is raver!dabi, but like the piece isn't really focused around that. the piece is about this all encompassing, ravenous love the reader feels for him, and it really borders on unhealthy obsession; it's about how he's the happiest she ever sees him at raves, but it's bittersweet because he's so fucking high, and it kind of contrasts his love for raves and drugs with her love for him | title cred: cinema by benny benassi ft. skrillex and gary go

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, size difference, drugs, obsessive unhealthy relationship, extreme codependency, manipulation if u squint, minimal prep, a sprinkle of degradation

words: 6k

synopsis:

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

There’s nothing he loves more, no where he feels more at home, more at ease, more himself, than at a rave, you’re absolutely sure of it.

He sniffs them out like a hound, manages to find them no matter what city or country he’s in; loves them indiscriminately, regardless of how big or small they are; and drags you to each one he attends. Because he’s addicted to every single thing about them—irrevocably hooked on the pounding music that throbs like a beating heart, the marvelous colours that sear through the venue like vibrant flares of blood, the pretty pills and dazzling tabs and soft, soft powder—it all turns the party into a living entity, breathes life into the crowd, intoxicates him like nothing he’s ever felt before; and he’ll never be able to get enough of them, enough of how they make him feel, how they make him forget.

But he wants you there with him every time.

Sometimes, he’s hauling you into dingy basements full of wispy smoke and blaring speakers, staticky as they thrash out beats over a crowd, atmosphere saturated with sweat and the sickly sweet smell of hard candies. Others, he’s pulling you along on a lush field or cracked concrete tainted with brilliant flashes of crimson and violet, through thousands and thousands of people adorned in spiky fur and holographic latex until he finds the stage he’s looking for.

You don’t mind, though, unbothered by the pulsing music and the glistening crowds. You don’t mind, because this is your only chance to get these fleeting little glimpses of what true, pure happiness looks like on him—and you’re fucking addicted to it.

This weekend it happens to be a two-day-long EDM festival, set up far away from society in a large grassy meadow, embellished with wildflowers that dot the tangled jade strands with pops of pastel pinks and yellows and ivories—and it’s enchanting, whimsical, almost surreal in a sense. You can feel it, the atmosphere that drapes the masses of people scattered across the rolling hills, an energy unlike any other that envelops the patrons and lulls them into a state of soothing bliss.

He loves it. You love him.

And you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to accurately explain what the feeling of accompanying him to a rave is like; you don’t think the words even exist—the essence and aura, the feelings that swirl around in your chest, fuzzy and fluttery and fierce, transcending any and all languages. Because they’re something bigger, something better—they’re something higher, something stronger, something more than any word could ever describe.

No, there’s no way to define it, to portray it, nothing to encapsulate or summarize it, the genuine happiness that encompasses him, the way his pinched and stern features finally, finally relax, a special, gentle type of carefreeness seeping through the permanent mask of trepidation irrevocably sown into his strong face. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing to watch as they morph, the way his lips transform before your very eyes, from a firm, thin line into a loose, easygoing grin, sharp eyes liquefying as his lids droop a little, thin ring of sapphire outlining gaping onyx pupils, voracious in the way they observe, inhale, devour everything, blown and massive from whatever he’s high on—E or coke or acid; possibly a mixture of all three. You aren’t allowed to have any, of course, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because as cheesy and stupid as it sounds, you’re high off of him—off his smell, spicy cinnamon and sweet campfire, laced with just a hint of Marlboros; off his taste, mint and smoke and sugar; off his touch, large hands caressing the natural curves and contours of your body, calloused fingertips rough and ragged as they drag across your soft flesh, skin pebbling with each graze.

It’s intoxicating, the way it invades your senses, overwhelms your receptors and has you yearning for more. It’s dumbfounding, the way your mind goes numb with him, infused with thoughts of DabiDabiDabi as he seeps and soaks and stitches himself into the tissues of your brain.

And you’ve never seen him more content than he is here, high out of his mind and entirely absorbed in the music, embraced in it like it’s a protective blanket, like it’s the arms of an old, treasured friend, like it’s home. Bitter acid creeps up your throat, blends with his saccharine spit ever-present and saturating your tongue, the thought that he’s only truly, genuinely, substantially happy when he’s high off his ass at a festival procuring a muted, blunt ache in the middle of your chest, dull blades that dig and burrow into your beating heart, shoved a little deeper with each bubble of laughter that escapes his lips.

Nevertheless, you can’t ever bring yourself to put an end to it, no matter how much it hurts him, hurts you both, because he looks so lovely, so elated—and you just can’t bear to take that from him, to take that from yourself.

Because he’s so fucking pretty like this, hair undone, careless and free as fluffy tufts of black bounce and sway with his movements, sticking to his temples and his neck—and he almost looks soft like this, strands of onyx hanging in his eyes and curling around his ears. Because happiness looks so good on him, so gorgeous on him, with those bright smiles that span his face, across his cheeks from ear to ear, and those stunning sapphire irises that glow with pleasure, contentment, bliss—and you wish, wish so desperately that you got to see it more often, that you had the chance to experience it without the drugs steadily coursing through his system, that they weren’t necessary, mandatory, in manufacturing these emotions.

But you’ll take what you can get. And he will, too—because you both love watching, both love feeling him this ecstatic, this relaxed, all his anguish and trauma forgotten, those chains that shackle him, that weigh him down and confine him, disintegrated by the synthetic emotions, burnt to ash just for a night or two.

And so, you aid, you help, you enable—because while you’ll take what you can get, you can’t ever get enough, either, eyes wide and unblinking as they place a pretty pink tablet stamped with a heart on his tongue, entranced by the way his lips close around your fingers and suck. And it’s so fucking hot, a rush of warmth flooding between your thighs and furling tightly in your belly. His eyes are shining as he stares at you, stuffed full of so much love it nearly hurts, and you want, you want, you want.

It isn’t long before drug induced euphoria is rushing through his veins and colliding with the constant, steady bass oozing from the speakers, vibrations travelling through the grassy earth beneath him until they reach his feet and flood his body. He tells you he can feel it in his chest, in his heart, in his very soul, seeping into his bloodstream like the sweetest poison, forcing a pleasant buzz through his limbs.

And it’s the best—it’s better than anything he’s ever felt, anything you’ve ever felt, hands roaming across bodies as music pours from the mammoth speakers, tracing soft lines and hard edges, fingers committing them to memory through touch alone; foreheads knocking together as he giggles into your mouth, as you suck his laughter from him and let it bloom in your chest, bright and buzzing and full of him, so full you feel as though you may burst; tongues dragging against one another as you both lick either side of a heart-shaped lollipop, sticky crimson candy sparkling in the waning sunlight, before he pushes his gum into your mouth, endless huffs of amusement spilling from one throat into another as you pass it back and forth—a game of sorts—smiling into the messy, slippery kisses, lips sliding and slurping and sucking.

Colourful beads embellish his arms, slender wrists and sculpted forearms peaking through the gaps, plastic droplets smacking together delicately with his movements. The brilliant colours are vibrant in contrast to his smooth skin, ivory tainted gold by the August sun, to later be painted by the lively splotches of aquamarine and lilac and lime and fuchsia as the lights dance through the night sky, spraying across the crowd.

His body glistens under the setting sun, varnished in a thin layer of sweat, gleaming droplets decorating his skin, catching in the beams and glittering like tiny diamonds. Strands of inky hair cling to his neck and white cotton hugs his torso, outlining the firm muscles of his back, the plains and contours that glide almost gracefully under scarred skin and soft fabric with each of his movements.

He’s a horrible dancer; truly, but he makes you giggle—which makes him giggle, large hands finding your waist and tugging you towards him, forehead bowed to yours again as he stares at you, cavernous pupils flitting from each of your features—your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth—with his lips slightly parted, as if he’s in awe. Tiny thumbs run over his clammy cheekbones, and his eyes close briefly with the motion, body swaying a little as he leans into you, further pressing his forehead into yours. His molars are grinding again, you can feel it, the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his jaw under soft, tender palms, and you tsk softly.

“You need another lollipop, Daddy,” you tell him, and although you’re practically shouting over the music, it feels like your whispering, wisps of your adoring voice caressing his skin, curling around him and sopping into his flesh, warming him to the core of his soul. Little fingers are pressing into the hinges of his jaw as you speak, their gentle touch instantly diffusing the tension, and he nods.

The whine that catches in his throat when you pull away is one of the sweetest, most valuable sounds you’ve ever heard, and it makes your chest flutter, eyes flicking up to look at him through your lashes with a beaming smile. He’s still leaning towards you, slowly falling forward, a magnet drawn to magnetite, and you love it, you love it, you love it.  

“You look so fucking cute in your tutu, princess,” he’s chuckling as you root through your tiny bag for more candy. And you can tell he really means it, a dopey smile decorating his face, eyes shimmering with mirth, with drugs, with love.

A giggle slips past your lips, hands smooth down the tufts of tulle adorning your waist as you shyly murmur your thanks, his own smile growing. Lidded sapphires float around your body, slow and belated as they take inventory, words unhurried and sluggish as they tumble from his mouth.

“I-I should…Uh, I should put some sunscreen on my baby, sh-shouldn’t I? Don’t want your shoulders or that pretty face of yers to burn, y’know,”

You really don’t need to—the sun’s sunk halfway below the horizon by now—but you indulge him anyway, would never be able to deny him a fucking thing.

It’s fumbling, clumsy and messy in his inebriated state, but it’s still so cute, so considerate, so caring, rough hands slathering the thick cream across your skin, rubbing in awkward, blundering circles—and it sends sizzling sparks shooting through your bloodstream, alighting your entire body with a blaze that is so specifically him.

The sky turns from coral to navy all at once, and then you’re clasping onto him tightly, hugging your body to his as hands roam, as fingers tangle and tug and tow, as lips latch and lick. Salt mixes with his usual taste, tongue tingling with it as it laps at the dips of his collarbones. The sharp smell of sugar stings your nose, and you inhale deeply, face nuzzling against his damp neck. He smells sweet, like sunshine and burning hickory wood, like a summer breeze grazing freshly washed linen, carrying with it a sprinkle of cinnamon.

And you can’t stop, powerless to your urges and void of all control as you nibble at the column of his throat, as you suck the prettiest galaxies of violet and periwinkle into his flesh, as the tip of your tongue traces the jutting bones at the base of his neck, over and over and over again until they’re saturated in thick layers of your gleaming spit.

Because he’s fucking delicious, and it’s never enough—will never be enough, regardless of if you spend hours kissing, until your lungs are burning and your jaw is aching and your mouths and chins and cheeks are coated in each other’s sticky saliva.

Because you’re fucking greedy, needy, hungry, limitless in how much you desire, more and more and more.  

Because even when he’s pounding into you, it still isn’t ever enough. You want to consume him the way he consumes those pretty little tablets, want to breathe him in and hold him in your chest, in your heart, in your soul, forever. Not all of him, you promise, you swear, you’ll settle with just a piece—just a piece you can carry around everywhere with you, always. It’s the worst addiction you’ve ever suffered, it’s the sweetest heaven you’ve ever felt, it’s the only semblance of home you’ve ever known—you’ll keep chasing that high he gives you forever, keep chasing him as he chases drugs, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

And eventually, eventually it becomes too much to bear, just as it does every single night, this seething desire that roars and rumbles within you, rattling the cage of your ribs as it demands more. Eventually, it has you yanking on his arm, both hands clasped around one of his, shrill begs and pleads beginning to claw their way up your throat.

Strong hands manhandle you against him, a thick thigh slotting between your own, and you whimper, burying your face against his neck. With such a large crowd, and such thunderous music, and so many people higher than the clouds, no one can tell what you’re doing; no one can tell how naughty you’re being.

He knows exactly what you need, exactly what’s got you so restless, pressing his muscled thigh into your core and chuckling at the instant moan it procures.

“Daddy,” you mewl loudly against his ear, curled fingers giving another tug on his t-shirt, cunt already grinding steadily against his thigh. “I need you,”

He snickers, the sound vibrating against you, head tilting curiously and lips molding into a cocky smirk. “You need what, baby?”

And the whine that breaks in your chest is absolutely pathetic, bottom lip jutted out into a deep pout, grinding against his thigh becoming more erratic, more urgent. You hate that he’s gonna make you say it, face crumpled up in adorable irritation—his favourite expression on you, you’re sure, his smirk growing into a grin as a growl rumbles in your chest.

“Your cock,” shimmering eyes, glazed with want that reflects the flashing lights in their glassiness, stare up at him, blinking twice in enticement. “Please?”

He hums in thought as he pretends to think, to consider, as if his leg isn’t pressing further and further into your core as you aimlessly hump it, as if his cock isn’t already hard and pressed up against your hip and throbbing through his jeans, as if he isn’t grinding against you in infinitesimal motions, little gyrations of his hips that almost feel subconscious instead of intentional—as if he can’t help himself.

“Daddy!” you squeal, barely audible over the heavy bass, eyebrows scrunched in the way they always do when you don’t get what you want. “Now!”

Normally, if he wasn’t higher than the full moon hanging in the sky and flickering stars scattered in uneven clusters around it, such a bratty request would’ve earned you a hefty punishment—something that would’ve left your skin raw, cunt abused, and completely unsatisfied—because bad girls don’t get to cum, now, do they?

But tonight it only makes him laugh harder, cooing about how fucking cute you get when you’re all needy like this, like it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever witnessed, cobalt eyes shining with delight and adoration as he laces his fingers through yours, pulling you along behind him as he weaves in and out of the sea of bodies.

But the car’s too far, you’re whining as you trail behind him, a deep pout carved into your face, eyebrows knitted so firmly they weave creases into your forehead. I can’t wait, Daddy, I can’t wait!

And it’s true—you can’t wait any longer, you need him inside of you this very instant or you’ll fucking combust—a deprived addict vying for their favourite vice; a raving, ravenous fire that burns bright and blistering in the pit of your tummy, constantly starved for him.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, this intense, insatiable craving; one that has your thighs clenching so tightly it’s painful, that burns through your veins and scalds the insides of your stomach, that has your blood bubbling and nerves buzzing, whole body feeling electric in his presence.

It’s a gnawing urgency, one that tears at the pit of your belly and roars in your chest, filling your ribcage until it feels like it’s about to burst, until it has you choking on botched gasps of air and his name, nails digging into his hand as you tug on his arm, pleading, begging, needing.

It’s going to devour you from the inside out if you don’t get what you want soon, if it isn’t fed with what it wants soon, expletive filth spilling from your lips in frenzied little huffs as Dabi tries in vain to drag you to the car—please, Daddy, I feel like I’m gonna die, need your cock, Daddy, need it right now, right now, right now, fill me with your cum, Daddy, I’m so empty without it; warm me with your cum, Daddy, please, please, pretty please, I can’t wait!

Such sentiments, woven together between threads of high whines and broken gasps, evoke a dark snarl ripping through his chest, his true persona cutting through the manufactured euphoria for just a moment—and then you see him, you see your Daddy, you see your home, blazing in his glassy eyes as he whirls around on you and crashes his lips to yours, large hands splayed on either side of your face, nimble fingers gripping your head so tightly it hurts.

But the pressure is welcomed, little hands pawing at his thick belt again, pathetic and desirous, and the sheer force has you stumbling backwards, feet catching on your own ankles as the two of you tumble to the ground.

“You are such a fucking brat, y’know that?” he’s nearly moaning between kisses, lips never leaving yours as he spits the words into your mouth, hips snuggling into their favourite spot between your thighs.

“You love it,”

“A spoiled little bitch,”

“Y-Your fault,” you giggle into his mouth, a large palm colliding with your ass half a second later, knocking a yelp from your throat, a pitiful little squeak that he readily swallows down.

Calloused fingers twist in the lace of your panties and he yanks, holes materializing in the delicate fabric, lithe digits hooking through them and unceremoniously jerking the ruined remains down your thighs. It’s graceless, movements inept and cumbersome in his attempt to remove them from your body, stubbornly refusing to break your kiss, hovering body supported by one hand and his knees. The material finally snaps, fingers tearing through it, like fire blazing through intricate spider webs.  A whine catches in your throat and he laughs darkly, tongue lapping at your neck, your jaw, your mouth itself, drenching you in sugar-infused saliva.

Lips part immediately, eagerly, ready to greet his tongue with your own, and he huffs another chuckle into you, breath scorching as it floods the cavern of your mouth, and God, he’s got himself such a good girl, such a good slut, doesn’t he?

The words are mumbled out, slick lips gliding against yours, a little slurred and stuffed full of sticky spit as massive, rough hands run up your thighs, grabbing healthy handfuls of your flesh and squeezing.

A sharp gasp escapes from your throat, hips instinctively bucking against his from the sudden pain, and he laughs, deep and sinister and reverberating against his ribcage.  

You can feel the dull thud of the music in the distance, bass burrowing its way into your chest, pulsating beat slithering through the pliant earth and oozing up through the dirt against your back. Magnificent glows of azure and amethyst blanket the festival in their embrace, bleeding into one another before they morph into and emerald and magenta, haloing the grounds and all of its inhabitants.

But all of those colours, the almost ethereal beauty of the party itself, is nothing compared to the sapphire gazing down at you, the ivory skin that almost glows against the grass and the pines and the night sky, the fluffy onyx tufts your fingers tangle in.

Teeth sink into his plush, scarred bottom lip and you suck harshly, taking it into your mouth, the tip of your tongue toying with it, laving over the supple flesh and dousing it in your saliva. A snarl clatters around in his mouth as he pulls his lip from between yours, teeth scraping against it in the process.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” you’re chanting, muffled by his mouth, muddled by his tongue as it aggressively pushes against yours. “Need’a, need’a,”

The words snag in your throat, evaporating into ghosts of the sentences they were supposed to be, fading into pathetically breathy moans.

And it’s hard to think, when you’re like this, when you’re ensnared in him, consumed by his touch and smell and taste, tongue shoved so far down your throat you’re choking on it, brain gone numb—dumb—from it all, incapable of knitting together words and forming a sentence. Instead, your hand snakes between your bodies to cup his cock, a loud moan hitching in his chest as he immediately grinds against your touch.

“Want,” you mumble, groping at him and forcing a whimper from his chest. “Now, now, now,”

“So fucking needy,” he’s teasing, none of his usually heat to his voice, peppered with moans and the sweetest giggles as he rests his forehead against yours. Reaching down, two slender fingers prod your hole, giggles fading into groans as his eyes shut. “Soaked, huh?” he asks, voice strained, your head nodding almost ferociously in response. “Always drenched for me, aren’t you, my babygirl,”

But you’re too impatient to be properly prepped, to be thoroughly stretched out, impetuous legs kicking and squirming from underneath him, whining and pleading for him to just fuck you already!

They’re uncontainable, the words barreling past your lips, high and cracked and rapacious as you beg—beg for him to fill you up, to make you feel whole again, to stretch and shred and slash you to pieces, to put you back together, part by painstaking part, to complete you.

And he’s practically keening at the sentiments, hips rutting ungracefully against your soft palm, cock twitching through the denim of his jeans.

“Alright, baby, alright,” he’s hushing you, words slurred, heavy and unhurried despite his frantic actions. “Daddy’ll give you what’ya need,”

“Wanna ride,” you nearly wail, little fingers clawing desperately at his broad shoulders, fingertips sinking into his flesh through the thin cotton.

“Ch-Christ,” he nearly chokes on the curse, head nodding in choppy movements as he allows you to push the two of you over.

Because, well, baby gets what baby wants.

Or, at least, that’s what he’s telling you as you straddle him, lilt void of its normal derision, replaced with a kind of admiration.

Nails dig into the toned, smooth planes of his chest as you sink down on him, an involuntary hiss escaping gritted teeth, features scrunching in a cute wince. A hitched expletive escapes his throat, lidded eyes falling shut as his head lolls to the side, angular jaw on display.

The stretch is a welcome one, feels like home, so familiar it’s almost comforting, little cunt throbbing as you split yourself open on his cock.

Cool, refreshing air rushes into your lungs the moment he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix, and that ache, that addiction, that animal tethered to the very core of your soul is immediately satiated, immense pressure deflating and the strain on your ribs easing up.

It feels perfect, feels right, feels whole, and suddenly, you’re alive again, intense sparks shocking your system as they sear through your veins, invigorated and revitalized.

It doesn’t last long though—it never does.

Because you’re just as famished, just as voracious, just as avid as that entity birthed from obsession and addiction inside of you, satisfied only for a moment before you need more.

It isn’t slow, isn’t sweet or soft, because neither of you can take that right now, neither of you need that right now. And the very moment he bottoms out, the minute you feel him nudging against your cervix, your hips begin to rock forward, rough hands finding their usual place on your hips, aiding you in your motions as he bucks up, falling into an instantaneous rhythm together

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s panting out, bleary eyes watching you as his words knot on his languid tongue. “Bounce on m’cock, princess, bounce on it,”

The earth is firm beneath your knees, but you can still feel those faint vibrations travelling though the dirt. Blades of grass tangle themselves in inky tufts as his head falls back, neck arching, jade strands in a sea of black.

He’s so much louder when he’s this high, deep guttural groans rumbling in his chest, broken whines catching in his throat, growled out curses tumbling from his saliva slicked lips. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin, and you long to lick it up.

