#they have issues but they love each other and dance around in the middle of the road | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drefear · 2 years ago

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Daddy Issues

Best Friend’s Dad!Miguel x Reader

TW: smut, p in v, roughness, dirty talking, fingering, some fluff, some angst, teasing.

might make a part 2, we’ll see.

Nothing beat the way it felt to dance, nothing made you feel as alive. This was evident in the way you leaped across the stage and spun into a pirouette. You smiled and panted a bit and continued your routine, jumping into an arabesque as if you were in flight and completely weightless.

The applause filled the auditorium and you felt the out-of-beat rise and fall of your chest as you begged for air silently. You saw your father stand up with tears in his eyes and your best friend as well, who came to watch you for support. You’d finally gotten the lead in the show your dance school was doing, The Nutcracker , and being Clara was like walking on air. You ballet-ran off the stage and waited for the curtains to close, signaling the end of the show. You’d done it, and with perfect timing as you were about to graduate college and no longer have your dance team anymore, since you would officially reach the age limit in the fall of next year and auditions were in the winter. Your heart pounded as you saw Gabriella from the wings, happily waiting for you to come out and take your final bow, and then it was time. You milked the hell out of your curtain call, waving and smiling like a total idiot, but it was worth it. Everything had paid off to finally be at this moment.

But… they were gone? You searched for your father and Gabriella’s faces, but they weren’t in the seats they’d just been in. Did they leave? Maybe went to get the car before everyone rushed to the exits? You felt a little tinge of hurt in your heart, but you would try to understand. They came to watch and that’s all that mattered.

Feeling a tap on your shoulder as you masked your confusion on the stage, you turned to see the two missing familiars holding two large bouquets of flowers. You eyes welled with tears and you hugged them tight, crying happily as they wrapped their arms around you. The moment was perfect.

Well. Almost. There was only one person missing, one person who you already knew wouldn’t make it.

Gabriella’s dad, Miguel. He’d been one of your biggest fans since you and Gabriella became friends in middle school, about the time you began to blossom into the woman you were today. The two of you were inseparable from the moment you’d met, and soon, both of your families were just as close.

You’d been through everything together. Puberty, getting your periods, your parents divorce and your mom leaving, Gabriella’s mother passing away, everything. You two had even decided once you graduated high school, to go to college together and share an apartment.

Which is exactly what you did, and now you both were graduating. Gabriella was finishing her undergraduate for medical school, and you’d gone on to major in the arts, so you could become a professional choreographer. No one could get in between the two of you.

Except her father, you thought for a brief second before shaking the thought from your head.

No! That’s bad, very bad! You chastised yourself for your subconscious wishes.

Gabi’s dad was so nerdy as you grew up, doting on her mom every waking moment. You’d even gone as far as to call him a simp once, to which Gabi laughed about it for days. Your mom and dad barely got along at all through your childhood, so it was no wonder how much her parents loved each other was foreign to you, but things changed when you two became juniors in high school.

You’d had your first kiss, and Gabi begged for details in her room. The two of you sat up and talked about this boy you’d kissed all night, but she was definitely way more excited than you were. It just wasn’t what you’d expected, shoving his tongue into your mouth instantly and basically just pushing your head into his passenger window as you somewhat wanted to get away from him.

Plus, he wasn’t even that cute.

But Gabi hadn’t experienced anything around boys yet, and so you indulged her and made it seem way more romantic and nice than it was. Batting your eyes, you made smoochy sounds as she smacked you with a pillow and you both giggled.

“Girls, lights out.” You heard Gabi’s mom say and you furrowed your brows a bit at Gabi, who just rolled her eyes in response. You waited to hear the footsteps fade before you asked her what that was about.

“My mom and dad have been seeing this counselor. Something about the spark needing to be reignited, so now they go into the guest bedroom every Saturday to have sex.” She made a disgusted face and your eyes widened.

“They plan it?”

“I guess? It’s been every weekend now for like three weeks, and I’m going insane! Let’s sneak out and see a movie or something before my brain dies.” She moved towards her window and waved me over, but you glanced at her bedroom door.

“Wait, I gotta get my shoes from downstairs, I’ll meet you in the backyard.” You spoke and she gave you a thumbs up, before tucking out of her window.

You tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room when you heard it.

“Miguel- right there!” It was hushed, but you heard it clearly. Not being able to resist, you peeked into the kitchen where you’d heard the sounds and your mind was never the same. “What if the girls come down-”

“Shh, we’ll hear them, now focus on me, cariño.” He had his head tucked into her neck as his pants were pulled below his ass, showing his toned bottom as he fucked up into her. Legs wrapped around his waist, he was so much larger than her. How did you just notice this?

Your eyes fluttered downwards to where the two of their bodies met and you gasped. He was huge. Could dick even be that big? He was beyond anything you’d seen in the health textbooks or on twitter.

You stumbled backwards and immediately knocked over the lamp on the table, the house then suddenly becoming quiet. It was as if there was no air inside of your lungs anymore, freezing in place until you saw the swinging kitchen door begin to move, running faster than you ever have for your shoes and bolting back up the stairs. You jumped as you tried to get your shoes on as fast as possible and sat on the window ledge as you heard someone coming into Gabi’s room as you were about to climb down the gutter into her backyard. Looking up, your eyes met his.

His face was sweating lightly and his eyes were blown with lust, watching you like a predator. You glanced down where you’d seen what you should never have, and his pants were pulled up now, but the bulge was still prominent and hard. You gulped and practically fell out the window backwards as you collapsed onto Gabi, who was waiting for you.

“Go!” You whispered harshly and dragged her hand, “Your dad is right behind me and he saw me!”

“Shit, how?” Gabi asked and your mouth went dry, the scene replaying in your mind like a broken record that kept skipping to the same place.

“You don’t want to know.” You hushed and ran to her fence as the lights from the back door flashed on and you two were met with the large shadow of Mr. O’Hara.

“What are you two doing?” His voice was like a death sentence to the both of you, who were sitting in the grass now. You scrambled to get up and your hands were shaking. Nothing was processing in your head. Why were you so sweaty?

“We were just gonna jump on the trampoline, dad.” Gabi lied and you just nodded, eyes avoiding his as he walked closer and folded his arms. You looked at his hands, and you thought back to where they’d just been, rubbing Mrs. O’Hara’s clit. Your eyes flashed back down to the grass.

Your name broke you from your haze, Mr. O’Hara’s voice making your knees tremble a bit. “You don’t look well, maybe I should call your dad and have him come get you.” he spoke and moved to touch your forehead, checking for a temperature. You flinched and moved backwards.

“You know what, you’re right. I’ll walk home I think. See you tomorrow, Gabi.” You rambled and a hand caught your wrist.

“You can’t walk home now, it’s dark out. I’ll just call your dad-”

“He’s working late, can’t come out. I’ll just walk home!” You tried again, begging for whatever higher power could hear you to just let you die.

“No, I’ll drive you then.” He said and your fate was sealed.

You just quietly nodded as Gabi looked at you with a bad feeling showing in her emotions. You two were in so much trouble.

Sitting in the car, your knee bounced with anxiety.

‘Please don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me, please don’t-’

“So, where were you two actually planning on going?” SHIT.

“Uh. Just to see a movie.” You mumbled, staring out the window.

“And why sneak out? You both know that we’d happily drive you, even give you some money for snacks.” His tone made your skin crawl, now recognizing it as the moaning and grunting you’d heard prior.

You cleared your voice and tried to not look guilty. “We, uh, didn’t want to… bother you guys.” You hoped he wouldn’t even hear you, would just let it all go.

“It’s never a bother, especially when it’s about your and Gabi’s safety.” He spoke and pulled up to a red light. The silence was drowning you, but it was better than answering his questions.

“Gabi said you two were busy tonight, so we thought it’d be better if we just snuck out.” You shifted your legs in the passenger seat, begging the world to strike you with lightning.

“Ah. So Gabi figured it out.” He said and the light turned green again. “Gabi’s mother and I have been married a long time, and sometimes we need to do things to keep-”

“The flame alive, yeah I know. Can we please not talk about this, Mr. O’Hara?” You begged, and your eyes met once more, making you blush wildly. You couldn’t help but remember the way he looked as he thrusted into his wife. You turned away fast so he hopefully wouldn’t see your red cheeks. “Gabi and I will never sneak out again, I promise, just please stop talking about this!” You covered your ears a bit. That’s when he put it together.

“Oh.” he just said and continued to drive, hands white knuckling the steering wheel. “I’m… sorry you saw that.” His tone was hesitant, like he wasn’t even sure what the words he was saying meant.

“Cool, yep, see ya tomorrow Mr. O’Hara!” You chirped and practically jumped out of his moving car as he pulled to a stop outside of your house, no cars in the driveway and no lights on. You ran to the front door and burst inside, locking it behind you and panting.

That night, you’d had your very first orgasm thinking about him fucking you like that and nothing was ever the same.

A year later, and Mrs. O’Hara was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer and had only a few months to live. She pulled through to around a year and you felt your heart break the moment she was gone. Your mother had abandoned your father and you a little into your freshman year of high school, so you’d leaned on Mrs. O'Hara, like she was your own mother, learned her ways and how to be a good cook, and she taught you many things about life that you’d eventually need.

