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emeritusemeritus · 1 month ago

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hi hun, i have a story idea for you, reader and fred weasley if that's alright. reader is pregnant and is due to have her baby on new year's eve but she goes into early labour alone after an argument with fred and gives birth on christmas eve just as fred arrives to make up with her⁷

Hi Anon! Wow when I tell you this has consumed me for days, it’s taken so long to write but I just couldn’t stop! Side note, the name of Fred and Reader’s child is a name I’ve loved since I was a kid and finally got to use it in a fic where it fit perfectly. Hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: pregnancy and childbirth. Graphic descriptions of pain and labour but not of actual birth. Fast labour, precipitous labour. Reader has the pregnancy emotions. arguments and shouting, minor swearing. Reader hits Fred in the arm. Molly Weasley being the OG midwife. I may have some unresolved birth trauma of my own apparently. Happy ending I promise. Not beta read or spell checked.

Word count: 5.5k

Hark now hear the angels sing [Fred Weasley]

"And... that is the last one, we are officially ready for Christmas!"

You beam as you turn towards Fred, having tied the last bow on the last gift you had to wrap. You look at the pile of gifts and smile, partially because it meant that you no longer had to wrap a single other thing but mostly because it was a stack of gifts for your loved ones. You'd be going to the Burrow tomorrow for Christmas Eve to spend a big family Christmas back at the Weasley home and had made sure that not a single person would be missed in the gift exchange.

It was December 23rd and you couldn't be more excited for the holidays. It had snowed overnight making everything seem so much more magical and it would be the last Christmas as a couple before the little one arrived.

With one final proud look towards your pile, you gather the scissors and tape into the little bag to store them and tried to stand up from your place on the floor, realising quickly that it probably wasn't the best idea to wrap the gifts on the floor at 39 weeks pregnant. You wince at the sharp pain that runs down the length of your back at any form of movement and momentarily swallow your pride as you call out your husband.

"Little help?" You asked Fred who was sat on the sofa in your little home, tinkering with a string of lights that just didn't seem to want to work. He looks up and starts chuckling at your pathetic attempts at getting up and stretches his hand out for you to take. He lifts you with ease, something you're very impressed by factoring in your current size and giggle when he places a delicate kiss onto your nose. His hand wraps around your waist, his palm pressed against the curve of your belly with his thumb stroking the stretched skin through your T-shirt.

"Did we wrap anything for Fred jr?" He asks, smirking at you with those mischief filled eyes that you love so much.

"No. Mainly because there is, and will be, no such person."

"Oh come on sweetheart, don't you want a tiny little me running around?" His eyebrows jump up and down for effect, fingers still lovingly stroking your bump.

"I'm hoping for a George," you deadpan, breaking into a laugh when he suddenly pulls you gently towards him by tickling your side. "Anyway, she's a girl."

"Oh yeah? Mother's intuition?" Fred teases, his eyes gazing over your bump as if he's trying to see something that's not there, like an obvious clue of what gender your baby will be.

"Something like that," you smile, reaching up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his smiling lips.

Suddenly, you pull away from Fred with a brief push to his chest, showing your panicked face and the tears that are starting to well in your eyes, all glimmer of happiness gone.

"Princ-."

"I didn't get her anything!" You suddenly cry out, cutting Fred off as he notices the rather sudden change in your demeanour, your voice trembling as the feeling of complete grief consumes you. "What if she comes early and we didn't get her anything? She'll think that we don't love her! Or she'll think that Santa forgot her!"

Tears are streaming down your face now, your breaths coming quicker and quicker as guilt and shame fill your mind. What kind of mother doesn't buy her own baby a Christmas gift?

"Between the cot, the pram and the clothes we've bought for them, plus not to mention the entire house we bought after finding out they were on the way, I'd say they've had enough."

The glare that you shoot at Fred is enough to silence him instantly, the venomous look in your eyes rivalling his own mothers as he quickly realised this is not a time to make jokes.

"This little one isn't due until after Christmas," he says with a much gentler tone now, placing his hand back onto your bump. "They don't need a Christmas present, they'll already have everything they need when they pop out." He regrets his choice of words the second your eyes shoot up to his, knowing that 'pop' made it sound like an easy thing to do, which he'd been warned from almost every female member of his family that it was far from easy.

"When our baby's born," he says, trying again. "They'll have me and their beautiful mummy. And a whole family that loves them, what else could they need?"

Surprisingly, his words do offer comfort and a wave of relief washes over you as you feel calmed by the idea that the baby really did have everything they would need.

"Sorry," you say, feeling a fresh wave of shame taking over you at your slight overreaction, but Fred steps in again to give you a tight squeeze.

"Already the best mum," he whispers, rocking you gently as you stand holding each other, the Christmas lights illuminating the room in a magical display. You feel a little wiggle in your tummy and smile to yourself, your hand slipping down to cradle the spot where you could feel your little one stretching and rolling.

Everything was set for your arrival at the Burrow in the morning, the suitcase was packed with a mixture of your clothes and Fred's, everything down to your spare toothbrush. The gifts were wrapped and the cookies you'd baked earlier that mornings had been placed into a cute metal tin with a bow, placed on the table beside the front door so that you wouldn't forget them.

"Want me to load the car now?" Fred asks, poking his head around the bedroom door.

"I can help," you offer, only to be shut down a moment later by your husband.

"You will do not such thing," he says firmly, though his eyes are soft. "You are going to park your gorgeous little bum down onto the nearest, softest surface and rest."

"But."

"Doctor's orders princess," he winks, making you smile and relent, though you were hardly going to turn down the offer of sitting down for a while before bed, knowing you'd have an early start in the morning. Your back was twinging with discomfort, a crampy feeling radiating between your pelvis and your hips that made you curse yourself for the stupid idea of wrapping presents on a hard floor.

You walked downstairs to grab a warm drink and sit on the sofa with the hope of a warm fire and a Christmas film, stopping to peek out of the Christmas light filled window to watch Fred trying to fit all the presents in the boot of the car. Since you were so far into your pregnancy, almost every magical transportation option was now deemed unsafe, leaving you with only a handful of options for reaching the Burrow. Percy had very graciously secured a ministry car for you to borrow over the holidays, a fact that he was insistent upon repeating whenever it was even vaguely mentioned in conversation, including the precarious nature of securing the car during the ministry's busiest season. Regardless of your brother in laws self importance, you were thankful for his gesture and though the drive would be long, you were actually looking forward to it. You'd prepped snacks, both muggle and magical, had ensured to the point of obsession that the radio was fixed upon the muggle Christmas station so that your entire drive down would be filled with only the cheesiest Christmas songs and you'd even prepped some hot chocolate for the drive, placing two matching Christmas travel cups beside the kettle ready to make just before you left.

A loud crash pulled your attention right back to Fred as you watched him scrambling onto his feet, an array of once neatly wrapped packages on the floor around him. He looks around nervously before catching sight of you in the window, eyes widening, before he attempts to pick up the dropped presents.

Instantly you were moving to the door, your mind spiralling at the idea that they might be broken or wet from the snow, or if Fred was hurt in the skirmish.

"Are you okay?" You ask slightly breathlessly as you scramble to the door, trying to place your shoes on as quickly as you could.

"Sweetheart stay inside, it's icy and you're not coming out here until I can clear it," he says holding up a hand, eyes fixed on your bump as if you accentuate his words.

"What happened?" You ask, trying to steal a glance around his body to look for any damage to the presents that he was slowly picking up, stacking them high in his arms as he attempts to talk to you through a vision blocking stack of presents.

"Well I was trying to balance these ones and the bottom one slipped."

"You can't stack that many! No wonder they bloody fell!" You say, anger simmering under the surface as you watch more and more presents dangerously wobbling in his arms, swaying with the wind and from every movement he makes. "Stop stacking them so high."

"I can do it."

"Obviously you can't!" You snap, feeling the anger rising now from his obvious lack of care to the gifts that you had so painstakingly picked out and wrapped. "What if they're all broken?!"

"They're not all broken," he snarks.

"All? You mean there's broken ones?!" You exclaim, hardly able to push down your anger anymore. You and Fred hardly every argued, but when you did it was almost always a big one that lasted no more than five minutes before you were making up, sometimes longer if he was in the mood to sulk. Uncaring about the ice, you step outside and rush over to the back of the car where Fred continues to pick up the last of the presents from the ground, cringing at what follows when he picks up the very last one.

The telltale sound of damaged box fills your ears at a painfully ironic moment, the sound so obviously being something broken, shattered with the pieces rattling about inside. You gasp as you look upon the misshapen box, seeing the distinctive green wrapping paper all torn and wilted from the snow, knowing instantly what was inside, undoubtedly shattered beyond repair.

You're completely heartbroken at the sight before you and more angry with Fred than you ever remember being.

"You stupid git!" You say, hitting his arm as he turns to you with a look of apologetic shame, though you don't even remotely fall for it, too enraged to give a single thought to his feelings. "I told you that you couldn't carry that many! Now look what you've done!" The box falls from his hands again and lands in a heap on the floor, an ominous rattling crying out all the way down until it crashes upon making contact with the snow.

"It's just a present," he mumbles, trying to downplay the situation as he turns back towards the car, away from your body. His words and aversion to the situation only fuel your anger in the moment, seeing visions of his younger self so uncaring for the consequences of his actions even if it both directly and indirectly affected others.

"It's not just a present you git! It was Fleur's only Christmas present! You have no idea how long it took me to find it," you say, tears welling up in your eyes again as the anger turns to sorrow.'you knew how much she adored snow-globes, something from her childhood that she'd told you about in great detail one night at the Burrow. You'd gone searching around muggle antique stores for something within the brief and had been completely overwhelmed by the beauty of the snowglobe you found for her. It was a little over the budget but you didn't care, knowing how much she would love the beautifully ornate pink and gold filigree on the side, the tiny carousel horses inside that spun around with fine gold glitter covering the beautiful scene. It was decadent and beautiful, and now shattered in a box on your front drive, the glittery water leaking out of a large crack in the box and onto the snow.

"Just give her one of Ginny's," he says defensively, the hint of a shrug ghosting his coat-covered shoulders.

"Oh yeah perfect, because I'm sure she'd love a mug that says Mrs Potter to be!"

You march away from him in a foul mood, stomping your way back into the house as you close the door with a resounding slam, the wreath on the door quivering with the force.

It was the evening before Christmas Eve, you didn't have anything else to give her and you certainly couldn't show up empty handed for only one person, especially one that had become a good friend to you and who had admittedly struggled to fit in with the family at first. You felt wretched and suddenly wanted to stay at home, the idea of going to the Burrow now making you feel physically sick.

You winced as the pain in your back suddenly increased, making you grab ahold of the table beside the door for support as you felt it radiate through your back and settle into your pelvis.

"Look, why don't we just drop by somewhere on the way to mums? See if we can get a replacement." Fred says as he steps through the door, inevitably trailing snow throughout the hallway. You straighten up, recovering from the cramps and turn to him in disbelief, fresh annoyance consuming you again.

"It can't be replaced it was antique!"

"Well something similar then," he mumbles. You don't even fight his words, realising that he didn't have any semblance of idea of how hard you'd worked to make everything perfect for Christmas.

"You haven't even apologised," you huff, kicking off your shoes and wandering towards the kitchen, cringing at the pain that still remains in your lower back.

"What for?!" He asks, sounding mystified. "Hardly my fault I slipped, ice is icy funnily enough."

"Oh piss off Fred, you know it wasn't the ice," you spit out, reaching for a mug as you flick the kettle on again.

"I've had enough of this," he says angrily, marching right back out of the hall towards the front door that slams shut behind him. The silence that follows is almost suffocating as you stand looking at the place he stood only moments before.

The tears flowed freely now, though the gut wrenching sobs had stopped eventually. It had been around half an hour since your argument with Fred when you walked over to the door to attempt to reconcile, not wanting the stupid argument to ruin the last night in your home before tomorrows journey. It was getting late and you wanted to go to bed, exhausted both physically and emotionally and knew that stopping off somewhere tomorrow for a replacement gift for Fleur would only make your wake up call earlier. You sucked in a sharp breath when you stood up from the sofa, feeling a sharp pain shoot right up your pelvis and down your leg right to your toes, the cramping immediately resuming. You let out a few steady breaths and grabbed hold of your bump as if to help calm the pain and waddled towards the door.

When you saw that the car was no longer outside, with no sign of Fred anywhere and only tyre marks in the snow as proof, you knew instantly that he had left. Tears began to prickle at your eyes and you closed the door slowly with a weak shove, the tears coming once again. Fred had never left during an argument, had never just upped and decided to flee. You felt miserably guilty for your overreaction, even if it did seem deserved, and wished more than anything that you could just fix it and go to bed.

You went to make another cup of tea, needing the warmth and the comfort from the drink, the fire having long since died and the room feeling uncommonly chilly. A sharp pain suddenly radiated through your lower abdomen, like a crushing pain that tightened around your hips like a belt that was too small and you gasped, clutching hold of the counter as you waited for it to disappear. During your scramble to reach out for something solid to rest upon, the mug had been knocked to the side and you watched as your favourite mug tumbled to the floor, splintering at your feet into little ceramic shards.

The pain was increasing rather than disappearing and you felt the tightness all over your bump now. When it finally began to abate after a few seconds, your legs felt wobbly and you felt shaken, heart pounding and breathing unsteady as you tried to calm yourself. You barely managed to make it over to the sofa when the pain started again, radiating through your body with increasing intensity that felt like a wave slow building until it crashed upon the sand. You gripped the arm of the sofa as the apex of the pain consumed your body again, this time lasting even longer than before.

When the pain peaked, forcing you onto your hands and knees on the floor in front of the sofa, you realised with a sheer sense of panic that you were completely alone. You couldn't use the floo, couldn't apparate and now you also had no car to get you anywhere or to anyone. Your owl was delivering a message to the Burrow and still hadn't returned, clearly having flown to Wheezes instead, leaving you owl-less. You took long steady breaths when you could, relishing in the few moments of relief that came between your pains. It couldn't be labour, it just couldn't, even though logically you knew that it was more than possible as babies came when they were ready, not when you wanted them to.

You sighed when you felt another wave of pain starting in your extremities, rapidly increasing to a crushing pain around you back and in your last parts. The pain made you breathless and you could hardly believe how quickly things had escalated as you knelt on the floor trying to keep yourself calm but failing miserably in the middle of what you absolutely would not believe, but logically knew, was labour. You choked on a sob when you thought of Fred, that he'd left you at your most vulnerable time, that he'd miss the birth of your child and that you'd have to do this all alone. The plans you'd made for your birth were now completed ruined and you would no longer have the support of Molly, who had been overjoyed at being asked to support you. She was more than just your mother-in-law and after birthing seven children, there was no one else you trusted to guide you through labour. But now completely alone and trapped at home, would you survive? Women died in childbirth all the time, especially when birthing alone. What if the baby didn't survive? What if the cord was around their neck and you didn't know?

Almost like a switch had gone off in your mind, you focused on the task at hand, pushing all fear inducting thoughts out of your head and focused instead of what would be needed if you were going to do this alone. Warm towels, water, somewhere comfy for you to labour, somewhere warm and soft for the baby, baby clothes and a multitude of blankets. You looked towards the stairs and took a deep breath, trying your hardest to time yourself so that in the brief moments of reprieve you could climb the stairs to fetch what you'd need.

It took much longer than expected to collect everything you'd need, having to stop multiple times to cling onto the nearest surface and ride out the wave of pain that you could tell was getting worse and closer together. You'd barely made it down the stairs when another wave of pain hit you, making you stumble down the last step. You cried out at the searing pain that shot through you at the inadvertent step you'd taken, a lighting bolt of agony coursing through your pelvis, around your bump and settling deep in your groin. Your breath was shaky as you tried to recover from the pain but it didn't wane this time and instead focused purely in the centre of your pelvis. You notice by chance that it's past midnight now, the jingle of the little Christmas-themed muggle clock taunting you as to the announcement of a new day. Christmas Eve and you were alone, left to give birth entirely alone.

It takes everything you gave no to cry out, focusing instead on taking deep breaths and emitting a low groan as a way of vocalising your pain. You eventually make it back to the sofa, surrounded by all the things you'd need and allow yourself a little sob as you look at the equipment surrounding you, like an ominous scene of foreboding. Whatever motivation and strength you had previously momentarily slipped away and you allowed yourself to cry, both for the unrelenting pain and for your heartbreaking situation.

You let out another cry when a pain much stronger and more direct than before hits you full on, a crushing feeling from the inside that makes you feel lightheaded. You scramble to look down when you suddenly feel something wet beneath you, bringing your hand up to your legs to try and decipher what had caused it. You fight through another pain to pry off your wet bottoms and cast them aside, praying that you don't see any blood between your thighs. It's clear, the liquid that drips down your thighs, small sudden gushes turning to small drops as you battle to get a towel underneath you.

You're on all fours again, trying your hardest to take stabilising breaths when you hear the sound of the front door open.

"Fred!" You cry out in hope and desperation, the wail that falls from your lips an accumulation of the physical and emotional pain. It's the scream that you had wanted so desperately to let out as your body burns internally.

He's beside you in seconds and couldn't have been quicker if he'd apparated between the door and the living room. Your head falls forward as another contraction takes over, the sudden need to push consuming every instinct within you.

"I'm here sweetheart, I'm here it's okay," he coos, his hand instinctively reaching for your lower back as you circle your hips, trying desperately to bring relief.

You look up into his eyes and can see that he looks completely torn, eyes washing over your form as his mind whirls trying to formulate a plan. He looks completely overwhelmed under the surface, as much as he's pretending to be calm, panicked by the sudden chance in circumstances.

"Look sweetheart, I need to fetch mum, I'll be back in five minutes tops, I'll apparate right there and right back, can you handle that?"

He barely gets the words out before you scramble to reach out for him, clutching the bottom of his shirt desperately as you cringe from the movement of your torso.

"No please Freddie, please don't leave me alone again," you beg, already crying from the thought alone as you cling into him, tears streaming down your face. You're terrified of being alone again, desperate for him to stay by your side. You're scared and in pain, unable to think clearly.

"I won't leave," he says with a nod, trying to calm you, his brows knitting together as he tries to think of a backup. It's too late to drive you to St Mungo's and there's no way to side along apparate with you safely, especially now that labour had begun.

He does the only thing he can think of and pulls out his wand to cast his patronus, watching with a dwindling sense of hope that it would reach its destination quickly.

He pockets his wand again and turns his full attention back to you, trying to push some pressure into your back to relieve the pain in anyway he can, gently reminding you to take slow and deep breaths. There's so much that he needs to say to you, to apologise for, but that can wait until later, knowing that his focus had to be on you right now.

"Fred I need to push," you say with staggered breaths, a thin sheet of sweat covering your forehead.

"I know sweetheart, just a couple more minutes okay?" He says, still squatting down beside you. He prays to Merlin and to anyone else that might be listening for this to go well, for his patronus to have worked and failing that, for it to be an easy birth. He wasn't prepared for this, just a prankster turned businessman that had no knowledge of women's bodies beyond putting the baby there... getting it out was a completely different matter.

"That's it sweetheart, you are doing so well, I'm so proud of you," he says, pushing back your hair that had stuck to your sweaty head, reaching for one of the little hand towels towels and enchanting it so that it was wet and cool before rubbing it softly over your forehead. You moan out and he hardly knows if it's because of the cooling sensation or because of the pain, but when you pull his washcloth holding hand back up to your forehead, he's pretty sure he has an idea.

"You are so strong princess, you're doing so well," he coos, trying his hardest to support you in your time of need. Truthfully, he was baffled how your body was doing this. You looked like you were in excruciating pain but yet you still carried on for the sake of the baby, your strength and resilience astounding him.

He jolts when he hears the telltale roar of flames in the fireplace and his heart leaps at the thought, had his patronus worked?

"Where is my, oh my dear!" Molly Weasley steps out of the floo induced flames of their fireplace and directly into the living room, giving herself a good shake as she spots her daughter in law on all fours in obvious labour. She pulls out her wand and casts a spell over herself that cleans off any sign of fireplace soot, then blasts the fireplace so that the regular flames resume to heat the home.

"Oh my dear," she rushes over, moving to kneel beside her daughter in law whose face scrunched up in pain, a silent scream of anguish falling from her lips.

"You should have got me sooner!" She points an accusing finger at her son who looks equal parts guilty and mortified as she strikes your hair out of your face, her eyes flicking between concern and anger between the two of you.

"I... I told him it wouldn't be yet," you stammer, hardly able to form the words. "I need to push!"

"Fred make yourself useful! Just like your father sat idly about, fetch some more towels and pillows from the bed, honestly you men." Molly surges into caring mode and for once Fred does exactly as she says without any backchat or hesitation. Her very presence is reassuring to you and you feel instantly calmed just by having her by your side.

"Well I have to say it, you do make beautiful babies," Molly coos as she looks at the three of you huddled together on the bed. Fred looks tired but peaceful, his arm wrapped protectively around you as your new baby stays latched on to your breast, bundled in soft blankets that her grandma had knitted especially for her. You're exhausted but overwhelmingly happy, and perhaps a little bit shocked by how quickly everything had progressed throughout the day and night.

"Right I'm off, as long as you're all okay? Oh I can't wait to tell your father he'll be overjoyed! I'm only an owl away if you need anything and I mean that, yes?"

"Thank you, for allowing me to experience this. I have a feeling this little one will be my favourite yet," Molly smiles as she leans down to glide her fingers across the little one's cheek lovingly. She looks up to you and smiles warmly, leaning down to give you a kiss on top of your head. "And very well done dear, you did brilliantly."

Fred walks his mother out, knowing that she had never liked apparating and would be using the floo to get home. You can hear their voices as they go downstairs but you can't hear what's being said and you look down at the cooing baby in your arms, watching her closed eyes and quick but steady breaths. She really is perfect, her little button nose, long lashes and tuft of distinctive red hair that was currently hidden beneath her little hat. 10 fingers, 10 toes and a striking resemblance to her dad that after the intense labour you'd just endured felt like a hilarous but tiny smack in the face.

When Fred returns, he's beaming. He pauses, leaning against the doorframe as he looks at the sight before him, his girls.

"How are you feeling sweetheart?" He asks, gently climbing onto the bed beside you.

"Exhausted," you say with a laugh, trying hard not to jiggle the little one too much with your laughter. "But I'm happy."

"Me too. Here, let me take her so you can get some rest."

You want to protest but you're worried your eyes will close at any second even though you're trying your hardest to keep them open, your body just too exhausted. You hand Fred the sleeping baby, passing her over gently like she could shatter at any moment from being so fragile and within moments of your head touching the pillow, you're out like a light.

"Wait till you meet your uncle George, and auntie Ginny, and uncle Percy, and Ron, and Charlie and Bill... there's a lot of them to remember I know, but it's mainly uncle George and Auntie Angelina you have to remember kid. Don't even get me started on the others, aunt Hermione, uncle Harry, auntie Fleur and then there's your granny and grandad."

"Trying to bore her back to sleep with your family tree?" You smile, noticing Fred and your little girl cuddled together in the little armchair in the corner next to her bassinet. He huffs a laugh, turning to you with so much adoration in his eyes that it momentarily leaves you breathless.

"Just getting her up to speed," he smirks, reaching down with his hand to grab her hand gently, "you going to say good morning to your beautiful mummy?" He gently manipulated her hand so that she gives you a little wave and you laugh, sitting up in bed with a slight wince.

"So I guess Fred Jr is off the table now eh?" He says with a wiggle of his eyebrows as he stands up from the chair, bringing your daughter over to you, her face a perfect picture of contentment.

"It was never on the table," you say with a smirk, greedily reaching for your daughter.

"Well you surprised us little one," Fred says to his daughter as she begins to stir. "Thought we'd be naming you something new yearsey, but you're a little Christmas Angel."

As if the concept of time and days had just returned to you, you realise that your daughter was born on Christmas Eve, your own little Christmas miracle.

"Holly?" Fred suggests, your nose scrunching up at the suggestion, not liking how obvious it was.

"What about Evangeline?" You ask, looking down at the sweet face, trying to weight up what name suited her the most. "Nickname Eve or Evie?"

"Evangeline Weasley..." Fred muses, as if trying it out for himself, "I love it." He beams, as if the missing puzzle piece has just slotted in to place.