“You always look so pretty, s-so perfect taking my cock,” he’s babbling, voice soaked in awe, pupils blown and shimmering as they gobble up your reactions, your expressions—every little sound emitted from your throat, ripped raw and wrecked from the column; every little twitch of your features, the way your lashes flutter and eyes roll back with each roll of his hips; every little shake and shiver and shudder, tiny jolts of electricity, of him, exploding through your veins—calloused hands sliding up and down your thighs in a clumsy caress. “F-Fuck, princess, so gorgeous,”

You should be quiet—really, you should both be quiet, fucking in an open field and committing such a heinous act of public indecency.

But you’re powerless to stop the mewls and cries from prying past your lips, and he’s hopeless to quell the steady stream of words flowing from his own, increasing in pitch and frequency with each gyrate forward, with each rut and rub and grind of your hips.

“Feel good, Da-Daddy?”

And he’ll never understand how you sound so fucking sweet, so fucking precious, as obscene words flow from those pretty lips, punched out of your chest with each rock of your hips, core of your body intimately skewered by him.

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, words dissolving into a fractured moan as he nods vigorously.

“Want you to cum, D-Daddy—ah—fill me up, please,”

The grin that splits his face is nothing short of spectacular—it’s nothing like those sharp smiles he gives his enemies, or those smug little grins he gifts his friends, or those tiny lopsided smirks that grace his lips when he’s teasing. No, this smile—this smile is only for you; a gentle quirk of his lips, parted just enough to see those gleaming pearly teeth, fluid as it stretches and wobbles with his ragged pants and snapping hips. It’s almost overwhelming, the emotion pouring from that single, simple action alone, has your chest stuttering and eyes blurring, knowing that this is something special, that this is something that is yours and yours alone. And this smile—this smile is genuine, true happiness. This smile cuts through all of the drugs and anguish and rage, shining bright and beautiful as it beams up at you.

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

You’ll never get used to this, you swear to God. Such amazement will never cease, makes fucking him a religious experience every single time, always so astoundingly exquisite. You’ll never get used to the way those dark growls claw their way up his throat, vibrating in the column. You’ll never get used to the way your name sounds on his tongue when he’s just about to cum, all pitchy and broken and punctured by hitched breaths. You’ll never get used to the way his thick eyelashes flutter, unfocused eyes rolling in his skull just a little—never fully enough to hide that brilliant sapphire from you—right before he stuffs you full of hot sticky seed.

And you never want to.

—

This is your favourite part, has always been your favourite part, will always be your favourite part, every single time. It’s terribly selfish of you—you know it is, know it’s awful and greedy and so, so obsessive—but you love it, love it as much as he loves the drugs and the music and the ostentatious lights.

Because he clings to you when he’s coming down, nuzzles his face into your very touch, practically purrs out his admiration for you as you pat his damp face down with an old t-shirt, brushing back the stringy strands of sweat-drenched hair from his forehead.

Because you’re his protection when he’s coming down, swathing him in your love, in your gentle caresses and your tender venerations—his very own guardian angel, keeping him from plummeting into the concrete and shattering into a million pieces, cradling him in your soft wings as you ease his feet back onto this earth.

Usually it’s scary, he’s telling you that night in the backseat of his car, eyes still glazed, breathing slow and shallow. Or, it was. It was scary, coming down without you—but not anymore. Because you’re here now. You’re here with him, and you take such good care of him, and he loves you, he loves you so much, he loves you more than anything on this planet—or any others.

He used to feel nervous, he’s babbling on as tiny fingers press into tight, coiled muscles, rubbing the tension out of them in small circles. Used to have memories… he trails off then, and you don’t push, never push, just humming your acknowledgement softly, whispered affirmations falling from your lips as palms smooth over his cheeks before caressing his hair, pulling mewls from his throat as he arches into your touch.

Bleary sapphires stare up at you, glittering in the dim light flittering through his car windows from the flickering lamp posts. He’s tired, he tells you suddenly, face somber, sober, but he can’t sleep.

“I know,” you murmur, petting his hair again. “Just try to relax,”

He is trying, he promises, vigorously nodding up at you, eyes wide as if they’re imploring you to understand.

But words keep spilling from his mouth—involuntary, automatic, reflexive—unfocused eyes staring up at the roof, then darting around the car slowly, distractedly, like there’s a million other thoughts surging through his mind—you can see them, swimming in his eyes, tainted with paranoia, with fear, even though there’s a steady stream of presumably unrelated words flowing from his throat.

He talks about anything, everything, nothing—all at once. He tells you about the festival as if you weren’t there, and you let him ramble, unable to stifle the small smile that forms on your lips. Because it’s cute, and he’s still so excited. He tells you how pretty you look, tells you about how good you ride his cock, how irresistible your cunt is, how much he loves stuffing it with his cum.

And throughout it all you nod and hum and coo, just like you always do, just like you always will.

And it’s nights such as these, at four and five in the morning right before the sun begins to creep over the horizon, navy sky fading into a faint amber glow the only indication that it’s coming—that you are careless with your words, that you are more honest than ever before, because you know he won’t remember it—or, if he does, he won’t bring it up until he’s high like this again.

Because his being high provides this limbo, this purgatory for the both of you to be open and raw and vulnerable under the guise of drugs, with the knowledge that you can always backtrack, always claim not to remember or that you said no such thing, if you ever need to.

You don’t ever need to, but the option’s there nonetheless, like a buffer of sorts—a buffer for him to be raw and real, a buffer for you to be less cautious, to be more reckless and let the words stream from your lips without fear of consequence or punishment; a shield for both of you to use against such susceptibility.

It’s become an unspoken agreement between the two of you, a pass. And that’s what makes these nights the best.

And you will always consider yourself one of the lucky ones, one of the privileged few that are allowed, permitted, approved to experience him like this—to watch that well-worn mask of apathy melt from his face as drug-laced happiness bleeds and burns through it.

It hurts, sends sharp spears searing through your chest, embedding themselves in the depths of your fucking soul, because you can only imagine what true happiness would look like on him.

Maybe it would be too much, you want to trick yourself into believing, desperate to find excuses for the drugs and the artificial euphoria, to sanction this type of behaviour. Maybe he would be too beautiful, too bright, too brilliant if he were truly happy—maybe he would burn out too quickly, if he were too happy, like a shooting star that flies across the indigo sky, sparkling and sizzling and stark in it’s stunning, gorgeous and ethereal and much too short lived as it fizzles out into nothing, into darkness and emptiness, only a moment later—gone forever.

And you suppose, if that were to be the case, that you could selfishly accept this fate—if only to keep him here with you for just a little bit longer. You could help him shoulder the crushing weight of that torture, that agony, that suffering that he’s constantly carrying, spine straining under it, if it means that you get to be with him for more, for longer, for eternity. You could handle that, if it means you get to be greedy, if it means that you get to have him, on this earth, living and breathing and beside you.

Still, you hope, very much so, deep down at the bottom of your heart, that he will one day find that true, genuine, sincere happiness that he deserves—and that it will stick, not just for a moment, for a few fleeting seconds, but for a while, for forever.

He’s quiet when you tell him this. He probably won’t remember it come morning, too high to remember much of anything, but he’s so honest when he’s like this, fucked up out of his mind, and words leak from his lips without his permission as he tells you, grave and serious, that he has…in you.

And you suppose…You suppose he’s right; happiness isn’t exactly a person, or a place, or an object—happiness is a sentiment, an experience, a collection of memories, adventures, evocations.

“Happiness is...it’s when I’m with you,”

[itllsetyoufree]

“how long was I asleep?” + cuddling please

The concept of ‘Friendsmas’ isn’t actually a thing. This is something Lena truly believes. Groups of friends are allowed to just get together around the holidays without having to call it something completely absurd. So when Kara had asked her over for ‘Friendsmas on Saturday,’ Lena had looked at her blankly, pretending to be unimpressed, and just said, “Aren’t you Jewish?” But Kara had pleaded and pouted and said things like, “Lena, please?” and really, how was Lena supposed to argue with that?

Kara’s apartment is always homey, but it’s something special around Christmastime. It smells like pine trees and cinnamon and peppermint, and there are glimmering candles and twinkling string lights everywhere. There are soft, croony covers of Christmas songs playing in the background, a gentle accompaniment to the clatter of Kelly placing their dinner dishes in the sink. Alex is next to her, humming in the kitchen while she makes some spiked hot chocolate, and Nia lays sprawled out over an armchair in the living room, flipping through Christmas movies for them all to watch together.

Lena, from her spot snuggled under a blanket on the couch, sips on her wine and feels something warm and happy come to rest deep in her bones as she watches her friends finish collecting their drinks and snacks before they all settle in for a movie.

It’s somewhere in the middle of Love Actually that Lena looks contentedly, sleepily, around the room. The coffee table is littered with empty hot chocolate mugs and wine glasses. Alex and Kelly are snuggled up together on the other side of the couch, equally comfortable sharing loving glances as they are a bowl of popcorn. Brainy had squeezed into the armchair with Nia before the movie and had promptly fallen asleep, his head resting on hers as she plays with his fingers. And Kara… Kara is curled into the corner of the couch right next to Lena and so engrossed in the film that Lena allows herself a moment to stare a little too long at her profile. The light from the tv flickers over Kara’s face like the light from all the candles she’d lit, and Lena’s struck by a longing so sudden it twists her stomach in knots.

Kara looks at her then, turns her head away from the tv to smile at Lena and slide her hand along the back of the couch until it’s cupped around Lena’s shoulder. She tugs once and Lena follows, tugs once and all those knots in Lena’s stomach unravel and go gooey at the edges as she settles into Kara’s side and rests her head on Kara’s shoulder.

The last thing she remembers as she rapidly loses herself to the haze of warmth that comes from a home-cooked meal, close friends, and a steady heartbeat under her ear, is looking around the room once more. She sees Alex happily snuggled with Kelly and Nia happily snuggled with Brainy and muses that maybe, to an unknowing eye, they’d look like three couples instead of two and two extras. She wonders, as her eyes grow heavy, what Alex or Nia would see if they were to look at her and Kara.

It comes back in pulses, her awareness does. Lena feels a kiss brushed against the crown of her head, catches a whiff of Alex’s perfume and slowly blinks her eyes open to see Alex leaning over her to press a kiss to Kara’s head as well. The two sisters are whispering goodnights to each other when Lena’s eyes drift closed again.

The sound of the front door closing clicks in Lena’s ears and she comes to again, blinking slowly as the room comes into focus. The tv is off but the string lights and the candles still cast a warm, dim yellow glow over the apartment. Her friends are gone, but there’s a heavy throw blanket draped over her that tucks in around Kara’s hip, and Kara’s fingers are carding softly through her hair. They scratch gently over her scalp, and Lena huffs out a soft noise, nudging into Kara’s shoulder in protest as the fingers leave her hair, curling around her shoulder instead.

“Hey,” Kara murmurs, quiet. A thumb strokes over Lena’s shoulder and her eyelids start to droop once more before Lena blinks them back open.

She tilts her head to look up at Kara and finds Kara smiling softly at her. Kara’s hair is even more golden in the dim lighting; her blue eyes are sparkling and Lena knows that no one has ever, ever looked so beautiful in candlelight before.

“Hey,” she finally mumbles back to distract herself. “How long was I asleep?”

“About an hour,” Kara replies, those blue eyes flicking back and forth between Lena’s as her fingers scratch over Lena’s shoulder, and it would be so easy, Lena thinks, to just tip her head up and catch Kara’s lips with her own.

“I should go home,” Lena whispers instead.

Kara’s lips part, her brows furrowing in protest before her face smoothes over again. Kara shakes her head once, her free hand rising to cup around Lena’s elbow. It’s quiet for a moment, and Lena can feel the steady rise and fall of Kara’s chest against her, can see how it causes Kara’s sweater to shift. Kara takes a deeper breath before she speaks again.

“Stay.”

Lena eyes flick back up to Kara’s, having not realized they’d drifted, to find Kara watching her intently.

“It’s late,” Lena says, her eyelids drooping again as if to prove her point. Her eyes follow the tug of gravity and fall to Kara’s mouth, full and pink as ever, before she blinks back up at Kara.

“Yeah,” Kara hums. Her hand flattens on Lena’s shoulder and smoothes over her upper back, pulling her in, and Lena’s stomach clenches, ears burning as her forehead presses into Kara’s. Kara’s other hand leaves her elbow and slides across the small of her back, setting Lena’s skin afire and her breath stuttering out of her as she lets Kara gather her closer. “So stay.”

And oh, Lena thinks, okay.

“Okay,” Lena murmurs, and Kara kisses her.

Kara kisses her and a hand slides up the back of her neck and into her hair. Kara kisses her and she fists her fingers in Kara’s sweater, lets the sweet press of Kara’s lips steal the rest of the breath from her lungs in a whimper. Kara tastes like chocolate and when she finally pulls back, she stares wide-eyed at Lena, lips parted and breath coming in pants.

Lena lets out a shaky breath of her own, eyes half-lidded and trained on Kara’s bottom lip before she pulls her own between her teeth and forces her gaze back up to Kara’s. It’s instinctual, the way a pang of anxiety twists back up in her stomach, but Kara’s eyes are just as wanting, still sparkling in the candlelight as her thumb tugs Lena’s lip out from between her teeth.

“How—” Kara croaks, stops and clears her throat and starts again. “How do you feel about ‘Friendsmas’ now?”

It works, and before she can stop herself, Lena’s eyes are rolling so far back into her head it almost hurts. But Kara’s devious grin is too catching, and Lena presses her own finger to it before moving back in to press her lips to it instead.

“Shut up,” she quips, and Kara laughs so hard it’s all Lena can do to keep their smiles pressed together.

“You like it, I know you do,” Kara finally murmurs into her mouth, and really, how is Lena supposed to argue with that?

[weelittleweasley]

hopelessly devoted to you (f.w.)

prompt: rejection hurts. but what hurts even more is still being absolutely infatuated with the person who broke your heart. 

pairings: fred weasley x fem! gryffindor reader, george weasley x platonic reader

warnings: heartbreak, crying, language, underage drinking, very angsty, think early 2000s movie

word count: 8k

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff​ @harrysweasleys​ @gcdric​ @lumos-barnes​ @whizboingies​ @lumosandnoxwriting​ @pxroxide-prinxcesss​ @c-t-h​ @lol-idk-oops​ @another-lonely-heart-blog​ @starlightweasley​ @parseltongueswriting​ @shilohpug​ @peachypotter​ @spacexcowgirl​ @paintballkid711​ @vogueweasley​ @rogueweasleys​​

It was like pouring salt into an open wound. You forced yourself to look at Fred, how happy he looked as he linked arms with Angelina in the hallway, smiling widely, whispering something into her that made her throw her head back with laughter. You tried to convince yourself that making yourself watch them showed him that you weren’t heartbroken or sad or sorry for yourself when in reality, you were trying to cover up the fact that you were miserable. The wallowing feeling of jealousy and sadness ate away at your stomach lining as you nibbled on your bottom lip, trying to remain composed as they passed you in the corridors.

After they were out of your sightline, you let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in as George places a hand on your shoulder. “You can’t keep beating yourself up about this, (Y/N),” he wraps his arm around your shoulder as you lean into him with a pained groan. “I know it’s been difficult for you, but it’s been two months. No need to dwell on someone like my brother. It’s not worth your precious time, darling,” he tells you as you walk down the halls of the castle, making your way to the Great Hall. 

With a huff, you look up at George who gives you a knowing look. He was right, but at the same time, there was no way he could understand the kind of pain it was to be so heartbroken, but still so head over heels for someone. “I can’t help it, George. It’s not something I can just get over. I didn’t just have a crush on Fred. He felt something too or else what happened that night wouldn’t have happened...” you trail off, the memory of that night playing in your head as you cringed to yourself.

Spirits were high as music blared in the common room. Laughter and celebration was in order. A great quidditch game was just won by the Gryffindor team against Slytherin and that meant a common room party unlike any other. Lee Jordan pushed the couch against the wall, clearing the space for a dance floor as Ron and Harry started pour up stiff cups of Fire Whiskey, Daisyroot Draught, and Gigglewater. 

“Georgie, put on something that people can actually dance to! Enough of the bloody Cotton-Eyed Joe!” Lee groans out as George bursts out into a fit of laughter, changing the song to something more universally enjoyable. “The Macarena is not acceptable either!”

Fred grabs a drink as people filed into the common room behind him, filling up the space quite quickly. Your heart flutters at the sight of Fred, but you bury your face in your cup as you take a swig of whatever liquor Ron had poured for you. “Oh come on, Jordan, the Macarena is a fan favorite!” Fred laughs as you shake your head, Fred dropping his left eye in a wink, making you gulp and avert your eyes as if it were wrong to look at the tall ginger.

Lee rolls his eyes and makes his way over to the boom box. “You both are dickheads, I’ll man the music,” Lee groans before switching the music to ABBA as people cheer out as the music fills the space. “See? People like ABBA. Not the fucking Macarena.”

Soon enough, everyone has a drink in their hand and is on the dance floor, screaming out the lyrics to Mamma Mia so loud that you could barely hear the original music that came from the boom box settled in the corner of the room. Instead of joining the masses on the dance floor, you kept to the side lines, sipping on your drink as you made conversation with Katie and Alicia, laughing at a joke Katie had just told. Every once in a while you would look at the dance floor, watching Fred as he jumped up and down, holding onto his brother and Lee, laughing as the liquid in their cups sloshed around. You smiled to yourself, seeing how happy they all were, especially Fred. The way his dimple-y grin caused a grin to appear on your face as you watched his every move. 

Fred was one of those crushes that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop liking him. You tried distancing yourself, but that only made the feelings grow stronger. And it didn’t help that you were close with his family. Whenever you were with George, Fred had managed to weasel his way into the conversation. If you were with Ron, Fred would always pull you away so you could hang out with “the more exciting Weasley.” No matter what you did, the crush to Fred Weasley stuck. 

You shake away your thoughts as you turned your attention back onto the conversation with Katie and Alicia. Looking down at your cup, you see how empty it was. “I’m gonna grab another drink, anyone want more?” you survey the girls as they shake their heads. You make your way to the drink table, passing the dance floor before reaching the punch bowl. But before you could pour yourself another drink, you feel a pair of hands grab your sides, squeezing them abruptly, making you squeal out. “Oh my days!” you grab your chest as you turn and see it was just Fred. “What the hell is wrong with you,” you slap his arm with a small smile on your lips. 

He laughs, “Why aren’t you on the dance floor? I know you can dance, (Y/N),” he teases you as you roll your eyes. Fred places your cup on the table and grabs your hands, trying to pull you to the dance floor.

“No, no, no,” you groan in protest, pulling away from him. “I’m not dancing, Weasley.”

Fred has a cheeky smile on his face as he gives you a look that screams, Oh come on. “You know you want to,” he sing songs. “Your favorite song is playing too!” he tells you.

Furrowing your brows, you speak, “No, it’s not.” He holds up a finger before the song switches abruptly to Dancing Queen as the crowd cheers out in excitement. You give him a look, knowing that Fred had planned this. “Oh, you cheeky bastard. You can’t play this song and expect me to stay still,” you laugh as Fred joins in, wrapping his arm around you, the two of you running to the dance floor.

The two of you start scream singing the lyrics to the ABBA classic, Fred twirling you on the dance floor into his chest as the two of you rock back and forth to the music. You can’t help but sport the goofiest smile. You couldn’t be happier in this moment. You were in your favorite place with your favorite song playing, dancing with your favorite boy. Fred brought you close to his body, hips moving against yours as your heart rate escalated, face flushed. You would blame it on the dancing even though it was definitely a consequence of your close bodies.

“I’ll give it to you, (Y/L/N),” Fred speaks close to your ear. “You are the dancing queen.”

With a giggle, you reply, “Don’t you forget it, Weasley.”

As the song fades away in the background, the two of you just look at each other, small smiles on both of your lips as you take the other in. Fred’s hair was messy from dancing, but it was still pushed back to show his handsome face and strong features. His lips were curved up in a smile as he looked into your eyes, his big brown eyes filled with tenderness. He looked so happy and a happy Fred was a beautiful one. 

You didn’t even know how long you two spent looking at each other, but it didn’t matter. In this moment, you were the only two people in the common room, the music still blaring as students didn’t stop dancing and singing and laughing. But it was all a blur in the background, Fred your only focus, and you were his. 

It wasn’t until his forehead was pressed against yours that you noticed he was leaning down, pulling your faces closer together. You inhaled sharply through your lips as he made contact with your forehead. “Is this o-”

“Yes,” you cut him off sharply before he waits no longer to press his lips to yours as you melt into Fred completely, pulling his body closer to yours as his hands grab either side of your face, cupping your cheeks. The kiss was everything you had imagined. His lips tasted of sweet cinnamon that warmed up your cheeks and sent tingles down from your head to your toes. Fred’s lips moved gently against yours, his tongue sliding past your parted lips as you started softly snogging on the dance floor. Neither of you cared who watched or didn’t watch, right now this was about the two of you. 

Fred gently pulled away, keeping his forehead pressed against yours, hands still cupping your cheeks as you smiled from ear to ear. He was silent for a moment. But then he didn’t say anything. He just pulled away, removing his hands from your face as you looked at him, a little puzzled. “Freddie?” you speak gently, reaching out for his hand.

But he didn’t let you touch him. He just spoke, “I need to take a step outside for a second.” 

Before you could protest, he dashed through the maze of people and pushed the door to the common room open, disappearing. What just happened? Panic dashes through your veins as you follow him out of the common room and to the stairs. “Fred!” you call out for him as he turns around to see you standing there confused as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

He chuckles, “What’s wrong? (Y/N), I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Your heart sinks and your mouth falls agape for a moment before you manage to speak, “What?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you and I’m sorry for putting you in that position. It was wrong of me. You’re my best mate and I just royally fucked things up for us, didn’t I? I don’t want this to change anything between us,” Fred walks towards you, searching your eyes for hope for your friendship.