Gabriella and Mr. O’Hara were both devastated, and you could understand why. Nothing was the same for them. After the funeral, you, the O’Hara’s, and your father had a meal together, and that would be a weekly dinner from then on. Most of the time, she would cook for everyone when you all would hang out together, especially after your mom disappeared, but now with her gone, you picked up on cooking duties. It wasn’t as amazing as hers, but it fed you all and it was similar, so you kept up with it every week.

Flash forward to tonight, graduation looming over you like a rain cloud on a summer day. All of your grades were final, your dance team was about to disburse, and you’d be a woman of the world soon. Oh how the times had changed, and tonight was your official family dinner. Instead of cooking at home, your father insisted on you all going out to eat and your and Gabriella’s favorite restaurant.

And so here you were, sitting with that too tight bun still bobbypined and an easy-to-throw-on dress you’d yanked out of your closet in a rush to wear home after your performance. Gabriella held your hand as she chatted about what her and her new boyfriend were going to do after graduation, how he was going to med school with her and she wanted to get an apartment with him. You nodded, excited for her. You weren’t surprised, as she’d mentioned them moving in together multiple times recently, which would mean you'd be looking for a studio apartment soon. That was fine by you, since she’d still be in school and you were about to begin your own career.

The Latin food filled your senses as you enjoyed the food and light conversation. Gabriella spoke with her boyfriend to her other side and your father laughed with a glass of bourbon in his hand. You felt a hand on your shoulder from above and saw that looming figure you saw in your late night fantasies.

“Dad!” Gabi perked up and stood to hug her father, making you also stand to give him a polite peck on the cheek. As you leaned up to do just that, the corners of your lips brushed and your body froze, the feeling soft and… addicting. You snapped out of it almost as fast as you felt it and blinked a few times quickly to look like nothing happened, not meeting his eyes as you sat once more.

When you looked back to where he was hugging your father and shaking Gabis boyfriends hand, your eyes met and he was staring a bit. He sat next to you and you straightened up in your dress. This was new…

You’d done well at hiding your crush on him in the years, you thought. The first few months after you saw him and his wife have sex, you couldn’t look either of Gabi’s parents in the eye, but you’d gotten over it once you lost your virginity. ‘So that’s what it’s like’ you thought once you were done and the boy you were with was in the bathroom.

Dinner was served relatively quickly as you all ordered and drank. Your father had another bourbon neat, and Miguel had a Manhattan, as Gabi and her boyfriend each had a few vodka sodas, and you just slipped on your little tequila drink. It was a special for that week or something and had some sort of juice that made it look blueish purple.

Once you all had a drink in your each, you’d all begun laughing and chatting louder and as the night went one, you’d had a few more. The live band started and you swayed a bit at the music. When you turned your head, Miguel was looking at you already with his arm behind your chair. You blushed a bit, warm from the liquor in your veins as he chuckled.

“Drunk? I thought you could handle more than that.”

“No no, I don’t… I don’t like to drink too much, so I��m already pushing it.” You smiled and glanced at your dad, who just nodded in agreement.

“My little girl did not get the drinking gene.” He added and sipped the bourbon he had. Gabi laughed and spoke up.

“Should’ve seen her in Miami on Spring Break! She was so drunk, she was dragging strangers to dance with her-“

“Gabi!” You chimed in and glanced at your father and Miguel, the men laughing at your embarrassment.

“You’re a great dancer, even drunk!” She added and her boyfriend smiled at the memory as well. “How about we dance?” He nodded and pulled her hand to dance to the live music, enjoying the soft singing of the Hispanic music. You glanced at the dance floor and saw all couples, where Gabi now stood with her loving boyfriend.

“Go, find a partner!” You dad added and you shook your head. “Come on! A professional dancer who won’t dance alone?” He teased and you smiled again, just ignoring the comment.

“Here, I’ll dance with you.” Miguel stood and reached for your hand. You froze once more for that moment and nodded. “That way, you can still dance and not be alone.” He smiled wider and pulled you up, walking with you to the dance floor. You stood in front of him and heard the next song begin. Preciosa by Marc Anthony began and the beat made you move your hips gently, as he held your hands and followed your movements.

“They didn’t teach Latin dancing to you, did they?” He asked, a playful tone in his voice. You looked up with a small ‘no’ and he chuckled, moving you in close to his chest and putting one leg in between yours. “Follow my lead, and loosen your hips. No ballet here, amor.” The roll of his tongue on the ‘r’ made your hips stutter in their movement. You’d never been so nervous to dance. He held one hand up and placed the other hand around your waist, swiveling you and twirling you both as he moved with precision and ease across the dance floor. You felt the eyes of everyone around you, but you couldn’t care. This was a moment you knew you’d waited your whole life for, and this was probably as close as you’d get to being with Miguel, so you’d ignore everyone and enjoy it while it lasted. A smile tugged at your features and you let him lead you. He even lifted you at one point like you were nothing but a piece of paper, a feather.

When that song ended, Vivir Mi Vida played and the tempo became faster, making you both continue with hast and creating a bit of sweat on both of you. He took control of the dance and spun you around the dance floor, making sure no one got in either of your ways as you laughed with glee.

The night moved in a blur as you and Miguel moved like a couple who’d been together for years, two who moved as one. A slow song played and the strum of the guitar moved your bodies close, making you lean back and forth intimately against each other. The song ended and you both realized there was very few people left in what once was a bustling restaurant, and when you turned back to your table, your father was handing the bill to the waiter. Miguel stopped and walked back.

“I told you I was taking care of it tonight.” He caught your dad’s wrist and took the check, replacing your father’s credit card with his, and giving it back to the poor confused server. They hurried away as your dad shook his head.

“Couldn’t let me have that, O’Hara? You and Gabi came to support my little girl, and you even swept her onto the dance floor and made her smile. Least I can do is buy ya dinner.” He laughed and Miguel smiled.

“Not a chance. She’s been a wonderful friend to Gabriella for years, and she’s like my own mija. Let me treat you all and celebrate her.”

The words echoed in your mind and broke down your wonderful night.

His mija? As in… his own daughter?

You cursed yourself silently and painting a fake smile onto your lips as you all got up to leave once he took back his card. Gabriella was speaking to you and rambling about the apartment her and her boyfriend were looking at tomorrow, but all you could hear was the white noise of your own thoughts crippling your ability to think.

You tossed and turned all night after hearing Miguel say those words and you pushed down the feelings you’d pretended were not there for years, as they threatened to roll over your being and blow through your eyes without grace. How could you let yourself think anything like that again?

A few weeks later and you sat with Gabi in her backyard, tanning in the chairs by her pool as you both heard a low “I’m home,” from inside. The back door swung open and you saw Mr. O’Hara standing there. He was silent for a moment before getting a bit irritated. “What the hell are you two wearing?” He barked, angered.

Gabi shrunk back. “Dad, what are you talking about? They’re just bikinis!” She tried to call him down, but he seemed to get even worse.

“Just- those aren’t even bikinis, those- that’s less than underwear, you both might as well be wearing nothing!” He yelled in upset, like a lion roaring in pain.

“Maybe I should just go.” You mumbled and his eyes snapped to you. Uh oh…

“Not a chance. Yours is worse than hers! You look naked!” He stepped towards you and instinctively you took a step back, behind the lawn chair.

“M-Mr O’Hara, no one can see us. We’re in your backyard.” You spoke carefully, trying to make it better. “So no one even saw us, right? We'll change.” You nodded, obediently as you grabbed Gabi’s hand and slipped back into the house, hearing him grumble to himself as you passed him.

“I’ve never seen him talk to us like that.” Gabi spoke, putting on a t-shirt. She sighed and pulled her hair up. “Not even when I had that hickey sophomore year!”

“Maybe he just had a rough day and that was the last straw?” You hadn’t changed yet, staring at yourself in the bikini in the mirror. It really wasn’t terrible, maybe a bit more of a cheeky back than a full one, the straps of your bikini fairly thin. Just a regular red triangle bikini. Maybe you’d just gained weight? You huffed, “my bag is downstairs with my clothes, I’m gonna go grab it.”

“Do you wanna just borrow a shirt?”

“I mean, maybe. Anything baggy, so he doesn’t freak out again?” You asked and glanced at her hamper of clean clothes.

“Yeah, grab whatever.” She waved you off and you reached in, grabbing a large t-shirt and a pair of soccer shorts. “I’m gonna go start making some dinner, come down when you’re done changing to help.” She spoke and walked out of the room. You sighed and pushed your hair behind your ears, sitting on her bed and holding the discarded bikini. Was he really upset? Well, maybe he was since he saw you as his own daughter. You begrudgingly got up and walked down the hall, passing by his office and spotting him.

“Come in here.” His tone was sharp, almost nerve wracking. You followed the voice and saw him with his arms folded over his chest, an irritated glare in his eyes. “I’m disappointed in both of you for thinking something like that is appropriate to wear.”

“Mr. O’Hara, we weren’t out in public, and no one else was around!” You answered, regretting your decision to stand up for yourself, as you notice the look in his eyes and realize you’re just digging your own grave.

“So you two weren’t taking a snapchat in those outfits? No videos or TikToks?” He asked, making you bite your tongue and avoid laughing at hearing him say that stuff.