"Merry Christmas little Evangeline," he coos, watching as she yawns, her eyes opening with a little squint as if by some miracle, answering to her name. Fred kisses you and you're happier than you've felt in a long time, the heartbreak of yesterday long forgotten and forgiven as you celebrate your first Christmas together as a family of 3.

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spirit-lanterns · 1 year ago

Text

IT'S THE ALCOHOL TALKING

synopsis: various hsr women when they're drunk.

featuring: serval, stelle, tingyun, fu xuan, asta, bronya

rating: sfw (anyone can interact)

warnings: fem reader, fluff, crack, mentions of alcohol and getting drunk (everyone is of drinking age). very ooc personalities for the girls as they are drunk. pet names, slight pet play (asta), feral tingyun, established relationships.

art credits: bloom into you

SERVAL

“And this so— (hic) is dedicated to my wonderful, beautiful, adorable, most bestest and kindest girlfriend ever—”

When Serval gets drunk, she sings. But the way she sings is less in a badass way and more in a “she took too many shots” kinda way, because your girlfriend was currently doing drunk karaoke at the bar with everyone cheering and shouting. Her body going through a whole workout plan as she was putting her heart and soul into this performance.

You knew you should stop her before she got hurt, but how could you when she was just so cute and screaming her love for you. “Yeahhhhh everyone scream for my girlfriend! She’s the best!” Serval would yell, accidentally causing the mic to screech but not caring because even in her less sober state, she still loved you unconditionally.

“Oh Aeons…” you laughed into your hand and blushed when the rockstar winked in your direction. Yelling the lyrics of some dumb love song while swaying back and forth with the mic. “You’re doing great, sweetie!”

Serval smiled broadly at your shout and raised her arms in the air, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world.

“Wooooo!”

Oh. Oh no…

And then Serval body slammed onto a table. A loud crash echoed throughout the bar as everyone stopped shouting while you ran over to check if she was okay.

“Serval? Serval!”

Your girlfriend swayed for a bit as she slowly looked up at you in a daze. Her body was still getting used to the crash and the alcohol, but even then, she looked up at you and gave you a lopsided grin.

“Oh…you’re pretty. But I have a girlfriend.” she murmured, giggling to herself while gently pushing your hand away.

“I am your girlfriend, silly.” You chuckle, gently lifting her up and brushing her hair back to make sure she wasn’t bruised. “Are you okay, baby?”

Drunk Serval paused, an even deeper blush growing on her face as she didn’t respond.

“…Oh.”

She seemed in awe at how she actually had a girlfriend, and you giggled before lifting her up to her feet. “Come on silly, let’s get you home. You drank too much.”

When you kissed her cheek, Serval blushed even more and looked at you with wide eyes. Seemingly falling in love with you all over again…

STELLE

“Baby…”

Stelle would cling to you needily and look up at you with big puppy dog-like eyes. Whimpering as she begged you to let her do the one thing she loved doing the most.

Dumpster diving.

“No Stelle, you just took a shower.” You hummed, tapping your girlfriend’s cheek and taking another sip of alcohol. “Besides, I let you dumpster dive earlier today. You emptied out three whole trash cans before we came out here.”

Stelle whined and looked over at the dumpster outside the bar. After having way too many sips of alcohol with you, Stelle began feeling the side effects as every dumpster and trash can she saw looked like a playground. That, and she started getting more and more clingy with you, wrapping her arms around your waist and nuzzling into your neck by the bar.

“Please…” she mumbled, practically smothering her body against you like a giant teddy bear. “I want…nnh…wanna jump in…”

Her speech was getting a little slurred and you sighed as you realized your precious Stelle was getting drunk, meaning you’d have to leave sooner or later anyways.

“…One. Dumpster.” You say with a sigh.

Stelle’s eyes lit up and she immediately started kissing your cheek. Usually Stelle would be too shy to do PDA with you in crowded areas, but she was just too drunk and too happy to care. “Thank you!” She mumbled against your cheek, giving it an affectionate little nibble before running off to dive headfirst into the trash.

You chuckled at the sight and made sure to keep watch so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Your girlfriend having a blast as she stumbles around in the dumpster pulling out various items she found interesting.

After a few minutes of dumpster diving, your girlfriend tumbled out of the bin with trash sticking to her hair. “Oof!” Despite that however, she excitedly ran up to you and hugged you. “Baby look, look. I found a new blender…!”

You tried to keep your laughter in as she held up a blender that was not only broken, but was missing its blades. You didn’t have the heart to tell her it was useless, so you just patted her head and praised her. “Good job, baby. You did so well.”

She smiled and closed her eyes, nuzzling you as the effects of alcohol started taking over again and making her clingy. “Can we go home now? I want to add this to my collection…”

Before you could even respond, Stelle ends up slumping against your arms and sleepily kissing your neck. Heat building up in your face as Stelle was never this affectionate with you in public…

“Pfft, okay.” You chuckle, patting your girlfriend on the head, “Let's go home.”

TINGYUN

“Off! Back off!”

Tingyun hissed at yet another stray cat while her tail was raised high in the air. The most unholiest of feral fox sounds emitting from your girlfriend as she screamed at any animal that even so much as dared look at you.

“Tingyun dear, I think that’s enough soju for now…” you gently pulled the glass away from her and watched as she glared holes into the poor dog passing by on the street. Her teeth poked out from between her lips like she was getting ready to attack, nails gripping the hardwood table before you calmed her down with a hug.

“Tingyun, I’m right here.” you hummed into her ear, planting a comforting kiss on her cheek. “I’m not in any danger.”

“Yes, because I am protecting you…!” Tingyun slurred, her tail swaying back and forth before standing upright at the sight of a bird. “Away! Shoo! Shoo!”

Tingyun was definitely one of the most unique types of drunks you’d ever have the pleasure of seeing, as she would get awfully protective of you whenever there were animals present. It was like the foxian side of her had taken over once alcohol entered her system, and while it was entertaining, you did worry for Tingyun’s reputation…

“Pfft, alright dear. Thank you for protecting me from the scary bird,” you cupped her face and pulled her towards you, giggling at the sight of her scrunched up and pouty face. “You’re so brave. I am just simply awestruck at what an amazing girlfriend you are.”

You kiss the top of her nose and Tingyun’s face starts going pink, her tail slowly wagging in praise as she stares lovingly at your eyes.

“I love you…” she purrs out, her drunk-dazed eyes going half lidded like a cat.

“I love you too.” You giggle, cupping her face as you lean in to kiss her fully this time. Closing your eyes and ready to claim her lips when—

HISSSSS

Not again!

You grabbed Tingyun’s face before she could get up and pulled her down towards you. “Oh no you don’t, we are going home.” You quickly kiss her on the lips and distract her long enough to drag her away from the bar. Your foxian girlfriend whining and trying her best to squirm out of your grasp but to no avail.

“Let me go! Baby, let me go!”

She nibbled on your arm as you dragged her away and you sighed, patting her fluffy ears while taking her drunk ass all the way home.

FU XUAN

“Yeah that’s right, she’s (hic) mine…”

Fu Xuan was currently sitting on your lap and glaring at everyone like a feisty kitty who wouldn’t let go of a toy. She had her brows furrowed and tensed in an angry way while she gripped your shoulders to show ownership, her body swaying in a way that indicated to you that your girlfriend was getting drunk.

“Oh, Fu Xuan…” you chuckled, feeling her forehead to see if she was getting sweaty. “Are you getting tipsy?”

“Of course not. I’m (hic) perfectly sober, my love.”

You raised a brow and tried to hide the smirk growing on your face. My love? Since when did Fu Xuan get so affectionate? It was almost like she was lying straight to your face…

“Are you?” You teased, holding her tightly by the waist. “You’re hiccuping, little bunny…”

“I just need more water!” She quickly spat out, before taking another shot of soju which she thought was water. “Nngh! Why is water so bitter?”

“That’s soju, love.” You chuckled, pulling the shot glass away from her hand. “I think you’ve had enough to drink, why don’t we go home?” You pat Fu Xuan’s head and giggle when she starts to pout. “I don’t want to move…” she mumbles, plopping her head into your boobs. “Darling feels good…”

Your heart speeds up when she says this and you can’t help but hold in a squeal. How cute, perhaps drunk Fu Xuan can stay for a little while longer—

No, you shouldn’t. As her girlfriend, the right thing to do is to take her home and take care of her. You sigh and gently hoist her up in your arms, Fu Xuan panicking for a moment as she wraps her legs around your waist.

“Wha— darling the floor is falling—”

“I’m just standing up.”

She immediately clings to your neck and holds on to you tightly, slowly closing her eyes as she feels herself getting nauseous. “Don’t drop me. You hear?”

“Yes darling, I hear.” You chuckle, keeping your arms firmly under her thighs while you begin carrying her out of the bar. “Try not to look up too much, we don’t want you getting dizzy and throwing up on my back.”

Fu Xuan gives you a hissy glare and just blushes before hugging you close. “I won’t throw up…I never throw up…”

She begins grumbling to herself and you smile at the sight. Patting the back of her head while the two of you head home together.

ASTA

“Awe Peppy you’re so cute! Who’s a good boy? Oh who’s my good boy?”

Asta cooed and drunkenly squished your cheeks together while calling you Peppy and patting your head. You, her girlfriend. Her loving and doting girlfriend who was very much human and very much not a dog.

“Asta—” you chuckled, “I’m not Peppy.”

“My Peppy is so big and strong…!” Asta grinned, rubbing your cheeks together while peppering your face in sweet, gentle kisses. “The sweetest and cutest canine ever oh yes you are…”

You rolled your eyes at how silly your girlfriend was being and just went along with it. Deciding to tease her a bit by playing along with her little charade.

“Woof.”

Asta squealed and kissed your face even more, taking another swig of her alcoholic beverage while scratching underneath your chin. “Ohhh if only your other mommy could see you now…” Asta sighed, unaware that her girlfriend was literally right there. “Hm, perhaps I should send her a video.”

Asta whipped out her phone and began recording you while still believing you were Peppy. “Okay Peppy! Let’s send mommy a little video to show her how cute you are being. Come on, say hi to mommy!”

“…Woof.”

You couldn’t help but smile when Asta got so excited, patting your head in praise while going “good boy…!” Into the camera. Oh how embarrassed she will be once she finds the video in her camera roll the next morning, you couldn’t wait.

After a few more minutes of playing the little dog shenanigans with your girlfriend, you finally decided that it was getting late and Asta definitely needed to head back to bed.

“Sigh, okay Asta. I think it’s time we head back home, hm?” You chuckle, finally breaking out of your Peppy act charade. “You’ve had quite a few drinks already…”

Asta tilted her head when she saw you getting up to leave, and her mind instantly went to Peppy once more.

“Oh? Does Peppy want to go home now?” Asta hums, smiling and taking your hand. “Don’t forget your leash!”

Wait, what?

And then out of nowhere she whips out a leash and clips the collar to your neck, surprising you as you had no idea that Asta carried around a leash at all times.

“Come on boy! Let’s go home to mommy!”

She gave the leash a little tug and you sighed with no choice but to follow her. Asta skipping happily beside you with you chuckling beside her in return.

BRONYA

“…”

You were getting worried for your girlfriend as she had been staring at the wall in silence for the past six or so minutes. No pressure, Bronya was usually quiet when invited to bars like this one, but she never was this quiet and it was starting to worry you a little.

“…Bronya?”

You poke her cheek.

“Bronya?”

She blinks and slowly turns to you, eyes wide like a cat who got into some catnip as she seemed to be lost in another world.

“There is a train that can travel through universes.”

Ah, so it’s one of those nights. The kind of nights where Bronya would get lost in the dark abyss of her mind and say the most random, deep things that would have her questioning her sanity by the time you pull her out of the bar.

“Mhm, the Astral Express is capable of doing that.” You chuckle, trying to downplay how deep her thoughts really were. “Uhm…baby?”

Bronya was still staring in silence as she was now looking at the ice cubes melting in her drink. She usually got like this whenever she was sleep deprived or blanking out, but today it was especially prominent as Bronya took one too many sips of her beverage whilst sitting at the bar with you.

“Darling, do you think other universes could come to Belobog and fix our Fragmentum problem?” Bronya said while spacing out, the gears in her mind rolling as she slowly took another sip of her drink. “Aeons, we should’ve told the Astral Express crew to bring back some people. Perhaps the people at the Herta Space Station could help us. Or— I believe they are people…”

Bronya paused again and her eyes got wide.

“Darling…do aliens exist? Are the people at the Herta Space Station actually people?”

She gasped and suddenly turned to face you.

“The Astral Express crew. Do they count as aliens too?!”

You quickly shut her up with a kiss before she could get too deep in her alien vs human conspiracies. Your girlfriend squeaking and blushing before finally calming down in your hold.

“Bronya, sweetie. It’s very late, and as cute as you are rambling about aliens and conspiracy theories, I think it’s time we head back home.” You slowly pulled the drink away from her and helped her stand up from her seat. “Come on, you can borrow my coat. It’s cold out.”

Bronya flushed when you wrapped your coat around her while the two of you began walking back home. The Supreme Guardian leaning against your shoulder affectionately as a comfortable silence falls between you.

“…Do penguins have knees?”

“Oh Aeons.”

#serval x reader #serval x you #stelle x reader #stelle x you #tingyun x reader #tingyun x you #fu xuan x reader #fu xuan x you #asta x reader #asta x you #bronya x reader #bronya x you #hsr x reader #star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr women x reader #star rail women x reader

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eggedbellies · 4 months ago

Text

The Underdark Blessing

Wordcount: 1986 Kinks: Ovi, eggpreg, breeding, webbing?, drider, cumflation (technically). Synopsis: In the deep underdark, a drider waits to give her clutch to the next prey to come along. The Goddess honours her with two strong orcs.

Thank @daddymakesitbetter for this one, folks!

The underdark; her place of sanctuary, darkness, welcoming. She skittered through tunnels and across walls as if it was nothing, despite the bulk of her form. Slender chitinous legs, round and smooth abdomen, and of course, her Drow half. The dark elf form of her upper body was graceful and slender, bereft of clothes or any of the trappings of an old forgotten society. Few were as blessed as she; the most loved of any spider. For she carried a great weight, bearing down her body, slowing it’s elegant movement. Whilst her form ached oh so heavily for relief, she must be patient. For if she waited, then it would come. Prey always came eventually.

The daylight never reached down here; but something else did. Settled high and out of sight, a foot resting on a guidewire, she felt it. Vibration. Not quite in her trap yet, but a sign… shifting, peering through her jet black eyes, there. A group, it seemed. Her fangs drooled, eager, and she had to hold calm, steady. Bhakiss was patient, as with all things. They were blundering along – such big, heavy bodies. They would hold many of her young, yes… if only they would fall to her trap. So delicate had she strung the wires, surely they would not notice until too late…

She felt the first twang, as the webbing caught. A confused mumble, a rough gasp – and the web began to sing, the fighting of her heavy body, forcing it to the limit of it’s power. They were speaking, deep voices that rumbled oh so pleasantly through every part of her chitinous body. In this darkness, often they carried flaming brands, but this group seemed not to have them – good, good. Confident, perhaps; or they saw well in the dark, like her… the voices were becoming more frantic as she began to carefully move across the ceiling, eyes fixated on her great web. And there they were, oh, what a perfect gift, a kindness from her most generous Goddess.

Both of the women were completely, helplessly tangled. Their leather armour askew, weapons out of reach, hair sticky, arms spread. The perfect fools, both of them throwing all of their energy into resisting her web. Exhausting themselves. She waited, just out of sight, long white hair curling around her shoulders, until they began to sag. And only then did she carefully lower herself, settling her legs onto the ground. As expected, her appearance surged them to energy again – hands so helplessly held that every stretch towards a weapon only trapped them more. With her own ability, well, it was beyond easy – stepping onto her web, moving to sweep the weapons away, casting the foul iron into the abyss. And they shouted, so loud, so strong… perfect to carry her young.

“Oh, sweet voice.” Bhakiss whispered, voice forever dry and sibilant, since her fangs had taken root and she needed so little to talk now. “I cannot wait for you to both sing.” and she laughed, as soft and rough as old leaves dancing in a breeze. They shared a dark eyed glance, full of fear, and oh, that was as delicious as anything else. The slightly smaller of the two was first; building a heavy mat of webbing, drawing it with expert legs over her body, trapping arms to sides and making her a helpless bundle – but leaving her face exposed, trailing a fingertip down that jawline. Lifting the wrapped orc, she drew back, scurrying away. The other shouted, starting to thrash again – crying out for her compatriot, so unaware of what awaited them both.

Up, up, over the walls, a little slower with her new toy, she slid into the gap that opened into her own den – mats of webbing made it comfortable, and old bones, still sticky, littered the ground. For this one, she began to spin – sticking her to the wall with powerful strands. Leaning in, sniffing at her neck, ignoring the cries and attempt to bite. Long dark hair had fallen from it’s ties, forcing her neck at a strange angle – all the easier. So carefully, now, she sunk her fangs in. Venom – she had several, of course, but Bhakiss was careful, making sure to only drip the most potent of aphrodisiac into her system. The orc cried out, of course, in terror – unaware of what a beautiful thing was about to occur. As she drew back, stroking her hands over that face again, the drider chuckled – then turned to sweep away. The exhausted larger one was easy enough to move, no fight left – and she was strung up onto the opposite wall. The spider queen had been so kind to her… so very kind.

They were both dosed; by the time she had gotten the second to the wall, her hair lighter and fairer, her complexion softer, the first one was starting to pant. Flushing. So much interesting variation in these soft creatures… it was a fascination to her. But the needs were becoming hard to ignore, and she could not hold on much longer – this blessing would have to be taken, as greedily as she would, for why would she have been given it if not to grasp firm? Carefully, she began to peel away the webs on the slighter one. Panting now, and yet still trying to yell, to complain, to fight …

“Ascen, are you – are you okay?” the larger one called, breathless herself. Their words were something she barely recognised any more, but it was a language that they had spoken regularly, once. A foggy, distant, unimportant memory. “I’m burning,” Ascen called back, gasping, “I can’t think – so hot -”

“I’m going to get us – out of here,” the larger groaned, clearly losing her own fight, and the drider hissed her own laugh. The leather armour was falling away so easily with the swipes of her claws – baring the underclothes, and then, with a well placed snip – it all fell away. Tight little breasts, held usually so far away – strange, fascinating things. And her hole, already dripping and ready, shining with fluid, catching in her soft hairs. Yes… good. Bhakiss leant down, licking a stripe across her taut belly. Strong, yes, and soon to be swollen…

“You are… a good toy. A great blessing. You will sing the praises of the Spider Queen for me.” she rasped. She couldn’t wait any longer. The other was crying out behind her, as she lifted her body up – the immense spider abdomen hanging easily on the wall. Her ovipositor, unable to be contained, had slipped out; dripping and oozing with it’s own heavy slick and aphrodisiac. It wasn’t ready to release cargo just yet, and whilst it ran like a hose, long, slender, rubbery and ridged, it would fit easily inside the orc. She slapped it down against her swollen lips, causing a rough gasp from Ascen. Followed swiftly by a moan, and oh, yes, what music, as the laden tool stroked it’s aphrodisiac into her most sensitive skin. Unable to see, it took a few long moments before she finally drove home – and the orc howled in pleasure. Gutteral at the end, body trying to buck despite how well attached it was to the wall. A few well placed thrusts, and Bhakiss was panting herself, feeling as that thick pussy sucked down every inch of her length. It must be pushing her to the limit, and oh, what a gift, what a beautiful gift – she began to move, a steady but rough pace, feeling the squirming orc below her.

She had to remember not to break this one too thoroughly; if they were too full, after all, they would not be able to walk away to spread her young…

The cries had turned into moans behind her; squirms and whines of frustration. Trapped as she was, after all, the larger of the orcs would be unable to pleasure herself, relieve any of the deep burning. She must be so jealous of this toy, the one now singing so very beautiful as Bhakiss kept up each rolling movement, immense abdomen bouncing, body building up. Like a kiss from her Goddess, pleasure flowed through every inch of her form – and her tool began to thicken. It was spreading, and the orc was howling as she clenched, and then stretched, and couldn’t clench any more, as every inch of the thick ovipositor was pushing to her limits. The trembles in her body uncontrollable, and the drider felt a wave of joy herself – that she had given such a great feeling to her toy. It would take well, yes.

And now her mind hazed, clawed hands gripping the wall, as the first wave rolled down. Thick cream and sticky goo – a gentle bed for her young. Ascen cried out, twitching – her back not arching, for it could not, but instead, each pulse stretching her. Turning muscles to soft curves; filling her belly. And then the next wave began. She must be most careful, here; each deserved their share. The grunts and moans matched the noises from her toy; the tennis ball sized egg rolling down, a hold, and then a pop, pressure releasing – and over, and over, and over again. Each egg slithering down to where she had kissed their womb, and settling inside. The moans had become jumbled pleas, for more, for release, for everything. Yes, the goddess would be so very happy with her loyal servant…

Sliding out, slowly, her member drooled onto the floor; a quick wad of web, sealing off to make sure not a single egg would get loose. Not that Ascen was in any way able to object, now; eyes glazed, body twitching as she rode the utter joy of being filled. Halting only to gently carress and lay a swift kiss on that swollen orb, the drider turned to her other. There would be less build up here, because her body was trembling with holding back, but it mattered little. Rough slashes to release her from clothes, and the orc was shaking violently, her hole so wet and ready that long strands were already falling; the webbing had become slick rather than sticky. When the drider sunk all the way in one move, she howled with the sensation, legs jerking. Leaning down, Bhakiss stroked her claws over that flushed, glazed, most beautiful of faces.

“Yes. Sing. Sing your love to the spider Goddess.” she murmured. The drooling words were barely lucid, but she rocked, feeling the worship within them. Oh, yes. Yes. Her cock was already swelling, filling, it’s thick goo tumbling out, eggs already loosening onto it, more wild and haphazard as she thrust, hard enough to bounce the orc against the web that held her. Rough fucking, feeling her ovipositor catch on a swollen clit, both of them moaning and begging and pleading to her queen together as the rest of her cargo fell out. Packing and swelling and growing, every one sunk deep and then, finally, with a shudder, she realised… she was empty. Tender abdomen twitched, claws struggling to grip onto the rock, a few final thrusts to send waves of raw joy through her… and she slid to the ground, ovipositor slipping loose, slowly withdrawing to her body. She leant in, kissing the orb that hung in front of her, stretched and reddened green skin. Such life squirmed within…

“Oh, Goddess,” she mumbled, thickly. “Thank you… for this blessing…” on shaking legs, she climbed again, settling heavily onto her resting web. Her body ached in the most wonderful ways. Her toys moaned, singing so gently for her as their brains began to drop to sleep too, packed and lost in orgasmic pleasure. In the morning, she would release them to waddle their way back to the underdark… lay her eggs in the soft dark places… and maybe this time, some of them would hatch…

#my stories #wheeee I had fun w this ty ty

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hubbvrd · 9 months ago

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Helpful words | Travis Kelce

In which y/n is afraid of becoming a bad mother. She reveals these doubts to Travis, who does everything he can to prove to y/n that she will be a good mother

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

After the last baby things have been stowed away in the closet, your gaze wanders once again through the finally finished baby room.

A smile forms on your lips as your hand rests on your round belly.

Over the last two months, Travis and you had done a lot of work in the nursery to create a beautiful room for your unborn daughter.

Now the room with the light pink walls and white furniture was finally finished and it couldn't be more perfect.

Even all the clothes that you had just sorted into the wardrobe were already waiting to be worn by your little Peanut.

Peanut was the nickname Travis had given your daughter as soon as he found out you were pregnant.

Since then, the nickname has been used by both of you whenever you address the little one.

You already had a name for your daughter, but you didn't want to announce it to your families until she was born, so it was still Peanut.

Your finger gently stroked the many different items of clothing that not only you and Travis had bought, but had also received as gifts at the baby shower.

It was about time to pick out the first outfit for Peanut, as it could be any day now.

Your hospital bag had been in the trunk of your car for weeks, but you hadn't yet been able to decide between all the cute outfits which one you should take to the hospital and dress your daughter in first.

"Honey?" Travis, who had just come back from running a few errands at the supermarket, called out because you were hungry for ice cream and your husband had run straight out to get it.

"Baby room!" you shouted back as you pulled out a hanger or two to look at the outfit on the hanger.