You smile gently and grab his hands. “Fred,” you start, “It’s not your fault at all, stop apologizing.” He exhaled, relieved. “But...I, um, I want things to change between us,” you confess as Fred gives you a puzzled look. “Fred, I like you. I’ve liked you for so long and when you kissed me I was so thrilled that you felt something too. Even if it was for a second.”

Fred sigh and stutters for a moment, looking down at his feet. “Good Godric,” he speaks just above a whisper as you force him to meet your gaze as you look at him, hopeful that he will reciprocate those feelings. “(Y/N)...” he gives a breathless laugh as you bite your bottom lip in anticipation. This would be his confession. He felt the same too. He had to. Or else he couldn’t have kissed you. “You mean everything to me. You’ve been my closest friend here for so long. But I’m afraid that’s all I see you as. My friend...I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way about me. I wouldn’t have kissed you if I knew.”

Your heart sinks to your feet as you peel your hands away from him and look at him with complete and utter heartbreak slapped all over your face. Fred immediately feels guilty when he sees your eyes become glassy. He tries to speak for himself but you don’t let him. “I have to go,” you speak breathily before running back into the common room, The Winner Takes It All blaring through the speakers. How fitting.

You couldn’t let anyone see you like this, so you ran straight to the girl’s dormitories, trying to avoid sorry eyes and worried glances. The tears flow freely down your face as you scurry to the stairs, hearing your name being called out by an all too familiar voice. But you don’t let yourself stop. You run up the stairs, away from it all. Away from him.

The night haunted you like some sort of sick joke. George knew how much it bothered you, so he tried his best not to bring it up. But seeing you so upset over something as silly as a crush on Fred made him upset. “Something you surely know about Fred is that is a damned idiot. He does a lot of things he shouldn’t,” George tells you as you lightly laugh. “But you can’t let him get the best of you.” You knew he was right, but you couldn’t help but morn this crush you’ve nurtured for so long. 

And now Fred was able to move on like nothing happened between the two of you. You avoided talking directly to him, rather going through a sibling to talk to him indirectly or just ignoring him when you were in a group setting. But if he talked to you, you put on your brave face and flashed him a smile like nothing was wrong. This only encouraged Fred to move on as well and as a result, Fred was now taking Angelina Johnson to the Yule Ball. 

“I just can’t believe he could bounce back like that though,” you speak as you walk into the Great Hall for lunch. “I mean really? He’s taking Angelina to the Yule Ball, one of our mutual friends, and he expects me to be fine? I don’t know. It just doesn’t sit right with me, Georgie,” you confess as you plop down at the table, letting your head hang in your hands.

Katie gives you a confused look before looking at George. “Is this about-”

“Yes,” George cuts her off as Katie nods her head, sipping her pumpkin juice. “Listen, forget about them, alright? It’s done. It’s over. You’re going to go to the Yule Ball, you’re going to look fucking fantastic, and you’re going to dance your ass off and have the time of your life with your hot date,” George shrugs as if it were a matter of fact.

A short curt laugh escapes your mouth. “Sounds great, George. Only problem is that I don’t have a hot date,” you give him a glare.

He smiles. “Of course you do. It’s me, you git,” he nudges you. You burst out laughing as Katie joins you, the two of you clutching your sides in amusement. “Hey! I make a hot date!” George exclaims over the laughter. “Besides, we have a great time together. We’ll take nice pictures, I’ll dress up for you, I’ll treat you like a proper lady. It’ll be fun. But expect no kisses. None of that will be happening,” he tells you with a shiver as you smack his arm. “It’s nothing against you! You’re just like my sister.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off, will ya?” you speak with a small smile as George chuckles, giving you a nudge. “Fine. We’ll go together to the Yule Ball. My dress is winter white, if you care. And please, don’t bring me one of those ugly corsage things.”

George smiles, “Aye-aye captain.” You sigh and start picking at the food on your plate. “Now you’ve got everything you need for the perfect night out. Aren’t you glad you’re going to the ball with me?” he asks as you roll your eyes, mimicking him.

“Who would agree to go to the ball with you?” a voice asks with a sneer grin in their voice. 

Looking up stood Fred with Angelina by his side as they took their seats across the table. Your heart starts beating faster as you just look away and pick at the chips on your plate. George, reading your body language, speaks up for you. Thank Merlin you had a best mate who knew you so well. “(Y/N) is. We’re going as mates, of course, but figured we’d both have the best time that way,” George beams, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you give him a smile.

Fred laughs, “That’s one way of putting it. (Y/N), if you need help getting out of it, blink twice,” he teases you with a grin as you gulp.

“Actually I’m really excited to go with George,” you exhale. “Might as well go with someone who I really care for then go with a date that I need to impress and don’t know that well. I reckon we’ll have a ball,” you wink to George who rolls his eyes, laughing at your awful joke as you smile.

Fred just watches the two of you chuckle together as he slowly nods his head. Katie interjects and speaks, “Reckon you chose the cuter Weasley twin too, (Y/N).”

You look at Katie knowingly and join her laughter as Fred calls out in protest, “Oi! Bell, piss off!” Katie spits a raspberry at him before scooting closer to you as you lean into her side. At least you knew George and Katie would have your backs.

Angelina looks at Fred, linking her arm in his yet again, “I think you’re still cute, Fred.” Her words make your stomach curdle, but you don’t let the expression show on your face. Instead, you continue to eat your food and distract yourself with a conversation with George about what he’ll be wearing to the ball.

The entire time you distract yourself from Fred, you can feel him steal glances at you, monitoring how you spoke to George, throwing your head back as you laughed, grabbing onto his arm as he leaned into you. You and George were mates, nothing more nothing less, don’t get that wrong. But still something about the interaction made Fred jealous for whatever reason. Regardless of how Fred felt, you couldn’t let yourself care. Fred had moved on and it was time for you to move on as well and enjoy a dance with your best friend.

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

“A few more pictures and then we can get going. Mum will have a cow if I don’t send her any,” George tells you as Katie groans as she plays photographer. “Oh, quit the bellyaching, Bell. Just two more.”

George stands behind you and places his hands on your hips as you place your hands over his, the two of you smiling as the camera flashes and snaps more pictures of the two of you. “My cheeks hurt, are we done?” you huff.

“Yeah, yeah,” George huffs. “Thanks, Bell,” he tells Katie as the group of you gets ready to leave the common room and head down with the masses to the Ball. 

You run your hands down the front of your dress. The winter white silk clung to every curve of your body, the deep v necklace showing off your smooth skin. It wasn’t everyday that you got this dressed up; you almost felt out of place as you ran your finger through your hair, toying with the style you chose. “I look fine, right?” you ask George as you two link arms, headed to the ball.

George scoffs, “Fine? Fine? You look bloody gorgeous.” You smile fondly at George leaning into his side. “I’ve got the most beautiful girl on my arm, I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,” he nudges your arm as you chuckle. “I’m serious, I’m glad that we can go to the ball together, (Y/N).”

Looking at George with kind eyes, you speak, “I am too, Georgie.” George presses a kiss to your temple as you walk down the stairs, arm in arm. “Ugh, why couldn’t I have a crush on you and not your bloody fucking twin,” you speak through gritted teeth as George laughs.

“Would that be any better?” he looks at you knowingly as you huff. “That’s what I thought. Come on, you, I wanna show you off to Lee,” he giggles excitedly as you roll your eyes.

As you make your descent down the stairs, you scan the room. Everyone was dressed sharply in suits and beautiful ball gowns. Everyone looked phenomenal. And that’s when you saw him.

Perfectly tailored black suit. New. His hair slicked back, his gloved hands running through his hair. His hand held Angelina’s, but his eyes were all on you. You suddenly felt very aware of yourself in the space, but you didn’t let that throw you off balance. Instead, you held your head higher and smiled around at the people by you. But his eyes didn’t move from you. It was like you had him in a trance. A trance he had no intention of breaking.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you were greeted by Lee. “Wow,” he speaks. “Absolutely brilliant. You look incredible,” Lee beams. “And you look alright, (Y/L/N),” he teases as you roll your eyes, making George laugh. “I’m joking, you look phenomenal. I don’t know how you managed to get her to agree to go with you.”

George shrugs, “I have a gift, Jordan.”

You give George a look, “A gift for what? Behaving like a moron? In that case, yes, you have a very special gift.”

Almost on cue, a voice speaks from behind you saying, “You look great,” making you turn your head. You meet Fred’s gaze and you give him a soft smile while gulping. There he stood in his suited glory, Angelina clinging onto his arm, looking absolutely breathtaking. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, they made a very attractive couple.

“Thank you. You as well,” you say politely even though he did look absolutely ravishing. “You look lovely, Angie. Your dress is stunning.”

Angelina smiles and thanks you as the four of you just awkwardly stand there in a lull of silence. You look over to George, hoping he would take the hint and diffuse the tension. George notices your panicked stare and clears his throat, “If you don’t mind us, (Y/N) are going to go tear up the dance floor now.” He pulls your hand away from Fred as your eyes linger on him for another moment longer. “That wasn’t awkward at all,” he whispers to you. “In fact, that went better than I thought it would go.”

You sigh, “Don’t remind me. Now enough about them. I don’t want to think about it. I want a glass of punch and I want to dance.”

George squeezes your hand with a giddy smile. “Atta girl. Come on then.”

The entire night, you spent it surrounded by George, Lee, Katie, and Alicia, jumping around to the live music, laughing and smiling. It was your mission to forget about Fred and who he was dancing with, instead paying attention to your friends and how much fun you were having. 

Katie grabbed your hands and pulled you into the lot of students on the dance floor as you twirled her around, making her giggle wildly. The two of you pressed against each other, dancing to the wailing live band as people sang screamed along to the music. You were having the time of your life and Fred became the last thing on your mind, too busy letting the music ripple through your body as you let your hips swing to the music. 

But then the music slows down and over the mic the lead singer says, “Alright everyone. It’s that time of the night to grab that special someone and take it nice and slow.” With that, the band starts playing a slow song and soon everyone is in pairs, smiling at their date with eyes of adoration.

Katie huffs, “Well, that’s no fun, is it?” You laugh and push her arm, teasingly. 

You feel a tap on your shoulder and see a bent at the waist George, offering you his hand. “M’lady,” he teases as you roll your eyes, accepting the extended hand with a smile. “I’ll try my best not to step on your feet.”

“Oof, that will be hard considering you have fat feet,” you tease him as he chuckles. One of George’s hands rests on your lower back as the other holds you hand delicately in his, you resting a hand on his shoulder.

The two of you begin to sway back and forth to the music as you sigh, scanning the ballroom, trying to inconspicuously look for that couple. “Don’t look for them, (Y/N). You know it’ll just make you upset,” George tells you.

But as the words leave his lips, your eyes land on them and your heart sinks into the floor beneath your feet. Angelina is giggling as Fred spins her around and pulls her back into his chest. Fred is chuckling as he holds her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. They looked so happy together and that’s what made you feel so upset. “Too late,” you huff as you watch Fred duck his head down, placing a kiss onto Angelina’s lips as you suck in a breath sharply. He kissed her just as he kissed you that night in the common room.

You turn away from the sight and look directly ahead of you, pretending you saw nothing with a shake of your head, but your eyes were fogging up with tears. “Don’t cry over him,” George squeezes the hand that rests in his. “We didn’t come here for you to cry over a boy. We came here to have fun. Crying isn’t any fun, is it?” he tries to catch your gaze as you give him a sad smile. “I don’t like seeing my best mate upset. Yeah, that’s right. My best mate.”

With a soft laugh, you take a deep breath in and calm yourself down. “You’re right. You’re right. We came here to have fun. I’m perfectly fine. I’m perfectly happy,” you tell George who gives you a reassuring wink as the two of you continue to sway. But with every passing moment, you keep wanting to look at them. What were they doing? Were they still dancing? Were they laughing? Were they kissing? What did Fred do? 

Inevitably giving in, you turn and look at them again and see Angelina resting her head against Fred’s chest as they sway. Her eyes are closed peacefully as she listens the sound of Fred’s heartbeat mixing with the serene music that plays. But Fred on the other hand is looking right back at you. His eyes are fixated on the way his twin brother holds you in his arms, his jaw lightly clenched as you look directly back at him. Your eyes are full of pain that you try to blink away, but Fred knows how you are feeling. There was no place to hide. Fred Weasley knew you too well. “Look away,” George tells you as he follows your line of sight. 

“I can’t,” you manage to sigh out. “He gets the very best of me.” You look at Fred’s eyes and how they stare deep into you. He knew that you wished it was you resting on his chest, and somewhere deep inside he wished the same. You avert your eyes from the boy and turn to George and speak, “Could we go outside? Get some fresh air?”

George nods, “Absolutely. Come on then.” You link your arm with George and start making your way out of the ballroom and away from the happy couples. Away from Fred. 

The two of you make it out to the courtyard that was beautifully decorated with roses and mixed winter flowers as you suck in the cold, crisp air, refreshing your lungs and hot face. The breeze makes your dress bellow in the wind as George leans against the wall as you take a few deep breaths. “Take the time you need,” he tells you.

You turn to George with a kind smile. “I’m sorry I’m pulling you away from the ball. You should be having fun and not worrying about me. Quite the date I am,” you sarcastically laugh as George shakes his head.

“Don’t apologize. You’re not just my date, you’re my friend. I want to make sure that you’re doing okay. That’s my priority. Take the time you need and when you’re ready, we’ll go back in and spike the punch,” he jokes making you laugh. “Eh, why wait,” he shrugs before pulling out a small flask from his jacket pocket.

You laugh, “Of course you brought it with you. Godric, I love that we’re best friends.” George hands you the flask as you take a long drag from it, the warm whiskey trailing down your throat and warming up your chest and stomach. You hand him back the flask with a small grimace, making George chuckle before sipping from it as well. “I fucking hate balls.”

George shakes his head, “Yeah. I’m not too fond of them either. To be quite honest with you, I’d rather go back to the common room and fuck around.”

Your eyes light up. “Can we do that?” George furrows his brows in confusion. “What’s left to do at the ball? Pretend like we’re enjoying ourselves?” you ask. “I know the both of us are just going to drink more and pretend to like the music, so why not just go into the common room and drink more and listen to music we actually like?”

He smiles and shakes his head, “You sure?” You nod your head. “Alright. I’ll go tell Lee and Katie where we’re headed and then we get get out of here.” You smile and George starts walking back inside. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

As George disappears back into the castle, you sigh and look out at the courtyard. It was such a shame. A beautiful night to have a ball, spending a romantic night with someone. It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun with George, because George was always fun to be around, it was just not how you pictured the night going in your head. You pictured yourself to go with someone you fancied, ideally that person was Fred. You imagined that he would have asked you to the ball and you would have danced the night away, ending the night with him asking you to be his. It was a silly daydream though. But still a dream you hoped for none the less.

However, the memory of that night in the common room sat in your stomach like a rock. The feeling of being told that you weren’t what he wanted made you feel ill. You never wanted to feel like a second choice. You wanted someone who wanted you just as badly as you did. But apparently that wasn’t Fred.

“What are you doing out here alone?” 

Without turning around you knew who it was and you wouldn’t dare look at him. Not right now. You had already seen enough of him. “Shouldn’t you be with Angelina?” you snap back, not intending to sound harsh, but the words came out that way regardless of intention.

You start to walk into the courtyard, allowing yourself to become distracting with the beautifully bloomed bouquets of flowers. The sound of Fred’s footsteps follow you into the courtyard as you gulp. “I saw you leave and I wanted to make sure that you were alright,” Fred tells you as you roll your eyes. “You’re still my friend, (Y/N). I care about you.”

With a small sarcastic chuckle, you reply, “Right. Good to know you care about me.”

In the distance, the roll of thunder sounds as you look up at the sky. What was once a clear night sky now becomes cloudy. But instead of retreating to the castle, you walk further into the gardens. Fred allowing himself to do the same. “I know that things have been complicated between us, (Y/N), but that doesn’t mean we can’t work this out. We can still be around each other without feeling awkward,” he tries to reason with you, but you simply keep walking away from him. You hear him groan before running ahead of you so he can look at your face. You abruptly stop when he appears in front of you. “Please, (Y/N). I can’t have you walk out of my life. You mean so much to me.”

You look at Fred’s apologetic face, but you don’t buy an ounce of it. No matter how much you wanted to take his hands in yours and tell him that you forgive him because you love him, you fight agains the urge and speak with a scowl, “You should have thought about that before you went along and kissed me.” Fred sighs and scoffs. “You know how I feel about you, Fred. And you’re choosing to pretend like I didn’t tell you. Do you know how uncomfortable that is?” you ask him genuinely.

Another rumble of thunder sounds as you look up at the sky with a groan, walking away from Fred again and deeper into the garden. But rather than Fred giving up, he follows you, chasing you through the maze of flowers. “How do you think I feel seeing you come here with my twin brother? Laughing and dancing and being around him constantly? You think it doesn’t make me uncomfortable?” he asks.

This makes you stop dead in your tracks and spin around to look at him. “You’re joking, right?” you scoff as Fred just looks at you. You huff out a laugh, bewildered that Fred would go so far to suggest that you had a thing for George. As you rub your hands over your face, you feel a drop from the sky hit your skin. Great. “George and I are friends!” you emphasize as Fred rolls his eyes. “You think I’m so calculating and manipulative that I would go after your twin? After you rejected me?” you spit at him.

“I don’t know what you think, (Y/N)! All I know is that when I see you with my brother it...does something to me. And I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it,” Fred pulls at the roots of his hair as you frustratedly groan out. It was if the universe was feeling the same way; another rumble of thunder sounds as more droplets start falling from the dark sky.

You take a daring step towards Fred and say, “Well, I can’t help that your ego is so fragile that you get jealous that I’m having a good time with someone who isn’t you.” Fred rolls his eyes and runs hand over his mouth, shaking his head. You couldn’t believe that the two of you were having this conversation. With a burst of confidence, you yell, “Because you know what, Fred! I can’t keep pining over you! It makes me miserable! I’ve been doing it for so long and it’s exhausting. I can’t keep living like this, it makes me infuriated with myself. And now that I know that I have no chance with you, it’s pointless!” Fred runs his fingers through his hair and opens up his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, “But that night you kissed me...you made me think that we had a chance. A real chance. But it was all a lie, huh, Fred? You just wanted to take me out on a test drive before you committed to me.”

Your words make Fred’s heart sting and it’s evident by the look on his face. Your words were harsh, but it’s what Fred needed to hear. He was trying to string you along still when you didn’t want to be. And that’s when he explodes, throwing his hands in the air, surrendering, “I didn’t mean to kiss you that night in the common room! It was an honest mistake, heat of the moment! You weren’t a test drive, (Y/N)! Who do you think I am?!” he exclaims as you just shake your head. “I didn’t know you liked me! If I had known-”

“If you had known, you what? You would have found out eventually. And what were you going to do? String me along like some lovesick puppy?!” you exclaim, the lump in your throat rising as the rain starts to fall faster. The rain dampens your hair and the silk of your dress starts to absorb it. “Regardless if you knew I liked you or not, you still kissed me, Fred, and you can’t take that back! You kissed me! But instead of facing the problem as what it is, you’ve distracted yourself with someone new,” you protest as you allow the lump in your throat to burst as tears start to fall down your face, mixing with the fresh rain.

“That’s not fair to say,” Fred shakes his head, taking a step closer to you.

“No, what’s not fair is you being mad that I’m trying to move on!” you exclaim now, speaking through your tears, pushing Fred’s damp chest. He stumbles back at you continue, “What’s not fair is you telling me I can’t do what is best for me! What’s not fair is that no matter how much you hurt me or reject me or surround yourself with other women, I’ll still be head over heels for you, Fred Weasley! I’ll still want you even though you don’t want me! I’ll still be hopelessly devoted to you!” you confess with a sob, turning away from him, covering your face with your arms as you inhale shakily.

Fred doesn’t dare move a step closer to you. Instead, he stands there, listening to the rain pour down, hitting the tender Earth, the wetness absorbing into his fresh pressed suit. “What...do you mean?” he asks, genuinely confused.

With an exasperated laugh, you yell out, “I’m a fool! I’m a fool whose willing to sit around and wait for you!” pulling on the roots of your hair, you vomit everything you’ve been holding in. “I’m out of my fucking head, Fred! My mind is screaming to forget about you and move on, but my heart is telling me to not let go of you! You’ve pushed me aside! Completely! And I don’t know what to do! There’s nothing left for me to do!” you scream out in the pouring rain, the two of you completely soaked standing in the garden. Your chest is heaving in the rain as you just stare at Fred who looks at you, so sad and so torn up. But he is silent. For the first time in a long time, Fred Weasley is speechless.

In a more calm voice, you speak out in the garden over the rain, “I will always be foolishly and hopelessly devoted to you. And I’m sorry. So if I can’t let you go, you’ll have to be the one to do it.” Fred is still silent as you scoff, knowing that he can’t find the words he wants to say. He just stands there in the rain, hands in his pockets as you shake your head, pushing past him, through the garden to get back to the castle. 

“(Y/N)!” he calls out as you ignore him, only picking up your pace as you run out of the courtyard and back into the castle. “(Y/N)!”