“Maybe one tiktok…” You trail off and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But, we didn’t post it, and I can delete it.” You justified and he nodded, concern still etched into his beautiful face. You take out your phone and as you begin to delete the video, his eyes narrow.

“...are those my clothes?” His head cocked to the side like a confused dog and you looked down, just as curious to see what he was talking about.

“No, they were in Gabi’s clean clothes.”

“Well, that’s my t-shirt from high school and those are my workout shorts.” His words made you quiet, forgetting about deleting the video. You blushed a bit and immediately starting searching for your bag, making a bee-line for the living room. “Oh my god, I’ll go change, I’m so sorry.” You rambled some flustered apologies before he could say anything else and ran off to the bathroom with the bag on your shoulder. Locking the door, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Could today get any worse? You leaned your head against the wall and kept your eyes shut, then took your clothing off once more to change into the clothes that actually belonged to you.

Tugging your skirt down to a suitable length incase Mr. O’Hara decided to berate your fashion choices once more, you glanced at something on the floor. It was another shirt of his, this time obvious by how large this one was, and the smell.

It was definitely something he’d just worked out in, having a particular musk to it, and the smell of his aftershave and body wash. It was him to a tee, and something in your body lit on fire just from the scent.

Without a second thought, you stuffed the shirt in your bag and exited the bathroom.

That night was filled with stifled moans and bitten knuckles as you quieted yourself while using your vibrator. His shirt stayed stationed in the hand you were biting down on, smelling his scent while you touched yourself until you were seeing stars and having trouble remembering your own name.

You hid that shirt the next day, stuffing it behind your pillows for safe keeping.

A day later, Miguel and Gabi had come over to watch some sport together. You’d never really been interested in sports unless Gabi was playing, but you enjoyed the company, so you often cooked for them all while they enjoyed the show. You mixed the guacamole as you heard someone walk into the kitchen behind you.

“Smells great.” Miguel spoke as he opened the fridge.

“Homemade chips, for the guac.” You nodded, still somewhat keeping it short with him after the prior day’s events.

“You can’t still be mad, right?” He asked and you turned to him fully, pausing the work on the mashed avocado and staring at him. He was holding two beers.

“I was never mad, but I still don’t get it.” You shrugged, “it just didn’t really seem like a big deal.”

“Really?” He seemed to get a little upset at that, placing the beers down and leaning on the kitchen island. “Because I think it was a huge deal. You’re barely an adult, you can’t be dressed like-”

“Like what? A woman? It was a bikini, it’s not like I was standing on the corner!”

“Watch how you talk to me.” He got cold and serious and your temper was flaring up.

“Why should I? You’re not my dad or my boyfriend, so you don’t get to tell me how to dress.” You shot back and he was quiet for a second. This prompted you to continue your winning streak. “And I don’t think you get to tell me what’s appropriate in front of people.”

“What are you talking about?” He hissed, taking a small step closer to you. “You don’t remember? When I caught you fucking on your kitchen counter? Cause I remember. Vividly.” You jabbed back and his eyes widened, the anger on your face apparent. Without another word, you stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to your bedroom, slamming the door and sitting on your bed.

You shouldn’t have brought that up, you knew you shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t help it. Who was he to tell you what you could and couldn’t do? He was just your friend’s dad, he had no right to yell at you about how you dressed or what you did. It wasn’t his place.

“Honey?” Your dad said from outside your door and you got up, opening it for him. “Miguel told me that he upset you, so I told him that he and Gabi should go home for the night so I could talk to my little girl.” Your dad always called you ‘his little girl,’ no matter how old you got. Tears started welling in your eyes, and you didn't know why, but you started crying into your father’s chest. He hugged you in a tight embrace as you continued to let out the tears you didn’t know you were holding in.

Some time went on and after about a week, you’d gone to Gabi's childhood home to hang out and watch a movie while Miguel was out. It was perfect. You didn’t have to see him and you could have some one-on-one time with Gabi.

Until she fell asleep halfway through the movie. You sighed, getting up and getting a glass of water. The week had been stressful. Every free second you had, you were touching yourself to Miguel’s shirt, tracing your clit, biting your lip to avoid making sounds. Even just the memory of his smell made your knees wobble a bit and you held onto the fridge handle a bit tighter while getting the water. The front door opening signaled you that he was now home. Time to leave as fast as possible, you thought to yourself, and placed the full cup of water in the sink.

Before you could walk out of the kitchen, Miguel was in the doorway staring down at you. “I just got off the phone with your father.” His voice was monotone, which wasn’t abnormal.

“You can tell him I’ll be home soon.”

“Well, he had a few questions for me. About you.” He spoke and something was off about how he was speaking. Was he… taunting you?

You finally met his eyes and you were right, something was off.

“He said the cleaning lady found a man’s shirt in your bedroom.” Your heart dropped. No no no no!

“Oh.” Was all you could muster up as he watched your reaction. “He asked if you and Gabi had any new boys around, any new friends. He said you randomly started crying the other day and he was worried you might be going through some sort of relationship that he’s unaware of. So?” He asked and you just clenched your jaw.

“Mr. O’Hara, that is none of your-”

“Say my name,” he demanded.

“What?” You questioned, taking a step backwards.

“Say my name. You want me to treat you like an adult? Say my name.”

“Fine. Miguel, that is none of your business.” You barked at him, a smirk forming on his lips.

“I think it is my business, though. Since it’s my shirt.” He announced and your eyes swelled to the size of dinner plates. How did he-

“It was just so strange, how one of my shirts went missing, one I had been wearing the day I yelled at you about that bikini, and then suddenly your dad finds a shirt that matches the one I’m missing. Weird coincidence, hmm?” he folded his arms and you felt your body running cold. How could you steal from a genius and think he wouldn’t realize? “So let me get the facts in order. You watched me have sex in my kitchen, you stole my dirty clothing, and you pranced around my house in a skimpy bikini.” He spoke in a lower voice, as if he was just thinking out loud, and you noticed the look in his eyes was becoming hungry.

“Y-Yes ok I did that, I’m sorry. Don’t tell anyone it was yours!” You begged and he chuckled at you, looking to the side.

“I’m not telling anyone anything, but I have a question.” He paused and brought his thumb to his lip, as if thinking about something he was trying to word correctly. “What were you doing with my shirt?”

Your blood ran cold, the sound of your heart beating in your ears too loud to even think. He… wanted you to say it. Heat began to rise up your neck and cover your cheeks and ears with a tint of red.

“C’mon, say it.” His lips twitched to a smirk and you squeezed your legs together at the view you had of him. Dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, belt around those slim hips, slacks tight in all the right places from how muscular his thighs were.

Embarrassment filled your head as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, and as you lifted them up his body, red rubies claimed your sight like they owned you.

“I-I… thought about you.”

“Be specific, amorcita, what about me?” He moved forward and tilted your chin up to keep eye contact with him as you spoke.

You gulped and closed your eyes, too humiliated to say what you were about to while seeing his face. “I thought of you and I having sex… touching me and stuff.”

“Eyes on me, mi corazon.” You opened your eyes and he was bent down to where he could kiss you. His breath smelled like mint. “Tell me more.”

“I imagined you on top of me, b-behind me… kissing me.” You trailed off as his lips ghosted over yours, then smiling and crashing together like a crescendo of a symphony. His hands gripped the sides of your body, picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

“You thought of me touching you here?” His hand trailed down your torso towards the front of your jean shorts, tracing where your pussy sat, hot and waiting. Your breath hitched as you nodded, and he smirked again. He liked the effect he had on you, it was obvious.

“Words, mi amor.”

“Yes, Miguel, please.” You spoke, your words shaky as he laughed at your shyness. “Where was that attitude from before? All that sass?” He whispered against your ear as he unzipped your jean shorts, pulling down the material to expose you more to him. His fingers rubbed against the lacy fabric of your panties, and you lost your mind for a minute, panting a bit just from the slight contact. “You’re that sensitive? Just from a little touching?” He purred and yanked your panties off as well, your naked core against the chill of the air sending a shiver up your spine. “Where’d all that shit you were talking from the other day go?”

“Miguel,” You beg and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Gotta open you up first, Princessa.” His words were low and rumbled in your body as he gave you pet names.

A finger slipped into you without issue, and your back arched into his chest as he massaged your thigh with the other hand. A moan erupted in your throat and he quickly took the hand on your thigh to cover your mouth. “Shhh, we can’t have Gabi finding us like this, right?” You nodded and practically saw your eyes cross as he pushed in another finger, beginning to feel full with just the two digits. He worked them back and forth in you as he placed soft kisses against your throat. Your whole body jolted, like an electric current was rolling throughout your body.

His fingers began to curl against that spongy spot that had you rolling your eyes back, letting out more muffled sounds against his other hand, his eyes hooded and watching you through his thick lashes. Like a predator, he moved them faster and you felt yourself about to teeter over the edge. His thumb brushed against your clit and you were sent into a full earth-shattering orgasm, gripping his shoulder for stability as he let you ride his fingers through it.