There was too much choice and each outfit seemed to get cuter so you just couldn't decide.

Why was that so damn hard? Even with your daughter's name or the design of the nursery, it hadn't even been that difficult.

A loud sigh left your lips as you closed the closet doors louder than you intended.

"Everything okay?" Travis asked directly as he stumbled into the baby's room, looking at himself with a worried and anxious look at the same time.

"I can't find a suitable hospital outfit for Peanut!" you sobbed as countless tears began to roll down your cheeks.

"Hey," Travis began as he crossed the last few feet over to you and then pulled you into his strong arms. "We'll find a suitable one."

His hand gently stroked your back as a few more tears soaked Travis' shirt slightly.

"How am I supposed to be a good mother if I can't find anything suitable for the hospital?" A loud sob left your lips.

The pregnancy hormones once again had you completely in their grip and you began to doubt yourself.

"Hey, sweetheart," Travis' voice rang out softly as he pushed you back a little so you could look at him.

"Huh?" you sniffled as you lifted your gaze and looked into your husband's eyes.

His eyes radiated calm and warmth, making you feel a little better, but despite all this, your hormones were still on a rollercoaster.

"You'd be a great mom." Travis wiped his thumb across your face to wipe away the tears that were still rolling down your cheeks. "You're going to do amazing, darling. I can already see how much love and security you give Peanut, even though she's not even here yet. You talk to her every day, sing or read to her. And just because you can't decide what to wear right now doesn't mean you'll be a bad mom."

The tears slowly began to dry as Travis' hand placed itself on your stomach and gently stroked over.

"Your mom is going to be a great mom, isn't she Peanut?" As Travis spoke, he squatted down to be more or less on the same level as your daughter.

It took a few seconds for your daughter to kick your belly like she was saying yes.

"See, even Peanut agrees with me." Travis looked up at you and gave you a soft smile.

And this situation once again caused new tears to roll down her cheeks. But not out of desperation, but out of love.

Those words from Travis and the light kick from your daughter caused you to become quite emotional now and once again you were clearly shown how much you loved your husband and your unborn daughter.

"Thank you," You whispered, while Travis wrapped his arms around you again and buried his face in your hair.

"The truth," he replied gently as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you stood there for a few minutes just enjoying each other's closeness and affection.

"And now let's pick out an outfit for Peanut together. With all your super cute stuff, it's going to be hard even for me to pick just one."

Travis took your hand while he opened your daughter's closet with his other hand and looked through all the clothes.

And indeed, your husband felt the same way as you did. He couldn't decide either, so you both picked out your top two favorites and in the end, after a long back and forth, you finally decided on an outfit that your little Peanut would wear first.

And it shouldn't be too much longer before that day finally comes.

#travis kelce #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce x y/n #travis kelce x reader #travis kelce x you #nfl imagines #nfl fic #nfl #nfl imagine

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ot7stan4life · 1 year ago

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It’s Not Wrong

Dreamcatcher (OT7) x Female Reader

(1 part - ongoing ⚠️)

Word Count: 8,980

Summary: As the 8th member of Dreamcatcher, you struggle with your growing attraction towards your members, because, in your mind, loving seven different people isn’t natural and couldn’t possibly be considered acceptable by any normal human being… so why would they be okay with it?

“It- it’s wrong.”

“You love us, how is there anything wrong with that?”

Warnings: angst, brief mentions of homophobia, mild sexual content

The audience's excited screams echoed around the arena as we all waved our goodbyes, fading only when the lift lowered us beneath the stage, yet never leaving my mind completely. Even when our managers herded us into two separate black vans that would be taking us to a nearby hotel, the adrenaline pumping through my veins and the dull roar of what sounded like waves rushing in my ears from a night of being stimulated by loud music were permanent reminders of the performance we had just put on.

Kcon LA. It was a big deal for a group of our scale. And, after singing in front of a crowd of that size (one bigger than we had ever seen before), I could tell the members were feeling as elated as I was. If the way Bora pulled me down the hall when we arrived at the hotel and shoved me into our shared room with Minji and Siyeon following closely behind was anything to go off of, I'd guess I was about to experience what being on the receiving end of the dancer's excited energy entailed. I didn't know whether to be excited myself or utterly terrified.

Luckily I was able to convince them to let me have the first shower—which they only agreed upon under the promise that I would stay up to entertain them (not sure what that meant exactly, but I was honestly too afraid to ask)—and immediately took the first chance I got to slip into the bathroom before any chaos ensued. Just fifteen minutes later, my sore muscles had been soothed by the warm water and I was drying off, finally allowing myself to wind down for the night. My conflicting feelings for the members had really been getting to me lately, but I was thankful our busy schedule helped keep my mind off of it.

Though, I had a feeling those emotions would become unavoidable sooner rather than later when I realized I forgot to grab a change of clothes from my suitcase. Even more unfortunately, the only towels in the bathroom were borderline too small to cover all of my... assets.

Fantastic.

Wrapping the towel around me as best as I could, I crossed my fingers hoping the members occupying the hotel room had left to get some food or weren't paying attention before I opened the door. Though, my luck ran short not even two steps out of the bathroom when Siyeon began cat-calling me.

"Yah, sexy," she shouted. I froze, looking over at her timidly. "Come over here. Don't be shy." The singer was clearly joking around, but that didn't stop me from blushing at her words.

"What?" Bora laughed at Siyeon's weird behavior. Seconds later, her curious head popped out from behind the wall where she had been sitting to see what the older woman was looking at. I wanted to strangle Siyeon the moment Bora's eyes widened at the sight of me. "Ooooh," she exclaimed, her eyes shamelessly raking over the bare skin my towel failed to cover while a smirk creeped onto her lips.

Attempting to ignore them, I walked further into the room in search of my suitcase. That only made things worse when Minji was finally able to see me and they all started making shocked and impressed noises. "Ooh, so sexy," Minji doted. My cheeks burned being the center of attention and feeling incredibly exposed.

"Omo, jagi," Bora started, "did you come to give us a show?"

My heart skipped a beat.

"Yah!" I shouted in surprise, stopping to look back at her. Actually seeing all of their eyes on me, confirming that they really had been staring this whole time, made my knees go weak. "I forgot to grab a change of clothes, alright?" My voice came out angry, but they caught the hint of a smile on my lips before I could hide it.

Bora started giggling. "Look at how embarrassed she is." Her finger pointed up at me as if they weren't all already looking.

Siyeon laughed, but Minji scolded, "Yah, leave her alone." I nearly fell for how caring the leader sounded, but then I noticed her eyes lingering for a second too long on my bare thighs. She was just as bad as them.

"Oh c'mon, you like it too, unnie," Siyeon said, "don't kill the fun."

"Yeah, the best part's just starting," Bora scooted to the edge of the bed. "I haven't even gotten to touch her yet." My eyes blew wide and I only had a split second to guard myself before the small woman launched from the bed and ran over to start groping me.

"Don't touch me!" I yelled. With one hand holding up my towel, I only had one left to try and block her attacks. This allowed the main dancer to get a few quick squeezes of my thighs and one of my ass over the towel before I ran to the other side of the room, out of her reach. "Stop it," I squealed as she chased after me.

Bora was all giggles while I was full on panicking—for several reasons. Before I could seek safety in the bathroom, the small woman stopped me halfway with a shove. Minji was yelling at us to not get hurt and Siyeon was just laughing as they watched the whole thing pan out. The atmosphere changed quickly though when Bora pinned me against the wall. Even with her being a head shorter than me, I still felt trapped. My pulse throbbed in my ears as I breathed heavily from both the running and the way Bora's small hands had felt against my bare skin.

Miraculously, I had managed to keep the towel on with one hand while the other held cautiously onto Bora as she stood on her tippy toes so that we were nearly face-to-face. Her hands were not as innocent, one at the base of my neck, teasingly traveling downwards while the other lay flat against my stomach, pushing my back into the wall. We were so close that her nose nearly brushed mine when she looked down, not-so-subtly admiring the curve of my breasts revealed by the towel. Her other hand traveled lower, getting a feel for the skin on the back of my thigh.

"You're not even going to give me a little peek?" She whispered just for us to hear, her fingertips dragging closer to what she really wanted to feel. I found my mind fixated on that word: me. It was no longer an us. She didn't care about playing it up for the others. No, it was just her who wanted it now.

Her eyes flicked up to mine, showing me the want deep within them as her fingers gripped the curve if my butt. "Unnie," I gasped, feeling at a loss for words. She had done this stuff plenty of times. The teasing, the flirting, even the ass-grabbing. She was Kim Bora after all. It was to be expected. What was not expected though was the hint of desperation I caught from her in that moment. If she happened to be feeling any fraction of what I had felt for her in the past two years, I knew she was searching for any sort of confirmation or reciprocation of her own feelings from me. And this felt like a confession.

I found myself involuntarily glancing down at her lips. So many countless nights I had spent imagining what they might feel like against mine, overwhelmed by an excited thrill wondering if she'd be just as aggressive in intimate moments as she was normally or if she'd break character, acting more calm and submissive. All these possibilities made my stomach burn and I knew I should stop before my arousal became evident on my thighs, but it was so hard to when she was looking at me like that.

The fact that her and I were not alone was a rude awakening the moment Minji appeared next to us, pulling Bora away just before either of us could lean in and do something we might regret later. Had I not known any better, I might've considered Minji's stern gaze and cocked jaw a sign of jealousy as she berated the younger member for touching me in such a way. But I did know better, brushing it off as merely her protectiveness required as our leader. With no shortage of fussing, the dancer eventually let in, giving me one final once-over before allowing me to grab my clothes and retreat to the bathroom.

When I was successfully clothed, I returned to the room to find the unnie line carrying on as if nothing had ever happened. It had me debating if it was all a dream, but the sting of Bora's firm grip on my sensitive skin still lingered, evidence enough of the encounter. After something like that, they normally wouldn't shut up about it, finding joy in teasing me for days on end. The unusual silence seemed strange. Still, it meant less embarrassment for me, so I gladly ignored it, settling down on the bed Bora was currently on the edge of.

About half an hour of casual conversation had passed between the four of us without anything eventful occurring. It wasn't until Bora started getting loopy from her increasing tiredness that things began to ramp up once more. I made the mistake of joking about her loud voice surely sending everyone in the audience home with hearing problems, resulting in her initiating a wrestling match between us on the bed. She griped at me for being such a 'brat,' grabbing and violently shaking any body part of mine that she could get ahold of.

I couldn't help but giggle uncontrollably at the sensation of her tiny hands pinching at my skin and how easy she was to offend, and now I was beginning to understand why Yoohyeon found it so fun to toy with her. Well, that is... until Bora landed on top of me, straddling my hips with a suddenly very different goal in mind. The abrupt change in mood had my body stilling completely under her. When I dared to meet her stare, I caught a glint of mischief in it that surely couldn't be leading anywhere good.

Like before, her hands pressed down on my stomach to keep my back flat against the bed. Tilting her head to the side, she looked down at me, raising her eyebrows up once before lowering them again. "Your move," she smirked, already conducting another one of her games that would surely end in chaos.

Looking to my left, I noticed Minji and Siyeon watching us with cautious eyes. There was this sort of rush it gave me, just like the concert, that dared me to continue. They had so often tested the boundaries of our relationships, so why couldn't I do the same? Knowing that it would surprise them made it seem that much more tempting. Now that I wasn't exposed and had been handed back the control, I wanted to give them a show.

So, without even considering the repercussions of my actions, I grabbed Bora's hips and pushed her over. She squealed in shock when I ended up on top of her, my body resting between her legs. "Your move." A satisfied smile formed on my lips when I heard the other two members let out mumbles of surprise. Bora didn't allow me to bask in my victory much longer, always insistent on one-uping me. She liked when I got like this more than she'd ever care to admit and was eager to take it a step further.

Her arms previously resting on my shoulders slithered up to my neck and with one firm tug, I was leaning over her, so close that I could feel her breath on my lips. Now I knew I was in over my head. Her beautiful features and her fingers intertwined around the back of my neck locking me into place made it difficult to breathe. Every spark, every chill, every heart flutter that she had ever made me feel resurfaced all at once and seared itself permanently into my chest. There was never any denying that I was attracted to her—I mean, look at her. Who wouldn't be?—but now, as I lost myself in the inescapable pull of her soft, brown eyes, there was absolutely no denying that I was in love with her.

"Your move," she whispered the softest whisper I had ever heard leave her mouth, never once looking away. Her eyes seemed to be communicating in ways that her words couldn't and the expectant, even hopeful look in them had me convinced this is exactly what she wanted.

So, I gave it to her.

The moment my lips met hers, time seemed to stand still. I felt her inhale, forcing her to press further up into me as her fingers tightened at the nape of my neck. My mind went completely blank finally feeling how silky and warm her lips were against mine. They were impossibly softer and her kiss gentler than I could've ever imagined. And I certainly wasn't counting on the fact that she wouldn't want to pull away, holding me there a few precious seconds longer than what I assumed normal.

After what felt like hours, she loosened her grip on my neck, letting me release her lips slowly. The loss of pressure elicited the sound of a light smack, sending an unexpected sensation of pleasure through my body. Her eyes fluttered open to meet mine, appearing dazed and intoxicated by the kiss. Within those few seconds, she granted me a look at the real Bora: the one beyond all the playful, unserious facades she put up. The one that was really as soft and vulnerable and desperate for love as the rest of us were. And knowing that she trusted me enough to give me a glimpse into her heart had me bearing my own for her to take claim of.

However, doubt was quick to take hold of my thoughts when Bora's eyes widened, concealing her initial reaction with an over-dramatic expression of shock. As she laughed incredulously before glancing to her left, I became all too aware of my surroundings. "Jinjja," she yelled, a smile of disbelief painting her lips. I followed her eyes, spotting Minji and Siyeon both mirroring her surprise, mouths drawn open and eyes blown wide.

The weight of my actions came crashing down, suffocating me with unavoidable feelings of regret and embarrassment. How did I really expect this to turn out anyways? Desperate to find an escape from their stares, I hid my face in Bora's neck, clutching her sides as if I could disappear into her.

"Can you believe her?" Bora played it up, pretending like she didn't kiss me back with just as much—if not more—conviction.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled ashamedly, but her neck muffled my voice. God, why didn't I think this through? Reluctantly pushing myself up, I looked down at her shyly. "I'm sorry," I repeated.

Bora paused, her smile faltering as she took in my humiliated expression. I almost thought she was going to reassure me, until a look of uncertainty crossed her own eyes. "Yah," she covered it up, her smile only growing, "look at how red her face is." She raised her hand to point a finger at me like she had done before and laughed. Though she didn't have much room to talk, a pink blush tinting her own cheeks.

"Unnie," I whined, rolling off of her to lay on my back and hide my face in my hands. When would this night ever end?

Following a few more jokes, Bora eventually stopped pestering me about it for the moment. Still, I couldn't ignore the knot that settled in my stomach with the uneasiness lingering in the air between us. Their reaction had been both expected and unexpected. Obviously I knew they'd be shocked, but the three oldest members struck me as the type that would encourage this sort of behavior. In the past I even caught myself wondering if any of them had shared a kiss in the privacy of the dorms out of genuine physical attraction or just pure curiosity. In my mind, it seemed more than probable given the fact that pursuing romantic relationships outside of the group wasn't exactly allowed as well as the inkling I had about at least a couple of the members having a preference for women. Yet, now with all of them appearing avoidant and standoffish after the kiss, I wasn't so sure.

Did I read them all wrong? Did I completely fabricate the concept of them being accepting of that sort of thing because of their touchy and flirtatious tendencies? Most of all though, did I entirely misjudge Bora's reactions to the entire thing?

After all this, I was beginning to think I didn't know anything at all.

—

It was just a few days after we'd traveled back to Korea and I couldn't seem to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind replayed the kiss with Bora over and over again, encouraging me to over-analyze every single little detail. The prospect that I had crossed a major line was stressing me out, to say the least. Strangely, the whole thing also made me feel sad. That part confused me the most. Maybe I wanted her to tell me it was okay. Or maybe I wanted her to even admit that she liked it. But really, what could I expect her to say with the other two members watching? I wasn't completely oblivious to the fact that she wanted it, but even then, how could I be sure that it meant anything real to her? That it wasn't just playful?

Deciding that overthinking was doing me no good, I left my room and went into the kitchen. It was dark and quiet, the other members having gone to bed a couple hours ago. The dim lights on the bottom of the cabinets illuminated the area enough for me to find the handle of the fridge. When I opened it, bright, blue, artificial light came pouring out, forcing my eyes to squint as they adjusted. I wasn't feeling particularly hungry, but I needed something to satiate my mind. A bottle of water would surely suffice.

As I reached out for one, I felt a whoosh of air and the sensation of hands sliding across my hips from behind. My entire body went rigid as my mind instantly assumed the worst. Even though I had slowly grown used to the abundance of physical affection my members gave me, the timing and scenario had me in a momentary panic.

Before I was able to do anything drastic, arms snaked all the way around my waist and I felt a warm, feminine figure press against my back. "It's just me," the familiar voice of our group's main vocalist said softly near my ear as she rested her chin on my shoulder. I let out a breath of relief, resting my hands on top of hers that had found their way beneath the hem of my t-shirt. Though, it was less calming and more nerve-wracking given my growing attraction to the older woman.

Having her this close allowed more opportunities for embarrassment, or, in her case, teasing. Though, the feeling of her lips pressing gently to my cheek elicited less of a flustered feeling and more of a depressed one. The memory of Bora's response to my kiss suspended permanently in the forefront of my mind, preventing me the luxury of indulging in the idea that little touches like these were glimpses into a deeper truth.

I should've known all along that I'd never be able to have what I truly wanted—never be able to fulfill my heart's deepest desire—but that reality hurt too much now that it had finally revealed itself. Obviously I knew I couldn't have all of them. Giving your heart to two different people with the promise of sharing it equally was arguably unrealistic, so offering it up to seven with that same promise was absolutely absurd. Still, I tried to hold out hope for as long as possible. And the way they all seemed to reinforce their feelings for me on a daily basis only made that hope grow at an alarming rate. How was I supposed to stop my wishful thinking when every thing they did confirmed that it could be a possibility?

"Couldn't sleep?" Siyeon asked, grounding me.

I sighed, feeling exhausted by my emotions, and finally allowed myself to lean back into her welcoming embrace, ignoring the way my heart fluttered at her warmth. "Yeah."

Siyeon unraveled one of her arms from around me to close the fridge door. Missing my opportunity to grab a water didn't bother me as much as it might've had I not gotten a little nauseous from the sickening pain my thoughts brought on. Even though she seemed to be enjoying this quiet moment between us, Siyeon slowly spun me around in her arms. I didn't meet her eyes, anticipating the questioning that would surely follow my admission.

"Jagi," her fingers reached up to brush a hair out of my eyes. "What's wrong?" she said in such a way that had me believing for a split second that she might know what I was going through, but the thought fleeted almost instantly. There's no way she could've.

"Nothing," I replied simply, though even I knew it didn't sound convincing. Clearly it wasn't nothing, but I had already made up my mind that talking to her about it (or any of them, for that matter) would do no good. It's not like she could fix everything and magically make the members fall for me like I'd fallen for them.

Her hand rested on my cheek and she spoke carefully, "I can tell it's not nothing." The tone of her voice compelled me to finally glance up at her.

The look in her eyes was all-too-familiar to me. She worried for her members, sometimes too much, because she cared for us so deeply. And this look told me she knew something was wrong and wouldn't be leaving until it was made right again. It truly was one of the things I loved most about her—her undying protectiveness for her loved ones—but now I was growing to dread it. Fear it, even. Because she had me dangling off the edge of admitting it all to her right there, one slip away from slinging my arms over her shoulders and letting her hold me as I shed every last tear I had stored inside of me.

"It's nothing serious, really." I looked down with a forced smile, hoping she'd just let it go. Though, deep down, there was this desperate cry inside of me, begging for her to continue prodding until I had no other option but to spill everything. All I needed was that one final shove off the cliff to get these unbearable secrets off my chest.

"Y/NN," she said sadly, rubbing her thumb across my cheek. "Is this about the kiss?" Her question made my heart grow ten times heavier in my chest and my eyes darted up to meet hers in surprise. How did she know?

"What, no! Of course not," I rushed out, feeling much too exposed for my own liking. If anything, I was preparing to explain the entire situation to her myself—if I did end up caving. I never could've expected her to know precisely what was bothering me. It made me feel ridiculous. Did I really make it that obvious? But Siyeon wasn't looking at me in a degrading or amused way. In fact, the look in her eyes was so frighteningly sympathetic and understanding that I was almost totally convinced she might even be struggling with the same sort of dilemma. At the thought that I wasn't alone in my suffering, my nose started burning, warning of oncoming tears threatening to fall and expose everything I've tried so tirelessly to conceal. Did she really understand?

"Oh, jagi," Siyeon frowned when she noticed my eyes turn glassy and my bottom lip quiver. The reality that the kiss I was crying over probably meant nothing to anyone else but me made me feel pathetic, yet Siyeon never once seemed to judge me. "Come here," she said, giving me no possible option to refuse her offer of consolation. I obeyed anyways as she gently guided me over to the couch, losing all strength to refuse once the onset of my breakdown approached.

The back of my thighs barely touched the cushions before the older member was pulling me into her chest. That was enough to crack through the dam stifling my endless pool of tears, and now there was nothing to keep them from flowing freely. "It's okay," Siyeon cooed softly, rubbing my back in soothing circles as I cried into her shirt. "I know. It's okay," she reassured and repeated the same phrase over again for the next few minutes, allowing me plenty of time to get everything out.

When the tears began to subside, sobs dwelling to quiet sniffles, Siyeon turned to grab something. I sat up and watched as she pulled a tissue from a box on the coffee table. Without saying anything, she turned to hold my chin and started wiping the tears off my cheeks. As I watched her face, the noticeable shiny glint in her eyes and the way her jaw clenched while she took in my (probably pitiful) appearance hinted that she was likely fighting back tears of her own. Guilt twisted in my gut knowing that I was being selfish burdening her with my pain and not even considering the hurt it might have caused her to see me in such a state.

"I'm sorry," I croaked out, grabbing her wrist.

Siyeon halted her actions, eyes flicking up to mine. "Don't apologize." Her voice was firm, but not angry. "Especially for this."

I shook my head. Why did she have to be so selfless? "You should be sleeping right now, not having to deal with this," I motioned to myself.

She put the tissue down and grabbed my hands, pulling me closer to her. "If you really think I could sleep peacefully right now knowing how you feel, then you must not know me that well." A gentle smile pulled at her lips and her voice softened, "I'd do this every night in a heartbeat if that's what you needed." The sincerity in her words had me on the brink of tears once more. There was no doubt in my mind that she meant every word she said.

I pouted. "Quit it," I mumbled, letting go of her hand to shove her shoulder. "You're gonna make me cry again." My words had her laughing. Feeling a bit more relieved after shedding some of the tears I had bottled up, I was able to laugh with her.

As our laughter died down, Siyeon leaned into me, showing off her beautiful smile. I admired it, feeling a swell of pride in my heart knowing I was the cause of it. It was honestly kind of unbelievable. Here I was, interrupting her sleep and ruining her shirt, yet I was also somehow the one making her laugh and bringing her joy. How could I be so lucky to find myself on the receiving end of such unconditional love? And how could I possibly consider myself deserving after feeling like such a burden?

Siyeon's forehead met mine, drawing me from my thoughts. As if the contact allowed her to hear my thoughts, she caressed my cheek and washed my worries away with three simple words. "I love you." It came out as a whisper, almost like she was telling me a secret. That stubborn spark of hope that I had tried so hard to stomp out the past few days ignited while we shared a moment staring into each other's eyes. The absolute last thing I needed right now was another intimate moment that I'd spend hours on end reading too much into—considering how that ended up with the whole Bora thing—but I could already feel my heart clutching onto those words and savoring the loving look in her eyes as if they were the blood that kept it pumping.

A breath unevenly slipped past my lips when Siyeon finally pulled away, giving me space. I relaxed back into the couch, straightening myself out and staring down at my hands in my lap to avoid her gaze. She shifted, angling her body and propping her head up with her elbow on the back of the couch to look at me.

"So," she trailed off, "do you want to talk about it?" Her voice was delicate, like she was afraid she'd speak too loud or say the wrong thing that would send me into another breakdown or scare me off entirely.