As you enter the castle, you see George who looks at you confused as to why you were suddenly drenched, but the rumble of thunder behind you answers his question. But that didn’t answer why you were crying. And then Fred runs into the castle, also completely drenched, and George puts together the puzzle pieces. Katie, who stands next to George, gives you a sad look before speaking, “Let’s get you dry.” You run into Katie’s arm, crying as she rubs your back and guides you up the stairs to get back to the common room.

George just stands there, looking at his twin, shaking his head. Fred looks at his twin, not knowing what to do now. Does he chase after you? Does he take care of you? But next to George stands Angelina who looks at him completely confused. Fred sighs, knowing that he’s really gotten himself into trouble. And there was no easy escape out of it. 

Back in the common room, you have changed into cozy pajamas and are adorned with a fuzzy blanket as the fire roars, warming you up from the freezing rain. Katie sits next to you, rubbing your back as you rested your head on her shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We can just sit here, have a drink, and listen to all the music you want,” she speaks as you nod against her shoulder. Lee hands Katie a cup to which she hands to you as you take a small sip of. 

Lee turns on the boom box in the corner, gently switching through songs before the intro to Dancing Queen starts playing. The sound makes you sit up straight, reminding you of that same damned night as you speak up, “Change the song.” Lee gives you a confused look before switching the song to something different.

Katie gives you a puzzled look as you pull the blanket around you tighter. “I thought you loved that song.”

“Not anymore,” you sigh. “He ruined that too.”

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

The days had gone by slowly but surely. Each day you separated yourself more and more from Fred and tried to keep interactions limited. But it was all difficult since seeing George meant seeing Fred. No matter what though, you knew that Katie and Alicia had your back, giving your hand a squeeze under the table at the Great Hall as he walked in with George. 

Even though you knew the chances of you and Fred ever happening were down the toilet, you couldn’t help the fact that your heart still fluttered at the sight of him. Your stomach still did somersaults at the mention of his name. When you saw his silhouette in the hall, your heart raced with excitement and anticipation. But you couldn’t let yourself give into him. 

You sat in your room one night, writing in your journal, keeping yourself busy as Alicia rose from her bed and put on her shoes. “I’m going to head down to the common room to meet up with Katie. We’re gonna study in the library. You wanna come?” she asks with a smile. 

“I think I’m going to stay in. Thanks though,” you tell her before she slips out of the room. The door closes behind her as you shut your journal and huff, resting your arms on your shoulders. 

Rising from the bed, you look out of your window and look at the beautiful Scottish scenery that was slowly being covered in snow. It was gorgeous, the green grass being covered in powdery white snow that shimmered in the late afternoon sun as it set in the horizon. You smiled to yourself softly as you watched the snow fall from the sky. 

It brought you back one of the days it snowed three years ago. George had pounded on your door to put on snow shoes and your jacket. He insisted it was packing snow, perfect snow for a snowball fight. Of course, you had gotten ready in a flash, you, the twins, Katie, and Alicia all running outside of the castle to hurl snowballs at each other, laughing and squealing as the cold snow hit your skin. You remember Fred sneaking up behind you and dumping a chunk of snow down your shirt as you yelped out before smacking him with a snowball as he cackled. With a sneaky smile, you jumped on his back and did the same, shoving a snowball down his shirt as he yelled out, the cold snow melting against his warm skin. “Oh, you’ll pay for this one, (Y/L/N),” he called as you ran away from him with a giggle.

The memory made you smile, but was soon interrupted by the sound of pulsating music coming from what sounded like the common room. “What the hell?” you whisper to yourself as you slowly start to register the music as ABBA. “Good Godric,” you huff as you realize that Dancing Queen is the song being blared from the common room. You angrily slip on a pair of trainers before opening the door and making your way down the stairs. “Ever hear of the silencing spell?” you grumble.

As you descend the stairs, you start to call out, “Oi! Some people are trying to study! Would you knock it off?” 

But as you reach the bottom of the stairs, you stop in your tracks as Fred stands in the middle of the common room, the boom box blaring ABBA, in his hands, a hand picked bouquet of the flowers from the courtyard. The same ones from the Yule Ball. Your eyes meet Fred’s as he turns off the boom box. “Fred,” you speak quietly.

“Hey,” he smiles at you. “I, um, I want to make a grand romantic gesture like they do in those muggle movies. I don’t know how successful the execution was. But it’s the thought that counts, right?” he gives a shaky laugh as you gulp, looking at him puzzled as to what this all was. Fred inhales shakily before speaking, “Angelina and I are over.” Your eyes widen and your heart stops. “Look, (Y/N). I haven’t been able to sleep since the Yule Ball. And I know that what I said to you that night was so uncalled for and so childish and stupid of me and I will forever be sorry for it. But what you said. About being hopelessly devoted to me. That keeps playing in my head on repeat.” You fold your arms across your chest and awkwardly shift your balance, trying to stay calm at his words. “And you said, since you can’t get over me, that I’ll have to do it. But truth is, (Y/N), there is no getting over you,” he sighs with a hopeful smile as you look up at him, heart beating against your rib cage. “I’m not letting go of you. I’m holding onto the very end of it all because you’re the one that I want. I want you and you only. And it took almost losing you to realize that. And I’m a dickhead for not realizing it earlier, but I’m just hoping that there is a part of you that still wants me,” he tells you as you look at his trembling hands, a small smile forming on your face. 

You walk towards him slowly until you are face to face with Fred, looking into his worried, but hopeful eyes. You smile and pluck the bouquet from his hands as he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Nice flowers, Weasley,” you tease him as he smiles. 

Fred puts one hand on your hip, pulling you close to him as he cups your cheek with the other hand. “I’m not saying we need to dive into things right now, if you want to take things slowly, then I’m more than happy to do that,” he tells you as you sigh. “I want to prove to you that I will be completely devoted to you, angel. I want to prove that I’m not going anywhere. I can’t hide it anymore. I am devoted to you.”

A goofy grin appears on your face as you give into Fred’s touch with a sigh. “Freddie, I do want to take things one day at a time,” you tell him as he shakes his head, still overjoyed at the thought that you would still have him. A small giggle escapes your lips. “You are quite adorable when you’re excited,” you tell him as he rolls his eyes. “I’m out of my head for you, Weasley.”

Fred pulls you impossibly closer to him as he sighs, “I’m head over heels for you, my darling.” And slowly, Fred presses his lips against yours as you melt into his touch. For once, things felt right.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 22 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Things are changing for the better. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Difference, Sub Drop, vague mentions of trauma/dissociation, PTSD (mostly comfort) Word Count: 7.25k

MASTERLIST

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The dulcet, bustling sounds of the Dulles International Airport were more soothing than I expected. Normally, the massive crowds and constant barrage of information would make my brain go into overdrive, but there was something about Spencer being there that made it all turn to white noise. If I had to guess, I would say it was the feeling of trusting someone to take care of you.

I still hadn’t gotten used to it.

“Hey, I got you something.”

Even then, when he’d approached me from behind and gingerly placed the bag on my lap, I barely even flinched. I smelled the contents of the bag before I noticed the logo or managed to open it, but once I confirmed it was what I thought it was, my eyes immediately teared up.

“Oh my god,” I keened, pulling out the familiar blue cup holding a much too sweet, much too large cinnamon bun. Although my mind was running with a million things to say to express just how appreciative I was, I took a bite out of it before I said anything else.

“I love you so much,” I mumbled around a mouth full of pastry.

Spencer tried to respond, but after one glance at me, fingers and face already covered in frosting after only a few seconds, he burst out laughing. 

“You’re a complete mess,” he chastised, trying to cluck his tongue but failing in his laughter.

I just smiled back, not even bothering with the plastic utensils and enjoying the indulgence with absolutely childlike joy. It wasn’t even just the sugar or my fingers pressing into the warm, sticky dough that made the morning seem so much better; it was the way Spencer watched me.

With one arm leaned against the chair, his whole body was turned towards me. It was clear from the slightly glassy look in his exhausted eyes that he was also stuck trying to find the right words to say to express just how grateful he was that we could still have moments like that.

Those same eyes roamed over my figure with such an overtly intimate gleam that it almost made me blush. If he’d touched me, I definitely would have. But he kept his hands to himself, and eventually, buried them into his carry-on bag. I didn’t even look at what he was doing, too lost in the sweetness of being cared for.

That foolhardy trust was a mistake. Because, it turned out, Spencer Reid was a monster.

Without any warning at all, a cold wet wipe was dragged over my cheeks. I flinched back, only to find Spencer’s hand holding onto my head and stopping me from turning away. The madman even had the audacity to smile as he gingerly wiped the frosting from my cheeks and chin. Of course, considering the fact I was thrashing wildly away from him, it ended up mostly on my lips.

“Pfftbtb! Spencer!” I spit and whined, earning confused looks from basically everyone in the vicinity. What they would find when they looked over was him in a fit of laughter, continuing to try and clean my face, which was still covered in sugary frosting despite his best efforts to remove it.

“I thought you enjoyed the taste of alcohol,” he teased.

“First of all, no one does, and second—” I started, only to be cut off with a kiss over my much too clean mouth. I smiled, but only because it used to be my move. I wondered when exactly the tables had turned, and it became his job to shut me up with a kiss.

“I know,” he whispered, licking his lips just to cringe at the taste he’d forced on me, “I’m just joking.”

I decided then that the sight and shared disgust for ethyl alcohol were enough for me to forgive him for the time being. I let him clean the rest of the evidence of my greed from my face but decided to clean my fingers myself. I popped each one into my mouth in what I’d imagined was a very non-sexual manner, but Spencer still seemed to enjoy watching me as each digit was cleaned. Granted, he handed me another wipe seconds later. Damn germaphobe. Like he didn’t shove his tongue in my mouth on a daily basis.

The rest of the treat was shared between us, with utensils this time, in a relative quiet. Brief giggles or sighs were all there was to be said. Once there was nothing left to fixate on, I was left only with my thoughts and Spencer’s eyes that still watched me like a horribly affectionate hawk.

“I’m really sorry,” I mumbled without realizing. I’d almost hoped he wouldn’t even hear it, or let it go without a conversation, but of course, he couldn’t do that.

“For what?”

“For making you do all of this,” I explained with a heavy sigh, “I feel like a big baby.”

Spencer’s hands came to brush away the stray strands of hairs from my face. They weren’t actually in the way of anything; I think he just wanted to make a better view. That alone was enough to make me smile, but that only seemed to make him feel guilty.

“Don’t apologize for this. This is my fault,” he said just as quietly. I mirrored his motion, running my fingers through his hair and watching as his mouth dropped open in a pleased smile.

“No, it’s not. You’re wonderful,” I said through my own. It was only a little bit sadder than his, but wasn’t that usually the case? I could only imagine what would happen the day we were both overflowing with nothing but joy. Before, that thought might lead me back to the bank, the place that ended our last purely happy encounter, but…

I looked at Spencer, with his mouth still slightly open and his head lolling back and forth with the little weight of my hand, and I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything bad. So I just thought of the picnic, instead. I thought of him licking my hand as we rolled in grass, and of his own hands working through my hair to make it into something besides a mess on my head.

I looked at Spencer, and I saw beautiful things. And the longer I played with his hair, the more relaxed and content he became. Of course, I would never be satisfied. His smile was the most beautiful thing to see, and I needed it to deal with the guilt still sitting like rocks in my stomach.

“Besides, it’ll be so much easier putting down my work and actually getting sleep when you’re waiting for me,” Spencer slurred, his neck relaxing to drop the weight of his head against my palm.

“I hope not too easy. The world needs you, Dr. Reid,” I kindly reminded.

His eyes fluttered open, trapping me in dark honey irises filled with pure adoration. “You need me, too,” he whispered.

“Arrogant bastard.”

Naturally, he took it as a compliment, his smile growing into a smirk as he answered, “A little bit.”

He should have known better than to give me that look, though, because within seconds my hands fell from his hair. A small whimper came from the pitiful man at the loss. It was quickly followed by a sharp inhale when my hand grabbed his thigh.

“You think I’ll actually let you sleep?” I whispered.

Aside from the obviously tense quadriceps beneath my palms, Spencer showed very little response to my suggestion. Well, rather, he showed little arousal to it. There was a reaction— just not the one I expected.

He looked... nervous.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that...”

“What?” I shot back immediately, my hands withdrawing and tugging on my shirt while I instinctively tried to hide from him. I was trying to look less guilty, but I was acutely aware that my actions screamed the opposite. So, I tried to combat my obvious anxiety with a voice that was far louder than it needed to be. “I swear I’m on all my medications. I haven’t missed a single therapy appointment, either!”

Spencer’s hands were gentle and cautious when they came to my wrists, gently pulling them away from my chest. “I know. I trust you,” he said with a sad but still genuine smile, “I just wanted to ask you how you wanted to handle this.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” The words tumbled out of me in the least convincing manner. Spencer was too smart to fall for them, although I could see a playfulness bloom through his features.

“No offense, but you just cried over a cinnamon bun,” he said, unable to stop a few chuckles from mixing with the words.

“It was just really good, okay?” I scoffed, tearing my hands away from him and feigning offense despite his little disclaimer. From there, I sank down in the shitty airport chair and refused to look up at him. I could still feel his cheeky, arrogant little grin watching me.

Eventually, after I thought we’d suffered enough and I could already feel my legs going numb, I weakly conceded, “Fine. What are my options?”

“Well, basically anything. But the main thing to consider is...”

He paused. It was one of the sure signs that he was taking the situation very seriously. Usually, he would just spout out whatever came to mind and sort out the details later. But this time, he spoke slowly and purposefully. “Majority of our relationship has been based on physicality. Whether it was sex or healing or hurting and I... I want to give you the option to not do that. At least, not for a little while.”

A feeling of dread filled my blood that I could suddenly hear rushing through my ears. I didn’t tell my heart to beat faster, but it did. My hands that had once again crossed over my chest suddenly itched to hold him.

“Why would I not want to?” I asked, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt and occasionally glancing up at him only to realize that he wasn’t looking at me, either. I tried not to read into it. After all, he was the profiler— not me.

“It’s not a matter of avoiding it. I just need you to know it’s not expected of you.”

Without shifting my body at all, my eyes were glued to him. The strain of the angle and the sound of those words caused them to burn, but I refused to let tears fall again. He wasn’t rejecting me, right? He was telling me that he loved me. There was no reason to be scared.

I wasn’t used to that yet, either. But I wanted to be. And judging by the way his hand cupped my face and guided it back to his, I think Spencer felt those anxieties. He tried to will them away by pressing his forehead against mine and letting his thumb ghost over flushed cheeks.

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to know that we don’t have to have sex for you to be worth my time and attention.”

The tears grew bigger under his scrutiny, but they didn’t fall until he closed his eyes. I think that was why he did.

“I love you,” he assured me with a whisper, “I’m not going to deny you affection or intimacy if that’s what you want. I just need you to know that it is always an option.”

Normally when Spencer pulled away, the air felt cold in his absence. For so long, my body had felt lonelier and less than without him. But in that busy, bustling airport, I felt just as loved even when his hands fell away and he sat back up in his chair.

For those who might’ve been watching, they would just see two lovesick idiots whispering sweet nothings in a flagrantly public display of affection. They wouldn’t have heard the weight of the words or felt the way my perception of the whole world shifted from them.

Spencer smiled again, still nervous, but also clear and authentic.

“I’m sorry,” he told me with his eyes fixated on my hands in my lap. He made no move to hold it, although I could tell he wanted to. I suspect he wanted me to focus on the words, so I tried my hardest. I almost asked him what he was sorry for, but he answered first, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

A lump quickly formed in my throat that I tried to swallow. When that failed, and I felt the telltale signs of tears filling the sides of my eyes, I did the only thing I could think of to hide. I threw my arms around the only thing that never failed to make them better. I buried my face in Spencer’s neck and laughed along with him as my eyelashes and breath tickled the soft skin.

After a brief second of listening to our hearts settle into a matching rhythm and letting our body heat sink into the clothes between us, Spencer groaned, “How are you still sticky?”

—————————————————

A couple weeks prior, the thought of being alone in a hotel room waiting on Spencer to finish work for the day would have instilled the fear of God in me. I would have done just about anything to avoid the exact situation I found myself in now.

But honestly? It wasn’t all that bad. It was the perfect opportunity for me to force myself to slow down. Granted, that mostly just meant that I would watch bad TV in a bathrobe with overpriced food, but... like they say, change is as good as a rest.

The hardest part about it was actually just convincing myself that I deserved the rest. While I was taking naps and trying to do anything to unwind, I knew what Spencer was doing.

Well, I had some idea of what he was doing. Reality was probably worse than my imagination— it usually was with his job. At first, I had let that guilt get in the way, but at some point over the nine hours, I realized that I would have to find a way to cheer myself up. Because as soon as I heard that small beep of the keycard, I would have to find a way to remind him of all the beautiful things in the world.

No pressure, right?

The sun had already started to set, and I hadn’t heard from him in hours. We’d started the day out with a constant line of contact, but over time he became too busy. Which, again, just meant that I would have to work even harder when he finally arrived.

Luckily for me, by the time Spencer had arrived, there was no need for a pep talk or acting of any kind. My heart immediately started to race the second I heard his voice down the hall. I had already bolted from the bed and positioned myself just far enough from the door that I could jump forward the second it opened far enough to fit me.

And when it did, I pounced.  

“Spencer!” I cheered, throwing myself into his arms that had fully been expecting me. Still, the two of us crashed back against the frame and I heard the breath be knocked out of him from the impact.

“Hey, little girl,” he managed to laugh with empty lungs that made it impossible to forget how tired he was. His arm eventually settled at my lower back, lifting me slightly so he could move us from the door’s path. But when we were out of harm’s way and the latch clicked softly in place, Spencer didn’t let me go. In fact, he tossed his bag into the chair at the desk and wrapped his other arm around me, too.

“How was work?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

“You know...” he muttered with a crackling voice, “awful.”

If that hadn’t given it away, the way he buried his face in my neck certainly did. His hands were even more insistent, pressing into my back as he led us both to the bed.

I had to laugh, though, as the realization dawned on him that he’d have to let go of me if he didn’t want to track filthy shoes in our bed. A heavy sigh fell from his lips when he finally released me, practically throwing me onto the terrible mattress before taking his seat next to me.

“I missed you,” I announced in the ambient noise of the cheapest hotel that the government could justify using.  

Spencer looked up at me, but the words took a little longer to register. I could only imagine how busy his mind must’ve been, and the guilt quickly came creeping back.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, albeit with a tint of sadness in his tone. But the longer we stayed there, the calmer he seemed. It was such a powerful effect of our proximity that by the time he did lay down next to me, he seemed like the man that had wiped frosting from my face in the middle of a busy airport.

Spencer must have noticed the shift, too, because no sooner had his head hit the pillow than he had flipped over, throwing his leg over me to pin me down against the bed.

My initial reaction was to keep laughing, but the noises were muffled by the persistent kisses he gave. They started at my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose but landed on my lips. I felt the tension leave his shoulders as he lowered more of his body weight against me, and I reveled in the feeling of his presence.

“God, I needed this,” he growled just before his tongue slipped into my mouth.

Everything we’d talked about at the airport felt a lifetime away, and as soon as I felt his erection pressing hard against my thigh, I only had one goal in mind. I forced my hands between us, trying to remove his tie with the hope that it would shed some of the thoughts he’d brought back from work.

But then it all stopped. Spencer had pulled away, grabbing onto my wrist and pinning it to the bed beside me once more.

“No, we don’t need to do that. I just wanted to kiss you,” he panted through heavy breath and swollen lips. I couldn’t stop staring at them long enough to answer, but it was clear from the look on his face that any plea I gave would be for naught, anyway. “I’m honestly way too exhausted to give you the attention you deserve.”

I believed him. Even when he hadn’t slept for nearly two days, he still looked livelier then. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had less to do with sleep and more to do with emotions. I wanted to help him with that, too, like he did for me, but I didn’t know how. So, I did the only thing I did know how to do well, which was to place a soft peck against his lips until they turned up into another smile.

“Get some rest, old man,” I murmured, “I’ll be here to kiss again when you wake up.”

“Let me hold you,” he answered immediately, nuzzling his face against my neck like a puppy seeking any shred of attention. I couldn’t tell if I was laughing because of the way his hair tickled or because it was so strange to see him so vulnerable while still in dominant, albeit disheveled, work clothes.

“Fine. Only because you asked nicely.”

Continuing the trend of being remarkably adorable, Spencer giggled as he rolled onto his side. I was almost tempted to turn towards him, but he had already wrapped his arms around me before I could decide. He pulled me as close as he could before his lips once again settled against the column of my throat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he stated absently. It was so quiet that I’m not sure he’d actually planned on me hearing it. But when I reached a hand up to run through his hair, he spoke with a shaky, relieved whine, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

A gentle, warm exhale breezed over my skin as he continued, “I love you so much.”

From that point, any words he might’ve whispered were muffled through sloppy, sleepy kisses over my neck and shoulder. His hands, though slow, were still rough and purposeful as they pawed at me in a way that was only vaguely sexual. It was more like he was trying to prove to himself that he was actually here with me, and my breasts just happened to be the first thing he could grab.

That still didn’t stop my mind from running wild. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as I focused on the way his breath felt against areas still wet from his kisses. And when I arched my back, I felt his hips press harder.

Eventually, when I could trust myself to speak without whimpering, I asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to...”