“Preciosa…” he mumbled and unzippered the dress pants, pulling himself out and watching your face change from blissed out to fearful. “Don’t worry, I’ll go slow…” he whispered and lined himself up. Pulling you to the edge of the counter, he pushed the tip into you and you closed your eyes, feeling the stretch of his size already. He moved slowly as you adjusted and once he was fully in, you hissed a bit. You both were completely breathless, like two wild beasts waiting to see who would make the first deadly move. “Look at me while I fuck you good, I want to see that pretty face while I’m inside you.” Keeping eye contact, he moved his thumb back on your clit, making you shake a bit and let out pretty little sounds again. He started to move at this, feeling so good and overwhelmingly full. It was as if you’d been speared onto something, he was impaling himself into you and you loved every second. You began to thrust back against him and he practically lost it then and there, watching you frantically chase your own high making him almost feral. He yanked you off of the counter top, flipping you over and pushing you down flat against it. Shoving himself back inside of you, he began a relentless pace, bruising your cervix over and over. As you got louder, he pulled your hair back to make you arch against his chest.

“Yeah? You like how I ruin you?” He taunted, slamming into you from behind and causing the sound of skin slapping skin to echo across the room. “This pussy is mine.” He growled and gave your clit a gentle slap, making you practically scream out.

“M-Miguel…!” You were panting from how he’d made you so breathless, so overwhelmed by him.

“Be quiet, or do you want Gabi to know you’re a slut for me? That you love when I fuck you better than anyone ever could.” He went on and you nodded along. He was right. He’d ruined you for any other man. You’d never be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them to him.

“That’s right, amorcita, moan for me.” He egged you on as he bottomed out once more, making your legs shake. He lifted one of your knees to lean on the counter beside you and pounded into you from a new, deeper angle, giving you chills. That was it, that new spot he’d found made you come around him instantly, muscles tightening from the orgasm. You felt someone warm fill you, and realized he had finished as well. Grabbing your face harshly, he pulled your face sideways to give you a rough kiss as he kept himself inside of you for a few more moments.

You gasped for air as you felt him slip out of you, his seed dripping down your leg a bit and making you hyper aware of what just happened. You both stood, half dressed and heaving in silence. Your eyes found his, and everything hit you all at once. Grabbing your underwear and jean shorts off of the ground, you rushed out of the kitchen and began getting dressed as you walked.

“Wait-” He called out and yelled your name, but you were fast and he was still tucking himself back into his pants. As you reached the door, there was a knock and you buttoned your shorts as you swung open the door.

A nicely dressed woman, beautiful and tall, stood there holding a jacket. The two of you stared at each other for a second before she looked past you and smiled.

“Ah, Miguel! I realized you left your jacket in my car.” She spoke, then looked down at you. “Is this your daughter?”

Tears built up in your eyes and you looked back at Miguel, shocked.

“You were on a date?” Your words could’ve been poisonous with how you spoke to him, because they stung him terribly. His mouth was parted, still in shock.

You’d had enough. Your body pushed past the woman’s and you ran down the street to your home, only a few blocks away. It wasn’t your apartment, but your dad should be home and you could just tell him you didn’t want to talk about it. He never pushed you.

Knocking on the door, he opened it and immediately was afraid.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to stay here tonight, ok?” You spoke and he nodded, hugging your crying frame. Tonight had been too much to think about, and as he walked you in, you finally felt the exhaustion hit you. You trudged off to your bed and fell asleep.

Part 2

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel smut #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #Miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader

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starsfic · 27 days ago

Text

Friendship Bracelets

This is based off a fun idea by @ldhedgehog, where Sonic and Shadow end up with a quill from each other and can use that to sense each other's emotions.

Fine. He was hedgehog to admit it.

Sonic had a bit of separation anxiety.

He and his parents chalked it up to the sudden loss of Longclaw and the ten years spent alone. Sonic had been so excited for his first day of school, with actual kids his age, but had spent most of the day deep in anxiety. What if being away from him was enough to convince Tom and Maddie that he didn't deserve to live with them? What if something happened to them? What if something happened to them and Sonic was all by himself again-

Sonic spent most of the day clinging to Tom when he got home.

It had gotten better. He had learned that Tom and Maddie were solid in their love for him. They texted each other during points in the day. Tails and Knuckles, once they were enveloped into the Wachowski fold, were also there, steadying him.

And then Shadow had come along and then was suddenly gone. There was still anger at him for hurting Tom, an anger that was only mollified by a bit when Tom admitted that he had spooked Shadow, but there was also grief.

Shadow had complemented him. It was like there was a piece of him missing that Sonic had never realized until he and Shadow were dancing in the stars, miniature shooting stars, and whispering of grief and loss on the moon. He loved Knuckles and Tails, of course, but neither could truly challenge him in speed, not until he met furious red eyes.

He had spent months convinced Shadow was dead.

And then Shadow was back, dragging Rouge the Bat with him and bursting into the scene like something out of an action movie, kicking a Metal Sonic away from Amy.

They hadn't had much time to talk, but Shadow's eyes lit up when they met, and he admitted that he had been grieving Sonic too, his hand tight around his. They weren't miniature shooting stars at the end, but they still could give one hell of an encore to their dance.

Then they had to separate again.

Shadow wasn't safe on Earth, not when GUN was around. Sonic understood, especially when Director Rockwell marched in and started screaming questions a few seconds after they shoved Shadow, Rouge, Amy, and that one robot they apparently stole from GUN through the ring portal. However, the minute they sat down in the truck, ready to head back to Green Hills where Shadow and the others would meet them, Sonic felt tears pricking at his eyes- not the normal tears he usually shed after a battle, but real, frantic tears.

What if he had just been a hallucination? What if something happened to him in the five minutes it took to set up a ring portal? What if something happened to him and Sonic was by himself again-

Panic attacks sucked. That was a fun fact that he learned. Maddie had decided, once he was back to himself, that they were all getting therapy. Nobody protested this.

Especially not Shadow, who spent the rest of the night- because his parents refused to let anyone go hungry, especially after a battle like that- hovering by his side. It took a lot of effort to convince him to let go of Sonic's hand at the end of dinner. Then Sonic had a nightmare in the middle of the night and had summoned a ring portal to Rouge's house, right as Shadow was crawling through his window to apparently check if Sonic was still breathing.

This started a pattern that was rapidly becoming an issue.

So when Maddie said she had a way to possibly help with their separation anxiety, Sonic honestly doubted her.

"It's a thing I noticed," she explained as she worked at the table, the two of them sitting across from her. "Shadow, you had one of Sonic's quills at one point, and you could tell Sonic was alive."

"Yes," Shadow said with a nod. "I think our mutual bond with the Chaos Emeralds may have infused our quills." Nobody mentioned that chaos energy was how Gerald Robotnik had lived way past his prime. The thought of Eggman possibly licking his quill made Sonic want to shiver out of his skin, he did not want to imagine what Shadow thought of his sort-of father figure licking his quill.

"Yeah!" his mom said brightly. "So, I did some research and poked at some of your quills, Sonic." She finished whatever she was doing, revealing two bracelets.

They looked like friendship bracelets, done with red and blue strings. However, when Sonic squinted, he realized that one had a lot more blue. The other had a familiar red tint to it.

"Hedgehog quills are actually hollow, making them flexible," Maddie explained as she held them out to them. "But your two's quills are way more flexible than I expected, more like human hair. I'm guessing that's because you guys aren't actually hedgehogs, but something resembling hedgehogs..." Sonic took the bracelet with more red and slid it on as Shadow slid the blue one on.

He twisted his wrist back and forth, studying the bracelet. It was close-fitting, meaning it wouldn't snag on anything, which was good. Sonic felt a burst of interest in his chest as Shadow's quills caught the light, turning a lighter shade of red.

Then he looked at Shadow, who was studying his own bracelet. The blue looked good on him. He looked nice with blue. He looked nice in general, but right now he looked cutely nice, kinda like a cat with how his ears flicked-

Shadow's ears flicked and Sonic had to resist the urge to squeal.

Shadow's head turned then.

"Did...did you just squeal in your head?" he said, sounding baffled. "I could feel that enough that I could hear it."

...oh. Maybe separation anxiety was better.

#Sonadow #Sonic the Hedgehog #STH #Sonic #Shadow the Hedgehog #Shadow #Maddie Wachowski #my writing #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #prompt fill #prompt fic

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stolasdearest · 1 year ago

Note

hey!! it's me again, the same anon requested a Reader with anger issues :3

could u do platonic headcanons with Alastor and Rosie x Male Overlord! Reader who is the opposite of them? the three of them are best Friends but Reader is like the opposite of them? He rarely smiles, isn't chatty and is rough? and maybe, since alastor and Rosie LOVE singing and dancing, the Reader is kinda shy about it cause he doesn't like the way he dances/sings?

hope I'm not bothering! i just really like your writing :)

Rosie & Alastor x Reader (Platonic) ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

AAAAA HII welcome back!! thank you <3 youre never bothering me dear I always love seeing you! I made a banner for this (and incase I get Combined Rosie n Alastor stuff again

Not Proofread!

Male!Overlord! Reader

Song listened to while writing this!