I hummed in indecision while I distracted myself, playing with the two adjustable strings dangling from the waistband of my sweatpants. The longer I debated it, the more I started to doubt how Siyeon would actually react. What if she just assumed I liked Bora? Or what if she doesn't think it's that at all? How would she really feel if I told her I was in love with seven different people? Any normal person would think I was insane.

Her right hand cut my thoughts short, laying on top of both of mine to stop my fidgeting. "What if I start?" she offered when I made eye contact with her.

I couldn't be sure what she possibly had to say, but, in my mind, it seemed like a better option than going first. So I agreed. "Okay," I swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling the nerves creeping back in. Now I was regretting not grabbing that bottle of water.

Siyeon released her head from her left hand and sat up straight, using both hands to grab one of mine and started softly pinching the back of it. I just hoped she didn't notice how cold my fingertips had gotten or the goosebumps that riddled my skin. "I think I have an idea of what you're going through, and I don't ever want you to feel like you have to hide this from us."

The words hit me all at once and the racing thoughts that followed were overwhelming. I was so busy trying to figure out what she thought she knew, I couldn't even appreciate how sweet her words were. She seemed to hit the nail on the head, but what she said could've applied to almost anything. There was still no way she could've known I was in love with all of them, let alone one of them.

I found myself struggling to respond. "But, this is..." my eyebrows furrowed as I focused my attention on the couch under us, face flushing at the idea of giving away too much. "This is different."

"I know," she responded immediately, as if she expected that exact reply out of me, drawing my eyes up to her. "I see the way you look at us," her voice was cautious but it didn't stop my pulse from racing, "and how you react when we touch you." Oh god, I was so obvious.

I couldn't help but feel embarrassed and panicked all at the same time. "Unnie-"

"It's okay," she cut me off, placing her hand on my waistband. "You don't have to be shy," she whispered, scooting closer. The proximity had me burning up. I had to turn my head away from her in order to focus my thoughts.

Alarm bells were ringing in my mind, alerting me that my secret had been found out. But which one? She couldn't know the whole truth, could she? No. She had to be talking about my attraction to women. "It's-" I hesitated. Was I really ready to tell her? "It's not just that." An unsteady breath left my mouth.

"Jagi, I know. We know," she emphasized. "Maybe the younger members haven't made it as obvious, but surely you've seen the way we look at you, too."

...there's no way. I must've misheard...

"I thought our flirting made it pretty obvious," Siyeon said lowly, slipping her hand under my shirt to rub her fingers against my stomach, but I was unable to react to any of it.

"You flirt with everyone," I mumbled subconsciously, my brain slowly breaking down in its spastic attempt to process everything hitting me at once. She knew.

Her warm laugh filled the room, momentarily startling me out of my mental breakdown, "okay, fair point." Right about now, I was ready to wake up in bed and realize this entire thing was a dream. It even felt like one when I started to get lightheaded. Siyeon leaned in even closer, fingers dipping dangerously below my waistband, inches away from turning this moment into something exponentially more intimate. "But it's different with you," she whispered, making the skin under her hand burn as a fire began to flare up between my legs.

My mind wouldn't give in, refusing to let me accept this as reality and bask in it like I'd wanted to for so long. It all felt wrong. She shouldn't even know, let alone be okay with it, let alone confirm my delusions??? This wasn't right. Where was the lack of acceptance, the judgement, the disgust? No normal person reacted this way. She couldn't actually mean it.

I tilted my head up, searching her eyes frantically for any sign of dishonesty. "How are you so okay with this?" I asked in disbelief. "It's unnatural. Y-you should be freaked out by it!" I stuttered as I felt the emotion choking me up again.

"It's not unnatural at all," Siyeon said, voice laced with sadness once she started to realize how I felt. "And why would I be freaked out by it?" How could you not be? How is it not unnatural?

How could you be so accepting of something that I've hated myself for feeling for the last two years?

"It- it's wrong, Siyeon," I whispered, a single tear sliding down my cheek.

In the blink of an eye, she was grabbing my chin and wiping the sadness away. "You love us," she emphasized softly, staring into my eyes, "how is there anything wrong with that?"

Those words made my heart clench painfully in my chest. They were ones that I needed to hear all along, ones that I should've been telling myself this whole time, but they were also ones that my mind still rejected, over and over again. I looked down. "But what would someone think if they found out?"

"No one has to know except for us. And it wouldn't matter anyways." Siyeon shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment as if looking for the right words to say. When she opened them again, I saw a universe of stars in them as specs of light bounced off their now teary exterior and I felt an equally limitless amount of love radiating from them. "All that matters is that you're happy. That we're happy. And I won’t let anything get in the way of that."

I stayed silent, really, truly allowing myself to soak in her words. She was right. Even my mind couldn't argue with that one. The ultimate goal was to be happy. To make them happy. Why would I possibly refuse when that happiness was right at the tip of my fingers?

Choking back my tears, I tried to keep my hopes low and remain realistic. "How do you even know it's really what the other members want?" I whispered weakly, no longer caring if I sounded insecure. All my cards were out on the table now, there was no point in trying to hide from her any longer.

"Honestly, I don't for sure. That's something you'll have to figure out on your own." She frowned sympathetically. Regret was already starting to sneak in and the idea of being rejected or having to choose between any of them had my heart aching. "But, you know, Bora hasn't stopped talking about you since that night," Siyeon's lips turned up in amusement.

"What?" I blurted out.

"She's been acting like it didn't affect her, but I know it did. She just won't admit it out loud." Everything that came out of her mouth was sounding less and less believable by the second. Had Bora really been thinking about the kiss as much as I had? "And Minji," Siyeon let out a short chuckle, "Minji is so clearly jealous. It's funny how they try to act indifferent. It's pointless, really. They're so painfully obvious." Minji... was actually jealous?

For the sake of my rapidly and unrightfully inflating ego, I hoped Siyeon wasn't making all of this up. Although, the thought of Bora and Minji fighting over me had me feeling overwhelmingly hot and I was beginning to think this was gonna be way more than I could actually handle. I never prepared for this, because it so surely seemed like a massively far-fetched fantasy... yet here it was, very quickly becoming a reality.

Even faster than I realized when I dared to ask, "And you?"

"Me?" Siyeon smiled, leaning in again. I kept eye contact, heart beating unusually fast as her finger traced my jawline. "Honestly, I'm a little disappointed you gave Bora your first kiss." Her low tone of voice left me feeling dizzy. I couldn't even say anything, frozen like a deer in headlights. Taking advantage of my stillness, she scooted even closer, making it hard to breathe. "Mm," she hummed, her lips ghosting over mine, "you really do get nervous around me, don't you?" She smirked and I subconsciously squeezed my thighs together, clenching my jaw in an attempt to distract my mind from the way she was making me feel.

My silence was enough confirmation for her, giving her the last final push to lean in. All the oxygen was sucked out of my lungs at the sensation of her lips meeting mine. I had been waiting for this moment for so long and somehow I still wasn't prepared for it to actually happened. With Bora, it was short-lived and I had been the one to initiate it. But with Siyeon, her own control and choices were variables that I could've never even considered. And the concept that she started this and that she was kissing me out of her own want made this feel so much better than I ever thought it could. The way she kissed me slowly, savoring every single second, and cherishing the taste and feeling of my lips against hers.

I could tell she was feeling the same when I backed away for a second to catch my breath and she was quick to chase my lips. I held onto her shirt as her hands clutched the sides of my face possessively, her thumbs resting on my jawline. I could feel her staggered breathing against my skin—telling me her heart was racing—while her lips captured mine over and over again in a mind-numbing rhythm. Now I was beginning to think her description of Minji more accurately suited herself. It seemed like Siyeon was jealous of Bora and couldn't wait until she finally got her turn to claim me as her own.

Eventually though, air became a problem, causing her to release my lips. I grabbed her hands that were holding my face while we both fought to catch our breath. She looked down at me, instantly smiling when she saw how affected I was. I felt shy under her gaze and released her hands to plunge into her embrace. She held me tightly as I clutched the back of her shirt, laying my head on her shoulder. A small laugh escaped her mouth, "you're cute."

I whined into her shoulder, "I'm not cute."

"Oh, really?" She teased, the hint of a smile still evident in her voice.

I lifted my head to look at her, hoping it was dark enough so that she couldn't see the blush on my face. "Yeah really," I reciprocated her smile, staring her down and probably failing miserably at looking intimidating.

I watched as she dropped her hands to my waist and moved to rest mine around her neck. "Then prove it," she whispered, cocking her eyebrow in the most attractive way possible.

My stomach bubbled with nervous-excitement once I realized where this was probably leading. Trying to fight a smile, I bit my lip as my eyes darted down to her mouth. From my actions, her tongue swiped out over her own lips to wet them. Before she ever even gave me a chance to act, she was pushing me down onto the couch and taking her place on top of me. Her hand reached out to grab my chin and her thumb moved my bottom lip from my teeth.

"Don't do that," she said lowly in a way that made the pit of my stomach burn. "Unless you want me to do this." One of her hands made its way to the inside of my thigh and she squeezed down, making me gasp in surprise. She seized her opportunity to lean in and slip her tongue past my parted lips. The sensation of it swiping boldly across my own tongue had me clutching her neck for support, feeling myself growing slick just inches above where her hand was placed. I was so shocked that I couldn't do anything in return. I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do anyways.

She could probably feel my hesitance because she finished with a kiss and pulled back to look at me. I immediately felt the need to explain my tenseness, "I'm sorry, I don't know what to-"

"It's okay," she let out a small laugh and smiled at me. I avoided her eyes, a bit ashamed by my inexperience since she clearly seemed to know what she was doing. "Hey," she whispered gently, releasing my thigh and using her hand to turn my head to face her, "there's no reason to be embarrassed." Her eyes looked so caring in that moment and I wondered how someone could be so perfect.

I smiled, feeling more shy by the second. "I know, I've just never done this before and you clearly have, so I felt the need to-"

She cut off my rambling, "Hey, hey. I know, it's okay," she laughed, finding my nervousness endearing. Her hand started combing through my hair while she waited for me to relax again. "I have to admit, I'm regretting dating that girl in high school right now because the idea of experiencing all of your firsts with you sounds really fucking romantic," she let out a laugh again, and I couldn't stop the massive grin on my face. Now I was convinced she was actually perfect... or a mind-reader, because she knew exactly what to say to make me fall even harder for her. Before she could continue, I pulled her down to steal a kiss. That seemed like a better way to express how I felt about what she said anyways. Plus, it made her laugh happily and steal another kiss back.

Once she was satisfied, she released my lips to finish what she wanted to say. "But now I'm starting to think the idea of me teaching you is way hotter," she said seriously. I laughed lightly, grateful she could so easily make my nerves go away.

"You want to be my teacher?" I teased, raising my hand to brush my thumb against her thick, bottom lip. She leaned into my touch, her lips parting and her nose grazing mine as she struggled to restrain herself. My throat went dry when an intimidating look flashed across her eyes. It was way more satisfying than I expected seeing her have such a visceral reaction to me. Now I was beginning to understand exactly why they enjoyed teasing me so much. If I knew Siyeon was really this affected by every little thing I did to her, I would've been doing it for years.

"Yes," she breathed out against my lips with such desperation that I couldn't help but smirk. "You have no idea how much I want you."

With no time to even process what she just said, her lips crashed back into mine. Now I knew I was reaping the rewards for my teasing when her kisses were no longer slow and gentle. My hands threaded through her hair while she made out with me, and her own found their way under my shirt. With the stimulating feeling of her fingers traveling teasingly up my abs, I made the mistake of parting my lips once more, granting Siyeon's tongue access to my mouth. Still not knowing what to do, I instinctively pushed her away.

"Unnie-" I mumbled.

"It's okay, baby," she said, breathless, "just relax and follow my lead, okay?"

She kissed me again before letting me reply, "Okay." And then she was back at it, swiping her tongue across my bottom lip, silently asking me for permission. So I let her have it and gripped her neck tightly at the way her warm, slick tongue was making all the blood in my body rush to my core.

She kept going, her tongue exploring a different part of my mouth every time it entered before retreating out to be replaced by her lips. After just a couple times, I felt more comfortable, and allowed my tongue to meet hers. Siyeon rewarded me with a hum of pleasure and handed off the control. She let me experiment, practicing exactly what she did to me on her. I quickly learned that the addicting sensation of my tongue inside of her mouth gave me a sickeningly intense feeling of power and had me turned on to such a degree that it was borderline embarrassing. After that, getting to be the one in charge evolved from really terrifying to way too enjoyable. Something about someone as experienced as Siyeon letting me do whatever I wanted to her was so undeniably hot.

When I finally seemed to get the hang of it, we both pulled back, panting heavily. Though, Siyeon wasn't quite finished yet, trading my lips for my jawline. She slowly planted kisses from the edge of my chin all the way to my ear and I could feel her sporadic breaths bouncing off my skin the entire way. It was like she wasn't satisfied unless her lips were on me. She couldn't get enough of me and it had me wondering if she had imagined this moment a million times before just like I had.

"You're being such a good girl for me," she praised suddenly, sending a shockwave of pleasure through my body.

"Fuck, Siyeon," I whimpered quietly out of instinct, though I knew there was no way she wasn't going to hear it with my mouth just a few inches away from her ear.

"Mm, you like when I call you that, baby?" Her voice came out husky as she gripped my thigh, biting down on my earlobe.

I inhaled sharply, instinctively arching my back off the couch, pressing our chests together. "Oh my god," I breathed out, dripping with arousal.

Siyeon groaned quietly at my reaction. "You sound so fucking sexy, babygirl," she mumbled against my skin.

"This can't be real," I said, making Siyeon chuckle lowly as she started kissing down my neck. "I have to be dreaming right now."

She finally stopped what she was doing and leaned back over my face, "Are you saying you often dream of me doing things like this to you?" The smirk on her face made my stomach twist.

"Unnie, please," I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm my heartbeat. If I ever wanted it to resume it's normal rhythm, there's no way I could look at Siyeon's face ever again after hearing those words leave her lips.

She laughed lightly, "you're overwhelmed."

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," I replied uneasily, only making Siyeon let out a few more quiet laughs before running her fingers through my hair again and kissing my cheek, probably hoping it might help calm me down. "How are you not?" I tried to open my eyes but the second I saw her unrealistically attractive features, I had to close them again. "God, this is way too fucking much for any normal human being to handle."

"I think this is the most I've heard you curse in your entire life," she laughed. I just pulled her down into me, wrapping my legs around her waist. She adjusted her head to answer my question. "And I am overwhelmed, my reaction is just less in the form of almost passing out and more in the form of wanting to kiss you." That finally made me laugh and I turned my head to rest it on hers.

It was quiet for a moment while we stayed locked in each other's embrace and I was sure she could feel my heart pounding like a sledgehammer against my rib cage. Her hands now at the small of my back felt like fire against my skin and I remembered back to what she said a few seconds ago.

"Yes," I answered out of the blue.

She tilted her head back to look at me, "what?"

I finally opened my eyes and scooted to the side so that I could turn my head to look at her face-to-face. The image of her in that moment almost made me turn away. Somehow her slightly messy hair and flushed face made her look a million times sexier than I ever thought possible. It definitely didn't help when I remembered everything she had previously whispered in my ear. I took a deep breath, focusing on my fingers resting against her jawline rather than her eyes so I wouldn't forget how to speak. "You asked if that meant I often dream of you doing things like this to me... and the answer is yes," I explained, the nerves now more evident in my voice.

Without even looking at her entire face, the pull of a smile on her cheek reassured me that I hadn't admitted too much. "Good to know I'm not the only one," she mumbled, pulling my gaze to her eyes. She didn't appear to be lying, maybe a bit timid, but definitely not untruthful. Her eyes stayed on mine as we both started to realize how real this was. It was a relief finally knowing I wasn't completely crazy for feeling the way that I did and that she felt the same. Although, the thought of her picturing me in certain situations suddenly hit me and I felt incredibly shy again, reaching out to grab the collar of her shirt so I could pull her into me.

"What?" She giggled as I hid my face in her neck.

"You're going to be the death of me, Lee Siyeon," I groaned.

"Man, and you haven't even made it to the other six yet," she said seriously.

"Jesus Christ," I spoke in English, eliciting the loudest laugh from Siyeon yet.

The concept of having to go through all of this again with six other members was driving me insane. In that moment, I nearly concluded that it'd be better for my sanity if I just stuck with Siyeon (even though that alone was still detrimental to my sanity).

"Come here," she grabbed my neck loosely and gently pushed me back. "You know, you never said it back to me," she pouted. It took me a minute to understand what she meant, but I eventually remembered.

I looked deep into her eyes, finally letting all of the feelings soak in. And, after tonight, there was no doubt in my mind that my next statement was true, "I love you."

Siyeon beamed, looking over at me like I was the most precious thing in the world to her, and pulled me in for another kiss. This one was unlike the others. It was delicate and sweet and I knew it meant so much more than just a kiss. It conveyed everything she was feeling for me in ways that words couldn't. So I cherished it as if it were my last.

The sentimental moment didn't last long though, a less shocked and more disappointed voice breaking through the silence, "I should've known this is what you were up to." We drew apart, both looking up in surprise, unable to conceal our obvious guilt, finding Minji standing a few feet away with her hands on her hips. Even with the lack of lighting in the room, I could make out the expression of disapproval on the leader's face, like a mother who just caught her teenage daughter in bed with a boy. Realizing her eyes were on Siyeon, I felt somewhat relieved that I wasn't the victim of her scolding... until her gaze shifted to me and hardened in a way that sent chills up my spine.

She really was jealous and I had a good feeling I was just seconds away from reaping the consequences of making out with someone who wasn't her.

—

A/N: I might post more parts to this with the other members eventually if I ever find the time to write for it.

**This oneshot was transferred over from my Wattpad account OT5Stan4Life**

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penny00dreadful · 1 year ago

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Eddie would sing Fat Bottomed Girls to Steve every chance he got.

On stage in front of thousands with grabby hands.

In the kitchen when Steve was "just trying to cook, Eds, for Christ's sake" giving his ass a few taps in time to his singing just to see it jiggle.

In the car where Steve had literally no escape and had to put up with it with a little frowny frown because he was trying so hard not to smile.

And when Robin had suspiciously been trying to keep his attention away from the stage at their wedding, Steve knew something was coming.

Steve had been expecting something to happen because Eddie was nothing if not a performer and to have an event centred around the two of them with their closest here to celebrate, he'd be more surprised if nothing happened.

But when whatever had been playing in the background faded out and he heard Eddie's voice boom out through the speakers-

Are you gonna take me home tonight?

Steve's eyes and Robin's grin grew wide at the same time.

Oh, down beside that red firelight

He hid his face in his hands, there were already whoops and wolf whistles from their gathered guests in his direction.

Are you gonna let it all hang out?

"Oh, don't pretend to be going bashful." Robin shouted at him, to be heard over Eddie's singing. "I've had to listen to too many horny thoughts from you about this song, you're so fucking in love right now, aren't you?"

Fat bottomed girls

You make the rockin' world go 'round

Steve lifted his face, unable to hide his huge smile any longer. Robin gave him a shove in the direction of the dance floor where the crowd parted for him with nudges and slaps on the shoulder.

Hey, I was just a skinny lad

Never knew no good from bad

But I knew life before I left my nursery, huh

Eddie was in his fucking element, bouncing around the small stage like it was Madison Square Garden.

He finally caught sight of Steve, who was red faced but couldn't stop grinning as he watched his now husband wave one hand down like he was mapping out curves.

Left alone with big fat Fanny

She was such a naughty nanny

Hey, big woman

You made a bad boy out of me

He fought the urge to hide his face again, especially when he remembered just who was here.

Hopper, Joyce, Mrs. Henderson, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, fucking Wayne was here watching him getting sexually serenaded.

Eddie continued to sing while the Corroded Coffin boys played through with matching exasperated but delighted grins, obviously having a great time simultaneously playing and embarrassing the shit out of Steve.

He was drawn to Eddie like a magnet. He didn't even remember stepping closer but next thing he knew he was in front of the stage, a one man recipient to a show just for him.

Eddie reached out and for one terrifying moment, Steve thought he was going to touch his hair.

He did not spend hours on it this morning only for it to be messed up before one of them got to be bent over their honeymoon suite bed later that night.

Eddie seemed to have realised that too, at the last second redirecting his hand to stroke over Steve's cheek.

Oh, but I still get my pleasure

Still got my greatest treasure

Hey, big woman, you gonna make a big man of me

The stage was low and it wasn't huge so Steve was only really at chest height, but he could tell in that moment and with those lyrics, all Eddie wanted to do was thrust his pelvis in Steve's face but thankfully he kept himself on a leash even though everyone behind Steve was still whooping and hollaring.

When the song finally closed out, Eddie threw the mic behind him, not much caring where it landed. Luckily for everyone's eardrums Grant managed to snatch it up with a scowl before it clattered to the ground.

Eddie wasn't paying attention though. He'd planted one hand on either of Steve's shoulders and jumped down from the stage, trusting that he'd be caught.

Which he was.

Eddie wrapped his legs around Steve's waist and Steve had to try very hard to not let his hands wander, so instead he locked his wrists under Eddie's thighs, maybe, just maybe getting away with a little pinch to the ass that only the Corroded Coffin boys could see.

They were extremely unbothered. They'd seen it all before. They'd seen much worse before.

"You're a menace." Steve grumbled, still unable to keep his smile away.

Eddie hummed in agreement, looking down on him from his higher position. "Your menace."

"My menace."

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orshii · 8 months ago

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Will I ever see you again? CHAPTER 2: Slow Down

Author: orshii

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x reader

Warning: cursing, violence, alcohol consumption, drug use

Word count: 5 k

Summary: You were left alone with your brother, Yunho, and his best friend Hongjoong, after your parents' death. Yunho had someone to grieve with, but you? You had no one as your brother and his best friend pushed you away, singing becoming your only savior. There was one rule that Yunho made inside his friend group: “Don’t touch my sister”. And for this reason, Hongjoong had always kept his distance. But one night, you find yourself in danger. And from then on, Hongjoong does not leave your side. He is suddenly overprotective of you, and your relationship shifts and becomes fraught with tension and unspoken feelings, with secrets lurking beneath the surface and a painful past haunting you. Will you find out the secrets your brother and best friend have been keeping away from you? Will you be able to finally free yourself from your cruel past?

Will you fall in love amidst the chaos around you?

A/N: Chapter 2 is here finally, sorry for updating so late, I just needed to figure out some things in the story. More secrets are coming to the surface and their connection gets a little...hotter. Poor Wooyoungie tho. Idk about you but I love this possessive Hj haha, and it'll get more interesting. Thank you for reading, byee!

Taglist: @bvidzsoo @vixensss @deltamoon666 @scarfac3 @chatsgotmytongue @xiang-zalea (taglist is open if interested)

The four men stared at me like they were the hunters and I was their prey.

"Now that fucker, Yunho, will give back the money he owns us, for sure." The tallest man said, stepping closer to me.

I slowly stood up; they were only inches apart from me. I inhaled deeply, trying to get myself together. There was no point in panicking. No one was here to save me, I needed to save myself. I looked around, two men were standing on my right side and the other two were on my left side. They were blocking my car, the takeaway food was splashed on the dirty ground, and my bag with my keys was meters away from me, getting to my car wasn't a choice now; I needed to run.

"What money?" I asked and slowly, very carefully stepped back, trying to appear confident.

"Your brother robbed us, and took all of our money, so he will pay now." Again, the tallest man stepped closer to me as I stepped back. I guessed he was their leader.

He grabbed my chin and lifted it aggressively, "We should play a little with this slut." His mouth was barely inches away from my face. I felt disgusted.

Fuck, this isn't good. I needed to think, very quickly. Suddenly, Hongjoong’s words were echoing in my brain.

If your timing is perfect, your enemy will be on the floor in seconds.

I remembered what Hongjoong taught me. Four against one isn't fair. I can't just knock them all out. A stupid plan started to form in my mind as I took in my surroundings carefully, analyzing where I could run, and I knew— It was now or never baby. The man was trying to say something when I suddenly shouted.