I peeked back at him before continuing, having noticed a lull in his kisses. Sure enough, Spencer was fast asleep, his lips still attached to my shoulder. I had to chuckle at the sight, but my heart did hurt for him. I couldn’t imagine how tired he must have been to fall asleep then, and still in his clothes, much less.

The guilt over being the main cause of his tiredness was enough to keep me still for at least two hours. I spent that time slowly inching to a more comfortable position, only to be squished seconds later by Spencer. Even in his sleep, it seemed he was terrified of the prospect of me slipping from his arms. He was just being dramatic, though. It’s not like I had anywhere to go.

Wait, that sounded wrong. Truthfully, there were many places I could go, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with Spencer, tangled in his long limbs and tickled by his hair that had grown long enough to gracelessly flop onto my face regardless of position.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to leave at all.

But I did. Inch by inch, I carefully slipped from Spencer’s arms. Against all odds, I managed to maneuver through the death grip he had on me and plop down on the ground beside the bed. My mind found that to be the perfect time to recall the lecture he’d given me about how suitcases, and more specifically, their wheels, were the most dangerous bacteria-laden aspects of traveling, but I dismissed the thought shortly after I stood again.

I didn’t want to leave Spencer’s embrace. I’m not really sure why I did. There wasn’t even really a particularly angsty reasoning for it. I just had this feeling, this tingling on my skin and a weight in my stomach that told me I was meant to be doing something different.

The only problem was that I had literally no idea what the fuck that something different was.

So, naturally, I did what every young child does when their parents had grown tired of their restless children jumping on the hotel bed. I grabbed the keycard and the ice bucket and set out on a very thrilling journey to find the vending room. The first part was the hardest. It was shutting the door to return the room to darkness, knowing that Spencer was alone in bed.

It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. I slipped from the room into the horrible yellow lighting of the halls with the dizzying wallpaper and patterned carpet without another thought. I’d hoped that the walk might bring me answers to the mood I was currently wrestling with, but I was wrong. Because it basically only took me three doors to find the room that I was looking for.

Great.

I threw the door open haphazardly, actually contemplating grabbing the ice and returning to bed no wiser than I had left it. But when the door swung shut behind me, the humming from the machines bled into my brain and started to cover all the other thoughts. It was warmer than my room, as well as smaller and quieter. Of course, it was also remarkably less private, but it was also like 2am. If someone came in to find a strange girl sitting on the floor next to the ice machine, that was their own fault.

In a strange way, it was the most peaceful I’d been in a long time. As much as I loved being with Spencer, these circumstances made it hard for me to not feel like I didn’t belong. Probably because I didn’t. He was here on work, a life that he’d tried very hard to keep away from me. I didn’t blame him for that, either. I was sure he’d gotten a number of questions from Morgan and Garcia about my presence, but he hadn’t shared them with me. I’d even asked him, just so I could concoct my own retaliatory questions for the nosiest of them, but he just laughed the question away.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just the realization that Spencer had a life of his own and I was just starting to see it for the first time. I was learning so much about him and honestly… None of it was bad. Most of it was just downright silly. Things like prank wars and physics magic and careful, chemistry-based improvements to shitty coffee. I was just too busy realizing that I was falling even more in love with Spencer to notice anything else.

Including, apparently, the sound of the door to the room opening. Trust me when I say that was saying a lot; the presence of Aaron Hotchner was not easy to miss.

“Can I join you?” His voice filled the room despite its low volume, and I followed the sound with a small smile that grew at the sight of him in casual clothing. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it sure did make him less intimidating than our previous encounters.

“Sure,” I said as I pulled the still-empty ice bucket into my lap. Once he took his seat beside me, I rolled my head toward him to try and figure out what exactly he had planned. But after another few seconds of silence, I realized that he was doing the same thing I was.

Improvising.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I asked, insistent that it wasn’t my job in this scenario to come up with the advice.

Hotch seemed equally lost, and with a slight shake of his head, he explained, “I only heard the door open once. Figured it was worth a trip to get some ice to check.”

He held up his matching ice bucket, to which I lifted mine to knock together like the worst kind of toast. It at least succeeded in making him laugh, although the sound was short-lived. We both recognized the shoddy attempt at humor was just masking the things I didn’t want to talk about.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

He had never really been a beat-around-the-bush sort of guy.

“Freakin’ profilers,” I affectionately muttered back, which only earned me a playful warning glance that I, for once, didn’t choose to ignore. “I don’t know. I’m guessing it’s probably the 3-hour nap I took when we got here.”

Then, deciding that still didn’t describe the situation well enough, I tagged on, “You know, while you all were working and saving the world and what not.”

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of the BAU: Do not ever speak poorly about yourself. Not even an implication.

“Rest is important. No reason for you to suffer for us,” he returned without pause.

“You sound like Spencer,” I said through a half-hearted laugh.  

Hotch shared my laughter, causing them both to grow in volume as he snarkily replied, “And who do you think taught him?”

“Right. Sorry.” I held my hands up in surrender, but we both knew it would be harder than that.

But that was okay. He came prepared.

“So, what else is wrong?”

“So persistent, you lot,” I chuckled. I half expected him to let it go, but he just turned to stare at me with that usually stoic face contorted with an obvious reprimand. I swear, I didn’t even realize his eyebrows could move that far. But there were, raised up his forehead as his cheeks dimpled from his little, knowing smirk.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Just thinking about things and I was scared I would wake up Spencer. Like he would feel my anxiety in his sleep.”

“What’s making you anxious?”

I paused. For a moment, I thought about lying. Not the kind of transparent lie that you do when you say that everything is fine. The kind of lie that also contained the truth. There were many things that had happened lately that would explain my anxiety, and they would be believable enough because I did still feel them.

“Everything. You know. The usual,” I said softly, attempting to stall.

Because that wasn’t what the problem was that day. The problems that day were… complicated in a different way than the usual angst. So, I let the thoughts marinate for a moment, considering the different outcomes and deciding which I really wanted.

I hadn’t let myself want things in a while. Maybe that realization was why I decided to just tell him the truth, despite how embarrassing it felt.

“It’s not bad anxiety, necessarily. It’s just this realization that… I don’t know.”

“Take a guess,” he pressed, feeling the hesitance as I stood at the brink of what I really wanted to say. The real answer to why I was sitting on the floor of an ice machine vending room with my boyfriend’s boss, who also happened to be our shared adoptive father figure.

I took a deep breath, clutching onto the ice bucket so tightly that my knuckles blanched and the edges imprinted on my hand until I blurted out, “That I think I’m ready for something else. Something more.”

We both stopped then, enjoying the noises of machinery and the barely-there echo of my words.

“Something more, huh?” he repeated more clearly.

I didn’t appreciate the way the words were practically sung through a clever grin, and before he could take that train of thought any further, I stopped him with an answer too loud to not be deemed defensive.

“Not like that! Not like, let’s run off and elope and have lots of babies tomorrow!“ He didn’t look convinced, so I continued with a much more believable promise. “Don’t worry, I’m not sniping your genius.”

“Thank goodness,” he replied sarcastically. I appreciated his ability to keep things lighthearted, and for a second I did have to laugh at the fact he was such a different person when he wasn’t at work. He must’ve taught Spencer more than I realized. And, in turn, Spencer was teaching me. I just wasn’t sure when the lesson would be over, or if it had already ended.

“I’ve just held onto my independence and this… heavy bullshit for so long, and I’m a little worried about what that means,” I thought aloud.

Again, Hotch had read my mind, or at least, my body language, and demanded the answer he saw written across my features. “What do you think it means?”

“Do you always give fatherly advice like this to whiny girls in ice machine rooms?” I shot back with my first attempt at a glare. It only lasted until he flashed me a toothy smile and his own clever retort.

“No. Now answer the question.”

“I had to try,” I grumbled, only to be shut down again in an instant.

“I’ll forgive you when you answer.”

With a begrudging sigh, I tried to do what he asked. But I only barely got through one word before they turned to a lump in my throat. I choked on the words strongly enough that tears I hadn’t anticipated began pooling on my eyelashes. The power of a profiler, I guess, to know I was on the verge of an emotional catharsis before I did.

“I know we all change. I know that no one stays the same. We all go through things and they change who we are. And that can be good, right? But…”

Once the words started, they wouldn’t stop, turning and tumbling from clumsy lips still chapped from incessant biting. But teeth and willpower couldn’t stop the feelings that caused them, and if Spencer had taught me anything, he’d taught me that speaking a feeling into existence was half of the battle to let it go.

“But sometimes it’s gotta just be bad, right? Like, we’ve got to acknowledge that sometimes we change in an irreparable way that’s just bad for no reason.”

“Right,” he very eloquently returned. Normally, I would have bullied him for giving such a simple response to such a complex question, but at that moment I was just grateful that I could continue. Heaven knows Spencer wouldn’t have let me.

“So, what if that happened to me? What if one day I wake up and finally find out the answer to the question I’ve been asking myself?”

When I turned to the man then, I saw a genuine confusion for the first time that night. I couldn’t tell you where I’d lost him, but it was clear that he heard something in me that alerted him that some deeper rooted issues were just now finding the light of day.

Of course, in this situation, it was really just a flickering fluorescent bulb.

“What question is that?” he whispered, like his voice would intrude in the thoughts.

But the truth was they didn’t feel like they belonged to me, either. That was the problem. I’d spent so long with memories that felt like a dream. I saw them playback when I closed my eyes, just to open them and find the same images reflecting in Spencer’s. I knew they were real because they were written into my skin, yet my mind rioted against them so hard that instead, I just started to think that this body wasn’t mine, either.

“How much of me died that day?”

The question sat with us, taking form in the reflection on the metallic surface that hummed a somehow somber tune. And even though I knew I was looking at myself, it didn’t feel that way. When I saw Hotch move in the background, I turned to him just in time to feel his hand resting over mine on the metal pail in my hands.

“Can I tell you what I think?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

I felt the warmth flow through him, bringing life back into a hand that suddenly started to feel like me again. His voice shared the same rejuvenating quality as he quietly but confidently answered, “I think… it’s much less than you think.”

As tears slid down my face, they felt less like the beginning of a downpour and more like the drizzle that follows the storm. I let them fall without wiping them away, hoping that as they fell away, they would take the fear with them.

After they did drip from my jaw, I laughed. I couldn’t hold it in because it seemed so silly how much lighter I felt after losing just a few droplets of saline. But, realistically, I knew it had more to do with his hand still holding mine.

I dropped my head to his shoulder, selfishly stealing his body warmth as I croaked, “Thanks for talking to me. I know I must sound like a stupid kid to you sometimes.”

“Not at all,” he said with that tone that was difficult to discount, “You sound just like you should.”

“Can I tell you something now?” I asked between sniffles.

“I’d like that,” he mirrored.

“You’re like… a really good dad.”

It was his turn to shed tears, then, which he did. They were much manlier and less silly than mine, but they were there. I almost accused him of creating them just to make me feel less embarrassed, but before I could, he’d enveloped me in a hug that was way too genuine to question it.

As I hugged him back, I realized just how badly I’d missed moments like this. I’d fooled myself into really believing that loneliness and independence were the same things for so long that when I was granted the support all human beings need, I didn’t know how to respond.

But that was the beauty of family, right? You don’t have to try to earn their love. They already thought you were worthy.

So I hugged him harder, ignoring the clanking of the machines and the sounds of crowds of people stumbling back from bars in the hall that could walk in any moment. I wasn’t embarrassed to be sad anymore. I was just a person. It happens sometimes.

“Speaking of, it’s well past your bedtime,” Hotch said finally, gracelessly shattering the moment in a very dad-like fashion.

“I walked into that one.”

Following that trend, he continued with a gentle bump of his shoulder against me, “If you don’t want to go yet, you can talk to me about that something more.”

I practically shoved him off me, huffing between chuckles and shaking my head in the hope that he wouldn’t notice how it flushed.

“Please. Spencer talks about that stuff, but he’s all talk.”

At first, Hotch just nodded. But after a few wayward glances, he confessed, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

That time the warmth I felt came from within, carried by butterflies that had burst in my stomach at the thought. I almost asked him what he meant, but then felt the familiar, creeping embarrassment that came along with loving someone a little too much.

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

I knew he was reading my expressions, but I couldn’t hide the smile, no matter how hard I tried. He still had the decency to ignore my blatant displays of excitement, instead asking the question we both knew the answer to already.

“Is that something you’d want?”

“I…” Such a simple syllable still seemed like too much, and I stuttered it a few more times before I landed on an answer that wasn’t too humiliating. “I guess he’ll have to ask and find out.”

“I hope it turns out well when he does,” he said, pausing to correct with a sarcastic, “Sorry. If he does.”

“Yeah, me too,” I sighed heavily. It was a last ditch effort to hide the way my cheeks were still stuck in a full-faced smile. I turned to see him with a very similar expression.

I knew just how to change that. When he stood up and offered me a hand, I took it and let him do half the work for me. But once we were on equal footing, I placed my hand on his shoulder with a complacent pat.

“You know, if it doesn’t turn out well, you’ll have to figure out how to comfort the both of us.”

“The horror,” he jokingly cringed with a shake of his head.

I almost left then, but thankfully he’d remembered the actual purpose for the room we’d had our impromptu surrogate-father-daughter moment in. He grabbed my ice pail from my hand and dropped it under the dispenser without saying anything else, letting the chaotic crunching signal the real end of the moment.

Once it was over, I looked down at the now freezing bucket in my hands that suddenly felt warm. Then I looked back up at him and saw a pride that I wasn’t expecting.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” I said as the last remaining bit of tension fell from my shoulders.

“Goodnight,” he answered, opening the door and watching as I padded down the hall. He waited until I slipped back into my room before his door clicked shut, and mine quickly followed.

That tiny sound was just enough to wake the man in the bed, and when I turned to him, the sight took my breath away. Because there was Spencer, the man I loved, reaching his arms out into the darkness and grabbing the empty air as he whined, begging me to come to him faster.

And I did. Tossing the bucket onto the table, I rushed over to him and threw myself into the bed beside him without any grace. With a similar restlessness, Spencer wound his arms around me as soon as I was within his reach, pulling me as close as he could without sacrificing all the air in my lungs.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against my hair.

“Don’t worry. I’m back,” I whispered back. The words were lost in his shirt, but he somehow heard them well enough to ask, “Where did you go?”

I didn’t know how exactly to describe what had happened, so I told one of those lies I’d contemplated earlier. “To get ice,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was just a very inefficient summary.

Spencer didn’t care, either. In fact, he giggled at the thought, nuzzling his face down into my neck and tickling me with his lips as he mumbled, “Let me warm you up.”

It did succeed in warming me up, but only because it turned into a fit of giggles and more intense tickling. His fingers danced along my sides and his whispers turned back to the same kisses that we’d started the night with.

But it couldn’t last forever. The poor guy still had only had a couple hours of sleep, and I felt the excitement wear off all at once, leaving him only half-awake on the pillow beside me. He still found the energy to look at me like there were stars in my eyes.

“Where did you really go?” he asked again, dragging his hand over my cheek like he could see the tears I’d shed just a few moments before.

“Just ice. I promise,” I answered, ending the thought with a quick kiss on his palm. When I could tell that he didn’t believe that, I brought my hands up to his face as I snickered, “See? Cold hands.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he just leaned forward, letting our noses touch and pulling me in to him again. His eyes fluttered shut, and I could almost see the way his body started to return to sleep as he barely muttered, “No cold feet, though?”

It took me a moment to register the words, and once I did, I still couldn’t believe them.

“Cold feet for what?” I whispered back.

Spencer’s answer only came in the form of a dreamy laugh. He didn’t open his eyes again, instead choosing to drop his face back into my shoulder just like he had before. This time there were even fewer kisses against my neck before he went still again.

Once again, I was left with my thoughts. Only this time they weren’t scary. Because marrying Spencer Reid was not the worst thing to imagine by far. In fact, there were very few things I’d ever wanted more.

—————————————————

| Part 23 |

[stardusttrashed]

Lovestruck (Finale)

Part 4

Pairing: Professor Erwin x Fem! Reader, Connie x Sasha

Word Count: 2K

A/N: A huge thanks to everyone who stuck around for this series and showed it some love. also, if you haven't already go check out the playlist I made that gives professor Erwin vibes :)

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Smith,” you squeaked as you squeezed past the door into the old familiar room. “Hope you didn’t haveta wait too long,” you smiled apologetically.

Erwin turned around, looking up from the whiteboard he was writing away on. He smiled handsomely, quietly sighing in relief, “actually, you’re right on time as usual.” He closed the distance between you before placing a kiss on your forehead. “How much’d you spend? I’ll pay you back,” he reassured you as he led you towards his desk.

“You can pay me back by coming to movie night,” you purred, quickly throwing the idea out there as you took a seat on his desk. You rummaged through the plastic bag, taking out two to-go boxes as Erwin rolled his desk chair over. “You’ve been officially invited by Thing One and Thing Two. And they’ll probably lose their shit if I show up without you.”

“Sasha and Connie, right?” he confirmed. You hummed in response. Erwin tensed up momentarily once he saw you sitting on his desk, sinful thoughts running rampant in his mind. He was curious how much of a good girl you’d be for him. Or if you’d let him eat something else for lunch. It didn’t make it any better that you still had his shirt on. A blush painted his cheeks as he pushed the thoughts down, plopping in his seat and scooting closer until he was sitting between your legs, “I’d love to, darling.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, occasionally broken by strings of giggles as you stuffed your faces with the Chinese food you brought. You took turns feeding spoonfuls of each other's food to the other, goofy, uncontrollable, lovestruck smiles printed on your faces. There was so much you both wanted to say to each other, wanting to ask about the other’s day, or ask trivial things, or address what you were. But neither could muster the courage to break the moment. So instead, you spoke through lingering touches and longing gazes.

“Erwin,” a familiar voice said dryly, followed by the footsteps of them entering the room. “Found your sandwich in the fridge in the staff room.” Erwin’s eyes went wide, more surprised about being caught than the actual sandwich. “Figured I’d bring it before you starve.”

You sent Erwin a playfully threatening glare, “you had food?! I- you little,” you quickly hissed, stopping short as Erwin apologetically squeezed your thigh.

Erwin chuckled embarrassedly, removing the hand on your thigh to scratch the back of his neck. “I must’ve forgot.” He looked back and forth between you and Levi, both of you looking back at him with unconvinced expressions. He was busted for sure.

“Right,” Levi drawled out as his eyes scanned the desk, taking in the to-go boxes and how close you and Erwin were sitting. “At least you’re not starving. And glad to see the two of you finally grew a pair and made things official.”

“W-well,” you stuttered, to no avail. Levi was already walking out of the room, muttering something about how you should at least lock the door. Gradually, your shock shifted into overconfidence. “Missed me that much, huh? Pretty lame excuse if you ask me.”

“Shouldn’t be much of a surprise, darling,” Erwin cooed, his blue eyes practically filled with hearts. It felt like butterflies were coursing throughout his entire body as you leaned down to kiss him. It was short and sweet, just a lingering peck, yet you left him breathless. “Y/n, I- um.” He could feel the tips of his ears growing uncomfortably warm. Your soft giggles weren’t helping either. “Hold on.”

You watched as Erwin struggled to hold onto his cool. It was still weird, no matter how many times you saw him grow flustered. He was the gorgeous giant of a man that left men and women alike flustered, yourself included. Yet, you always seemed to be the one to turn the tables without doing anything but being yourself. He wasn’t some Greek God, okay, well looks-wise, yes. And personality-wise. Okay, maybe he was a Greek god, but that didn’t stop him from being a friendly giant or a big cinnamon roll around you.

“I, uh,” he quickly glanced up at you before returning his focus to the journal he pulled out of his desk drawer. “I got you this,” he held the small journal out to you.

You gingerly took it from him. A thin gold rope chain tucked away in the journal as a bookmark tapped your hand as it swayed from the movement. You prayed he couldn’t see the way your cheeks grew warm as you opened the journal to the page the chain rested against. In the center of the lined paper lay a key strung on the chain. The key wasn’t anything fancy, just a plain house key that covered a neatly written note. You glanced up at Erwin momentarily before moving aside the key to read the note aloud. “I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self-respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her, and it is the beginning of everything. F. Scott Fitzgerald,” you read, your throat growing tighter with every word.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m rushing anything,” Erwin quickly spoke up once you finished reading. “I just, well, I figured you could use my place as a place to write and get some inspiration. I don’t want to pressure you, though. This can be completely platonic, and we can ignore-.”

You set the journal aside and stopped his nervous rambling with a kiss. Your lips moved lazily against each other, savoring everything from the moment to the taste of one another. Time seemed to slow as you lost yourself in the softness of his lips and the warmth of his hands on your hips. You could feel him surrendering to you, giving you everything he could until he was left with nothing, not even a breath… until you reluctantly pulled away. You rested your forehead on his, your eyebrows knitted together as you tried to catch your breath enough to say something.

“And for a moment, I thought I loved him,” you breathed, altering the quote slightly to fit the situation more. Your breath fanned across his lips, giving him visible chills as you continued, “but I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires.”

“Committing Great Gatsby quotes to memory, are we,” Erwin teased, his voice husky as he finally managed to catch his breath.

“Only the most beautiful ones that’ll impress my professors, er, used to be professors.”

“Consider the job done then.” Erwin looked at you like you were the only one, not just now, but forever. His ocean eyes shone like he was looking at the sun, and in a way, he was. You always were a star that he couldn’t help but gravitate to. He lost you for a while, but just like the planets orbiting around the sun, he managed to find his way back to your warmth.