↓

♪ These two will have energy you "lack' these two are always bouncing around you and talking, to each other and you; impatiently awaiting an answer from you

♪ Rosie often coos at how rough and violent you are, saying you need to add 'sparkle' it at which you just shrug; nothing changes

♪ Alastor thinks your nature is— intriguing; you're very intimidating.. Not to him hells no! Everyone else; but he thinks you should do something special instead of just, mauling everyone who crosses you, not that he minds how you currently behave, it's very fun to watch

♪ Anytime you go out together Rosie is trying to convince you to join her and Alastor, you just wave her off, a polite "no thank you." And you sit on a couch alone. And watch them, if you're feeling generous you'll tap your foot to the songs while standing near them.

♪ Alastor is the one to try and usher you to sing with him; he says your voices "would sound delightful together" and jokingly pities you when you say you feel uncomfortable singing; doubting your own ability but he quickly assured you that you're gonna do great. He'll silently go off the walls if you agree.

♪ these two are almost constantly smiling, Alastor specifically.. Anyway— so whenever you crack even a small smile these two are looking at each other like "did you just catch that??" Often they'll even tease you on it.

♪ will verbally (and physically) defend you with their lives, in front of you and when you're not there. Anyone who dares speak ill of you in ear shot of them is gonna never hear the end of it or hear ever again at all! Depends what type of day they've had!

♪ walk with you in the middle of them, you have them both blabbering in your ears constantly, not that you mind; they wouldn't be seen with you constantly if you did.

♪ ask for your input on things, especially Rosie she will ask you every time "I did my hair differently, what do you think?". Alastor is the kinda guy to say "notice something?" Only for him to have his shoes polished and nothing else while you stand there quietly tweaking.

♪ Rosie always has her arm hooked with yours, like teenage girls in the city while she looks past you at Alastor and talking about their hottest new news.

♪ Alastor usually scans you to see how you're feeling, you're very stoic and hard to read..Rosie doesn't care she's smothering you even if you're about to punch the next sinner you see.

AAAAAAAA I hope this is what you hoped it'd be!!! LOVE U POOOKIEEE

#hazbin x reader #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #rosie x reader #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor x reader #alastor imagine

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rlimagi · 7 months ago

Text

Was It Casual?

Pairing: Chloe Charming x reader

Request: there weren’t any specific requests but a few people have been asking me to write for Chloe.

Warnings: reader being in denial, sort of?

Genre: Angst <3

Note: I thought of casual by Chappell Roan while writing this tbh. ALSO, there will be a part 2 because I ended this with a cliffhanger!

Chloe Charming knew she was in love with you from the moment her eyes first met yours, it was love at first sight. She was only 13 back then and feelings were confusing for a girl her age. But you were so charming, in every possible way.

As a princess, she had met many other royals her age. There were many different characters here and there but none of them were as interesting as you were. Chloe had the pleasure to meet you during her brother’s 18th birthday party. Chloe was dancing with her mother when she glanced over to the middle of the ball room and suddenly it was as if you were the only person there.

There were hundreds of people dancing around her but you were the only one she could see. Everything went silent and all she could hear was the rapid beating of her heart, threatening to burst out. And it nearly did when you looked right back into her eyes, oh how beautiful they were.

But then you smiled and everything inside her crumbled. You had the most beautiful eyes and an even more beautiful smile.

Chloe watched as you elegantly walked away from your friends and headed to her. You never took your eyes off her and before she knew it her body started moving and suddenly she had no control anymore. Everyone was dancing around, and every time she took another step she was met by another couple happily dancing pass her.

“Are you alright there, your majesty?” Then she heard a voice so sweet yet unfamiliar behind her. She turned around and was met with your beautiful eyes, shining brighter than any chandelier in the whole castle.

The light coming from above illuminated onto your face so perfectly, it was as if she was staring straight at an angel. And your dress, it was perfect and complimented the rest of your body in every possible way.

“Yes! I’m alright, are you alright?!” Chloe replied, her cheeks turned crimson. A fluttery sensation of excitement and nervousness took over her body when you slightly laugh at her words. She had never felt like that before.

“No, I’m Yn Rose and you must be Charming?” Your smile turned into a mischievous grin as you watched her nervously stumbling over her words.

“I’m charming? Y-You think I’m charming?” Chloe’s eyes widened up before realizing what you actually meant. “Oh, yes. I’m Chloe Charming, that’s probably what you meant.”

You chuckled, shaking your head before holding your hand out and asking for a dance with the fellow princess. “May I have your hands for the night?”

Chloe nodded enthusiastically and let you guide her to where everyone else was.

“And you are charming by the way, no pun intended.”

The rest of the night was magical, you were an amazing dancer and a fun person to spend time with. She had always thought that she’ll need to meet a prince at a ball to have a happily ever after, like her parents, but you were a princess and she was okay with that.

Everything from there on went by like a blur, you had charmed your way into her heart and she was hopelessly in love. Even after 3 years had passed.

But now she felt more hopeless than ever after seeing how you had gotten so close with a girl you’ve only known for less than a week. Personally, she had no issues against Red. The princess was just trying to undo her mom’s wrong doings, although she could be mean sometimes she was trying to be a better person.

Chloe’s problem however was the way you and Red acted around each other, you two had became so close in such a small amount of time it was driving her insane. She knew that the feeling she held was selfish but she couldn’t help but want you all to herself again.

“Chloe why are you so passive aggressive towards Red? You are never this way towards anyone before.” You immediately came up to her after had Red left the room. Chloe and Red had a disagreement about how to get the spell book before Uliana and her gang does but you couldn’t help but notice Chloe’s odd behavior.

“Rules are rules Yn, and breaking into principle Merlin’s office is morally wrong. You know that and she should know better.” Chloe frowned, upset that you kept defending Red even after all the things she said.

Chloe watched as you sighed before making your way next to her. “I agree, it is wrong in a way but not everything is black and white. And it wasn’t just that, you’ve been very aggressive to her since the beginning. It’s not like you to be like this.” your hands laid near hers before you made a quick move to intertwined it.

“Yn…” Chloe muttered, her eyes softened as you leaned closer to her side before using your free hand to gently caressed her cheek.

“You know you can tell me anything.” You whispered, looking at her with such adoring eyes and she became that little girl who got lost in those same eyes 3 years ago again.

She knew she shouldn’t look into your eyes for too long because if she does then her mouth would betray her and you’ll know how she really felt about you. Her life would be over if it ever happens.

“I-I think we should go, see incase Uliana comes around here.” Chloe changed the subject and tried to get away but you held her back.

“You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers, sweetheart. I don’t want to push you but I’m really worried.” With her hands still intertwined with yours, you stood up matching her eyes. “I’m your best friend and I know you think I don’t notice but I do.”

Chloe knew that she wouldn’t be able to control the words that’ll come out her mouth with the way you kept looking at her like she was your whole world. “I love you.”

“I love you too…” You replied softly, as you reached for both of her hands, locking them together. For a moment, Chloe felt like you knew everything she felt without her having to say anything further. She thought that you’ll reciprocate her feelings but her heart shattered when you continued.

“Of course I love you, you’re my best friend! Are you afraid that we’ll stop being best friends because I’m getting close to Red? Because if you are, trust me, love. No one will ever be as precious to me as you are.”

"No, not in that way." Chloe muttered, looking devastated as she pulled her hands out of yours, immedietly missing the gentleness of your hold.

"Chloe..." You mummbled, hurt by how she was acting but still not getting it.

"Remmember when you used to tell me that you wished I was a boy so that you could marry me? I've never wanted to be a boy so badly until then. And when you asked for my hand that night on my brother’s 18th birthday party…I’ve loved you since then.” Chloe wasn’t able to hide how she truly felt anymore and it was devastating to see how you looked at her.

You’ve always looked at her with so much love that it always made her think that maybe, just maybe, you loved her the same way she loved you.

“Chloe, I…” You were lost for words and Chloe could clearly see that.

“I’m sorry, I should go…” She muttered, not noticing tears that were bubbling in her eyes until then. Wiping them away, she left the room in a hurry.

She didn’t want to stay longer when she knew her heart was going to get broken.

#descendants #descendants: the rise of red #descendants 4 #rise of red #wlw #Chloe x reader #Chloe charming x reader #Chloe imagine #Chloe charming imagine #descendants x reader

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bethebesttoyou · 28 days ago

Text

Shiver - Choi Yeonjun

synopsis: Yeonjun and Y/N just can't let each other go.

pairing: College student! Yeonjun x college student! Reader

song: Shiver by Lucy Rose (I was way too young to be listening to just sad songs in middle school)

warnings: suggestive writing again,,,(does it seem like im slowly getting close to writing smut? IDK),,, lovers to exes to ??? to exes,,, ANGST NO HAPPY ENDING (it breaks my heart might have to do a part 2 FNKDS) not much dialogue again, just inner workings of reader who can't let yeonjun go, kinda like right person, wrong time... kinda cheesy ending cause we have fun here... OH NOT EDITED EITHER AHAHA

Wc: 1.8k (I wanted it to be longer T_T, maybe part two coming soon???)

A/N: Ive been writing in means of distracting myself from the reality that is our world rn, and its been really helpful...Ive also been feeling all down about my writing in general but I don't want to give up!!! I want to keep getting better!!! So ima keep just writing... hopefully down the line I get to see the growth ANYWAYS....

“What’s wrong?” Yeonjun breathes out, his hot breath hitting your face, glazed eyes of lust watching you intensely.

He had just shown up, like he usually did, and his hands began to slowly make their way under your shirt before you stopped them breaking the hypnotic spell of his kiss.