"Look, what is that?!" I said as the four men looked behind themselves. I quickly punched the man in front of me, right in his solar plexus, and he was on the floor in seconds. But I had no time to wander around. I started to run, run for my fucking life. I ran opposite my car, into the dark streets. I looked behind me and the three men were running after me, the fourth a little behind. I was breathing heavily, I wasn't used to running, it was ridiculous, this predicament was a joke. Adrenaline crawled through my body as I was still running, and looking behind my back, I saw the four men slowing down. I guess they weren’t used to running, fuckers. I knew this town just like the back of my hand, so I knew a place where I could hide, I just needed to get there.

I ran down short and narrow streets, turning left, then right. I don't fucking know what kept me going, but the adrenaline pumping through my body gave me some kind of superpower. I even climbed over fences; I was running like the Flash. I didn't recognize myself, it was as if someone kept me going, giving me the power to go, to not stop. Then I let myself look behind me again, and I saw no one.

However, I didn't stop running until I reached an old building where we always played with Yunho when we were little. The memories suddenly hit me at once: numerous times when we’d snuck out with Yunho to play here because somehow, we felt happy and safe here. That is why I came to this place, it always gave us security, making me believe that I would be safe this time too. When I finally went into the building and sat down, I held my breath for a short minute, just to make sure no one was following me, and that was when I finally started to panic. Suddenly, everything hit me like I was a punching bag. I took quick breaths, trying to understand what the hell happened mere minutes ago.

Did they try to kill me? Who knows what the hell they wanted to do to me…

What the fuck did Yunho get into? What money were they talking about?

My body was shaking from running and from the overwhelming emotions that flew through my system. I started sobbing, lifting my knees to my chest, grabbing my hair with my hands. Then I started to laugh, at this whole situation, at the fact that my stupid plan worked. I needed to cry because I did not know what all of this was, I was so confused about what just happened. My heart was beating fast, it felt like it might explode at some point. After ten minutes, somehow, I got myself together, and after breathing in and out a few times, I pulled my phone out to text Yunho.

ME: Someone fucking attacked me, and they talked about some money you owe them. What the fuck Yunho?

For a moment, quiet overtook the abandoned house, and then suddenly, my phone's screen lit up. Yunho was calling me.

"Where the fuck are you?" I heard Yunho's voice immediately as I picked up.

"At the old abandoned house." I told him.

"Are you okay?" He asked worriedly.

"Yes, I ran away." I said quietly.

"Stay there, don't go out until we arrive!" He said, his voice furious, and hung up quickly.

I waited in the dark, it swallowed me like I was one with it. I just stared at the white wall in front of me, which seemed almost black from the lack of lightning as it barely lit up the abandoned house due to the streetlights being faulty.

I didn’t even realize how much time had gone by when I finally heard a car quickly stopping with its tires screeching and two doors slamming shut. I stood up and looked out the window, and saw Yunho and Hongjoong. Of course, Hongjoong just couldn’t stay out of this. I stepped out of the building and was met with two pairs of worried eyes. Yunho quickly ran towards me and hugged me.

"Fuck, are you okay?" He grabbed my face to check if I was hurt.

"Yes, I'm okay." I pushed his hands away.

"What the fuck happened?" Hongjoong asked, stepping closer to me and checking my body, trying to find an injury.

"I was at Granny's ordering some food and when I went out to my car, suddenly four men appeared and they pushed me onto the ground—and they were talking about some fucking money and Yunho—I somehow ran away, I was lucky, I guess—I don't get it, what the hell—who are they?" I quickly told them what happened, stammering as I felt overwhelmed again.

"Fuck, this is because you couldn't shut your mouth, Yunho!" Hongjoong said, angrily looking at him.

"What the fuck, Hong?! It was necessary for our plan, what else could I do, do tell me, please!" Yunho shouted at Hongjoong.

"They fucking attacked Y/N! Who knows what the hell they are going to do next time." Hongjoong pointed at me. "Your plan is shit; we can't do this anymore." Hongjoong stepped closer to Yunho, staring at him with sharp eyes.

Again. Like I was not even fucking there.

"What plan? Oh, my God, tell me something for fuck's sake!" I shouted at them.

They looked at me like they were surprised I was there too.

"It's none of your business, we will take care of it, don't worry." Yunho said, trying to hold my hand.

I scoffed and pushed him away. "Yeah, of course. Take me to my car." I went to Hongjoong's venom-green Mustang Shelby and sat in the backseat.

I was so fucking angry, I felt sick. The fact that they never tell me anything at all, made me feel again like I was just a fucking object, never truly acknowledged and cared for. I hated them. Yunho and Hongjoong.

As I got angrier, so did the familiar melody I heard playing in my head again…

≫The furious dragon sped through the clouds

Just to bring the storm to the people who deserve it≪

When we reached my car, as soon as Hongjoong stopped, I got out of his car and went to collect my things that were still scattered around the dirty ground, and went right to my car, sitting in it. I locked the car so Yunho couldn't sit inside too, because I knew, that from now on, they were going to turn into my fucking babysitters. I turned the engine on and quickly drove away, not wishing to see them.

The next morning when I woke up, I felt like a zombie. I hadn't slept well because I had nightmares about dark figures trying to push me down to the ground, just until I drowned in the sudden water that appeared out of nowhere, hands that seemed like shadows pulling me deep down to the bottom of the ocean.

I went down to the kitchen so that I could eat something before I attended my classes as yesterday night I had no appetite to eat anything. When I was close to the kitchen’s door, I overheard Yunho and Hongjoong talking.

"We have to find them before they find us." I heard Yunho say, his voice still raspy as I assumed he got up just a few minutes ago.

"Yes, but we don't know where they are. They are not the foolish type to stay in plain sight, this whole thing seems to run way deeper than it initially seemed to." Hongjoong said in a low voice.

"I easily fooled them still." I said stepping inside the kitchen, and they looked at me surprised.

"You just had luck." Hongjoong said with fierce eyes, looking at me only for a second before he returned to the table.

"Are you kidding me?! If I would've panicked, I wouldn't be fucking here." I scoffed at him, going to the counter to grab a glass and pour some water for myself.

"I'm glad you were smart and tricked those motherfuckers, I'm proud of you." Yunho came to stand next to me, pecked my temple, and ruffled my hair.

I wanted to slap him, but he slipped away chuckling before I could, "You coming to Mist tonight? There's going to be a party." Yunho asked.

I shrugged, "I don't know, I'll speak to Yeosang to see if he’s going."

"Alright. I'll grab my stuff and then we can go, Hong." Yunho said leaving the kitchen.

I poured water into my glass and turned around, leaning against the counter.

I looked straight into Hongjoong's eyes, "Will you tell me who those men were? I want to help you; who knows, maybe I can recognize the ones that attacked me." I said, lifting the glass to my mouth to drink, but Hongjoong stood up and came right in front of me and grabbed my wrist, stopping me from drinking it.

"Don't try and bump your nose into things you shouldn’t, just be a good girl and stay low. You saw what happened, so just stay the fuck out of this." His eyes burned me like I was a match waiting to be lit up, burn me down until I was nothing.

"You make it sound like this is my fucking fault. Is it my fault that four men tried to fucking kill me? Were you there? No. So stop telling me to ‘stay low’, when none of this is my fault." I yelled at him furiously. I was sick of this shit already. His face remained impassive and cold, but I didn’t care anymore. I didn't want to see him, so I went back to my room to get ready for my classes having lost my appetite.

The furious melody did not want to leave my mind again, playing it over and over, until my mind found the right words to match with.

≫The world sees you as a fool

Like you are the fault in the stars≪

My classes went by quickly, thank God. I was with Yeosang the whole day and we decided we'd go to the party. We really needed some partying before our exams started. It was a good excuse to let go of everything. I needed to catch a break from my thoughts because if not, I might drown in them.

Yeosang helped me choose my outfit for the party, which consisted of a tight black skirt, paired with a white crop top, alongside black high boots reaching up to my knees. My hair fell onto my shoulders naturally, and I put on some make-up and accessories. Yeosang wore black ripped jeans and a green blouse with a low cut, his collarbones exposed. He put on a necklace with a padlock on it. I figured he wanted to find someone that would have the key to open it. Well, anyways, that’s what I told him, making him laugh, until he suddenly turned serious and said,

‘True’. I was sure he’d find someone tonight because, damn, he looked so beautiful I got nothing on him.

When we arrived at Mist it was already crowded. It took us longer to arrive because on our way, we decided to buy Whiskey and then we secretly drank it on the bus, on our way towards the club. We laughed loudly during the ride, conversing animatedly, drawing attention to us, pissing the people off around us. So, by the time we had arrived, we were already tipsy enough to start dancing, joining the crowd. We became one with the dancing bodies, becoming one of them. This was what I needed—To get away from my thoughts.

I felt the rhythm of the music slowly engulf my being, spreading from my head to my toes. The strangers’ bodies hugged around us as I held Yeosang's hand while we jumped up and down happily to the strong rhythm of the music. The music was loud, the colorful lights blinding us as we danced like there was no tomorrow. After a while, we decided to drink something as we had started sobering up, and that wasn't the plan at all. So, we went to the bar.

"Two gin tonics and tequila shots, please." I shouted to the bartender, trying to speak over the loud music. I knew him, he was from Yunho's friend circle, Jung Wooyoung.

"Isn't that too much for a pretty girl like you?" Wooyoung looked at me with his sharp foxy eyes. He had two piercings near his eyebrows, making him look even more intimidating. He wore a simple black T-shirt paired with ripped jeans. He had a few earrings and rings too. I couldn’t lie; he was handsome as hell.

"It's not, and I'm here too." Yeosang stepped in, next to me, staring at Wooyoung pointedly.

Wooyoung chuckled as he started preparing our drinks. I looked around, but I didn't see Yunho anywhere. Maybe he was making out with a girl, somewhere deep in the crowd, or was trying to piss Mingi off. Suddenly, my eyes landed on someone. Someone who was smiling, and that someone was Kim Hongjoong. I promise to God, it was a rare sight to see his smile, let alone hear his laugh. A girl was next to him and as he leaned against the wall, he whispered something in her ear while holding her waist. It was quite obvious what he was doing, shamelessly flirting with her. It was weird seeing Hongjoong like this, he never really did things like that. At least not when I was around.

He was wearing jeans that were two colored, these colors the opposite of his hair black and white hair. The top part of his body was hugged by a white T-shirt and a denim jacket, black boots his choice of footing for the night. He had a good sense of fashion, that was obvious.

The longer I kept staring at him, the more I realized I should do what he was doing. I should let go and just feel free for one night, if possible. I turned back to face Wooyoung as he had finished mixing our drinks. Yeosang and I downed the tequila shots right away, and then, he suddenly leaned closer to me.

"Can I leave you here for a little bit? I might have found the one holding the key to my padlock." Yeosang winked at me.

"Yes, of course, go." I smiled at him, pushing him away playfully. I watched as he disappeared between the dancing bodies when suddenly an idea came to my mind. I turned towards Wooyoung again.

"Do you have something—stronger? You know…" I looked at him while trailing off, hoping he knew what I meant.

He slightly frowned at me, a small smirk present on his lips, "You mean, pills?"

"Yeah." I said, trying to sound and look convincing.

"I do have some." He kept his sharp eyes on me while he wiped a wet glass dry, "Do you want some, pretty girl?"

"I do, actually." I looked at him, batting my eyelashes at him with a sweet smile on my lips.

I wasn’t really sure if he knew whose sister I was, and so, I wanted to take advantage of that.

He leaned over the counter, face close to mine, "If you dance with me, I'll give you some." He whispered so close to my lips that they almost touched mine.

I looked down at his lips, then up into his sharp eyes, “Don't you need to work?"

"My shift is over, pretty one." He said smiling charmingly, never taking his eyes off me.

"Okay." I agreed in the end, I could use some fun too.

He smirked and moved away from me to get the pill, and then walked around the counter. He stepped closer to me as he held something in his hand. Then he slowly poked his tongue out and placed the pill on it, his eyes never leaving mine. He raised one of his eyebrows as if he meant to say, 'Take it if you want it', while leaning towards me. My heart started racing. Fuck, he looked so hot like this, why wouldn't I take this one-time opportunity? I slowly leaned down, closer to his face, feeling his hot breathing puffing against my lips. But he didn’t wait until I was close enough to kiss him. Wooyoung eagerly closed the distance between our lips, crashing them together like there wasn't a pill slipping past our entangled tongues. I felt when the pill finally was passed onto my tongue, into my mouth, but we didn’t pull away straight away. His lips moved against mine, rushed, his tongue discovering my mouth as I moved mine along his. My arms slowly crawled around his neck as he pulled me closer to him by my waist. That is until I felt a strong hand grabbing my left shoulder, yanking me away from Wooyoung. He bit my bottom lip painfully due to the sudden motion. I could taste blood, mingled with Wooyoung’s saliva.

I turned to look stunned at the one who yanked me off, it being none other than Hongjoong. He looked so furious I was afraid he might kill someone. And I wasn't joking as he grabbed Wooyoung's shirt and pulled him close aggressively, his T-shirt threatening to tear apart at any second.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Wooyoung?" Hongjoong said in a low tone, he was shaking as he held Wooyoung.

"Dude, chill, what the fuck did I do?!" Wooyoung asked, looking confused.

"Did you give her pills? Are you insane?" Hongjoong pushed Wooyoung a bit, still not letting him go.

"Yes, because she asked. Now let go of me, you fucker." Wooyoung pushed Hongjoong's hands off himself. As Hongjoong released him, Wooyoung tried to straighten his T-shirt.

"She’s Yunho's sister; you should be grateful I was the one who found you two like this." Hongjoong said, looking at me for a second, making me feel little under his sharp gaze.

"So what? It should bother Yunho, not you. What?” Wooyoung asked, lifting his pierced eyebrow, “Are you fucking her behind his back?"

It truly was the worst idea to provoke Hongjoong, because as he heard the things Wooyoung uttered, he lost his morality. He didn’t care that the guy in front of him was one of his best friends. He punched Wooyoung with the force of a boxer, obviously, and it made Wooyoung fall to the ground immediately. Luckily, Hongjoong didn’t knock him out, I guess he still had that very little sanity in himself still. I gasped, however, hardly believing my eyes. Did Hongjoong just hit Wooyoung?!

"What the fuck, Hongjoong, are you out of your mind?!" I shouted at him, my body trembling from the sudden anger I felt.

He suddenly turned around, coming towards me. He grabbed my chin and lifted it up to look straight into my eyes. "Spit it out!" He commanded like I didn’t have a choice at all.

I poked out my tongue, just to show him that there wasn’t anything on it anymore, "Fuck off, you are not my brother Hongjoong! You are acting ridiculous." I said to him, pushing him away and turning my back to him. I wanted to go back and dance, lose myself to the music and the people around me.

But suddenly, Hongjoong pulled me back by my wrist. "I'm going to take you home, right now." He said with a face void of emotion, making me unable to read what he thought and felt, it was fucking annoying.

"I'm not going anywhere!" I shouted at him, trying to free my wrist from his hold.

He stepped even closer, holding my wrist harsher. I was sure his grasp was going to leave black and blue marks, "Yes, you are!"

But I couldn't really do anything as he dragged me out of the buzzing place, towards his venom-green Mustang, still squeezing my wrist painfully. He opened the passenger side door and pushed me inside. I didn’t recognize this Hongjoong, he was someone else, some kind of demon had taken over him, fighting for who would be in control. I was shaking as I felt terrified of the thought that he might hurt me; he could do anything to me if he wanted to. He probably saw me shake because he broke the silence as he started driving.

"I won't hurt you, Y/N. I would never." He said quietly, looking forward as his hands clenched around the steering wheel.

Still, I looked down at my wrists, where some faint red bruises started to appear. I just leaned my head against the window, to gaze out at our moving surroundings. Tears started appearing in my eyes as I suddenly felt so many emotions all at once that I couldn't handle. I started feeling dizzy, remembering the pill I took. It finally kicked in, making me feel numb, as if my soul left my body. This was the feeling I craved for, but not in this setting, I’d rather be anywhere but here. I cradled my wrist to my chest, 'Yes, you would never…'

The long-forgotten melody crept into my mind, trying to break through my thoughts, break my walls down, to save me from there. I let go as words broke through my walls.

≫The moon has two sides as well, a dark and a bright side

Who knows which one will light the dark at night≪

“Why did you kiss him?” Hongjoong suddenly broke the deafening silence.

I looked at him with a frown, “Because I wanted to?” Words barely came out of my mouth as everything felt blurry.

He suddenly stepped on the gas pedal, speeding down the way home, “And do you want him?” His voice got lower as he clenched the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

“What are you talking about?” I was looking at his side profile, watching as he got angrier than he was before. He floored the gas pedal and we were flying down the silent streets.

“Do. You. Want. Him?” He glanced my way, a dangerous glint in his eyes. I held onto the door as I was pushed back into my seat by the sudden force.

“For fuck’s sake Hongjoong, slow down! Are you crazy?!” I shouted frightened as he continued speeding.

“Answer my question!” His voice got even louder now, and he had to shout over the sound of the loud engine of his Mustang.

My heart was thumping like crazy, breathing heavily. I felt overwhelmed and overstimulated from the drug and the alcohol, and now the adrenaline too, the sudden speed making me feel like I was about to collapse any time.

“No!” I shouted, “I don’t want him! Just please slow down.” My voice cracked as I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore.

Then, as if his sanity finally returned, he slowed down, not daring to look at me. When he pulled up in front of our house, it was quiet. It was quiet, but at the same time, it was the loudest as my brain was full of loud noises. I looked at his side profile, I could only see the black side of his hair, his dark side as he looked like he was still battling with his inner torment, biting his lower lip. I didn't dare move; I was scared if I did, he’d do something brash again.

He then slowly looked at me, "Are you shaking?" He looked panicked.

I couldn't control my body, there was too much happening at once. The alcohol mixed with the pill, I couldn't even think—of course, I was shaking.

I just looked down at my hands, as the world spun around me.

"Fuck, Y/N!" He took my hand, my wrist now bruised.

I looked up, just to see him looking worried. He seemed like he couldn't even believe he was the one to harm me. Yet now, he held my hand in the most delicate way possible, holding it as if it were a treasure.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, please forgive me." He looked into my eyes with his own teary ones. He was finally allowing me to see the real him, he lowered his walls.

He raised my hand towards his lips and left little kisses on the bruises, whispering little apologies against my skin, as if he could heal it like that.

I watched him, still struggling to process what was happening, "Please, just take me to my room, I don't feel good." I closed my eyes and it was a mistake because I felt like I was on a roller-coaster. He snatched his head up quickly and opened his door when he saw my face. He ran around the car to open the passenger door.

"I got you, sugar." He whispered, leaning down to slowly help me out of the car and hold me up bridal style, holding me close to his chest so that he wouldn't drop me. I hid my face in his neck, his scent hugging me around. It was dark, yet still sweet like honey.

I felt us going up the stairs after Hongjoong had managed to unlock the front door and walk inside the dark house, finally reaching my room. He slowly, and very carefully placed me down on my soft bed. I closed my eyes as he pulled my boots down.

"Do you need water or something else?" He leaned down, holding himself up by his right hand placed next to my head, his two-colored hair falling into his eyes. His other hand caressed my cheekbones. I couldn't speak, so I just shook my head no.

Suddenly, we were staring at each other as if we were like two magnets, not even blinking.

"Kiss me." I suddenly whispered, surprising myself too, having suddenly found my voice.

"I can't, and you know that." Hongjoong whispered, leaning down closer to me, even though he had stated just the opposite of his actions.

"It's just a fucking kiss, don't be a scared little cat, Joong." I whispered against his lips, brushing my thumb over his soft lips, trying to tease him. He would break eventually. And I liked playing games.

I don't know what came over me, but I just needed to kiss him desperately. Even though he treated me like shit, and shouted at me, I was still lost in his eyes, which stared into mine with a flaring desire. He continued looking at me as if he was fighting with himself, trying not to make a bad decision.

"Please." I whispered, looking up at him pleadingly.

"Fuck." Then he suddenly crashed his lips against mine. He tasted sweet, like strawberry cake. The kiss wasn't hurried, it was slow as our lips moved together passionately. I moved my hands slowly up, to bury them in his hair, pulling him even closer to myself. He kissed me even more animatedly, possessive almost as if he were an addict and I was his drug. But the moment didn’t last for long, emotion dissipating just as fast as it came, as we suddenly heard the front door slamming shut. Hongjoong immediately jumped away, standing up to his full height.

"Shit." He ran his fingers through his messy hair. "This never happened." He looked at me with eyes ablaze as I continued lying in my bed.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows to look at him better, "Yeah, I just knew you couldn't resist me." I grinned at him.

Hongjoong scoffed, "You’re crazy." And then he left me there, in the dark, as I still felt his lips on mine.

≫Two sins met each other

Just to collapse together like magnets≪

As they were just outside my room, I heard Hongjoong telling Yunho that he drove me home because I wasn't feeling well, and then Yunho thanked him footsteps fading.

Not knowing that Hongjoong had kissed his little sister merely a few minutes ago.

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b4tasquad · 2 years ago

Text

✭ DRUNK BOYFRIEND: GAVI

Authors note: love this boy with my entire being… so I just had to write a quick one for him.

Warnings: none?? just fluff i think. lmk tho

…

The loud and repetitive sound of your phone ringing slowly pulls you out of your unconscious state. One hand comes to slowly rub the sleep of your eyes, the other wrapping around your long-before-disregarded phone. The second you press the device to your ear, loud music on the other end makes you snap open your eyes.

“Mi amor.” You hear a voice slur out, words coming out in a messy shout. To be completely sure, you take a peak at the caller ID before ultimately sighing.

“Pablo?” The hum of acknowledgment is quick from him, a little giggle following.

“I like the way you say my name.”

Playing games and flirting on the phone with your boyfriend in the middle of the night was the last thing you wished for. Especially if he was drunk.“Where are you?”

Your voice is stern, and the footballer’s eyes widen. “Are you mad at me?”

A feeling of guilt settles in your stomach at his frail voice. “No. Baby, I’m not.” You reassure as comforting as you can before moving on to the important stuff. “Have you been drinking?”

The music is still playing loudly in the back and as you get more out of your sleepy state, you realised just what your boyfriend was doing. A few days prior he had told you about a “boy’s night” someone from his team was hosting. It wasn’t anything special since they did it all the time, but Pablo had told you he wouldn’t be drinking.

Guess that didn’t work out for him.

“A little…” he trails of. You wait for him to say something more, but he just remains quiet.

“How are you feeling?” You’re fully sat on your bed now, sleep now long forgotten as you try your best to figure out the situation at hand.

Pablo completely ignores your question. “I miss you.”

A laugh ripples out of you at his sultry tone, knowing how he either got super energetic once drinking or just like now, down and in need of affection.

“Do you want me to come pick you up?” Before he has even answered, you’ve figured out he was going to say yes either way. Getting out of bed, you put on your comfiest clothes as you get ready to pick up your boyfriend.

“Yes.” You don’t bother asking for his location, knowing you had it on your phone. Snatching up your keys from your kitchen counter, you lock up your apartment before getting into the car and driving the short way to your boyfriend.

During the 15 minutes it took you to get there, you made sure to stay on the phone with him, too skeptical of his ability to look out for himself in his current state. As you drive, your boyfriend seems set on entertaining you. He speaks, sings and probably dances too as you giggle at his actions.

You feel as if a weight has been lifted of your shoulders as you park against the road and see your boyfriend sat against the pavement, a distant look on his face as he has his phone pressed to his ear. The second your car closes behind you, his head snaps up, a bright smile taking over his features as his hooded eyes land on your figure.

Gavi gets up to come and hug you, but nearly stumbles over his own shoe. “Shit.” He laughs at his lack of balance, finding it very funny. You only playfully roll your eyes before stepping up to him, slinging his larger arm over your shoulder. Thankfully, he’s okay to walk with the little help you're giving him, and you make it to the car with no struggle.

As you put him in the passenger seat and lean over his frame to buckle him up, he takes his chance and places small kisses on your exposed neck. His kisses trail up to the corner of your mouth and he leans back proudly as he sees you involuntarily react to his touch.

The drive home is nothing special. Gavi is quick to pick the music, and you let him as you drive the way back home. By the time you’ve arrived, your boyfriend is almost knocked out in the seat.

“Baby.” You push away the hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. “Let’s go in.”