You reached out and pushed a stray hair back into place, “not polite to stare, baby. Even if ya look cute doing it.”

“Dance with me,” Erwin blurted. He needed to hold you, to bask in your warmth. He wanted to do what he should’ve last night, holding you close as you swayed to music that could better articulate the feelings he has for you.

“What?”

Erwin chuckled and shrugged, “dance with me, and I’ll stop.” He stood up with a devilish grin on his face. “Just one dance?”

“Erwin, I don’ think this is the place-” you were cut off by Erwin scooping you up into his strong arms bridal style. You held onto him despite feeling utterly safe as he maneuvered his way out of the classroom. “Baby, where are you taking me?” you squealed with childlike giddy.

“To a place we can dance,” Erwin looked down at you with a wicked smile as he walked out of the building with you still cradled close to his chest. The soft drizzle of rain welcomed the both of you, which made you squeal and hurriedly attempt to cover your head.

“Erwin Smith, take me back inside before I kick your ass!”

“No, can do; you said we couldn’t dance in the classroom.” He sent a kind smile to the people passing by. “Besides, as sweet and sugary as you are, you won’t melt.”

“You don’t know that.” You smacked your hand against his chest, “I hate you right now.” The soft drizzle was gradually becoming a steady stream of droplets that made any efforts to protect your hair futile. With a huff, you gave up, allowing the rain to return your hair to its natural state gradually. “Happy now?”

Erwin kissed the tip of your nose before gently setting you back on your feet underneath a large canopy tree. The twinkle of mischief in his eyes was a stark contrast to the soft apologies that tumbled from his mouth. “I promise, messing up your hair was not part of the plan.” His eyes flitted up to your curling hair, a proud smile forming on his face, “I was right, though. You look absolutely amazing, darling.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping it’d distract from the bashful smile tugging on your lips. “One dance,” you held up a finger for emphasis. “That’s it.”

“Just the one,” he gently pressed his lips against yours. “Unless you beg for more.” His laugh rumbled in his chest like quiet thunder as you playfully swatted his arm.

“Well, Mr. DJ, what’re gonna dance to?”

“No idea,” Erwin admitted with a bashful smile, looking up from his phone. “Just wanted an excuse to hold you close.” The soft, familiar strumming of a guitar filled the air before he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

With an outstretched hand, he looked at you with such genuine adoration that for a second, you forgot how to breathe. You slipped your hand into his, allowing him to guide your hands towards his shoulders. It felt silly, dancing in the middle of campus in the rain, and at the same time, it felt so surreal, like you two were straight out of a book.

“Only fools rush in,” Erwin quietly sang as he slid his hands around your hips. “But I can’t help fallin’ in love with you.” He had a smooth, calming singing voice like he was born to be a crooner. He didn’t sing around others often, not sober at least, but something about you made him feel like it was the right thing to do at this moment. Every word that fell from his lips was for you, and you only as you both sway in time with the music. He was yours, and the look in your eyes told him you were his.

You pressed yourself closer to him, the rest of the world slipping away. He was too warm, made you feel too secure for it to be reality. And yet, here he was, the man you secretly fell for years ago was in your arms singing Can’t Help Falling in Love to you. The increasing heaviness of the rain or people staring didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except him.

“I-,” you jumped at the sound of your ringtone, sending you plummeting back to reality with wide eyes. “S-sorry, I gotta,” you trailed off sheepishly as you pulled your phone out of your pocket before accepting the facetime call.

Erwin paused the music for you, trying to stay as quiet as possible as he played with your newly formed curls. It was hard for him to fight back the awestruck look on his face as your hair seemed to grow curlier by the second.

“Did you do it? Please tell me you did? I’ll do it for you,” Sasha bombarded you once you answered. She paused with wide eyes at the sound of Erwin’s amused chuckle. “Oh, my- is that him? Hi, Erwinie!”

“Wait, she did it?” You could hear Connie yell from somewhere offscreen. “Ha! You owe me twenty!”

You smiled apologetically at Erwin, who seemed quite amused with the situation. “Hi, Sasha,” Erwin cut in, laughing at the way she swooned after he said her name. “If we’re being technical, I was the one who did it.”

“Ha! I only owe you ten,” she exclaimed, sending Connie a face before focusing back on you and Erwin. “She invited you to movie night, right?”

“About that, why don’t you two come over to my place? I’ll even cook.”

“Careful before I steal him from you,” Sasha laughed. She was practically drooling already at the thought of free food.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but there’s only one girl for me.” He looked down at you with a confident smile, “she’s all I want and need.”

“What about guys?”

“Ew, you two are so cute it’s gross,” Sasha talked over Connie. “Get off my phone before ya make me sick.”

“Gladly,” you mused, giggles bubbling in your chest. “See y’all later.” You hung up before they could say anything else and turned your focus to Erwin. “I feel the same way, just so you know. Think you’re it for me.”

“I sure hope so cause I don’t plan on losing you again.”

[pedrosbish]

cinnamon girl

word count: 2.2k

warnings: angst, unrequited feelings, mentions of drug use, lil bit of fluff

“Are you nervous?”

You smile softy at the way his laugh falls out of his mouth, like a melody that rises before slowly falling - yeah, he’s really nervous. Glancing at him standing in front of the mirror, you notice him struggling with his bowtie, something the boys laughed about when he said that his wife-to-be had insisted he wear it on the big day - you had not laughed. 

“This fucking thing,” he turns towards you with his hands in the air and a frown on his face that you can’t help but chuckle at. “Could you please help me?”

“Maybe I could get one of the boys to d-”

“Please?” 

Ignoring the way your stomach erupts in butterflies at the way he stares at you, his deep brown eyes calling you to drown in them, you tentatively move to stand in front of him. Taking a deep breath through your nose your hands move of their own accord, placing themselves on his chest and you sneak a glance up at his face, his beautiful and gleaming face. Your eyes burn slightly as you touch his bowtie, the black material soft as you slowly tie it below the collar of his shirt. He looks so happy and it breaks your heart.

You can feel the way his eyes are trained on you and your heart flutters in your ribcage but you don’t dwell on the feeling for too long otherwise it would cause hope to blossom in a place where it was sure to fizzle out. You couldn’t even look the man you loved in the face. 

“There you go Frankie,” it’s a quiet whisper as you pat his chest, once then twice, squishing the ache to hold onto him for just a little while longer. 

“Thank you,” he faces the mirror, fixing his recently trimmed hair and straightening the bowtie. “Right, how do I look?”

“Very handsome,” you force a laugh out of your mouth but it falls flat. “I should probably go join the rest of the guests now.” 

Before you can leave, a calloused hand grabs your wrist and gently tugs you into the warm body of Frankie who proceeds to wrap his arms around your waist, his face falling into the crook of your neck, his breath causing goosebumps to rise. You close your eyes, savouring the way he feels against you as your own arms wrap around his neck, squeezing tightly before releasing him. You pat his shoulders and his arms falls to his sides, a small smile on his face as he watches you leave the room. 

You close your eyes as the door falls shut behind you, a few tears escaping and rolling down your face and you hastily wipe them away as you hear footsteps moving in your direction. Santiago appears in your blurry vision as he hurries towards you, gently taking you by the elbow and steering you around the corner just as a sob works its way up your throat. 

“It hurts so fucking much Santi,” you manage to gasp out and the man before you nods his head, a small frown on his face as he pulls you into his chest, your tears instantly leaving its mark on his chest. “God, I love him so much it hurts. Why does it hurt so much?”

Why were you doing this to yourself?

You already had the answer to that. Because you loved Frankie Morales with all of your heart and seeing him this happy, even if it meant you had to break yourself and attempt to mend the broken pieces, even if it meant it wasn’t with you, it was worth it.

                                             ~~~

“She’s beautiful Francisco.”

You gently trace the soft face of the baby in your arms, nestled in her pink blanket and eyes shut. Little noises escape her mouth as she dreams, her tiny hand wrapping around your finger tightly which causes a small giggle to escape you. 

“She’s got quite a grip!” You glance up at him only to notice him looking out the window overlooking the garden outside, lost in his own thoughts. 

You took the time to look him over, your heart beating wildly in your chest as you noticed the bags that stood out on his unusually pale face and the way his shirt hung loosely on his body, more so then when you had last seen him. Eyebrows scrunching in worry, you place the baby back in her chair, the tenseness in your shoulder disappearing for a second as she wiggles before settling back into her sleep. 

It all returns when you start walking towards Frankie, slowly reaching a hand out and placing it on his back. He jumps slightly before settling back to watch outside when he notices that it’s just you. 

“Frankie,” you try to get his attention and you ignore the way your heart tugs when he makes no move to acknowledge you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

You know that he didn't mean to snap at you but you still retract your hand from its position quickly and it falls at your side, nervously fiddling with a loose piece of string from your jeans. His eyes soften when he notices and he rubs at his forehead, eyes closing for a second before he looks at you, really looks at you this time instead of just looking through you. 

“I’m just tired,” his laugh is humourless as he glances around the house, taking in the blankets and pillows in a pile on the couch and the baby next to it. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are- are you guys...fighting?”

“Yeah,” he sighs and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes slowly become shinier with every second. “Just...couple problems.” 

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you rub soothingly with your thumb, taking no notice of the way they hunch towards you, begging for more comfort. His eyes look over your face but you don’t notice, only taking in the fact that his skin feels oddly clammy under your hand and the bone of his shoulder protrudes. 

“Have you been eating properly?”

He doesn’t answer, his eyes and body now shifting away from you as he returns to his spot by the window. Fuck, you shouldn't have said anything. You instantly regret speaking until an idea sparks in your mind. 

“We could maybe show the kid our favourite diner? I could really go for one of their burgers and milkshakes right now.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and you smile in return, knowing you said the right thing. The two of you had accidentally stumbled across the small diner - how you don’t exactly remember as you were looking for a completely different place- and you had eaten, falling in love with the place. As often as you two could you would meet up for a meal there, finding solace in the food and in each other.

 But, but then it falls as quickly as it appeared and he shakes his head. 

“Not hungry.”

“Frankie, please. You look like you’ve barely eaten! It’s not good for you and it’s not good for your baby.”

“I said I’m fucking fine! Just fucking leave me be!”

Silence.

And then it’s broken by the cries of the once sleeping baby. You rush over and immediately rock her back and forth, hiding your tears from the gaze of Frankie who, once again, turns to look out at that fucking window as if he hadn’t just yelled at you. Once her cries fade out, you place her back in her chair before moving towards Frankie. 

“I just wanted to h-”

“Just get out.”

“What?”

He whips around to face you, fire burning in his eyes and face now red. 

“I don’t need your help. Fuck, I don’t even want your help. I’m fine, my wife is fine and my baby is fine. Now please get the fuck out of my house.”

Your mouth falls open in shock at his outburst, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as you watch him, his chest heaving at a fast pace and his face red as he glares at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. He makes no move to comfort you, doesn’t open his mouth to apologise and explain what’s got him worked up and it breaks your heart. This wasn’t the Frankie you knew and loved. 