It was easy to forget with him pressing into you like this. To forget about the break up, the fact that it no longer was meant to mean anything other than another night together. To you, the kisses were still laced with love, with passion that were left over from the years spent together. You already knew that he was mirroring your love and emotions with his hands caressing your hips, the way he knew his way around your body, kissing where it mattered, touching where it mattered.

It was hard to move on. Hard to give up on every feeling he evoked in you, well because… this was Yeonjun. The very same Yeonjun that asked you out in 9th grade, with a cheesy note and nervous smile, the same one that took you to all the school dances and school trips. The Yeonjun that can make you laugh, cry, and desire all with his own vocabulary. He was the same guy you grew up with, he felt familiar, he felt like home. He was the one and only Yeonjun that could ever make you feel this wanted, this needed, this loved.

The one and only Yeonjun, the one you no longer had.

Not anymore. Not really.

Things had gotten complicated towards the end of the relationship. Young couples often face these common complexities of individual growth, individual paths, college and the opinions of friends and families. And while you thought your relationship with Yeonjun was strong enough to sustain these challenges, believing that the years spent together only added to the strong will of your love, nothing could’ve prepared you for the sudden distance, the change in goals, the shift in thinking, the shift in priorities. It was obvious what the issues had been. But you had pushed them down, buried deep enough to be convinced that time would fix it. So while you were good at pretending that everything had been normal and fine, it was Yeonjun that had visibly carried this boulder in his chest, the boulder heavy to the point that he had to sit you down and bring up the undeniable truth. You were drifting apart, bad. Arguments no longer lasted an hour, but days, schedules were no longer syncing, dates were being forgotten or willingly canceled, communication and keeping up with each other became rare and the voiced opinions of friends were starting to question the ethics in high school sweethearts.

With ache filled hearts, you both knew it was the end. The love never faltered, but time did and your lives were no longer in the same rhythm, your heart, while still beating for one another, no longer to the same young love beat. So with mutual understanding and a night full of sobs and goodbye kisses, you deemed your seven year relationship to be over. Or at least that's what was supposed to happen.

The entire idea was to give each other the space needed to grow and find yourselves, to explore the world of independence, the world of your 20’s, and the brain understood that concept, it made sense. You were both young and hadn't really figured out life, but your hearts, filled with years of history and love, branded with memories of your past, were not getting the hang of it, not just yet. Even with the ending of your relationship being meant to create a fresh start for the both of you, nothing stopped either of you from texting each other, meeting for ‘friendly’ coffees, meeting up at night, when your roommates were asleep, sneaking him in. That's what got you here now.

Nine months after the break up, he's in your hallway, pushing you against the wall in the middle of the night. And you weren't going to lie, you were obsessed with the feeling. Yet, you knew deep down, this was only hurting you both more.There was never any talk about getting back together, in fact there was never any talking about this aspect of your friendship?relationship? Whatever it was. When you were around your mutual high school friends, it was as though these nights never happened, it was as if you both were silently agreeing that this was merely sex. Merely a way of getting your needs taken care of.

But it felt like an excuse. In your head, you convinced yourself that this was okay, because who else knew you like this, knew your body and what you needed, before and after? And you knew he felt the same, when his soft moans and grunts escaped his mouth, when he would beg to hear your own soft moans and whines again and again.

The discussion and acknowledgement of what this was,would have only made things more real. More complicated, and like true Yeonjun and Y/N fashion, you ignored all of that. You would ignore his love filled eyes, the constant electrical current his touch possessed, the way his touch would have you shivering in anticipation, you would ignore the slips of ‘I love you’s from his mouth when he was on top of you. And he seemed to ignore all of your soft ‘baby’s’ and pleads, ignoring your single tears and would silently cradle you after, seeming to understand, yet never actually bringing it up.

Because, neither of you had not been ready, and maybe you still weren't, but things had been changing, life still existed outside of him, and you weren't sure you could keep this up anymore.

It was only recently that your friends suggested dating again. The thought itself made your stomach twist in guilt and fear. Your friends had known about this toxic stance you were in with Yeonjun, this idea that you were still each other’s, even if you weren't. And unlike you, they were worried about this deeply rooted attachment, considering it more obsessive, more out of comfortability than actual love. So even with your desperate rejections, they set you up. And when you suggested the idea of not showing up, they looked at you with concern filled eyes:

“Y/N, you have the chance to grow into the best version of yourself…don't let him keep you stuck here.”

It was in that moment then, looking up at him, when he had brought a hand up to gently caress the softness of your cheek, that you understood.

You knew they were right. And yet, a terribly hard pill to swallow. This didn't just apply to you, but to him too. You both had so many plans, goals, dreams. You both were only getting in the way of that, both keeping each other connected by the willfulness of your hearts. This love was too big for the both of you, and it was sucking the life, the happiness out of you.You loved him, you always did, always will. So much so, that you knew he deserved the same chance at an experience of life, without this weighing on him, without you pulling him back, just like you did.

“I can't do this anymore.” You whispered back finally, a tear hitting his thumb, and you weren't shocked when he sighed, before nodding, like he had known. That was another thing about Yeonjun you had loved,he always just knew.

You embarked in this minute of silence, both of you letting it settle, the room was dimly lit, but you were still able to make out his disheveled hair, his freshly kissed lips, and the tears that flooded the lining of his eyes. Neither of you hid them, neither felt the need too. Your heart fights this feeling of relief, and Yeonjun looks up at you and smiles softly before motioning to the front door.

“Do you remember orientation night?” He asked, once he was out the door. The fresh wind sweeps up a pair of leaves from the floor, and you both watch as the leaves dance around each other, before flying off. You smile.

“I do.”

Orientation night was hell. The world had been against you, you had been picked on by the orientation leaders, your dorm mates didn't seem like they were going to be good dorm mates at all, and to make it worse, you were in a new city, an hour away from Yeonjun’s college. You had decided to suffer in silence that night until he called, and just with the sound of his voice, you couldn't help but blubber out everything that went wrong. He listened and cooed, trying to relax your sobs, you heard the sound of an ignition turning on in the back. As you suspected, he made it to the front of your dorms in the next hour, already extending his arm for an embrace. At this time, the distance was still new and unfamiliar to both of you, no longer living in the same city, no longer having the same group of friends. You're no longer crying as dramatically as before, yet he still held you tightly in his chest, the smell of his cologne calming you greatly.

“Ima just give up and go home. Maybe I'm not made for college life.” You sigh.

“Hey, you are definitely not going back home. Youre gonna go back in there and tell your dorm mates to be nice or fuck off, and then youre gonna go tomorrow and say the same thing to those asshole leaders.” he rubs your back.

“No…” you sigh again, “I'm not gonna do that. I want to actually make friends, and I want my dorm mates to actually like me.”

“I'm your friend.”

“You also live an hour away.”

“So? Nothing can keep me away from you.” He smiles down at you, kissing your forehead.

“I wish I only had to deal with you and your antics…I miss you.”

I miss you too… Do you want me to talk to those leaders?”

“No but thanks.”

“Y/N…” you had been closing your eyes until he called, “I will always have your back. Always. You always have a friend, never hesitate to call him. He loves you, forever.” he finally attaches his lips to yours, quickly pecking your lips before pecking the rest of your face.

“I meant every word.” he says softly, grabbing your hands, “I'm always your friend and I love you, forever.”

“I love you too, forever.” And when he reaches to rub the tear off your cheek again, you chuckle to suppress the sniffle.

If your heart had not been enclosed in your chest, it would have been dragged by the last few strings attached to his, instead all you felt was the frantic pull, the desperate call for him to come back, and he must feel it too cause he turns back to you, already at the edge of the driveway.

“If I ever get you back in my arms, I will never let you go again.”

“Is that a threat?” You laughed already walking back to the door. He smiles upon seeing your smile, one last time.

“A promise.”

A/N: YAYAYAYAAY you made it to the end!!! Thank you so much for reading!!! I wanted to make this super angsty and I hope I tugged at the heart even just a pluck :3 Anyways, as always please let me know how you liked it, my asks are open for any requests as well!! Also let me know if you think I should do a small update (read: part 2) on yeonjun and y/n, maybe seeing each other again /.\ Thank you again!! :3

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sixxteenbullets · 2 years ago

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HIDDEN AWAY-

Saw smth the other day and I can't stop thinking about it.

Pairing: Henry Bowers x fem!innocent!reader

Warnings: u and Henry getting walked in on by Patrick, being watched doin yk, swearing, sexual themes.

______

HENRY Bowers had a girl that was the opposite of him. She was a kind, sweet soul and he wanted to keep her that way. He knew exactly who he was and who his friends were, so to keep up with his goal, he needed her to stay away from his friends. The issue sounded easy to defeat, if his friends were normal.

Two boys, Belch and Vic, he trusted enough to stay away from her. After all, they weren't really ever interested in defying Henry. Though, Patrick was a piece of work. As much as he loved innocence, he loved pushing limits. He was tall, obsessed with pyro, and a sadist to the bone. That was exactly the kind of person Henry needed his girl to stay away from. Someone who could tear away her joy, make her sad and scared, and strip her of her kindness, turning her timid and quiet. He'd seen her that way once, during a bad fight, and he swore to keep her from those feelings for as long as he could. Only he could break her down.