He nods, making a move to unbuckle himself and getting out the car. You watch as he manages to make his own way, more composed than he was when you found him only 15 minutes ago. Noticing the fact that he forgot to close the car door behind him, you do it, before catching up with your boyfriend.

The next half an hour is spent on helping him get ready for bed. The second he walked into your room, he was ready to crash. But you wouldn’t let him, knowing there were a few things he had to do before. As if you were his mother, you brushed his teeth, gave him water and tucked him into bed like a toddler.

“Where are you going, princesa?” Pablo calls out after you as he sees you walking away from him.

“ I was gonna go grab you—”

“No need. I don’t want it.” He cuts you off, not even knowing what you were talking about. He gestures to the spot besides him. “You’re all I want.”

With a lovesick smile, you get under the covers, hand wrapping around your boyfriend’s body as he for once, lays on your chest. “I love you.” His words are dragged out, his eyes drooping as he finds comfort in you.

“I love you too. So much.” You reassure, a hand stroking his hair to soothe him to sleep. His body moved more into you on instinct, hands securing around your stomach.

In his vulnerable state, all he wants is to be taken care of, and you grant his wishes.

#gavi #pablo gavi #Barcelona #football #celebrities #couple #gavi x you #gavi x reader #writing #fanfic #fiction #golden boy #drunk #comfort

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evilasiangenius · 1 month ago

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“What do I do?” Crowley sighed, pulling his black pallium about himself closer. “When everything is ruined. Nothing’s going to bring the world back. Nothing’s going to bring Aziraphale–”

There were some other things that he could not say, thoughts that he could only think to himself because saying it would give it too much power and so he bit off the rest of the sentence before he could continue it. He opened his mouth to speak again, but then the starling flapped off his boot and onto the knuckles of his right hand, little sharp claws curled gently around his fingers.

“Yeah?” Crowley lifted his hand to look the bird in the eye, at the ring of an iris slightly pale.

“Fuck off,” the bird said very clearly, and it wasn’t a language that was any human language, but the language the angels spoke, fallen and otherwise, a universal language that could be understood by anyone.

“Huh,” Crowley said, staring at the bird that flew away and then turning his attention to fingers that seemed to retain the memory of the bird’s claws. The last time that a starling had perched on his hand was centuries ago. He had been lying on Aziraphale’s favorite supper couch, long hair tangled beneath his cheek, his eyes filled with tears and the starling had briefly landed upon his fingers before he shooed it away.

He had curled up in a tight ball upon that supper couch that he had never until that moment reclined upon alone, a miserable tear-streaked wreck, face pressed against the large cushions as if he could smother himself in it, picking up the lingering scent of Aziraphale’s hair, his body, a scent that was like the freshness of the cold air coming off the mountaintop or was it fire from a distant long-forgotten star and then the whiffs of peppery lavender that would waft snappy from Aziraphale’s clothes.

Back then, the pain had seemed like it would never end.

And perhaps it never did, because he could still feel it.

The birds were noisy.

Aziraphale had so many of them in that old house so long ago abandoned, none of them caged of course, the cages were only there for show, for propriety’s sake. The birds roamed free about his place though they all seemed to miraculously keep it clean.

The scents were noisy.

The house was filled with little bottles and big jars of precious scents that he had been opening out of curiosity and not bothering to close, so the air itself was a cacophony of flowers and herbs and resins and spices.

His thoughts were noisy.

All he could think of was how much he wanted Aziraphale to be here now, instead recalled Upstairs for some indeterminable time and maybe this time Aziraphale would never be allowed to return again and that fear had choked him up until it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

And back then, in a fit of rage at the loud sound of their cheerful singing as if the birds did not care that he was mourning, at the loud scents of the lovely perfumes stifling the air, choking his ability to mourn properly, at the loud fear inside his head that had grown to a fever pitch, his infernal will had slammed all the doors and windows open all at once.

“Get out! Now! Fuck off!” He had shouted, with a gesture so fierce it threw him off the couch and the birds had obeyed, disappearing out into the world.

Once he realized what he did – that he had broken his promise to Aziraphale to care for his birds, that he had chased off the very birds that had learned Aziraphale’s voice and his songs and his way of greeting – so warmly, as if he truly loved each and every being he said it to – Crowley had stayed there on the cold mosaic floor, his face pressed against a modest but tasteful work, a charioteer urging his team of two horses onward to victory though so close to it the pattern was meaningless to his eyes, nothing more than discrete chips of color. He had run his fingertips over the little bits of colored stone, around the smoothed edges of tesserae that darkened as his tears dripped hot upon cold stone, cold mortar.

Lost in memory, he didn’t hear Aziraphale approach.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #aziracrow #mistakes were made

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hsgucci94 · 1 year ago

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Haircuts and ripped pants

Word count: 1,2k

Content warning: cheesiness and fluff that is good for the soul <33

A/N: was meant to post this one like ages ago (iykyk) but complete forgot, so now that we’re all missing him on stage every night (🥹) seems like a good time to share it with you all. Hope you like it! x

masterlist

“Okay, close your eyes,” Harry spoke on the other side of the slightly open door, where he was waiting for you to cover your face so that he could properly see your reaction once he stood in front of you.

“They’re closed,” you informed him a second later, with the heels of your hands pressed against your eyelids so that he could not accuse you of peeking through your fingers like last time, when he was trying his Venice Film Festival red carpet final outfit on and he didn’t want you to see him until he had added the final touches.

As soon as he heard your words, he took a few step forward and entered his tour dressing room, walking around the small space to the couch where you were sat. He positioned himself opposite to you, kneeling a bit so that his face was at the same height as yours, and you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip in anticipation the moment you noticed his presence so close.

You felt his hands resting on your knees almost right away. He gave them a squeeze as he said: "You can open them now."

Behind that uplifted tone you could still perceive a bit of nervousness; he was unsure if you’d like his new haircut.

Every since Love On Tour started last year, you repeatedly told him how much you liked the way his curls were growing out, making him look more boyish and cuddly. But now that his hair was getting pretty long and the only way to keep it off his eyes and forehead was to put a clip on it, he had made the decision to cut it. Not too much, though, just enough so that his little curls you adored so much weren’t as prominent as before. This way he'd be much more conformable singing and running around the stage without strands of hair constantly bugging him.

When he gave you the green light, you opened your eyes and lifted your face up to find his.

"So? How'd you like it?" He had a nervous smile playing between his lips, looking at you expectantly.

"Did I ever tell you how handsome you are?," you replied instead, ignoring his question.

"Yes, actually," he chuckled at your words, moving his gaze away from yours and tilting his face to the side a bit, hiding the way his cheeks were starting to blush, "You do that at least once a week."

"Good, then I hope you know I won't ever find you any less attractive with a new haircut," you smiled.

"You think I look good, then?"

You cupped his cheeks between your hands and pulled his face to yours, kissing him. "Does that answer your question, Styles?"

"Dunno. Try again?"

You giggled, and pressed your lips together once more, both of you sillily smiling through the kiss.

"Lovebirds, it's time for Mr. Pop Start to get onstage. Sorry!" Jeff knocked on the door and peeked through it a few seconds later. Just like that, you were forced to pull away before things heated up. "Nice haircut, by the way, H."

And he left, leaving the door wide open so that you couldn’t drag it out any longer, as you had tried to do any other day before the show started.

"See? We all like it," you pointed out, smiling at him with an 'obviously' face.

"I don't really care about other's opinions, though. Just yours."

"Keep saying cheesy stuff like that and you'd have to reschedule this show again," you let him know, biting your lower lip afterwards.

"Is that a threat?", he smirked.

"You bet it is," you rose both eyebrows, giving him a open mouthed smile.

"Three minutes to showtime!” Jeff then shouted just around the corner, which made Harry frown his nose in disappointment. He wanted to spend a bit more time with you, maybe even kiss you again while you passed your hands through his freshly cut and styled haircut this time, but his singer duties' were calling.

"Alright, let's go, love," he undid his previous position and stretched his hand out for you to take it. You walked hand in hand down the corridor until you had no other choice but to part ways; you were watching him from the pit, while he needed to get under the stage to make his immaculate entrance.

"Bye, handsome," you turned your face to his one last time, starting to walk backwards.

Before you could remove your hand from his grip, he pulled you to him, pecking your lips in a sweet, tender way. "Later, gorgeous."

The crowd was roaring and chanting for him the moment you walked into the insides of the Kia Forum, unknowingly stopping a few steps away from where Jeff was, until you spotted him waving in your direction for you to approach him so that you two could watch the show together.

Meanwhile, Harry was already inside the trapdoor that'd get him directly onstage, but waited patiently a couple more minutes just so he knew for sure you were already settled and ready to watch him perform. As soon as the first notes to “Daydreaming” started playing, the whole place went crazy, screaming and pointing their cameras to the stage awaiting for Harry to come out from his little hiding place. And he did eventually, starting to sing the lyrics while he danced and jumped, spreading his good energy all around.

As per usual, he had this cheeky mania of approaching you wherever you were in the crowd to sing that one verse after the bridge to you, the one that went exactly like So give me all of your love, give me something to dream about...

"Let’s go L.A.!," he shouted, coming even closer to your side and kneeling in front of you, not knowing such posture would cause his pants to rip instantly. You bursted out laugh at the scene in front of you as you watched him mouth to himself a big "Fuck!" when he felt exactly what had happened, before he walked away as quickly as he could to try to find something to cover himself up.

A pride flag; that would work until he could go backstage and fix his outfit. Even from the other side of the stage he always knew where to spot you, so his eyes found yours the moment he turned around, allowing you to read his face as he tied the piece of fabric around his waist.

It was a mix of fear and embarrassment.

You weren’t sure if he'd be able to read your lips from that distance, but still managed to mouth a: "I thought it was my job to tear them up later tonight?", in an attempt to ease him, but also wanting to mess with him a little bit, hoping he'd take that unexpected turn of events in a more cheerful way.

After all, it hadn’t been his fault.

And it worked; his face lighted up almost instantly. "Oh, you naughty girl. Watch it," he replied, pointing his index finger at you as he laughed and shook his head, his mind already going wild.

How was he supposed to focus now? For the rest of the show he could only have one thing in mind: the time you two would spend under the covers as soon as he got off stage that night.

You were definitely going to give him something to dream about…

Please, like & share if you liked it? it’ll help so much 🥺✨ x

full masterlist

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #short story #harry styles imagines #harry styles prompts #harry styles stories #harrystyles #hsgucci94 #harry styles x reader #hsgucci94 stories #harry styles concept #harry styles fics #harry styles x y/n

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sabo-has-my-heart · 1 year ago

Note

Hii :) I was wondering could you maybe write a scenario where the monster trio + law and ace react to their s/o who has a very bubbly personality (kinda like luffy) being hit by a personality swap devil fruit and become temporarily shy and apologetic

thank you <3

Warnings: personality swap, shy!Reader, GN!Reader

Word Count:1370

Your outgoing, happy, joyous demeanor was a constant, as unchanging as the sun in the sky. It was a blessing to him, unafraid to show him how much you adored him, always wrapping him in the love that you held. A paradise that wrapped him in your warmth and eased any fears or doubts. A beautiful memory of who you should be. He cursed the devil fruit and user that had done this, that had turned you into this meek, shy, nervous thing that apologized for everything, whether or not it was your fault. It was your face, your memories, your… you, but it wasn’t how you should be, it wasn’t the person he’d fallen in love with. He’d fallen for your energy, your smile, your spirit. The way you happily ran down the streets, shouting in excitement when you found something of interest or running back with something intriguing. He swore that he’d find the person who’d done this to you, find them and force them to change you back! While he’d always love you, even if you stayed like this, he wanted you to be you, bubbliness and all.

Luffy

He was pissed as he paced the deck of the Sunny. How dare someone mess with you! And worse yet? You kept apologizing! He’d tackled you in the hall and said he missed you while he’d been playing with Usopp and Chopper, you apologized for not wanting to play with him. Pulling you towards the kitchen for dinner, saying to hurry up and you apologized for slowing him down. Cuddling on the grass with you stating that he wanted to spend more time outside with you, you’d apologized for not coming outside more. Of course there was also how you now hated showing your affection. You used to be happy to give him a kiss on the cheek in front of the crew, in front of an entire town! Now it was hard to just get you to hold his hand in front of a couple of the crew. The one who did this would pay dearly.

Sanji

Sanji sighed as he sat at the table with you, a worried, sad smile on his lips as he caressed your hand.

“I’ll always love you no matter what, you know that, don’t you?” he asked softly, not wanting to make things worse by being overly loud or energetic.

“I’ll always love you too.” you said quietly, your cheeks bright pink simply from his hand in yours, your eyes looking down at the table.

“My sweet Y/n, please look at me.” he said, putting a hand under your chin and lifting your face to look at him.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to.” you whispered, looking into his eyes before looking away, ducking down as if afraid that someone would see you. Sanji sighed slightly, caressing your cheek. As cute as you were like this, as much as he still loved you, he’d begged Luffy to do whatever was necessary to find the bastard who had done this. He wanted you back to normal, wanted to hear you singing while cutting vegetables with him without a care in the world. Wanted to pull you into a dip and kiss under the moonlight after a slow dance on the grass. If he had to accept that you couldn’t be changed back, he would, but if he could, he’d change you back to your normal self, no matter what.

Zoro

Swinging his weighted practice sword, Zoro glared at the imaginary image of the person who’d done this to you. You’d trained with him, napped with him on the grass, gotten hella fucking drunk with him! The two of you would laugh as you downed drink after drink, not caring who heard, just rolling on the grass at something stupid that you probably wouldn’t remember the next day. The naps you would take with him, one arm around your waist, your head resting on his chest as you slept in the warm midday sun, unconcerned with who was watching, uncaring about how you were sprawled out with the swordsman. His swords clashing against your own haki infused weaponry, a grin on your face, a challenging look in your eyes as the sound of his practice swords hitting your own practice weapon rang across the ship, despite training in the gym. Giving Sanji good natured hell just because you could. It wasn’t like with him where the two actually fought, yours was more affectionate, but it was the thought that counted. He swore, if the man who’d done this couldn’t change you back, he’d slice them into a thousand pieces.

Law

Already he’d tried everything in his power to change you back, hoping that something in his own devil fruit would allow him to fix the swap that had been made. No effect. You still tiptoed around the sub, trying to avoid ‘getting into trouble’, meaning that you avoided anyone and everyone at all costs so you wouldn’t ‘do anything wrong’. Poor Bepo, beside Law, he’d been the one who appreciated your bubbly personality the most. The polar bear had since started crying about how you didn’t want to spend time together anymore, how you didn’t want to listen to music and sing together anymore or just generally have fun together. At first, you’d apologized over and over for not spending more time with him, quiet yet repeated apologies, but after a while, Bepo stopped seeking you out, knowing that you’d just apologize and run away. Law himself had never been particularly extroverted, preferring his studies over most human interaction, but this was a bit much even for him. Even when it was just the two of you, you didn’t show him the kind of affection he’d gotten used to with you. You didn’t lay his head in your lap and hum as you ran your fingers through his hair, didn’t laugh mischievously as you took his hat, forcing him to chase you until he gave you a kiss to get it back, didn’t rest your head on his shoulder after a long day. He had to find the one who did this to you!

Ace

The devil fruit user growled angrily as he threw various fire attacks across the wet deck. Pops had agreed to find the one who’d switched your personality, not very fond of your new, shy personality. Ace had since become angrier and angrier, taking said anger out on either Marco, who would spar with him, or on the deck as he trained. Normally you’d be there to calm him down, wrapping your arms around him from behind, hands resting on his chest as you took deep breaths, causing him to breathe with you until he’d calmed down. He missed when you’d sneak up behind him, jumping on his back and screaming something stupid like ‘forward my brave steed!’ and he’d start running across the deck as the two of you laughed. The two of you raiding the fridge in the night, both trying to hold back your laughter as you snuck out with armfuls of food. Now you kept apologizing to Thatch for ‘any inconvenience’ in taking ‘too much’ food, barely even held his hand outside of his room, and the closest you’d come to jumping on him was when he’d made you jump out of your skin after tapping you on the back. He’d turn the person who’d done this into a crisp!

Facing the man responsible, he looked on in fury, about ready to wipe him off the face of the planet.

“Wait, wait, please, don’t hurt me! I can’t change them back, but it’ll wear off, I promise!” the man whimpered, cowering before him.

“Then you’re coming with us until they do. I won’t let you slip away this time.” he said, grabbing the man by the collar. The man groaned, knowing there was nothing he could do. One or two people, he could swap their personality and escape, but this was an entire crew who were furious with him. Thankfully, you only had a few days left before the effects wore off and were back to your normal self. They’d let him go once you were back to normal… right?

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upontherisers · 5 months ago

Note

❛ are you wearing my shirt? ❜ for Dora and Rosie . for legal reasons

a/n: this took so long babe my apologizes. cari write established relationship or draw 25 challenge. i'm drawing 25.

It’s hot in the sun, gloriously hot, the kind of hot that seeps right through her bones, the kind that makes her feel like she has dissolved and diffused into the air. The kind that sings her to sleep without any sound, that makes burning feel like a hug, the kind her mother would chase her out of on the grounds of too dark and wrinkles. Sorry, Mama. I’ve always loved the light. The kind of hot that needs no wind, no umbrella, no shade at all – just the clear sky overhead and the laughter of children splashing in the fire hydrant on the street below, shrieking and shouting and ignoring their parents as is their right on such a perfect day.

The kind of hot that makes her sleepy without ever being tired first and she’s already napped today – Pastor had asked after her absence and Grammy, a quick thinker, had pardoned her granddaughter’s absence. A summer cold, you know how those get. And she has things to do – bring her laundry off the line after forgetting for two days and darn a stocking and do her readings for class tomorrow and review a radio contract offer for the picket – but it’s the kind of hot that absolves her of guilt and the day is about indulgences, isn’t it? She’s sunbathing on her roof, for Pete’s sake.

Besides, Robert’ll wake her up before it gets too late.

She cracks an eye open to look at him seated on the blanket beside her, engrossed in a newspaper. It’s tough to make out the date on the front page as it bends into shadow, but the breeze does her a favor. July 7th, 1943. It’s two weeks old but he’s reading like it’s December 8th, 1941, like he’s going to do something about what he’s seeing. You’re in it now, aren’t you?

“They don’t give you newspapers in Texas?”

His eyes, brilliant blue, as blue as the sky above, meet hers over the headline – 6 JAPANESE WARSHIPS BELIEVED SUNK IN FIGHT, and those crinkles in the corners remind her of the day they met, her confusion over Mildred’s forlorn pining when she learned where Dora had been assigned. Oh, I wanted that desk. And then he walked in and offered a hand and smiled and if she were a different woman – ambitious, romantic, concerned with station, she would’ve gloated. But Dora was new and Robert had only just started and they both needed to see who they’d turn out to be, legal secretary and lawyer.

“They give us Texas papers in Texas.”

“And they don’t have the news?”

He blinks and sets that pesky left brow. “Not the backpages stuff. Nothing about New York.”

“I can send them to you,” she says, “if you want to keep up. They’ll be a week behind but—”

“Do you read ‘em?”

“Yes,” she does, and her panic about welcoming him back into the apartment by daylight is that he’d be able to see the pile stacked on top of the piano, in reach when she’s tucked into the nook of the front window. The ones she managed to fish out of the bottom and shove into the broom closet before he finished giving himself the tour were from March and she doesn’t know when that started, but it surely wasn’t good. Just another thing to add to the list of things he made her look twice at – shoes, streetlights, and newspapers. She could at least get the Great Paper Purge done today.

The corner of his mouth lifts, the one Mildred swoons over, he snaps the pages upright again. “I’d rather have your summaries. They’re a little more uplifting.”

She’d fret over yet another assignment getting put down in writing if it weren’t for the sun, for the warm stone under the blanket as she rolls onto her stomach, if it weren’t for the reminder that she’s as alive as anything, and she really needed this, didn’t she? She doesn’t know how he knew, but the sun tells her not to get herself into a tizzy over that either, and she slumps into the pillow beneath her chin, checking her watch – 1 o’clock. An hour won’t hurt. She’d pop up at two, take her laundry down, fix her stocking, then bring her books to the roof. Dinner will have to be sorted eventually, but her eyelids are so very heavy and as Robert hums along to Mr. Delaney cranking his car radio all the way up at the end of the block, she feels like she’s floating in water, indistinguishable from the air around her.

Hell, they can walk to Dean St. and Robert can pay for dinner at Cal’s with his big fancy Air Force salary. She sleeps.

Dora doesn’t snore so much as huff, little bursts of air puffing through her lips with every exhale. It’s sweet, leisurely, and relieving that she doesn’t have to sleep like she’s desperate for it. Shades of the bone-tired woman he had coffee with a week ago still remain – her bleary, addled amazement as her younger sister gleefully announced his arrival at their grandparents’ brownstone, her gentle slump in his passenger’s seat as she quietly watched the city pass by – but she has her light back, the glow that pushes from her as she finds him a file, chats with Mildred and Bob over lunch, sheepishly hops up on stage to play with the Putman house band, and rests here on her building’s roof.

He abandons his article about illness threats to women factory workers – interesting how the men on the line next to them don’t face the same risk – to watch her for a while. It’s strange that she’s here now, in front of him, after so many months of wanting to see her, of writing down stories that would be easier to tell in person, of picking white and yellow wildflowers on the side of the runway in Tennessee and wishing he could tuck them behind her ear and watch her smile, bright, blinding. He thinks of her more than he knows what to do with.

Her face is turned toward him, brushed gold by the sun beating down over her round cheek and slight chin, the oval of her pink mouth, the heart of her Cupid’s bow. He’d kissed that beautiful, wide, flat nose, and brushed his thumb indulgently over her soft skin under the cover of night, but the light reveals the best of her. The small of her back, a heart-freckle on her shoulder, the curve of her spine – he wants to touch.

Hesitantly, he traces a knuckle over her shoulder blade and she stirs, but doesn’t wake. One finger, then another, then the rest, then his palm and he listens to her breathing as he rubs her back. It manages to be musical, like everything about her, as it matches the pace of the horns popping in and out of the Crosby tune floating up from the street. With our full crew aboard and our trust in the Lord, comin’ in on a wing and a prayer. He’s never been a fan of Crosby – crooners are killing the art of big band – but he doesn’t sound half bad when Robert can watch Dora’s lashes flutter as she stretches out on the plush, striped wool under them.

What’re you gonna do about that girl, his mother had asked him as he left this morning.

Jeannie laughed from their dining table. Something stupid.

Something helpful, he insisted.

Something helpful.

He stops rubbing her back before he really does something stupid – brush away the hair falling into her eyes, feel the freckle on her shoulder with his teeth – and pulls out the note he’d written as she was making them lemonade. Be right back. Standing, he discards his unbuttoned shirt, leaves the note on top, and grabs his edition of the Times before descending the fire escape ladder at the back of the building and slipping into Dora’s apartment. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but as soon as he regains his bearings, he gets to work.

Kitchen first. There’s not much to do; he sweeps, collects the sugar that had spilled on the counter, discards the empty lemon rinds, and washes the dishes in the sink. He picks up around the living room, scooping fallen petals from the purple flowers in her windowsill, placing stray records back in their sleeves – not without putting Benny Goodman on first, and he’s in the middle of organizing the newspapers on top of the piano when he flips through a May edition on a whim and his eyes catch black ink in the margins, two words hastily scrawled next to a small article. For Robert. The headline circled, $3,629,000 FOR REFUGEES; Jewish Relief Unit Appropriates Funds.

He remembers this. She’d written him about it along with assurances that the new Jewish families in the neighborhood were adjusting well. Her Yiddish is rudimentary, her German sparse, and her Polish non-existent, but she made sure to greet them all with a smile when passing by on the street or the bus, and she’d joined an antifascist coalition with her grandparents that had seen her speak in front of jeering crowds at borough council meetings and counter protesters at aid rallies. But they don’t bother me, she wrote.

That’s Dora, kind and fierce. She’s going to make a damn fine lawyer.

There are a few more of her notes as he skims through the papers and leaves them on top of the piano. He tidies the worn cushions in her window sill and it brings him no small amount of peace to picture her reading there with her legs curled under her, basking in the sun during the day and aglow with warm lamplight at night.

He goes to look for a duster for the piano and gets lost reshuffling her broom closet for half an hour.