“I can’t do this with you Francisco. I can’t watch the man I love fall apart like this,” you manage to say and you don’t wait for his answer as you quickly kiss the baby goodbye and walk out the door. 

~~~

Hours turned into days and days turned into months with neither you or Frankie making any move to talk to each other. Santiago had visited you several times after you had ignored his comments about how his friend, your friend, was doing, begging you to come out for drinks, to the movies, even softball games with the boys. You had declined every invitation and Santiago had never pushed, eventually getting the hint that you were ignoring a certain somebody. 

He hadn’t given much detail but had said that Frankie was doing better, he had “gotten clean” after his wife had left and threatened to take his baby away from him. Santiago had left after that conversation and you had cried. You cried until your lungs hurt and the tears had dried up. Your friend had been hurting so much that he couldn't come to you for help. 

A week had passed since that conversation with Santiago and so many times you had opened your contacts, finger hovering over Frankie’s number but every time you had put your phone down, your argument playing in your head over and over again. You were too scared to make amends, scared that he would yell at you again for meddling in his life. 

A knock sounds at the door and you rush over - whoever was out there in this weather was either very brave or very stupid. It was raining heavily as you opened the door and a wave of cold and wet air hit you, making a gasp escape your mouth. Squinting your eyes against the onslaught of rain you take in the hooded figure of-

“Francisco? What the hell are you doing here?” You raise your voice in order for him to hear you over the rain. “Quickly come inside!”

Closing the door behind him, Frankie attempts to shake off the water that collected on his jacket as he had tried working up the courage to raise his fist and knock on your door. His breath catches in his throat as he glances at you, still as beautiful as the day he last saw you, the last day he yelled at you. 

“I’m so sorry,” he looks down at the ground and whispers it so quietly but you manage to hear him. “I’m so sorry for what I said, for what I did to you. You didn't fucking deserve it. God, you deserve a better friend than me.”

“Frankie...”

He closes his eyes at the wave of emotion that washes over him at the sound of his nickname falling past your lips, whispered so softly that he almost collapses to his knees in front of you. You deserve to be worshipped. You deserve every good thing in this goddamn world. 

You slowly move closer to him until you stand directly in front of him and ignoring the way his wet clothes make you shiver, you cup his cheek in your hand. He leans into your touch and opens his eyes which trace every feature on your face as if it was his last day to do so and you ignore the way your heart flutters within your chest, threatening to escape into the hands of the man before you. 

“Did you mean what you said that night?” 

His question knocks you off guard and your eyebrows furrow in concentration as you work through what was said that night, giving him the sudden urge to trace your eyebrows, your eyes, your nose, your lips, every part of you with his finger. You open your mouth to answer but he beats you to it. 

“When you said that you loved me?”

“Oh Francisco,” you say gently, eyes filling with tears. “How could I not?”

Without hesitation, he leans forward and captures your lips in a kiss that would have knocked you off your feet if it had not been for his arm circling around your waist. His lips are as soft, as they have always looked to you, his scruff ticking your skin, and with that thought you wrap your arms around his neck, ignoring the way his wet clothes stick to your dry ones. 

You break away for a second to catch your breath, smiling at the way your lips tingle with his kiss and he smiles back down at you. This was your Frankie. He leans down to plant a fleeting kiss on your lips, instantly making you want more, more, more. 

“I love you too.”

[acefeather2002]

Fluff Alphabet

I saw this list in the masterlist of @the-emo-asgardian for Loki x Reader, but I wanted to try to make a new trend of this by using my actual SO for the answers. I hope you don't mind. With that, let's get on with the list!

A=Adoration: What do they adore about you? The way I don't judge him and am able to understand his mindset really easily. "I appreciate how when I'm going through something and try to brush it off as nothing, you're always like, 'Eh, if it means something to you, then it means something to me.'" (This is pretty true tbh😅)

What I adore about him is his antics. He always has a way to make me laugh with his crazy habits like changing his voice (not necessarily voice impressions but still...). He's always so much fun to be around.

B=Beauty: What do they find most beautiful about you? "Your laugh, your smile, I wanna say your skin, but that sounds really creepy...(😂) I wanna say your personality too."

His consideration and his kindness. He says he's not a good person, but he is actually very kind and caring. I also love his laugh. So much so to the point where it's almost like a mission to be able to hear it at LEAST once or twice whenever we're on the phone or with each other.

C=Cuddles: Do they like cuddling? "I don't think I have to answer that (lol)! Like it's pretty obvious!" (Simple answer: Yes)

Simple answer: Yes.

D=Date: What's their favorite date you've had? We went bowling after seeing a movie at a mall. It was a lot of fun.

I'd probably say the bowling date too, even though it ended on a less than happy note that I'm not getting into. Everything is fine now, don't worry.

E=Embarrassed: What about you makes them flustered? "I'm not flustered easily, that's the problem. I've only been nervous...I've never really been embarrassed..."

When he starts consistently complimenting me...idk why I get so flustered and embarrassed when he starts doing that but I do...

F=Forever: How do they plan the rest of your life together going? "I feel like it would go pretty great...Like you know how to...control me. ... So...WONDERFULLY! MORE WONDERFUL THAN WONDER WOMAN!!"

We see us being really happy together actually. We have all sorts of date ideas and have talked about what kind of things we'd do if we were married and whatnot.

G=Gifts: Do they like giving gifts? Receiving them? "I give gifts..." He is such a spendthrift. He can take gifts, but he usually says he doesn't need anything. But if given the chance and ability, he would literally buy anything and everything he could to make his loved ones happy. (Which I can appreciate, but I'm always like "I don't need it." But he's like "I want you to have it!" "I don't need it!" "Take it!" It's a bunch of back and forth with this...😅)

I'm not bad at giving gifts because I'm always going by what kind of things the recipient would really like/appreciate/be able to use. Plus, my mindset is if I'm able to get the gift, then I'll get it, but if it's out of my budget then I'll have to look at something else. With receiving though, I'm easy to please, so I'm pretty appreciative about whatever I'm given.

H=Hello: What's their favorite way to greet you? "Hug and a kiss. That sounds so sappy! 'Oh, look! I'm a bleeding heart!'" (Looks like could kill you, is a cinnamon roll. I said this to him when asking this and he stopped halfway through an empty threat. I said, "What are you gonna do?" He said, "Most likely nothing..." "That's what I thought!" (I got unexpectedly bold with him lol. The most he'd do is probably pin me down and tickle me to tears...))

Tbh kinda same.

I=Impression: What was their first impression of you? "Honestly my first impression was that you were a cool girl...even though you were kinda quiet. I also noticed that you were very...cool, kind, pretty..."

For me, it was kinda like, "Oh, he's nice. He's fun to have a conversation with. I hope we can be good friends." And then we became more than that lol

J=Journal: Do they keep a journal? He does keep a journal that he doodles in from time to time. Not as often as he used to though.

I don't really keep a journal, but I do have a songbook that I write in sometimes when I do get inspiration from him.

K=Kisses: What's their favorite part of you to kiss? "I guess the obvious lips?"

Basically same. And his cheeks and other basic places where couples usually kiss each other.

L=Love: How do they tell you they love you? Most of the time, it's just a straight out, "I love you." He says it, he texts it, he sends graphics, emojis, and gifs.

As for me, basically same. I'd say it, I'll text it, I'd send images and gifs and emojis.

M=Mischief: Do they prank you? Prank with you? "I mean, I feel like it'd be both. ... I'd prank you AND join you." This boy is a frickin' gremlin and a troll. Mischief could be his middle name...

Frankly, we both feel and do the same things about a lot of these.😅

N=Never: What's something they would never do to you? "Hurt you."

Force him into something he doesn't want to do.

O=Original: How original are they when it comes to wooing you? "I mean...pretty original. ...We're not standard people."

Idk...it's not really something that I think about tbh

P=Protective: How protective are they of you? "I got a knife. That's all you need to know."

I got a taser. That's all you need to know.

Q=Quiet: What quiet, peaceful moments do they appreciate the most? "Cuddling or just watching a YouTube video. Or just sleeping." We literally sleep when on the phone with each other.

Same answer.

R=Romance: How romantic are they? He can be VERY romantic.

I guess I can be kinda romantic what with all the cuddling and kissing a whatnot that we do.

S=Sharing: Are they good at sharing their emotions with you? "Yes." I feel like he's gotten better about it. He used to just internalize his emotions, but for a good while, he's grown more open about his thoughts and feelings.

I'm pretty good about expressing how I feel because I essentially wear my heart on my sleeve. If I have an opinion, there's a chance that it'll be heard by someone. Most likely him.

T=Trust: How much do they trust you? "A lot! A Lot! A LOT!!"

Same answer. We trust each other with a lot. The things we've talked about. We've revealed so much to each other already, and we're not even 5 months in yet.

U=Upset: How do they comfort you when you're upset? He hasn't really been upset. But, if the situation were to arise, most likely I'd primarily talk to him to get it out. That's mainly when he's sad. If he's mad, then I'd let him cool down, then we'll talk.

He somehow always has the right words to say. At one point I was going through a wave of grief at the loss of my favorite uncle and I was telling him about it. That day, I was feeling like crap and I couldn't cry for a long while that day until I told him about it and he was saying that in his culture (he's Mexican) the loved one isn't truly dead until they're forgotten, so as long as we keep his memory alive then he's still alive in our hearts. That honestly was what broke me and allowed me to let it out with him by my side. He doesn't know this bc I haven't told him yet, but it's moments like this that stick with me because they remind me of how caring and compassionate he really is/can be.

V=Vulnerable: When was the first time they were vulnerable with you? We haven't really had a moment where he was vulnerable yet, so this can't really be answered yet. There will be an update when the time comes.

As for me, the vulnerable moment is basically described under U. Even though I'm more emotional than him, that was probably the most vulnerable I had ever been with him.

W=When: When did they realize they were in love with you? In middle school. We just didn't realize it. The full story is in a past post that I can link to (insert link here.)

Same answer.😂

X=Xaphoon: What kind of music reminds them of you? "Michael Jackson." (In middle school, I went through a phase where I'd watch, play, and listen to only Michael Jackson to the point of it being pretty unhealthy.)

Imagine Dragons. He's a rocker and the only rock band that I'd really listen to would be Imagine Dragons, and so every time I listen to them, i think about him too bc he also really likes the band.

Y=Yearning: Do they yearn for you when you're apart? "I mean...texts kinda prove it..." Short answer: yes.

Short answer: Yes.

Z=Zoo: Would they want any pets? He wants frickin' snakes, but he knows that I hate them, so he claims he'll put it in a shed in the backyard and make sure of taking precautions when cleaning up the shed and taking extra care that they wouldn't escape. Other than that, he loves animals, so he'd be happy with almost anything (that's reasonable/safe).

I want a cat. Even now I want a little tuxedo munchkin cat. He knows this and knows that I'm a cat person so it's a little obvious that if/when we get married and start living together that a cat would be roaming around at some point.

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

I hope y'all enjoyed reading through this. I enjoyed the concept with a favorite character, but I wanted to try it with an actual person, and it worked out pretty well. He and I had fun answering them too. So I hope other couple will find this and give their own answers. It doesn't have to be deep dark secrets or things that reveal something strictly personal. Just some basic responses that answer the questions, and if you want to give extra details, then that's your choice. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and I can't wait to see what kind of responses this gets.

[mistress-and-servant]

Butlers and Oatmeal

He woke up feeling groggy and still heavy from the night before. Cold air was tickling the underside of his belly and he instinctively tried to pull his nightshirt down in vain. It didn’t even budge, actually bouncy up more after he let go to expose more of his corpulent form. He brought a hand to his tummy and groaned. He was still so bloated from the feast the night before. He took a second to breathe in, and then tried to sit up. He struggled but ultimately fell back down on his back, the bed creaking as he did so. His whole body jiggled, including his belly, and he felt something quickly rise up from the depths of his gut into his throat. He was too slow to stop the massive belch and blushed as he rubbed his belly. It was a good thing his Mistress wasn’t with him, or he’d be even more embarrassed.

He tried to lean one side to help make it easier to get up. He rocked back and forth, his belly wobbling in the air, until he was finally able to roll onto his side. Not being pinned down to the bed by his tummy felt so much better to him now, and he forced himself to finally sit up. His belly flopped onto his thick thighs, close to reaching his knees if he wasn’t careful. His shirt had completely ridden up to just below his chubby moobs. He finally noticed the pinching feeling just below his belly from the too small shorts he wore to sleep. He didn’t really care how ill fitting his night clothes were, as long as his suits and outfits still fit him relatively ok. He scratched the back of his fluffy cat ears as a form of encouragement to ready himself to get up on his paws. He braced himself with one hand on the bed, and used the other to cradle his belly. With a grunt he slowly made it onto his feet, slightly unstable, but with his tail sticking out to counteract the weight on his front, he was able to keep his balance.

He slowly stretched his back, bending back until he heard the pops of relief form his aching bones. It made his belly stick out even further. He yawned and began to make his way to the bathroom, but he kicked something and he paused. He usually kept his room clean, it was rare for him to leave things on the floor. He looked down and pushed his belly out of the way to see his maid outfit crumbled on the floor. ‘Oh, that’s right, I was so exhausted after my meal to properly put it away.’ He slowly crouched down and picked the garment up. It was wrinkled and covered in stains of all the food he’d eaten the night before. He put it in his laundry hamper, he needs to collect all the dirty laundry today, but that could wait until after breakfast.

Since his maid outfit was dirty, he decided to just put on his butler suit. He brought it out from the closest, started tugging up the pants as he struggled a bit to pull past his thighs. He put his white button down shirt on, holding his breath to close all the buttons. But even when he did breathe out, gaps formed in between a few of the buttons. The shirt was no longer long enough to cover all of his tummy, his bottom roll was plainly visible. He sucked in his tummy again to force his pants button close, and also put his belt on. He was on the last hole before he needed a longer one, or better yet, suspenders. When he released his breath again, his belly completely covered the front of his pants. He put on the suit jacket and left it open because there was no hope to close it around his belly. Last were his white gloves, the easiest thing to put on, but still a slight difficulty with his pudgy hands. And he was all dressed. Just a second to brush his hair and he was all ready to start his day by greeting his Mistress. And also make breakfast.

✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧

He’d decided that breakfast could be simple. A bit of oatmeal to start the day, to warm the soul and the body. He had eaten his bowl quickly before setting the table for his Mistress. A nice steaming bowl with cinnamon on top with apple slices and blueberries sprinkled on. He placed a spoon next to it and placed down her cup of coffee. Black with no sugar, just like she liked it. With everything prepared, he swiftly made his way to her room, knocked three times, waited a few seconds, then made his way inside.

She was already dressed, just finishing the last few touches to her makeup. She was beautiful, radiant in his eyes. She glanced at him through the mirror and pouted, “What? No maid outfit today?”

He bowed, “My apologies Mistress, but my maid outfit was dirty and wrinkled. I need to wash it before I can wear it again. I know how much you love to see me wear it.”

She sighed, “It can’t be helped. You are also quite dashing in your suit as well, so it’s not all bad.”

“Thank you Mistress. I only wish to please you.”

His Mistress placed her makeup away and stood up. She was dressed in a lovely brown sweater dress, which hugged her small frame. She walked up to him and hugged his arm to her chest. She barely came up to his chest, her head leaning on just below his shoulder. Her hair, a bright fiery red, was tied in a bun, her hair slicked back. Not a strand out of place. Her bright green eyes looked up to him, expectantly. “How is my gorgeous kitty today? Did you have a nice sleep?” She patted his belly lovingly. He blushed in response and began to lead her out the room and to the dining room.

“I slept very well Mistress, just like I always do after you take care of me.”

“Oh that’s good. I was quite worried that I may have pushed you too hard last night.” She gently caressed his tummy, pushing in a bit to feel his warmth. He had led her to her seat, expertly guiding her and then gently pushing the seat in. He placed a napkin on her lap and then stepped back to stand behind her for if she needed him. His ears twitched as he began to listen for the footsteps of the other servants. The mansion was beginning to stir for the morning. He heard the clink on the spoon being placed down and the rustling of fabric, which brought his attention back to his Mistress. She was watching him, had she said something to him that he didn’t catch?

He bowed, “My apologies, Mistress, did you need something?”

“Have you eaten?” He blushed in embarrassment, “Of course Mistress.”

“Without me? How much?”

“Just a small bowl.”

Her eyes widen, “That’s all? Isn’t my pretty kitty hungry?”

His blush harder, “No Mistress. I still feel the feast that I ate last night. The single bowl is enough for now.” He instinctively placed his hand on his big belly. He was still so bloated from last night that he couldn’t dare eat a big meal for breakfast. But he knew his Mistress wouldn’t allow this.

She pouted, “Bring me the pot that you made this oatmeal in.” He bowed, “Right away Mistress.”

He brought back a medium sized pot that was about half full of the still warm oatmeal. He unconsciously made more than he needed. This would be his downfall. His Mistress crossed her arms and looked down on him with her piercing green eyes, “I want you to eat all of it right here in front of me.”

He looked down at the pot and gulped. He hesitated for just a split second before he brought the oatmeal to his lips. He tipped the bottom up and began to swallow mouthfuls of the warm meal. His stomach groaned at the sudden volume of food. It was not happy with him one bit. But he couldn’t go against what his Mistress wished, so slowly but surely he ate and ate. His stomach was already pushing against the buttons on his shirt, but now they began to struggle even more as his belly bulged against them.

He moaned as he continued to gulp down his breakfast. His tail curled around his legs as a way to comfort himself as he began to feel pangs of pain in the pit of his stomach. He was breathing deeply now, he closed his eyes and scrunched up his face as he fought through the pain. Finally, after what felt like forever, the last of the oatmeal slid into his mouth, down his throat, and squeezed into his tight belly. He heard a ping and felt his belly push forward a bit forward. As he placed the pot down on the dining room table, he looked down to see that one of his buttons had popped off his shirt. Which wasn’t a surprise since his tummy stuck out a couple of inches more than it had just minutes before. He groaned, and just before he was going to cradle his belly, small gentle hands were placed underneath it and lifted it up. He looked up at his Mistress, who had gotten up from her seat at the dining room table without him noticing. A big smile was now on her face, and her eyes were warm again.

“There’s my good handsome kitty. Now you’re going have all the energy you need for the morning.”

He blushed again, but basked in his Mistress’s attention.

[ickleronniekinsemotionalrange]

Wicked Games - chapter 1

Hide and Seek

pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Latina!reader

word count: 2.8k

tw: sexual harassment, drunk idiots and a SMIDGE of angst, no (Y/N).

series summary: Francisco Morales enters your life by opening up a door you didn’t even know existed. Things start pretty simple: you have a crush on his friend and he has a crush on your friend, why not help each other? Sadly for both of you, nothing in life is easy and love is, most definitely, the hardest part. 

chapter summary: let the games begin. (*evil laughter*)

AN/: hi my dear reader! i’m really happy to have you here, have a drink on me, relax before the REAL angst begins. I received a suggestion from @hailmary-yramliah to make a series loosely based on Silver Lining’s Playbook with our beloved Frankie. And so, many many moons later, here i am, offering you something to quench your thirst for this lovely, soft, cute cinnamon roll. It was (and still is) very important to me that reader is Latina because I see little to no representation for us out there and bc let’s be honest it makes me laugh when I read about reader not being able to talk/understand Spanish when i’m mexican as hell. (That doesn’t mean I won’t write about non-descriptive or gender-neutral readers!) I think the series will have like 10 chapters, 15 max and i will try to set a schedule to update it (so i can be constant with something for once). Anyway i’ll leave you to it, hope you enjoy!

comments, reblogs and opinions are super appreciated 🤍

Another rainy Saturday wasted on doing nothing but thinking of him. Going back and forth on your tiny living room, waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for a particular someone to call. You wondered if he had forgotten or if he simply didn’t care. It had been nearly two weeks since he gave you that cheeky smile that made your cheeks heat up.

You walked barefoot to the kitchen to make yourself a fifth cup of coffee for the day, knowing it was a bad idea because of the amount of caffeine that was in your system already. But it was either that or the cigarettes you kept in your nightstand’s drawer, always keeping them accessible though you promised your mom you would quit. And you tried your best to stop, but the your anxiety was murmuring for you to grab just one, what was the harm anyway?

Before your feet could guide you towards the bedroom, your phone rang, making your heart skip a beat and gasp as you threw yourself on the couch to answer. You silently squealed and then breathed deeply to calm your nerves down before picking up. 

“Hello?” you said feigning innocence and pretending not to know who was calling.

“Hi, preciosa” he said in a raspy, sensual voice. You shivered at the nickname he gave you, feeling the full effect of those damn butterflies in your heart. Had it been anyone else calling you that, you would’ve turned them down oh so quickly, snapping with “no me llames preciosa, imbécil”. But he wasn’t just anyone else and the thought made you giggle, as you remember how you met.

“Santi” you said, enjoying the way he laughed with you “to what do i owe the pleasure?” you asked, hoping he was going to ask you out.

“hm, i think the pleasure will be all mine if you say yes” Santiago said and though you couldn’t see him, you knew there was a smirk growing in his beautiful face. 

You muted the mic of the phone with your hand and extended your arm to stop him from listening your muffled, excited yelps. Without missing a beat, you mischievously asked:

“say yes to what, García?” 

he chuckled

“to coming with us to MacLaren’s to have some drinks tonight”. Your heart sunk.

 “Us?” you said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“Oh yes, my brothers, you know the army guys i told you about?” there was a moment of silence between the two of you. Of course you knew who he was talking about, but you definitely were hoping for a date, not a group reunion. Santiago said your name “Tell you what why don’t you bring a friend over so you won’t be too intimidated by a group of army dudes?” he asked again, trying to convince you to go. Truth was, you didn’t need much convincing because you were aching to see him.

“Fine Santiago, pero solo porque quiero verte” you replied. 

He chuckled and he sound made your heart flutter. 

“Me muero por verte también, nos vemos allá a las 10” he said seductively. 

You were positively swooning. 

“Sale, bye” you answered and hung up. 

Your mind started to race, what would you wear? who could come with you? you immediately thought about you best friend, but you discarded the idea just as quickly because she was on her honeymoon with her bride. So you went for the next best thing, your friend Camila who in her own words was “always down to clown”. 

She said yes before you could even finish your sentence. The idea of muscular army guys helping her make her decision. You would pick her up at her place and head downtown to join Santiago and his buddies. 

You glanced at the clock and read 7:17 pm, you had plenty of time to get ready and pick your friend up. You turned on some music and danced on your way over to the bathroom, the cigarettes long forgotten. 

You had met Santiago at the same bar you were going to see him tonight. MacLarens, a packed bar, full of rowdy drunk people and loud music and assholes who feel entitled to press against you as you dance with your friends. You struggle to get some drunk idiot off of you, after repeatedly telling him you weren’t interested, Sam (your best friend) and Lola (her fiancée) trying to help you. Then you shove him off and as he was going to fall on his ass, a pair of arms catch him and pull him up before turning him around to face them. 

“I counted six ‘no’s’ and three ‘i’m not interested’. Do you not understand the meaning of those words, man?” he spoke with a severe tone.

You stare at the man talking. You’re both grateful and mad at him. Grateful because he makes the asshole leave. Mad because you’re a big girl and you can fend for yourself, and you wish men would have the same amount for respect for you than they have for other men when they tell them you’re not interested. 

You roll your eyes.

“Hey big guy, i had that under control, you know?” you say, annoyed. 

“Oh i know that preciosa, i was just sick of him being a prick” he says with a smirk.

“No me llames preciosa”

The man whole heartedly laughs.

“What’s so funny, chico?” you ask him in a mocking tone.

“Nothing. Just, never had met a girl who wasn’t swooning when i called her that” he said, arching a brow.

“First time for everything, guapo” you give him a sarcastic smile and a wink.

Sam and Lola laugh behind you and motion the bar before you turn around and meet with a pair of beautiful dark eyes. You get a whiff of his scent. Not cologne, no, but it’s very pleasant, like aftershave and spices. He laughs tenderly at your awkwardness, as you fumble with the rings on your fingers, suddenly very aware of the close proximity. 

You realise how stupid the whole situation is, and giggle too.

Needless to say, Sam and Lola had to practically drag you out of the club, but not before you hand the guy (who’s name your learnt was Santiago) your number. You stop at the door and turn around to look at him. He winks.

You look in the mirror for the millionth time, trying to persuade yourself you don’t look too bad. You sigh and grab your keys, you head to Camila’s.

Camila was never your nicest friend, she made some very hurtful backhanded comments that you would always try to laugh off. So her greeting when getting in your car didn’t even surprise you.

“Hola chicaaaa” she said in a (racist) accent “oh, i thought you said to ‘wear something nice’ but never mind, i guess” she said looking at your outfit for the night. 

You tried your best to ignore her and closed your eyes, exhaling deeply.

“Let’s have fun, shall we?” you answered turning the engine on. 

The club was as busy as you would’ve expected it to be on a Saturday night. People rubbing against each other, drunk girls ‘wooing’ at the bar and then a hand raises in the air, waving at you to come closer. You smile as you recognise the owner of said hand.

To say you’re nervous is the understatement of the century. Your legs feel like jelly as you walk toward the table. You’re so nervous you don’t realise there are other people besides Santiago at the booth until they stand to greet the both of you. 

“preciosa” he says, a hand reaching out to hold your waist as he plants a kiss on your cheek. You look down to hide the blush covering your face and smile.

“nice to see you too, García” you respond and place a hand on his chest to steady yourself. 

“and who do we have here?” he asks, moving you lightly to get a better view at your friend. 

“Santi this is Camila” you say, clearly not too happy to introduce them. Camila gives Santi her hand and he sets a light kiss on the knuckles. You clench your jaw and finally look at his friends to focus on something other than his lips on her skin. 

You smile, kind and genuine and turn to Santi.