"Hey Hen," Y/n smiled at him, her white teeth shining as bright as ever. "You called."

"Old man ain't gonna be home tonight," He pushed himself off of his bed and sauntered over to her. "Was thinking you could stay?"

She didn't have an ideal home life, either. She wasn't beat, like Henry, and she still had both of her parents, but they were mean. Driven by religion, the girl didn't get to choose her own path very often, and a lot of her decisions were made for her. That was part of why she kept her innocence. There was nothing she could do to break it.

"Yeah, totally." She walked closer to him, meeting him in the middle of his room, and wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms looked around her waist and they were pulled flush against each other. As their lips met, a bubbly giggle escaped her throat and she smiled against his mouth. His face remained straight, but the sound of her giddiness woke such a fierce happiness within him, it was hard to keep from giggling back at her.

"So what do you want to do tonight?" A mere whisper, barely audible. His eyes widened slightly as they met the ones that stared up at him. She never spoke like this. It was just a simple question, but there was a passion behind her words that she never had before. They had been dating for a month, and she typically pushed away his sexual advances, so when she made her own, he knew this was not something to pass up.

His hands ever so slightly lowered on her waist, resting on the peak of her butt. When she put up no objections, they lowered and he gave a small squeeze, which triggered another giggle. Just as he was about to say something suggestive, her lips crashed into his open mouth, and their tongues danced in harmony for a minute before he pulled away for a breath.

Her head leaned up to follow him, objecting to the end of their kiss, but she soon realized her own lack of breath. "What are you doing?"

"I want you." There was absolutely no sign of hesitation in her voice. Every bit of every word dripped with a lust that sounded foreign on her tongue. "Every inch."

He had heard enough. He had been waiting for over a month to hear her ask for him. To finally give herself to him.

Every fiber of his being itched to go fast, to shove her onto his bed and hear her screams as she cried his name. To hear the innocence dissolve from her voice, and only a sinful, whimpering cry would be left. But he didn't think she would like that just yet, so he willed his body to go slow, to pace himself and be gentle as he stole something sacred from her.

"I want you to be rough. Show me every side of you tonight. The good the bad and the parts you never let anyone see. You can have my body if I can have your soul." She always did that. Talk in poetic speeches, using grammer he's completely stranger to. And he loved it just as much as he loved seeing the passion in her eyes as every word spoke it's truth.

They were on the bed in no time, and her request rang through his ears. She wanted everything. And he would give her his life if he could.

Two shirts were thrown on the floor, one pair of pants, and one pair of shorts. Two half naked bodies desperately grinded into each other, craving release from the heat in their cores. Legs intertwined just as fingers did and the two eventually became one. One drawn out moan, one long kiss, one burning desire.

There was something artistic about the way two humans behaved in times of desperation. The way she would whimper and gasp when a particularly sensitive part of her body was touched, and he would see this and use it to his advantage. The way his mouth would open in a silent moan as she rubbed against him, creating a friction they'd never get enough of. Even with underwear on, they behaved wildly, leaving no room for any matter to interfere.

Somewhere in their passion, a door, forgotten to be locked, creaked open to reveal a few rather shocked faces. Not shocked to see their friend with a girl, but shocked to see him with a girl such as Y/n. Especially shocked that a girl like her didn't wear little pink cotton panties, but adorned a black lace thong instead.

The bigger male and the blond turned away, obviously not wanting to get their asses beat for the intrusion. But Patrick stayed for a minute. His eyes traced every inch of her body, and once he had seen enough, a low whistle escaped him.

The two on the bed jumped, and just as quickly as she threw herself down, he had an arm around her and held her close. She stayed pressed against her boyfriend, trying to hide her flushed face and body from the mischievous boy who stood watching her.

"When your done having your fun, why don't ya' let me take her for a ride?" A sickening laugh faded into a room with three emotions only. Arousal, fear, and pure fucking rage. That arousal faded from Patrick when he saw the expression that adorned his friend's face.

"Get the fuck out of here, Hockstetter, or I'll kill you right here." There was a malice in Henry's voice that he'd never heard before. A spark in his eye, a snarl in his lip, and a clenched fist that showed truth in every word he spoke.

If Patrick didn't stop staring at Henry's girl, he would be a dead man and a tortured soul.

So he ducked out of the room and approached the two other members of their gang, shaken and annoyed, completely unwilling to tell the story of the scariest moment of his life.

Henry considered chasing after his friend, showing him how absolutely enraged he felt that his angel felt unsafe. But once he thought back to her, and felt her shivering from his arms, she was his main priority. He pulled her flush against him, not sexually anymore, just possessively. His arms encircled her and she wanted to completely fade into him.

Sobs racked her body. She'd heard horror stories of the boy and his disgusting acts on not only girls, but just others in general. So, when he said he wanted to take her for a ride, terror crept throughout every crevice of her body. Not only did she fear him, but she was absolutely humiliated. Another boy has seen her half naked, not to mention the vulnerable situation she was in.

After a second of silence, she was able to make out a few muffle words against his chest. "Please don't let him take me."

"No one will ever touch you. You're mine, and he knows that now. I'm gonna keep you hidden away from all that shit."

#henry bowers #it 2017 #patrick hockstetter #belch huggins #bowers gang #x reader #fanfiction #it #dont read this #ima kms #this is embarassing tbh #bowers gang x reader #henry bowers x reader #victor criss

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gortash-did-nothing-wrong · 8 months ago

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Things Enver does as a Father:

When their oldest was four, he started to understand what explosives were, so Enver spent three days teaching him how to make fire powder because, "What's the harm? He can't reach the shelf with the ingredients. So he'll never make them without my supervision." He may not have been able to reach the shelf, but that cunning toddler learned how to climb into chairs really fast after that.

When their children started being interested in tea parties, Enver gifted their children a sturdy but beautiful silver tea set. They couldn't brew the tea themselves, nor could they bake their own pastries to go with it, but Enver instructed their servants to fill the teapot with a caffeine free tea anytime the children asked. The trays of croissants and cookies were, of course, also provided.

When Enver joined those tea parties, he used it as a time to test his children's leadership abilities. He asked them how they planned on handling fake issues in the kingdom. Often, he assigned names to fake groups of people, inventing far off countries that sent either banes or boons to their doorstep. "What shall we do about all these refugees?" "The crops from the west fields have failed. Shall we attempt to grow more before harvest, or should we depend upon our reserves?" "Two different political factions are at each other's throats. One is the farmer's guild, and one is the merchant's guild. Who should we side with?" "There's only room in this year's budget to donate to the orphanages, or the trade school programs in the Lower City. Who do we support?" His children sometimes waved his questions off, wanting only to eat the snacks and play games, but sometimes they paid attention. Sometimes they even gave insightful solutions to these problems that were simultaneously fake and yet very real. Enver was always careful to nurture any of his children that showed promise in these matters

Of course, some of his children simply weren't suited for positions of higher leadership, which was fine. He loved his children all dearly, and loving them meant meeting them where they were and accepting who they were. His children that weren't leadership material had other talents. Archery, swordsmanship, art, dance, and more. His youngest daughter, the middle child of the family, actually had a knack for making friends and organizing events. While it wasn't something most would consider a highly prized skill, in her teenage years she turned it into a passion for charity work, especially with orphans and refugees. Something that he made sure the newspapers always reported on. Why not make sure the public viewed him and his family in a favorable light with the candle of his child's charity cases?

One of his children showed a knack for archery at a young age, and Enver wasted no time in designing moving targets for her to sharpen her skills with. His wife introduced their little prodigy to that vampire friend of hers, and soon his daughter was sneaking around the castle with a bow and quiver full of enchanted arrows. The servants only complained a little.

His brood grew in number until he was often walking around the city with a gaggle of eight children at his heels, looking every bit like a proud father goose. His youngest was almost always in his arms, a young boy with chubby cheeks and his father's grin. The public went wild with love for the sight of his hoard of children, calling them the Pride of the Gate. His wife insisted nicknames didn't count if he ordered the press to call them that, but Enver disagreed.

Enver was a firm believer in raising his children with an iron fist. Not in anyway did that mean physical punishment, of course. He detested the thought. But his children had a busy routine of tutors, governesses, coaches, and many extra curriculars from very young ages. His wife was often worried they were expecting too much from them, but Enver was always quick to remind her that they lived in a cruel world, and their children needed to be ready for that. His children were loved, but not coddled.

And as Enver grew older, he felt comfortable delegating more and more tasks to his children. Until finally, at the age of fifty seven with the entire sword coast under his iron fist, he named his heir, split up responsibilities among his other children to ensure there would be no infighting, and retired with his wife to a nice little castle in the upper city. Somewhere close enough to help should his clan require it, but far enough that he and his lovely wife could relax in their old age. He loved spending his mornings sitting on the balcony and having breakfast with her while he read the paper. His middle child, the charity worker, had taken over propaganda, and she was quite skilled at it. He would chuckle with his wife over humorous tidbits from his children's accomplishments.