This wasn’t the plan. The plan was to pick her up in Harlem, change into their bathing suits here, and spend the afternoon on Coney Island before coming back to Brooklyn and getting ready for an early dinner at Rosetti’s followed by a show on Broadway. The tickets, nervously purchased over the phone yesterday evening while Jeannie cried with silent laughter and picked up as he drove through Manhattan this morning, sit above him next to Dora in the front pocket of his shirt. They can wait there until Germany surrenders for all he cares, as long as she sleeps in peace. There’s no use in running around the city if she can’t wake up with a lighter heart tomorrow.

He’s not blaming anyone – there’s a war on – but he likes to think that if he were home, he wouldn’t have let her work herself into the ground. Surely someone had noticed the shadows growing under her eyes, her smile fading as the days went. How could they live without it?

And selfishly, he wanted one last look. Dora had circled the numbers in the papers; twelve bombers lost, fifteen, seventeen, twenty. Whatever that meant for him, a homecoming or a gold star in his mother’s window, he wants to remember what he’s fighting for. His older sister’s incessant teasing; the joy in Mrs. Schuman’s voice when he enters her bagel shop – her son Robert, also a lieutenant, didn’t make it off Guadalcanal; and the way Dora’s little brother protests that he doesn’t need her to adjust his hair and his tie before he goes to lunch at his sweetheart’s place but still lets her kiss his cheek on her way out the door. He’s fighting so that Darren doesn’t have to, so that Jews and Poles and the French get to kiss their little brothers’ cheeks, too, out from under the boot of authoritarianism.

A pair of gloves fall from a high shelf and hit him in the forehead. The Benny Goodman record has ended, and he places the gloves in a box marked WINTER before heading back out into the apartment. One of Dora’s shirts snaps in the breeze through the kitchen window. Laundry, right.

Dora rouses gradually, laying with her eyes closed for a few moments before she notices the quiet, no more children laughing or the radio playing. Rolling over, she opens her eyes. The sun is further across the sky than she’d thought it’d be, and she sits up with a start as she checks her watch – 4:30. Shit, shit, shit. She hops to her feet and sees that Robert isn’t beside her, a note left atop his shirt in his neat, even hand. Be right back. She’ll meet him downstairs; she needs to get out of the heat and get to work.

A cool wind blows, making her shiver and she throws Robert’s shirt on, which matches the light blue of her bathing suit, and her stomach does a funny wiggle. They used to show up to the office in the same colors weekly – it’s nice to know that some things don’t change.

The fabric is soft, well-loved, and as she runs her hands down it, her fingers catch on something in the breast pocket. Looking down, she sees two thin strips tucked in the fabric, and fishing them out, she rubs the sleep out of her eyes to read the print.

Broadhurst Theatre. 44th St. Evening - Sunday. E 19.

Robert Rosenthal, you didn’t.

She yanks the blanket from the ground, grabs the lemonade pitcher, and throws on her shoes – interior soles burning after hours baking in the heat – before leaping down the ladder and taking the stairs two at a time. He’s wide-eyed at her sudden entrance, holding one of her work blouses as she pushes through the window, slightly woozy at the green tinge everything takes coming out of the sun. They’re both frozen for a moment.

“Did you buy these?”

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

“I asked first,” she says, holding out the tickets.

There goes that damn dimple as he smiles softly, not helping slow her heart hammering in her chest. “I, uh, I got us a dinner reservation at Rosetti’s, too.” He folds her blouse over a bare forearm and she’s hit with so many thoughts at once – she doesn’t have anything to wear to the theater; he’s not wearing a shirt and she can see the firm muscle of his stomach and the arch of his hip bones; he’s doing her laundry, brassieres included; she still has to do her readings; he’s not wearing a shirt – that she starts to laugh, heaving, side-splitting guffaws. Of course he did.

This is what he does – waltzes into her life, shows her just how good it can be, just how kind the world can get, then leaves and she’s a better, lonelier person for it. Here he is, in her dead parents’ home, doing her laundry because she couldn’t manage, telling her he planned a night for them, that he chose her over a Yankees’ game or a show at Minton’s or simply an evening in with his darling mother, and he’ll be gone in three days, off to be a shield against evil, off to save the world after watching her nearly fall asleep on her feet in a dirty kitchen and still deciding to come back for her.

She laughs until she wheezes, until she’s folded over and her abdomen cramps, until there are tears in her eyes and she doesn’t know if she’s happy or heartbroken.

“Dora.” He’s in front of her now, smelling of heat and leather and chlorine like he got the Bab-O out from under her sink.

“What have you done?” she asks as she stands and wipes her eyes. And here she was thinking they might get dinner at Cal’s.

His face falls, eyes turning big and sad like a kicked puppy, his dark brows furrow, and it nearly sends her into another fit but she manages to stay upright. “We don’t have to go if—I thought that—”

She shakes her head vigorously and reaches up to hold his cheeks, his stupid, perfect cheeks. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

His smile is so bright that it beats the sun outside and she gets lucky with where her fingertips have landed because those glorious laugh lines find themselves where she can touch them. He turns his head just so and squints as if he’s listening to a good song and steps into her, setting his hands on her hips.

This is where they kiss in the pictures, and the thought is so laughable that she chuckles aloud before throwing her arms around his shoulders as his slip around her waist. It’s warm, not sunbathing warm, but good all the same.

“Thank you,” she murmurs in his ear. Tears bite at her eyes.

“You deserve it,” he says.

They stay in an embrace until she realizes that she still doesn’t have anything to wear and they have to get all the way to Midtown in traffic. She stands back with a sniff. “I need to borrow a dress from Jeannie.”

#mail call #poet tag #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal x reader #isadora montgomery #isadora x rosie #straighten up and fly right #my writing #this took so long because i did too much research. i have 30 tabs open #dividers from user saradika!!!

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redahlia-writes · 2 years ago

Text

you make loving fun. | frankie morales x ofc

one. you make loving fun (sweet wonderful you)

content (for this chapter): smut, drinking, bad jokes and flirting, cursing, fluff, some insecurities (both frankie and camila), child surprise (not a pregnancy fic), general softness, mentions of food, some lengthy prose

word count: 9.1k

a/n: she is here. i've wanted to write something inspired by fleetwood mac for so long and frankie (alongside @lcvenderblues meddling, ily) just lends himself so well for it. as i've mentioned in the series notes, this was supposed to be shorter but, in true me fashion, not only did it turn into a never-ending thing, i also somehow ended up with camila (whom i love dearly). so there you have it. i'm also currently without a beta reader so if you see mistakes just... pretend you didn't

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

series masterlist | masterlist

“We didn’t necessarily do things the proper way–Will would say we actually did them backwards, which I think is just partially true, I’m not giving you the satisfaction, Miller. You see, when I first met Frankie we didn’t say a single word to each other for exactly three minutes and thirty-four seconds–and I know that, because that’s the exact duration of You Make Loving Fun. Technically, the first thing I said to him was Sweet wonderful you, and after all this time I still stand by those words. We could’ve done things in order, we could’ve done everything scrambled through whatever amount of time, but the result would still be the same–Francisco, my sweet wonderful you, you really do make loving fun.”

Frankie couldn’t remember the last time he’d belted out to a single song while driving–if he drove alone, the music would be loud and he would just keep the rhythm by tapping the steering wheel or nodding his head, never taking his eyes off the road; if somebody else was with him, there would either be no music or he’d just feel too self-conscious to sing.

Yet there he was, a drop too much of tequila in him (in the morning he would chastise himself for the rashness of his actions), windows down and music high, singing his heart out with a woman he’d just met at his side, her hair whipping wildly in the wind, McVie’s bass making the speakers of his car tremble.

He hadn’t planned any of it–he was meant to go to the bar, have a drink, maybe two, and then go back home and fall asleep on the couch with a movie he wasn’t even interested in. But he’d turned in his seat as You Make Loving Fun by Fleetwood Mac had started, and met the eyes of this woman–dark hair, big smile–who, pointing directly at him, had started singing and beckoned him forward. He wished to pretend it had been the beer’s fault, making him stand almost immediately, but truth was he was completely enthralled by her.

Frankie had danced with her as she sang along with the song, her hands in his, her body warm against his–they’d kissed before knowing each other’s names, her own shouted into his ear: Camila. He’d laughed, offered to buy her a drink, two, three, the conversation flowing so easily they’d found themselves moving outside for a smoke, and then to his car, where she’d seen the Rumors album tucked in a compartment of the car and her eyes had lit up.

He hadn’t thought he’d end up bringing somebody home, but her enthusiasm had warmed his chest, and suddenly he found himself kissing that smile off her lips as they stumbled into his house tangled together, shedding shoes and jackets through the corridor until they fell into bed.

She huffed a breath when he landed on top of her, laughter bubbling in her chest as she pulled back from the kiss and regained her breath, raking her hands through his hair while he lifted his head and, wide-eyed, looked down at her flushed face.

“Sorry,” he muttered, arms bracketing her head, as he lifted himself off of her, kneeling between her parted thighs–he lowered his gaze to where her dress had bunched up around her hips, uncovering her legs and giving him a peek of her underwear. He shook his head, cleared his throat, and when he looked back up a grin crossed her lips. “You alright?”

“Being crushed under someone’s weight was not how I imagined I’d go,” she snorted, hands falling to his shoulders, down to the front of his button up–it was already wrinkled from her touch, and as she thumbed a button he arched his eyebrows and lowered one hand to her skin, fingers brushing across her exposed collarbones.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” goosebumps crossed her skin in the wake of his touch, smile still pulling at her lips. He lowered his head into the crook of her neck, lips brushing her pulse point–he felt her heart jump under his mouth and grinned against her skin. “Feels like you’re alive to me.”

She laughed again, the sound making Frankie’s smile widen, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses down her neck, throat, chest, following the path he’d traced with his fingers down to the neckline of her dress and then further down, across the wrinkled fabric, her back arching as he moved down and down and down, a shuddering breath making her chest heave.

His hands followed, a too brief touch over her chest, cupping her breasts before moving to her hips, pulling the dress further up until her stomach was exposed and he could kiss the bare skin there, right above the waistband of her underwear as he caressed down her thighs, pulling them up slightly, parting her legs furthermore to slot himself with his shoulders underneath her knees.

His shoulders had been the first thing she’d noticed in the blinking lights of the bar, broad and constricted by his shirt, tugging at the top button she’d undone while they were dancing with a grin–he’d lifted his arms at some point, shirt riding up his stomach and giving her a peek of a sliver of skin. She’d thought about kissing the skin there, just as he was doing with her, the gentle scratch of his beard making her shiver.

“You don’t have to -” she gasped when he nipped her inner thigh, hips lifting off the bed with a curse muttered between her teeth that had him chuckle and look up.

“Where would the fun be in that?” he kissed her thigh again, moving slightly up as he hooked his arms around her legs and placed his hands above her hips. “Let me make it good for you, baby.”

A shudder of anticipation ran down her spine at his almost-request that had her flushing and push herself onto her elbows–she barely shifted over the bed, his hands keeping her pinned down.

“Is that the tequila talking, Francisco?” he grinned as she reached down, tracing his jaw with the tip of her fingers before pinching his chin gently, angling his head as if to lean over and kiss him. He liked the way she said his name, r rolling off her tongue, hissing s, hard c.

“A little,” he admitted, thumbs playing with the hem of her dress. He wasn’t drunk to the point of not remembering anything the following morning, but just enough to act cocksure. “But I mean it–only if you want to.”

Camila bit down on her bottom lip, another rush of excitement running through her–between the dancing, the drinking and Frankie’s kisses, every single part of her felt aflame. She dragged her thumb across the seam of his mouth, his lips swollen and slightly red in the dim lights of the bedroom parting under her touch–his pupils dilated, eyes dark and expectant. When she nodded, a shimmer crossed his gaze, and after kissing the palm of her hand he lowered his head between her thighs, pulling her gently closer to him–Frankie was eager, and with a loud sigh she fell back onto the pillows.

His lips never wandered too far from the soft skin of her inner thighs, peppering gentle kisses as he tugged her underwear down, parting just enough to expose her–the cooler air of the room hit her core right before he bowed his head, a kiss to her mound that had her eyes flutter shut. Pinning her hips down, Frankie pressed the flat of his tongue against her slit, and the moan that ran up her spine at his first taste of her made her shudder, hands grasping for the covers at her sides.

Another muttered curse left her lips as he dragged his tongue up to the apex of her core, her legs threatening to close around his head when he nudged her clit–he kept her thighs apart, fingers digging into the flesh as he glanced up at her. She kept her lips parted, short bursts of air leaving her each time he repeated the motion, lapping again and again, his tongue coated in her slick to the point he couldn’t feel the aftertaste of alcohol anymore.

Her thighs burned where his beard dragged with the motions of his head, muscles trembling as he picked up his pace, the noises filling the room almost obscene–had she been a little more sober, she would’ve felt herself flush with embarrassment, granted she could get past how good he felt. When he wrapped his lips around her clit, she clenched around nothing and moved one hand into his hair, tugging onto the locks somewhere between pulling him away and pushing him closer.

He moaned in response to the burn across his scalp, the vibrations making her back arch off the bed–again he pinned her down, hand spreading across her stomach, her muscles tensing under his touch. He shifted his arms, one half-draped across her hips with his hand reaching up, past her belly and towards her chest, underneath the now ruined dress–the other tucked into his side, hand dipping between her legs.

“Jesus, Frankie,” she moaned his name when he pushed his digit inside her, a mix of spit and her own slick aiding his movement–one knuckle, two, her chest heaving and she pulled onto his hair again, his name falling like a chant from her lips. He lifted his head then, enough to get a glimpse of her face–eyes glossed over, she looked down towards him and trembled at the sight of his glistening lips.

“This alright?” his voice was raspier, a little hoarse, caressing the skin of her stomach like a ripple of warm water. She nodded, eagerly enough her hair ruffled all around her head, and rocked her hips slowly into his touch. He began pulling his hand back, the drag of his finger making her moan and drop her head back.

“Please,” with a sigh, her hand heavy on his head, she arched towards him–he lowered his mouth to her again, tongue flicking over her enlarged clit as he slowly sank two fingers back inside her.

Frankie’s pace was agonizing, alternating between curling and pumping his fingers, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Camila had the fleeting thought she could not remember the last time someone had made her feel so good, right before he curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot she never managed to reach on her own, and simultaneously sucked her clit–her vision flashed white as her legs locked around his head, orgasm washing over her with a broken moan of her own.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered breathlessly, hands slowly reaching for her chest–her fingers interlocked with Frankie’s over her stomach as he pulled his head up, the hair locks she’d tugged at falling messily over his forehead as he chuckled, the tip of his tongue peeking between his glistening lips.

“Thank you?” he tilted his head slightly, cheek brushing her red-marked thigh as her legs eased from around his head, falling heavily still over his shoulders. She snorted, squeezing his hand and letting her eyes flutter shut as he shifted upwards.

With her free hand, she took hold of his shirt, tugging him up to her until she was kissing him again, bracketing his hips between bent legs as he leaned his weight on her once more, their joined hands moving up across her body, her skin warm even through the bunched up dress and his shirt.

Frankie rutted his hips into her when she licked into his mouth, a muffled moan as her whole body shuddered at the drag of his jeans growing too tight. She locked her thighs around his hips, belt digging into the soft, uncovered, already slightly reddened skin, and with the hand previously interlocked with his, she reached for his hair and tugged slightly.

He huffed out a surprised breath when he found himself on his back, both her hands now on his chest to push him fully down as she tilted her head, hair tumbling to the side as she left a trail of kisses down his patchy beard, his neck, button after button undone by deft fingers until his shirt fell open and she was kissing his chest, the room rocking slightly in his hazy vision. He bucked his hips again as she undid his belt.

“Top drawer,” buckle, button, zipper, some of the tightness against his bulge easing as his hands quickly fell to her uncovered knees, trailing up and up to sneak underneath the dress that had fallen back down her frame.

“What?” words slurred against his skin, she was kissing his shoulder, shrugging his shirt off fully as she did. He sighed heavily at her insistent kisses, at her fingertips dragging down his arms to bare him, the tickle of her unbound hair to his other shoulder and chest.

The last thing he wanted was for her to move away, so he wrapped one arm around her waist, pushing her close to him–in doing so, her knees slid up a little and she settled on his stomach as he shifted up across the bed, moving one hand away to reach for the nightstand, blindly grabbing a silver-wrapped condom, movements hasty and quick as she went back to kiss his neck, grinding down on him with soft whines. He followed the movements of her hips with his free hand spanning against her side, dress wrinkling under his touch.

Camila pulled away almost abruptly, a little gasp leaving her lips as she straightened her back with her hands resting on his chest–her fingers pushed gently into him to balance herself before reaching for the bunched up hem of her dress and pull it over her head, letting her hair fall right down over her shoulder.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” her hands once more resting on his chest, Frankie’s fingertips dragged up her side–knee, thigh, hip, waist, thumbing the soft skin underneath her breast and making her sigh softly, eyelids fluttering shut as a smile still pulled at her lips.

“‘Cause you look real pretty,” he shifted his hands past her legs to tug down the rest of his clothes, the movement making her lean her weight forward, fingers curling against his chest as she snorted–and felt her face heat up.

“Lights are off, Francisco,” she lowered her face to him, simultaneously lifting her hips from his as he kicked off his trousers and underwear almost impatiently, belt-buckle clicking somewhere on the floor over the edge of the bed.

“Would you like them on?” the sound of the foil ripping made her eyes wander downwards across his body–she licked her lips at the sight of his hard length, tip red and leaking resting against his stomach. “Mila,” he called her softly–so softly she shuddered, lowering her lips to his in a quick kiss.

“I don’t want you going anywhere,” with one hand cupping his chin, she spoke against his mouth, his lips parting to chase another kiss as he rolled the condom on, reaching to grab one of her hips right afterwards, slowly guiding her down.

Camila moaned into his mouth as the tip of his cock nudged her entrance, her legs parting a little more around his hips to give him more room as she sank further down his length. The stretch had her dig her fingers slightly into his cheeks, working his jaw open as he now gripped both her hips, steadying her movements.

“Fuck, it feels good,” between one kiss and the other, inch after inch, Camila began pulling her head back. “So good,” muttered over and over as she moved her hand down–Frankie felt the blunt edge of her nails across his neck, chest, fantasized about there being marks the day after. “You feel so good, Frankie,” she cried out his name as she straightened her back and sank fully down on him.

They remained still for a moment, panting as they both adjusted to the position, a slow, gentle grinding on her part as she tipped her head back, hands resting on his chest–Frankie’s heart felt like it was about to burst out of him and rest on her palms, the grip on her hips tightening as he groaned softly.

“Look at you,” he hummed, kneading her flesh as he pushed himself in a seated position–her hands slid from his chest to his shoulder to the back of his neck, again a gentle scratch that rose goosebumps in its wake. The shift of positions made her sigh heavily, eyes fluttering shut as she bit down on her bottom lip and her chest heaved, pressed flush against Frankie’s. “Tan hermosa,” he mouthed against her exposed throat, seconding the next rock of her hips with one of his arms wrapping around her lower back.

She squeezed around him at his words, tiny breathless gasps at his words and the push of his arm, her back arched and her thighs trembling again. One of her hands threaded through his hair, a tingle spreading across his scalp when she tugged on the strands–but she did not pull him away from her neck as he kept kissing her, tongue dragging across her collarbones, tasting the salt from her skin. He could stay like that the rest of the night, he thought, buried to the hilt inside of her, nursing hickey after hickey on her soft skin, listening to her uttered praises.

But then Camila began moving, rolling her hips once, twice, held back moans trapped in her throat each time she lowered herself fully onto him, taking on a rhythm that had stars shimmer at the edges of Frankie’s vision–he knew then, resting his free hand behind him for balance, digging his heels in the mattress, that he was not going to last long, the smooth drag of her walls up and down his length pulling him closer and closer to the edge.

When he snapped his hips up to meet her half-way, she stuttered, bowing her head until she was muffling a loud moan into the crook of his neck, movements suddenly erratic. Frankie repeated the motion, again, and again, and again, the arm around her hips keeping her in place as he fucked up into her, each thrust punching the air out of her with a low cry.

“C’mon, baby,” he tutted, nosing at her cheek. “Let me hear you. Let me hear you, I’m close, so fucking close, so–” he groaned when she picked up the rhythm again, half-moons craved by her nails into his shoulder and a louder moan leaving her. “Attagirl.”

Camila did not hold back after that, the encouragements he kept murmuring through kisses making her dizzy, making her stomach flutter–thighs trembling, her rhythm started to falter again, clenching around him.

“Can feel you–little more, baby, just a little more,” he moved his hand from her back to her hip, reaching with his thumb to the apex of her core. She gasped at his touch, the quick, small circles he drew over her clit as he twitched inside of her–her lips on his neck brought his orgasm forth, dragged it on until she stilled with a cry of his name.

She went heavy against him, hot, long breaths caressing his skin as she clung to him, and slowly he shifted back, bringing his arm around her waist again to keep her close, guiding her to lie down on top of him. She peppered his neck and shoulder with small kisses, brushing her hand through the hair on top of his head, each strand standing on edge under her touch.

“You keep doing that, you might just be the death of me,” he murmured, the sudden quiet broken only by their breathings. Camila chuckled, grazing her teeth against his neck–he tilted his head and gave her more space, her kiss lingering over his pulse point.

“Feels like you’re alive to me,” she echoed his words, and Frankie laughed, his whole body shaking with it. She placed one final kiss on his neck and he could feel the smile on her lips before she rolled onto his side, a sigh leaving her before she moved one hand to her hip.

“You alright?” he asked softly, turning his head towards her. Her eyes were closed, eyelashes brushing her flushed cheeks, and her lips were curved in a smile still, as she slowly rubbed down her upper thigh.

“Haven’t done this in a while,” she returned, and he brought his hand over hers, pressing down gently to massage her flesh. She sighed again, relieved, lowering her chin to his shoulder. “Just need a moment.”

“You can stay, it’s alright,” she flickered her gaze up at him, a few rapid blinkings before he leaned in, placing an almost ridiculously chaste kiss against her lips before pulling back. “I’ll be right back.”

She hummed softly, her eyes shutting right away as her hand fell to the empty space previously occupied by him, fingers curling as if seeking to hold onto the warmth he’d left behind. His gaze lingered a moment longer on her, the way her hair fell across the covers and around her head, soft waves now tangled. He didn’t need any brighter light to see how beautiful she was, her body curling up onto herself as her breath slowed down furthermore.

When he returned from the bathroom, mere moments later, the air in the room was heavy with the smell of sex, but underneath lingered that scent that had driven him wild from the bar–rosemary, fresh and pungent and somewhat familiar. Camila’s body was completely wrapped up in his covers, untucked and twisted from the bed, only the top of her head peeking from underneath, the whole thing shifting slowly in tandem with her breathing.

“Mila,” he called her name softly, just leaning against the edge of the bed with the towel he’d brought for her resting on his forearm. “You’re hogging all the covers,” he whispered with a smile, and a quiet groan left her–a noise of protest as she shifted and lifted one arm, uncovering herself and the empty side of the bed. All through it, she did not open her eyes.

Chuckling, he climbed by her side, leaving the towel on the nightstand and shifting close, until her warm skin touched his again. She dropped the covers and her arm back down, right across his chest, and bowed her head until her forehead was pressed to his shoulder, the other arm tangling with his, interlocking their hands together.

Frankie looked down towards her again, unable to help the delicate smile curling his lips, and ever so slowly leaning in to brush his lips to her forehead. She squeezed his hand at that–the only acknowledgment she managed to give other than another soft sigh, warm hair brushing down his shoulder. So he said nothing else–there was no need to–and just fixed the covers until she was fully covered. It didn’t even matter he was still partially uncovered, the sheets mostly tangled around her body instead–he was warm enough with her at his side.

When Frankie opened his eyes, he realized he’d slept all through the night without waking a single time–no nightmares, no fear for his child needing him all of a sudden, and the warmth radiating from the body next to him a comfort he hadn’t felt in a while. The morning sun filtered through the drawn curtains, hitting the lower edge of the bed with feeble rays, and though his head hurt terribly he forced his gaze to shift at his side.

He shouldn’t have drank that much–he wasn’t used to it anymore.