“Can I get to know their names too?” you say jokingly.

“Ugh, fine if you must” he says rolling his eyes, messing around too. Santi tells them your name as you wave and he continues:

 “These two are brothers. I guess that much is obvious” he says as he points to two handsome blondes “Will and Benny” he says again as the brothers smile at you and nod in synch, you laugh. “Or Ironhead and… well, still Benny” you all laugh, except for Ben who sticks his tongue out. 

Santi points at a slightly older looking man with unforgiving eyes and a greying beard “This is Tom, our leader” he states with a tight-lipped smile and a nod. Tom gives you an inappropriate smirk that instantly makes you uncomfortable and you can do nothing but smile awkwardly. 

You look at Santi again as he speaks “And this is my brother, Fish” you turn again to look at the newly introduced man. 

A slightly shorter man (and i say slightly because Tom is a fucking building) is now standing in front of you. The first thing you notice is a funky-groovy looking Hawaiian shirt, cool colors that compliment his tanned skin. Your eyes wander to the soft looking skin of his neck and then travel to his face. A patchy beard that happens to be perfect in its own way, plush lips and a soft looking mustache you weirdly yearned to touch. Una romántica nariz aguileña (as your grandmother would’ve put it) and then your eyes connect with the most beautiful pair of chocolate eyes you’ve ever seen (yes, even more beautiful than Santiago’s). So full of life, yet so shy. You have to stop yourself from reaching out and setting his cap the way it’s supposed to be. You unconsciously part your lips, admiring the utter beauty of the man. A big hand reaches out to shake yours and the spell is broken, what was probably seconds felt like absolute eternity. You shake his hand, feeling electricity coursing through your whole body as you take in the warmness of his hand in yours. Then a voice snapped you out of your fantasy:

“Or you know, you can call him by his real name, right Frankie?” Tom said, trying to enter a world that seemed to be only yours and Frankie’s. He didn’t, but he did get you both out of it. Both you and Francisco’s hands pulled appart but your eyes were still on each other’s. You smiled slowly, still very focused on him and chuckled, feeling the warm spreading on your cheeks, you cast your view downward and ask:

“hmm, fish uh?” you said looking back at him and gave him a smirk “what’s that about?” 

he chuckles shyly.

“long story” he says nonchalantly. 

His voice is deep, but soft and mostly, shy. 

You nod. 

“So…” comes Benny “can we sit already?” 

Everyone laughs, except for you and Frankie who appear to be in your own little world. This time it isn’t Tom who breaks the fantasy, but someone equally annoying:

“Come on chica” Camila says taking your hand and forces you to sit at the booth, she sits between you and Santi. You try hard not to roll your eyes.

“So, Camila” Santi says “ese nombre me suena latino, no?”

Camila looks at you like she’s waiting. You chuckle softly.

“Camila no habla español” you say to him. He looks confused.

“You’re not latina?” he asks her looking disappointed.

She tilts her head as if she didn’t understand the question.

“Of course i’m latina, my mother’s cuban, my father’s from Puerto Rico” she states proudly.

“But you don’t speak spanish?” Frankie asks this time, he was too, looking confused .

“No, never saw the point in it” she says as though it’s obvious.

“Te lo pierdes, nena” you say shrugging as you turn to the waiter to order your drinks. You miss the way everyone turns to look at you. When you look back at them, you blush furiously at the stares.

“What” you say shyly.

“That was so hot” Will says.

You blush even deeper. 

“No me dijiste que es latina” pipes in Frankie, turning to Santiago.

You’re very taken aback.

“Santiago tampoco me dijo que tú también” you say smiling at him.

He smiles. 

“Well, the name’s Francisco Morales, wasn’t a hard guess.” He pauses and tries your name on his tongue. “yeah, should’ve known too” he chuckles and you do too. 

“Hey fish stop flirting” Santi says jokingly. It makes everyone laugh, everyone but Frankie who goes beet red and throws him a “cállate”.

The rest of the night was a blast, talking to his friends was so easy. You felt as though they were your friends. They were becoming your friends . 

Everything was great until you saw Camila scooch closer to Santiago and touching him every chance she could get. You really didn’t want to be jealous, but she was the center of attention, making everyone look at her, the guys practically on the palm of her hand. It was hard not to feel the green monster start to rise. Especially when Santiago paid you no mind and you grew tired of the situation. You looked around to try and get your mind off things. You missed the way Francisco’s eyes focused on your profile, blinking slowly. 

He made up his mind, he’d try to get close to you, in whatever way he could.

“Hey” he said just loud enough for you to hear him.

“Hey Francisco” you smiled softly, forgetting about Camila and Santiago “What’s up?” you asked him. 

“I’m kinda bored and i’m also kinda starving” he said timidly “I know this really great dinner like 15 mn away, you in?” he asks with a nervous tone, looking like a lost puppy.

“hmmm” you say pretending to be thinking about it, though you immediately knew your answer “i don’t know, are the milkshakes any good?” you smile.

“Best licuados in town” he says as he smiles too. You nod.

“I’m driving” you say as you both get up. 

The others don’t even realise you’re gone, too wrapped around Camila’s finger. You quickly text her to ask her if she’s fine with getting one of the boys to give her a ride home she answers with two words:

perfect.

toodles.

You sigh in exasperation, good thing you had Francisco to keep you from thinking about her.

Though you were having a very nice time with Frankie, you couldn’t stop thinking about Santiago and how Camila was probably gonna try and make a move on him, mostly because you repeatedly told her in the car you were into him. 

Frankie noticed how you seemed to be elsewhere and he couldn’t help but asking:

“Something the matter? You look a bit distraught” he said softly, not wanting to put you on the spotlight. 

“Yeah, no Francisco don’t worry about it, it’s stupid” you answered trying (but failing) to lie to him. 

“Hey i get it, we’ve known each other for like” he checked is watch “three hours” he pauses “but i’ve been told i’m a damn good listener” he tries. 

“fine” you say, still believing telling him was a bad idea “i hate the idea that right now Santiago’s having a better time with my friend that he did with me” you say exasperated “and i know i should keep this to myself because you’re like his brother and you’re probably gonna tell him i have a very childish crush on him” you say rushing your words and exhaling the air you didn’t knew you were holding. 

Francisco raises his eyebrows in surprise, amazed at your sincerity and your courage. Against his better judgement (and his heart screaming NO, IDIOT DON’T DO IT) he takes pity on your aching heart. 

“Tell you what” he speaks up “I’ll help you with Pope if you help me with Camila”

Your face falls instantly. 

“Oh you too?” you ask feeling as if the weight of the world was on your shoulders “everyone’s in love with her now or what?” you ask again, defeated as you take your head in your hands and rest in on the table. 

Francisco purses his lips and pats you on the head gently.

“i’m sorry” he says (and he means it) “but i mean it when i say pope likes you, he just needs a little push towards the right direction”

You lift your head, resting your chin in your arms.

“You think so?” he nods “And you’d do that, for me?” you ask again with puppy dog eyes. 

He smiles softly and nods again. 

“Sería un placer”.

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

You Are My Sunshine

From the MoonBrella Academy

Warnings: some angst and fluff A/N: Honey and Leon are left with the aftermath of Klaus's decision to tear apart another timeline by rescuing his infant self from the same childhood he endured at the hand's of The Monocle. Selina, though, couldn't be any more delighted.

Part 1 Sweet Child O Mine

Honey stood full of bewilderment in the middle of the living room. The flash of blue light temporarily blinded her making the 27 year old lose her bearings. She stumbled, caught herself and clutched the bundle to her chest out of instinct. It began to cry.

The young mother remembered herself then. In her daze, she had proffered a pinky finger to the infant. He accepted and sucked on it hungrily for only a few moments.

Honey knew in her very soul that the man from the portal, the man from outside the abortion clinic in 1968 and the man in the FBI posters from 1963 were one and the same. That he and this baby she cradled and Leon were identical but not. His name was Klaus. Nicklaus. Sunny. Their Sunny. He came from her. From Leon. WAS Leon. She saw that in his eyes. His cheeks. That all too brief gummy smile when Klaus had reluctantly handed the baby over.

Annoyed with only a finger to suck on, the baby started to wail. Not cry. A bone rattling scream that Honey never once heard from Selina. She stared at the little boy who had freed an arm to tug on his ear. He moved into a full-bodied tremble while his lip quivered.

“Shhh,” Honey cooed. She swayed back and forth to soothe the screaming child. “You know when Leon gets upset, his lip does that too?” She used her index finger to wiggle Sunny’s as a distraction.

He inhaled with a violent shudder. Wild green eyes locked with Honey’s before he cried at the top of his lungs once more. His eyes never leave hers except occasionally to gaze downwards over her chest. She knew Sunny was starving as the tears spilled down her own face. There weren't any bottles or formula or anything for him available. Selina never used one anyway. She went from the tit to the sippy cup.

Now he curled his little fingers around the muslin of Honey’s shirt. She cocked an eyebrow as he tugged trying to free her breast from its covering.

“Cheeky little pervert! You must be Leon?” she giggled and separated Sunny’s fingers from her shirt. The little boy screamed again this time louder. He yanked at her and wailed like a banshee. Honey covered her ear with one hand, “Jesus! You'll wake the dead!!”

Almost on cue, Sunny's tiny fist balled tight around Honey’s shirt began to glow. It shined a brilliant blue that matched the portal Klaus had stepped through. Because she wasn't offering her breast to him, the little one shoved his free hand into his mouth. It shone with the same light.

“What in Saint Jude?” Honey used her fingertip to spread his little fist open. She traced her nail along his now opened palm, fascinated. “This is beautiful..”

“Hey Gracie.”

There was a voice behind Honey. One she knew but hadn't heard. That thick Brooklyn accent. The scent of whiskey and cigarettes. The tears threatened to spill down her cheeks as she turned to look. To see her Uncle Lenny that she missed every day. That she longed to talk to about her life. But Sunny went back to his screaming, and Honey knew Lenny was gone.

“I CAN'T FEED YOU! I WASN'T PREGNANT WITH YOU SO I'M NOT EQUIPPED. PLEASE STOP CRYING! I'M SORRY HE TOOK YOU AWAY FROM A VERSION OF ME WHO COULD PROVIDE FOR YOU!”

Honey began to weep now. She felt helpless. Disconnected from the infant she rocked gently without thought. As if a tiny part of her brain that beat her down and told her she failed Selina. There was a reason the little girl preferred Leon to her. That Honey just wasn't good enough.

Now here she was unable to do the simplest thing, calm a crying infant. Her big fat tears poured onto Sunny’s face, and his crying ceased immediately. He blinked those indescribable eyes a few times before inhaling as deep as his little lungs could manage. She braced herself for another brain piercing howl. Instead he exhaled a coo wrapped up in a smile while staring directly in his new mother’s own eyes.

And there it started, a tether from Honey’s heart to the little boy’s. He tangled his fingers around her hair that brushed over his cheeks as she started to laugh. It trickled down to Sunny and through him. He responded with giggles that lit a fire in Honey’s chest. Quite literally.

Her breast and nipple felt like they were ablaze. She winced and gasped at the pain before taking one in her hand and held it tightly. The searing took her breath away before it spilled out on to her grip in the form of liquid. Honey's breast started leaking.

Without thought or hesitation she freed herself, finally, from her top. Sunny’s eyes became a bright green the moment he saw her offered breast and latched on. He sucked hungrily, little eyes rolling back in his head as he tightened his grip on Honey's hair. The baby opened and closed his fist as he ate. Honey hummed.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray,” she sang and swayed as if she were dancing with the baby. “You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away.” Honey bent to kiss Sunny’s forehead. He heaved one more great sigh and fell asleep.

The clock on their mantle struck 3pm, and Honey panicked. Selina’s dance class.

-------

Honey slipped past the other parents to the empty seat Leon had saved between himself and Tom and Ella. Her giant suede purse slung around her body more like a satchel. She sat down rather gingerly, greeted the Kidmans and let her long hair fall loose from under her beret. She smiled at her husband, all flushed cheeks and bright brown eyes.

From Leon’s angle as he kissed her hello it looked like a babydoll sticking out of her bag. Instead, to his shock, Honey carefully pulled a human baby from inside bundled up to its large eyes. Familiar ones that held Leon's gaze as she unzipped the little winter jacket that had been Selina’s.

Honey removed the tiny tossle cap. Underneath it was a baby boy (as beautiful as Selina) who released a satisfying coo. Then the little one turned to reach for Leon; to Honey’s dismay, he recoiled. She sniffed her displeasure while Sunny dove face first into her chest. Not for a breast, but simply a snuggle.

“The least you could do is hold him,” Honey’s tone was icy as she faced forward.

She caught her daughter’s eye from across the room and they waved at each other with enthusiasm. Selina pointed with sheer delight at the bundle in her mommy’s lap. Honey nodded and made the baby wave at his sister who bounced around in her tutu before the teacher took her hand and gently guided Selina back in line. Honey mouthed she was sorry.

"I'm just trying to figure out why my missus has got a baby that she wasn't pregnant with a few hours ago? Care to explain, love?”

Leon’s eyes were filled with worry as he looked at Honey. The tone of his voice was more tender than accusatory as he took one of her hands and squeezed it. Honey melted as she often did when it came to Leon's touch.

"A magical door opened up in our living room and that fake American cousin of yours, you know the one from the abortion,” she whispered this, “clinic?” Honey took a breath before continuing, “And I'm pretty sure he is our son from the future. He was in those FBI posters too. Back when we turned ourselves in. Anyways, he said his name was Klaus? Nicklaus. Nicklaus, Leon. He said well, this is ALSO our kid,” she presented the baby to Leon again, “from the future."

“I think you need to stop taking that blooming fertility concoction my mum and aunts made for you in Greece last summer. It's doing your head in because you sound like a bleeding nutter.”

"Leon, he’s our Sunny. Just like you predicted. You believed me then. I promise. Just hold him. Believe me again, please?” Honey pleaded with her husband.

“I quit drugs cold, and you've gone barmy. Then nicked some poor punter’s baby.” Anyone could tell Leon didn't even swallow one word spoken just now.

"First off, that concoction is cinnamon, honey, nettles and primrose oil. Nothing with drug properties. You're the one on maca, tribulus fruit and asparagus. Suck your own cock and see how it tastes." Honey stuck her chin out in defiance.

Tom choked on the cigar he was smoking. Meanwhile a knowing smile crossed Ella’s face. Her eyebrow raised in amusement at the direction this was headed. The Kostas couple were incredibly sexy when they argued. Honestly, they felt the same about each other.

"That's because you're not supposed to give me head, I'm supposed to put it in you. Remember that's how babies are made? Bloody hell.” Leon sighed and gave into his wife. He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. Then he held out his arms, “Fine, just give him to me for cuddle”

Honey handed Sunny over to Leon who held him aloft. The baby had his fingers in his mouth. They glowed the softest hint of blue to the elder’s fascination. Then he let his little lips drop open to reveal mostly nothing but one lone tooth poking from the bottom gum. That tiny hand shot out to clench a fistful of Leon's goatee with an excited squeal.

Honey bit her bottom lip until she was certain it was going to bleed. A giant lump in her throat made it hard to swallow as she choked back tears willing Leon to get it. To see Nicklaus. Or Klaus. Or Sunny was theirs. She tightened her grip around forearm that she didn't realize had been in her grasp.

She wasn't a woman who prayed, not usually. To a Saint here and there, but quietly now she did. She wanted to convey to her husband that her body just couldn't get pregnant again naturally for whatever reason. Honey had started to bleed heavily before she left the apartment. Another miscarriage as the baby from the future sat wrapped up in Selina’s pink snowsuit. He was a gift just like Sugar no matter where he came from.

Leon studied this little boy. His nose, oddly curved like Leon's even though that was done much later in life. Those big, color changing eyes that moved in all shades of blues and greens in a matter of moments were also Leon's. It was like he held himself in his hands.

“Lovely little muppet.” Leon’s head swam. Sunny kicked his legs a bunch of times and contorted himself so he could suck on Leon's wrist. He let out a ragged breath just as the baby had done with Honey. “γεια, η μικρή μου ηλιοφάνεια,” Leon whispered. Hello my little sunshine.

There wasn't any part of Honey in Nicklaus, not the way there was in Selina. Her mummy’s attitude and defiance and brown eyes that took in the world and sought how to knock it down and start again. Leon shut down the part of his brain screaming REPLICA!

“That sadistic Monopoly man from the FBI or CIA did this, didn't he. Reginald Hargreeves.” Leon wasn't asking Honey, he was telling. He suddenly held Sunny close to his chest. His chin rested on the little boy’s head protectively. Leon kissed his curls as he had done a million times with Sugar and his wife.

She nodded because even her bones sang with revelation. They couldn't speak further because just then Selina burst into view along with the other little girls. She sprung into the air and onto Tom's lap, not her papa’s. He grunted then smiled in his Kidman way which was unnerving to the untrained eye. The little girl patted his cheek then kissed it. Ever one to tame the savage beast.

“Mommy baked me a baby!” she cried.

“She sure did, dollface.” He wouldn’t question a thing for the rest of his life.

Now she forsook Kidman to crawl across her mummy to gawk at the baby nestled into Leon's chest. “Hello, poppet. Papa calls me that.”

Sugar wedged her finger in Sunny's grip. They considered one another with fascination. Then Sunny screamed and giggled happily before putting her finger in his mouth.

Now Selina squealed with excitement and yanked it back. They played a game of offering and sucking for a few moments before the little girl declared that Sunny belonged to her. She stuck up her chin with a look of pride and contentment with herself. With the situation.

“He's my baby. Ok?” Neither Honey nor Leon would ever argue with that.

----

Winter of 1973

Honey sat cross-legged on the floor beside the Christmas tree. Her impossibly long hair hung over her shoulder and wrapped around Sunny who sat in her lap. He absently sucked on a thumb while his free hand flexed and twisted around his mother’s thick mane. Little hands flickered their occasional blue while Honey hummed a carol under her breath.

Leon was stationed in a large comfy chair, his one foot slung over the side. His foot wobbled anxiously. A handful of old journals and papers spread out over his lap. Books that had showed up one day without a messenger. Papers Tom had smuggled out of the CIA from insiders. All leading back to the nefarious billionaire with a monocle that studied the husband and wife and claimed if they paid him in return, they would get off scot free. Even keep the cash.

Selina danced around the tree. The lights reflected off of the dress Honey had fashioned, at Leon's insistance, from the gift she made just six years ago. It matched the tiny vest Sunny now wore as he bounced and wiggled rhythmically so desperate to dance with Sugar.

“Mummy?” Selina spun in a circle and tossed garland at the tree haphazardly.

“Yes?”

“Sunny’s coming.”

“What? Coming where? He can toddle about like a drunken sailor.”

“Mummy! Not my baby brother. Big Sunny. He's coming for a visit. He looks so much like Papa, but sad.”

Honey and Leon exchanged frantic glances. The traveler, from the future. But how did Selina know? Her papa asked as much.

“Silly! Sometimes he sees us through the windows. He likes to watch you be Mummy and Papa to Sunny. That you are good to him. I saw him and he talked to me. He very much likes Mummy in a.. Daddy way? But also in a me and Sunny way. I told him be here for Christmas. Is he my Theíos? His name is Mouse. Mummy is that..”

“Topolino. His name is Klaus. Nicklaus like Sunny and Pappou. You are too little to understand, Sugar.”

Honey scooped her up too and cradled both of her children in her lap, kissing their foreheads. She looked at Leon who knitv his eyebrows in thought. Mouth agape with just the slight bit of perturbed on his lips. But a shock of wind and blue and magnetism outside the windows on the fire escape startled the Kostas parents into attention.

“HE'S HERE! TOPO IS HERE!” Selina bolted to the window which Klaus tentatively tapped on. Without permission from her parents, she let him in. She held his hand tight and dragged him to the center of the living room.

Klaus stood uncomfortably in front of Leon and Honey. His hair was as long as Honey’s and his beard to boot. He wore giant rose tinted sunglasses and a starfish necklace dangled against his bare chest. His clothes were blue and white, pants striped with it, and very.. ritualistic. Religious almost. Honey told herself he looked like Jesus had fucked George Harrison in Elton John’s closet.

“Happy Christmas?!” He held up a bottle of wine. “I came bearing a gift!”

“Ain't you a little early in The Savior’s journey to be looking like that?” Leon quipped.

“What? Oh this? I had to.. disperse an alternative lifestyle community.”

“A cult?” Honey questioned.

“A commune,” Klaus and Leon said simultaneously.

Honey shivered. “Either way,” she crossed her arms, “we've been expecting you. For two years.”

Tag: @neuroticpuppy @magic-multicolored-miracle @bisexualnathanyoung @forenschik @nightmonsters @vonkimmeren @maerenee930 @elliethesuperfruitlover @070188 @firstpersonnarrator @rob-private @messengeronthemoon @emelieislasheehan @super-unpredictable98 @frogs--are--bitches @duck-noises @the-freckled-luba @a-ghoulish-tale

[celeste-clearwater-06]

Beauty and the Beast || Pt. 1

Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Well Y/N certainly hadn't expected her night to end like this.

It wasn't intentional (at least on her part), but I guess that's what you get for trying to rescue your brother from the grasps of a Dragon-sick King. Her brother, Bard of Laketown, was trying to peacefully console the King under the mountain, however, with his persistence, came Thorin's fast, ill-ridden impatience, and he was accused of trying to steal the Arkenstone. Bard was then captured and locked away in the low dungeons of Erebor, despite the many protests of the King's loyal subjects.

The news had spread fast to Dale. Their leader was captured. And when Y/N, Bard's older sister, and the motherly figure in his childrens' life, had heard this, she was furious.

The kind and loyal king that they invited to their town and sheltered had now imprisoned his own savior. So she took action. Y/N waited until the children had fallen asleep, and then she threw on a dark cloak and rode her horse to the nearby mountain with purpose.

When the young woman reached the kingdoms' large walls, she spotted a small figure waiting at the top, his cinnamon-colored hair falling over his face. He cupped a hand over his mouth and gave her instructions to wait before he shortly returned with a rope. He threw it over the ledge and helped Y/N scale it. When she reached the top, the hobbit hurriedly ushered her inside, and she realized that he was indeed helping her find Bard. Soon enough, after avoiding the king's loyal guards, the two rescuers found Y/N's brother, leaning against a cold stone wall, and looking down at a dagger in his hand.

Bard's eyes widened, seeing his sister unveil the cloak over her head, and scrambled to his feet, clutching tightly to the frigid bars that he was closed behind.

"Sister! What on Middle Earth are you doing here?!" He whispered.

"I've come to rescue you, of course." Y/N responded looking down at the iron-forged lock.

"No! You must run!" Bard pleaded, "Thorin. He's changed! He'll capture you too."

"Then we'll be stuck together." The heroine looked up at her brother with a kind smile, "I promise to get you out of her brother." She pressed a kiss against his forehead through the cell bars. Her brother shook his head.

"Y/N, I'm begging you. He will show you no mercy."

She continued to work on the lock without response, using a small pick to loosen the latch.

Finally, the coil came loose, and Y/N snatched it before it could hit the floor, and then tauntingly held it up in her brother's face. Bard looked at his sister incredulously.

"How did you manage to do that?"

"I've learned a few things here and there."

"Come now, quickly!" Bilbo squeaked, "Before someone finds us!"

The hobbit rushed in opening the cell door, and then quietly led them back through the castle and to the balcony where Y/N came from.

"I'll go down first, and then I'll catch you!" Bard murmured, taking hold of the rope and then ascending to the soft ground below. Y/N thanked Bilbo just as she was about to leap from the wall, but then a booming voice echoed from the shadows.

"What are you doing with my prisoner?!" Y/N froze, and slowly turned, seeing a pair of piercing blue eyes that shimmered from the shadows. She said nothing, still frozen in panic.

"Do you not speak? What have you done with the Bowman?!" The king growled, an animalistic tone to his commanding voice. Y/N swallowed thickly.

"Pathetic..."

Thorin stepped out from the shadows, enticing a gasp from the young woman. The once regally beautiful dwarf was a sight to behold. Dragon-sickness was not kind to this once precious soul. Dark ram-like horns protruded from his raven and silver-streaked hair on either side of his head. His eyes, still blue, glinted in the moonlight above his kingdom, and as he grew closer, she saw them flicker from normal round pupils to thin, demon-like slits, flickering back and forth. On his cheekbones, small black dragon scales had shaped, fading into his rough skin.

The King reached out and grasped Y/N's arm, revealing that the top of his thick calloused hands had the same dark scales that were on his face, and on the end on each of each finger were nightmarish black claws.

He dragged her to the edge of the wall, looking over the edge at Bard, who had drawn his sword.

"Thief! Men! Seize the Bowman!" Thorin solicited, pointing down at his innocent rival. More dwarves had hurried behind him. These dwarves were the company that Y/N helped shelter when they arrived in lake town. Some of them looked to her, recognition flicking on their bearded faces, and then to their king.

"No!" Y/N shouted, "Please! He's innocent!"

"Y/N..." Bard warned, beginning to shrink down as one of the Princes drew back his bow.

"Please..." The girl uttered, trying to swallow back her tears, "Take me instead. Let him go."

"Sister, No!" Bard cried out.

Thorin pulled the woman closer to his height, just downwards the slightest. The King glared, pupils flicking back to circles as he pondered, and then once again to thin lines.

"So be it..." He snarled, carelessly throwing her into the grasp of two other strong Dwarves, and ignoring the cry of Bard calling her name. The king looked over the ledge with a sneer.

"Make sure our Bowman does not come near this place again." Thorin turned back to the woman, “And lock her up! See that she never escapes. We cannot risk her stealing the Arkenstone.”

He faced back towards the balcony, and dismissed them with a wave of his clawed hand.

The two dwarves turned away, one of them letting out a defeated sigh, and they led her to the cell where bard once was. Y/N did not try and struggle, knowing it was no use. Even if the two men were considerably small then her, their strength and speed made of for it. Without another word, the heroine jerked away from their grasp ant into her cell, sitting along the freezing floor.

They looked at her in surprise, and then lowered their heads, leaving her to sit in silence. Y/N was quiet at first, doing nothing but staring blankly at her feet. Heavy footfalls were heard, coming from down the hall, and ceased directly in front of her cell.

She didn't look up from where she started, nor did she even want to.

"You are a fool for taking your brother's place..." Thorin growled at Y/N, though her gaze didn't wander.

"We do foolish things for the people we love." She returned coldly.

"Not all of us."

"And I wouldn't expect any more from such a selfish king as you."

The king snarled, wrapping his scaled hands around the bars of her cage, and shook them abruptly.

"How dare you speak to me that way, you insolent woman!? I am your king!"

This time she looked up at him, tears glinting in the corners of her determined eyes. For a split second, she could see his eyes round darken.

"You are a king. But not the same king I met just days ago when he came looking for shelter. And you are certainly not my king either. You are kind under the mountain, and I serve only my brother."

At this, Thorin just grumbled and pushed away from her cell.

"You will learn to obey me. You have nowhere else to run."

Y/N nodded.

"And you will never change. This sickness has changed you, Son of Thrain. You will find soon enough that there are things more valuable than your precious stone..."

The King waved a hand in disregard with a sickening snarl and left her in peace.

And that's when Y/N let a tear roll down her cheek. Then another. And another. She let out muffled sobs, hoping not to disturb the care-free, loyal and happy company that she once knew, and soon cried until her eyes were dried, and she fell into a deep sleep in the warmth of her cloak, curled in a ball on the floor in a cell in Erebor.

Stay tuned for Part 2!! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!! ❤✨