Camila had abandoned her curled up position during the night, shifting almost onto her front with one leg hooked over his, and her arm still draped across his chest, fingers extended towards where his farther hand was. The hand he’d fallen asleep holding was tucked under her chin, just above his shoulder, and was pushing upwards slightly, so that a pout formed on her lips–his own arm was stuck underneath her, a little numb, disappearing underneath her curtain of hair.

Her eyelids shifted as if chasing a dream, her breathing still even, and against his side Frankie could feel her heartbeat, regular and soothing. Shifting ever so slightly, he tried to angle his body to face her, but her arm tightened around him, and a groan of protest left her as she pushed herself closer, brows knitting in a frown that was immediately covered by her hair falling across her face.

“Sorry,” he murmured softly, mouth parched. He reached forward with his free hand, brushing the locks back and tucking them behind her ear. There was a smudge of mascara underneath her eye, and he cupped his hand over her cheek to rub at it gently. She hummed, leaning into his touch before slowly licking her lips, smacking them a couple of times.

“What time is it?” she blinked several times in his direction, frown returning until she cleared her vision and he came into focus, brown eyes wide that showed her smile before he glanced at her mouth. “Hi,” she whispered, almost breathless, and Frankie chuckled.

“Hi,” he repeated, mimicking her smile. “Still early, I think. I have no idea where my phone is,” he cleared his throat–he needed some water desperately, but couldn’t bring himself to move away from her. “You can get some more sleep, if you want.”

“Do I look that terrible?” she turned her lips in an exaggerated pout, moving her hand across his chest, shoulder, following the curve of his neck before she was cupping his jaw, thumb brushing across his patchy beard.

“Quite the opposite,” some boldness from the night before clung to him still, in that moment of otherness from the rest of the world they were lingering in, in tangled limbs and tentative touches. Though she attempted to maintain her expression of mock-offense, a grin broke across her lips–lips he was glancing at over and over–and a flush spread across her cheeks. She grew warmer, pressing herself into his side.

“Even without the alcohol?” she teased, the tip of his nose brushing his–neither of them seemed to care about morning breath, or the way both their mouths felt padded with cotton. As long as they were close. Closer.

“Especially without the alcohol,” he retorted with a nod, rubbing the tip of his nose to hers.

She kissed him with a smile still on, scratching his jaw as she pushed herself up to meet him, and he let his hand wander back, fingers brushing through her hair until he cupped the nape of her neck. Camila sighed in the kiss, and he took advantage of her parted lips, licking into her mouth as her whole body went soft and heavy against his.

Frankie moved slowly, slotting his leg between hers as he shifted on his side, deepening the kiss and then moved again, guiding her until she was lying on her back, and he hovered over her, forearms bracketing her head as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and parted her thighs to accommodate his hips.

He groaned when she arched her back to cant her hips towards his, a muffled whine at the rub of his underwear he’d pulled on before getting into bed against her bare core. It was suddenly clear to him that it hadn’t been the alcohol making him dizzy the night before, but her, her kisses, the way her body pressed against his, the soft sounds she fought to hold back.

For a moment, that was all he heard–the rustling of the covers, her breathing quickening, his heart beating faster, louder, his name hanging from her lips once and twice and then again–and then the doorbell rang, and Frankie’s head snapped upwards.

“Were you expecting someone?” Camila asked, a little breathless, turning her head towards the door of the bedroom, the echo of the doorbell breaking the glass that had shielded them from outside, from the day ahead.

“I think it’s my mother,” he spoke in a lower voice, flinching at his own words, and the woman’s eyes widened as he snapped her gaze back towards him, a hint of panic crossing her face. “It’s alright, she’s just–she’s not staying, just passing through, I’ll–” he brushed his lips to the corner of her mouth as he moved from over her, the half-kiss hurried and messy. “I’ll be right back.”

He cursed himself as he stood from the bed, scrambling to find a pair of trousers to put on with a shirt that wasn’t wrinkled–he pushed the clothes from the night before aside, the doorbell ringing again and the realization of what was going to happen making him suddenly unable to look at her.

“Frankie,” she called softly, and he turned his gaze to a vague point of the duvet, right next to where her hand rested now that she’d sat up. “Where’s the bathroom?” she fidgeted with a loose thread of the duvet, and on her other side she drummed her fingers quickly. Nervously.

“Down the corridor to the right,” he stalled for a moment, then forced his gaze up. Her eyes were still wide, still worried. “I’ll be right back,” he repeated, and headed for the door before the doorbell could ring a third time.

The night before was a blur until the moment they landed on his bed–bits and pieces, snippets of songs and rumbles of music, bitter and sweet from alcohol and then her. They’d talked for so long, and yet he knew he’d never mentioned Alba–and with the way they’d moved through the house, she sure hadn’t seen any picture of her either. It was why he hadn’t brought anybody home in a long time–hadn’t even thought about it, before Camila.

“Ah, tienes mala cara,” was his mother greeting as he opened the door, and the little child in her arms immediately squealed, all but throwing herself towards her father. Frankie was quick to grab her, huffing out a breath that he hoped didn’t smell too much of tequila, stepping aside as the woman walked in.

“Hola, mamá,” he muttered, watching as she perused the living room. “¿Están bien?” he asked then, turning to look at the child with a smile–he couldn’t help it, the child’s joy infectious even when he felt like death. He needed water. And breakfast.

“Nuh-hu,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head, a smile already pulling at her lips. Frankie sighed. "¿Es bonita?” she asked–he felt his chest and face warm up, and was quick to glance away, focusing on babbling Alba instead. He could try and bullshit his way out of the conversation, but there was no winning an argument like that with his mother.

Mostly because he knew it was clear as day on his face that he’d actually had a great night.

“Sì, mamá, es muy bonita, pero–” she waved her hands in the air, as if shooing gnats away.

“Vale, vale, me voy,” she scoffed, walking back towards them. Frankie bowed his head, letting her kiss his forehead before she pinched the kid’s cheek gently, making her giggle again. “Ten cuidado, ¿sí?”

“No es como si me fuera a robar, mamá,” he chuckled, the sticky feeling of her lipstick on his forehead familiar and somewhat welcomed. He reached over to squeeze her shoulder softly, reassuringly, but his mother just looked back up at him with a sigh, patting the back of his knuckles.

“Me refiero a tu corazón, Cisco,” she murmured gently.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly with a shake of his head, but his eyes trailed up towards the ceiling, where soft steps came from upstairs. His mother shook her head, humming her dissent as she followed his gaze. “Mamá–”

“Al menos pídele una cita,” she whispered, the steps drawing tentatively closer, stopping somewhere down the corridor. “Chau, nena. Proteges a tu viejo, ¿vale?”

Frankie scoffed, a quick peck to his mother’s cheek with a thanking under his breath before she showed herself out, one last glance over her shoulder, towards the stairs that creaked–the situation was almost hilarious, his mother trying to steal a look towards Camila while the woman tried to be as quiet as possible down the stairs. All the while, Alba squirmed in his hold, curious about the noise coming from inside the house, too distracted by it to see the door close in front of his grandmother.

Camila’s head appeared first, the rest of her body still a step back, and she glanced inside the living room with a careful gaze–she saw Frankie first, her expression relaxing. She took the final step forward and then stilled, her eyes falling to the kid still in his arms. They regarded each other, and Frankie had to clear his throat a couple of times while she pulled at the hem of his shirt over her wrinkled dress.

“Well, I thought it took longer to get one of them,” she tugged the sleeves of the shirt almost over her hands, taking a tentative step forward before frowning. “Didn’t we use protection?”

Frankie hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath until he huffed out a laugh, holding Alba a little closer before crossing the space from the front door to Camila. Her gaze flickered from him to the child, her giggled pulling a smile on her lips as she tilted her head.

“Hi, nena,” she whispered softly, pushing her hand out towards Alba. The child grabbed her index, tugging it towards her face and immediately trying to put it in her mouth. Camila snorted, keeping her head tilted to look at her face. “I don’t think that’s very tasty, honey.”

“Alba, don’t,” Frankie chastised softly, trying to pry Camila’s finger from her grip. “Sorry, she will try and put everything in her mouth lately.”

“That’s alright,” her voice had a softer edge, eyes fixed on the giggling child. Frankie had managed to wrestle her hand out of the kid’s hold, and was now wiping her hand clean. “So she’s–you have a daughter?”

“Yes,” he looked up from their now joined hands to see her nibbling at her bottom lip, the hand he wasn’t holding fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt, thumbing the loose button.

“Just a daughter?” she asked, her voice lower, and looked up at him. Wide-eyed, her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly, Frankie’s heart clenched at the hint of doubt in her words.

“Oh, God–yes,” he spoke quickly, and moved forward as much as he could while still holding Alba against his chest. “I’m sorry–yes. Her mother and I haven’t spoken in months.”

The tension left Camila’s shoulders, a long exhale that tasted minty and made Frankie all too aware of his own breath–he tilted his head to the side, keeping only his gaze directed towards her.

“You’ve been raising her on your own?” at her question, Alba tipped herself forward, lounging for her with open arms–Camila’s hand rested on her chest before his own could, keeping her upright and stepping closer, a wide and gentle smile as she murmured something under her breath as she rubbed her thumb across the child’s chest. Frankie shrugged.

“My mom helps, keeps her some nights if she thinks I need it,” he watched the soothing motions of her hand, the way Alba’s breath began to even, how the woman’s eyes did not leave the child for a moment, how her cheeks had a gentle flush that was somewhat different from the one of that morning, in bed. “My friends too–some of them. Benny can’t be trusted with a child on his own, I’d find her with purple hair or something.”

“Sounds like a charmer,” she chuckled, and after another beat looked up, meeting Frankie’s gaze. He sucked in a breath, his head bowed awfully close to hers–he wasn’t sure why it felt different now, to be so near her he could feel the warmth radiating off her body. In the new light, he could see faint shadows under her eyes, some remnants of the makeup she’d tried to wash off clinging to her eyelashes, the freckles dotting her nose, the grays at her temples that matched his own.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, shuffling on the spot. “I’m sorry, Mila.”

“What for?” she frowned. Frankie’s gaze shifted from her to Alba, her head now tipped back against his chest, eyelids drooping. “Hey, it’s alright–it’s not like a child is something you discuss with a one night stand. I understand,” she sounded so genuine, Frankie’s heart clenched again.

His mother’s words echoed in his head: at least ask her out on a date.

“What if it wasn’t?” he asked before he could stop himself, and watched the circling motion of her thumb still on Alba’s chest stop–the child grumbled in protest, turning her head to hide in the crook of Frankie’s neck. “A one night thing, I mean. That is, if–”

“Yes,” she replied immediately, almost breathlessly, then cleared her throat. “I’m sure there’s plenty of kid-friendly places, too.”

“I –” Frankie hadn’t even thought of suggesting Alba went with them, whenever it was, wherever it was, if it ever was– he already imagined calling in favors, finding a babysitter. Camila hadn’t even hesitated. “Might be a little rusty, but I don’t remember dates including one-year-old kids, y’know?”

“Oh, you meant a date?” Camila’s head tilted to the side, and Frankie’s expression fell, the little smile that had begun forming dropping quickly as his lips parted. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” she said right away, covering her mouth to keep herself from laughing. “Bad joke, I’m sorry,” she repeated, moving a little closer to his side, dropping the hand she was keeping on Alba towards his arm, wrapping her fingers around his wrist as she moved close enough to rest her chin on the opposite shoulder of the one the kid was falling asleep. “Whatever works for you–I’d just like to see you again.”

“Even without the alcohol?” he tilted his head so that he was looking at her still–from underneath the collar of his shirt, bright against her neck appeared a bruise in the shape of his lips. He stared at it a moment longer, while her smile widened and she nodded, chin digging into his shoulder.

“Especially without the alcohol,” she echoed, and he let his eyes flutter shut with an exhale.

He let himself linger in the moment, Alba’s warm puffs of air as she fell asleep against him, soft body slumped heavily over him, and Camila’s weight on the other side, the barely-there contact of her body against his side, fingers brushing his wrist with the same circling soothing motion she’d used with the child, the other hand resting over his shoulder.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, afraid of breaking whatever spell had been cast over the three of them.

“Of course I am,” he felt her shift her weight forward before she kissed his shoulder from above his shirt. “D’you have your phone?”

“Back pocket,” he’d realized he pulled on the trousers from the night before as he walked down the stairs, and the phone was still there–before he could fix his hold on Alba and reach for it, Camila dropped her hand from his shoulder and took it, turning a little so he could watch the screen too as she thumbed in her number.

“There. Whenever you’re ready,” she smiled up at him, and almost put it back in his pocket, then stalled. “Actually, can I use this? Mine’s dead and I should get a ride back to my car.”

“I can take you,” Alba stirred in his arms, the few minutes of sleep seemingly enough for her, a grumble leaving her as she tried to squirm out of his hold and reach for the floor.

“I’m a big girl, Frankie, I can make it,” she smiled, and her eyes wandered immediately towards the child, gaze softening as he lowered himself carefully to let her down. Alba toddled towards Camila, her arms out for balance–it still astounded Frankie, the way she could cross rooms by herself now.

“I know, just–” he followed the child with his gaze, hands outstretched to grab her should it be needed. But she went on, straight towards Camila’s legs, arms lifted towards the hem of the shirt, tugging gently on it. “We could get breakfast–Alba, pórtate bien,” he chided.

“Breakfast sounds nice,” the woman crouched down, bringing herself at eye level with the child–her dress pooled around her ankles, and his shirt brushed the floor, Alba grabbing the hem and pulling it towards her. “I know, nena, it looks familiar,” again her voice softened, a mock whisper as she leaned in and pulled one corner up. “I stole it from your dad because I couldn’t find my jacket–but don’t tell him.”

Alba giggled, looking between the two of them but leaning against Camila’s bent legs, one cheek squished against her knees. The woman’s hand reached for her head, gently brushing her dark curls back and out of her hair. Frankie had only ever seen his mother use such tenderness with her. His mouth felt dry.

“Give me just a moment, I’ll be right back.”

He got ready in record time, brushing his teeth while simultaneously trying and failing to make his hair make sense–he pulled one of his caps on, not wanting to waste more time. A part of him was apprehensive, leaving the two of them alone–but the other trusted Camila already, and he hoped this once his gut would not betray him. He really, really hoped so.

When he returned–still in the middle of buttoning his shirt–Camila had abandoned her crouched position and was sitting on the floor instead, her back against the couch and her purse abandoned on the side, as Alba sat between her ankles and placed one toy after the other over the woman’s dress. She babbled as she moved a stuffed bear towards the other, which Camila held against her stomach, her eyes crinkling at the corners while she smiled. The moment Frankie walked back into the living room, she looked up towards him.

“That’s an interesting shirt,” she commented, eyebrows arching, unable to hide the grin as her gaze roamed across the print of his button-up. Dark green with a floral print, it had been a gift from his mother, and he rarely ever wore it, the pattern a little too bold for his taste.

“I’m behind on laundry,” he muttered, fingers hovering over the last button, eventually deciding to leave the neck a little open. “And you stole the other one,” he pointed an accusing finger at her, and Camila immediately brought one hand to her chest, stuffed animal and all.

“Who told you that?” she gasped in mock-offense, her eyes falling back to Alba who had been following the conversation, eyes wide and attentive, giggling between their words. “I thought we were becoming friends, and you went and betrayed me like this!”

“Don’t blame it on the child,” reaching their side, Frankie offered her his hand to help her up, and once she was standing, a couple of staggering steps before he steadied her, he lowered his head towards her a little. “Thief,” he added in a whisper, and Camila smiled up at him.

“Is this alright?” she asked then, almost tentatively. “I really have no idea where my jacket is,” she admitted, sheepishly. Frankie rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, gaze falling from her lips to the places his shirt draped over her shoulders and collarbones.

“Of course–I’m sure it’ll turn up,” he didn’t say it gave him an excuse to call her afterwards, to actually see her again if for a minute.

“Thank you,” she cleared her throat, letting go of his hand to reach up and fix the collar of his shirt, fingertips brushing his neck while doing so. “I was just messing with you–it looks good,” she hummed then, smoothing it across his chest. He scoffed, a light roll of his eyes before turning to pick up Alba, the child already lifting her arms towards him.

“Come on, I’m starving,” he said instead, and the woman scowled at his dismissal, walking just ahead of him to open the door for him and Alba–she’d picked one of the stuffed bears with her, and when Alba noticed she squealed happily, looking over Frankie’s shoulder all the while to keep her eyes on Camila and the bear.

The drive was quiet, except for the initial moment, the radio starting again where they had left it on a too high volume the night before–the final notes of The Chain leaving place to the beginning of You Make Loving Fun, a nervous laughter leaving them both as they reached for the volume at the same time. In the backseat, Alba squirmed in her booster seat but was otherwise unfazed, the bear secured in her arms, and they glanced at her half-guiltily before turning towards each other.

Frankie thought he could’ve kissed her right there and then, above the handbrake with their seatbelts pushing into their chests. He also thought he’d had the same idea the night before. Was sure of it, actually. He’d probably done it, too, the alcohol making him bold enough.

But he didn’t need courage, he realized. It was so easy to be at Camila’s side, to talk about nothing and everything all at once, to joke and laugh and listen to her hum along with the songs, watch as she looked into the mirror towards Alba and made faces at her that made the child giggle with unabashed glee.

He forgot, for the whole ride, that they hadn’t even known each other for a full day. It didn’t feel like it mattered anyway.

Inside the café–right in front of the bar they’d been the night before, her car the only one still in the parking lot–there weren’t a lot of people. They sat themselves in one of the corners, Frankie between her and Alba, and ordered an exaggerated amount of food with two strong coffees–acknowledging for the first time their hangovers.

Passing in front of the counter, Camila had gotten an orange, and as they waited for the food she began peeling, the oils soaking her skin that still smelled like Frankie–a combination from his shirt, his sheets, his soap she’d used to rinse part of the night from her. In the meantime they spoke of her job–a boring office job that she needed to pay rent as she looked for something she actually enjoyed–and his job which left Alba with her grandmother during the day, how he still tried to be home early every afternoon.

“Yesterday was an exception–I barely ever get out when I don’t have her, and most of the time I just get a drink and then go back home to crash on the couch,” he looked down at the small white plate in front of him, the orange slices she’d dropped there dripping juice down the sides. She’d done it without thought, alternating between eating some herself and giving it to him as she listened, stealing glances at Alba every now and again. “I don’t–I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve done any of this.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to apologize?” she tilted her head as he bit into one of the orange slices, then removed the skin from the remaining half and gave it to Alba, her hands already extended towards him. “I thought this was going well.”

“It is!” he said quickly, his thumb catching some of the juice at the corner of Alba’s mouth. Camila repeated the process–one slice for her, another on Frankie’s plate. “I just–I feel I might be rusty, and I don’t want to f–” he stopped himself, a quick glance towards the child, “to mess this up.”

“Frankie,” she lingered on his name a moment, soft-spoken and tender. It hung in the air a long moment as they were brought their food, her gaze on him like a rooting force. He exhaled slowly, and only when the waitress left did he manage to look away from Camila. “I haven’t done this in a while either, you know? Any of it.”

He took a blueberry muffin, split it into tiny segments on the plate still covered in orange juices before handing them to Alba one by one–at the corner of his eye, Camila still looked at him and the child, the cup of coffee already in her hands.

“You can go ahead, she’s been obsessed with these lately,” he murmured, and to prove his point the kid began stuffing her face with the bits. “You still seem to be more at ease with all of this,” he admitted then, his voice still low.

“What about tonight?” she tilted her head to the side a little, food still untouched.

“You said it yourself–that was the tequila,” with a sheepish smile, he looked up at her, wiping his hands on the nearest napkin. “Made me think less about the fact you actually asked me over like that,” at that, she gave a quick laugh–a sudden noise that seemed to surprise both of them.

“Sorry, just–” she cleared her throat and took a quick sip of her coffee. “Why’d you think I asked you?”

“I have no idea,” he shrugged, honesty weighing his words. Camila’s gaze softened.

“My last relationship ended a little over a year ago–yesterday was the first time I actually got a night out for myself,” she spoke calmly, and for the first time that morning she did not meet his gaze openly, rather focused on the table as she ran her index all around the rim of the cup. “I just wanted to have fun. I spent so much time during that relationship staying quiet, staying still, and I just wanted to sing and dance for a while.”

“That doesn’t explain me,” her expression shifted quickly, that same scowl from the house at the way he’d just brushed off her compliment. He almost apologized right away.

“You looked like you might need it, too,” she shrugged, leaning with her elbows on the table and cocking her head to the side again, meeting his gaze once more. “And I really wanted you to need it. Which made me really really nervous.”

“You seemed anything but,” she smiled then, lowering the cup to the table to fill her plate once she saw him eat, too.

“Liquid courage,” she said it almost conspiratorially–her voice low, not enough that he couldn’t hear her, but had to lean in a little. Camila’s gaze flickered from his eyes down to his lips, and when she reached over to rub her thumb at the corner of his mouth, Frankie’s shoulders sagged with a slow exhale. “We could just test out the waters, you know? Slowly. See where this goes–it doesn’t need to be a grand thing.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” her fingers were still brushing his face, and when he shook his head his stubbled rubbed against her fingertips.

“You’re not,” she replied in a soft voice, dropping her elbow to the table. With the motion, his head followed her hand down, resting his cheek into her palm. Like the night before, Frankie believed he couldn’t possibly get close enough. “I think it’s worth a try, if–I mean, if that’s how you feel, too.”

“I really do,” he murmured, and she smiled again, so bright and pretty his heart ached. “I just have no idea what to do.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” she shrugged, and then, lowering her head a little so she could look at him fully from underneath the visor of his cap. “Can I kiss you?”

The warmth in her voice took him aback, the knot in his throat melting with it, and before he could register he was even leaning further in, he nodded.

“Yes,” he added, pointlessly, feeling her hand moving to cup his chin, leading him close, closer, gently pushing his cap back so that it didn’t stand in her way. Camila’s kiss was delicate, nothing compared to those of the night before, nothing like that morning–chaste, familiar, almost casual, somewhat tender.

There, then gone, leaving Frankie with the thought he could be kissing her all day long and never grow tired of it.

“Where the hell have you been?” Santi’s voice sounded metallic and distant coming from the car speaker, his greeting as soon as Frankie called him back.

“I’ve got Alba, mind your tongue,” he retorted, watching as Camila’s car moved out of the parking lot, her arm sticking out of the window to wave at them. Alba laughed, returning the gesture and squirming in her seat. “Did somebody die?”

“Hola chiquitita,” Santi called, and Alba squealed in delight. Frankie suddenly wondered if he should’ve given her that muffin with all its sugar. “I could’ve died. I’ve been calling since yesterday.”

“Well, you didn’t,” for a moment he stared at the tail of Camila’s car–up until he could see, and then began driving the opposite direction. “What’s up?”

“No, not what’s up,” Santi argued, his voice growing in pitch. “Where have you been, Fish?”

Frankie flinched, shifting his grip on the steering wheel–he cleared his throat.

“I was on a date,” there was no going around it–not with Santi. A clattering and a muttered curse, Santi’s voice was suddenly closer.

“Excuse me?” he turned the volume down a bit, sighing as he tipped his head back towards the headrest, eyes still fixed on the road. “For the whole night?”

“Yes, actually,” he sighed, glancing towards Alba in the mirror–she was tilting her head at the sound of her uncle’s voice, over and over, as if trying to find him right there in the car with them. “My mom had Alba so I went out. Camila stayed the night. It’s not a big deal.”

“Camila, hu?” the other man almost taunted. “I’m assuming the night went alright, since it’s almost lunchtime.”

“We went for breakfast,” Frankie shrugged, even though Santi could not see him.

“You–” a pause, “wait, with Alba?” “With Alba,” he confirmed, a careful note in his voice.

“And it went–” Santi let the sentence linger, unsure. Great, Frankie wanted to say. It went great. I can’t believe my luck. It feels too good to be true. I’m afraid I’m about to wake up from a wonderful dream and be met with a disappointing reality.

“Alright,” he said instead. “Alba adores her, and she was–it was alright.”

“So, you’re gonna see her again?” he could hear the grin in his friend’s voice, and he almost rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to hear the end of it anytime soon, he knew. He also knew he didn’t care, Camila’s perfume lingering in his car, on his bed, the promise of going on a walk soon, to keep things easy.

“Yeah–I will.”

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