And of course, then there came grandchildren. Little heathens running around his home, always so happy to visit "Grandma's House". Enver often rolled his eyes at the title of his castle. "I bought the damned thing." He complained to his eldest son one day. His son laughed at him, "Father, don't pout. They may call it her house, but they're always talking about wanting to see your inventions, play with your magic items, and um... Steal your shoes." Enver sighed at that. "None of you ever inherited my glorious fashion sense, and I regret that every day... Maybe one more child-" his wife interrupted them, "No."

#bg3 enver gortash #enver gortash x reader #enver flymm #enver gortash #enver gortash imagine #enver gortash headcanon

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exactlymaximumgarden · 8 months ago

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what i did for love (jschlatt x reader fic)

chapter 1: ...again!

summary: your broadway debut is finally here after years of working toward it. however, an unwelcome face is quick to crash the party. word count: ~1.3k warnings: fem!reader a/n: please don't yell at me if any of the details about the rehearsal process or whatever are factually incorrect. idgaf!!! all love ofc. also, this fic will (obviously) draw on a lot of material from a chorus line, so i’d suggest familiarizing yourself with the show while reading if you’re not already! not essential tho lol song: i hope i get it - a chorus line ensemble

The first thing you noticed was how, no matter where you performed or for how long, you would never get used to the way the stage lights quite nearly blinded you.

Opening night of your leg of A Chorus Line opened in less than two weeks, and you couldn’t be more elated. For years, this had been your dream. To perform, to be onstage, to be on Broadway. And now here you were. The show was undergoing another revival, a more modern take on the iconic musical. The casting directors had issued an open call to all aspiring stars in New York City to scout some fresh talent. They’d mentioned something about wanting to find unknowns, some unrecognizable faces since you couldn’t keep casting the same people over and over. That would be overkill, they said. That was a no-go. Not here. Not in the big leagues or whatever.

Hell, you were lucky that you even made it past the initial round of callbacks. But if you had told the version of you almost a year ago that was stepping into those auditions for the first time that you were going to be chosen to play Cassie, one of the most prominent roles in the show, you probably wouldn’t have believed it. A whole dance number and song to yourself, plus the most dialogue out of the rest of the female characters? It was surreal.

And now, after months of rehearsals, the opening was just around the corner.

It was no secret that everyone involved was growing increasingly antsy the closer opening night drew. Your castmates were collectively full of a newfound energy you hadn’t witnessed from them yet. It didn’t help that today was the first day of full costumes, plus more light and music cueing. Somehow, the show coming together brought everyone’s moods up by a thousand.

These more upbeat vibes were made evident as the cast stood in the primary assigned formation, one next to the other all in a line close to the edge of the stage. You stood, unable to stop yourself from fidgeting with the scarlet tulle of your costume’s skirt while, out in the audience, the production team buzzed amongst each other with directives, ideas on what to cue next, and how. And those stage lights, those damn lights, bore down upon you. You had to tilt your head down to keep the rays from blaring directly into your eyes.

“Okay!” You were no sooner snapped out of your daze at the booming sound of your director Vanja’s voice from out in the audience. Vanja was a middle-aged woman who’d been raised to become a ballet prodigy. She was not only a seasoned dancer but a strict, dedicated spirit, which was only natural considering her upbringing. She was functioning as both director and choreographer, so she was undoubtedly the most strung-up out of anyone involved in the show, but for obviously different reasons. You squinted, trying to search for her limber figure out in the house, but your vision was obscured from your point on the stage. Her eastern European accent (from exactly where, you couldn't recall) oozed through her words like a thick molasses as she continued, “We will be running ‘At The Ballet’ next. Victoria! Step up, please.”

From your left, your castmate Victoria stepped forward. The tall blonde had been cast as Sheila, the character who sung the first section of the aforementioned song. Since the two of you were sandwiched directly beside each other in the line formation, you’d become quite close during the rehearsal process. “Yes?” Victoria answered coolly, not at all intimidated by Vanja’s demanding tone. You couldn’t help but envy her a little bit for that.

“We will start a couple of lines before the beginning of the song,” Vanja instructed. “Isaiah will prompt you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Isaiah!” Isaiah was another member of the cast, having been assigned the role of Zach, or the director of the chorus line the show centered around. Zach was primarily unseen throughout the show save for a few particular scenes, so Isaiah, the lucky bastard, got to sit out in the house for most of the rehearsals. You couldn’t see where he was located either, but Vanja seemed to have spotted him, as you could hear her advise, “Start from, ah… start from, ‘Better, go on.’ Just after she’s taken her ponytail down, yes?”

You heard a deeper voice clearing their throat, indicating Isaiah was beginning to speak his assigned dialogue. “Better. Go on.”

Victoria, meanwhile, squared her shoulders in an attempt to rapidly lock into character before reciting her own lines. “Oh, how she did it. Well, first, she took me to see all the ballets. And then, she gave me her old toe shoes, which I used to run down the sidewalk in. On my toes. At five. And then-”

Suddenly, the typically fluorescent stage lights dimmed to a faded mix of blue and purple. It would have been a very serene color combo had it not been for Vanja’s deafening voice cutting Victoria’s dialogue off. “Hold!” she yelled. “That light cue is too early! That is not supposed to happen until the music starts! Who did that? Tech! Who did that?”

As Vanja spat out her rampaging words, Victoria turned her head just slightly enough to make eye contact with you. She sent you a discreet side-eye as if to nonverbally say, ‘She’s crazy!’

At that moment, one of the members of the tech crew stuck his head out from the wings of the stage. You recognized his face considering you’d seen him around so often, but you never caught his name. “Sorry, ma’am!” he apologized with a rueful grin. “That was an accident. I’m trying to show the new guy the ropes.”

New guy?

Judging by the tone of Vanja’s voice instantly calming down, she seemed to grasp the situation. “Ah, the new techie boy?” she queried. “I haven’t gotten to see him yet.”

“Oh, he’s right here.”

Almost as if on cue, everyone in the cast’s head turned towards the wing, where a second head popped out from behind the curtain. Your eyes widened. No way.

The new guy in question donned a polite smile, his oak brown curls cascading down the sides of his face into mutton chops you recognized all too well. His golden-rimmed aviator glasses shielded his glinting eyes. “How’s it goin’?” he greeted sheepishly, and to your right, you heard your castmate Ari suck in a quiet gasp. Nobody ever spoke to Vanja so casually.

No way.

“Hello.” Surprisingly, Vanja didn’t seem to mind so much. Or maybe she was just giving him the pass since he was new. “What’s your name? I apologize, I never caught it.”

“Oh, uh, Jay. Lotsa people call me Schlatt, though.”

No. Way.

“Ah. Pleasure to meet you, Jay.” You could practically hear the smile in Vanja’s words. “Come see me when we take a break so I can properly speak to you.”

“Will do. Sorry ‘bout the lights. I’ll be more careful.”

Your stomach churned. Why the hell was he here? Him, of all people? Victoria, sweet Victoria, somehow seemed to catch on to your less than enthused reaction. In your periphery, you could see her quirking up a brow inquisitively at your expression. You couldn’t even make eye contact with her. You were too busy staring at Schlatt, fighting to keep your jaw from dropping.

And of course the prick had to notice you.

It happened in a split second. As he retreated back behind the curtain, your gazes met. A stupid grin crept onto his face as he saw you, clearly dumbfounded by his very presence in the theatre. If you weren’t onstage right now in front of all these people, you would’ve lunged at him.

You heard Vanja’s voice once more as the lights returned to their normal cue, preparing to resume the scene, but it all might as well have been a distant echo. Somehow, someway, Schlatt had made his way back into your life after fighting for so long to keep him out of it.

Why him?

next chapter

#broadway!reader x techie!schlatt how we feelin chat #no beta #jschlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt #chuckle sandwich #schlatt x reader #chuckle sandwich x reader #schlatt x you #jschlatt fanfic #jschlatt imagine #schlatt imagine #schlatt fanfic #fanfic #broadway!reader x techie!schlatt #what i did for love

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silantryoo · 2 years ago

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BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — jimin's y/n l/n.

yoo jimin, third year.

WARNINGS ; gaslighting, manipulation, anger issues, self-inflicted injury, self-harm, overworking, cheating, divorce, blood, violence, diets, verbal abuse(?) (3.1k)

yoo jimin hated the game she grew up loving.

at the ripe age of six years old, jimin had found herself playing in her backyard with her mom's deflated white and blue mikasa volleyball, the skin on it peeling and tearing from the years of wear prior to her use. though she loved the sting of the impact and the little dots on her forearms that would appear, there was nothing that could compare to the delight of her mother and father watching her from the house.

warmth, love, safety.

it was all jimin could feel back then, despite her arms aching and her lungs burning. the sweat on her back was nothing but a side effect of making them proud. the aching joints, the bruised arms, it didn't matter. all that mattered was them.

but to her father, all that mattered was pleasure, and in her twentieth year of life, everything would come spilling out like the lava from an active volcano.

jimin hated volleyball.

jang wonyoung smiled at the older girl, and jimin couldn't help but find it endearing.

she knew that the freshman (who was clearly younger than the rest of the other freshmen) idolized her. she had noticed it during tryout when she entered the gym doors, yeji's glare heavy on her. though all of the younger kids adored her, despite the year prior of her total silence, wonyoung seemed to shine through the crowd, diligent in a way that no one in her thirteen years of playing seemed to have.

the small looks of approval whenever she hit a particularly good spike, or the way she would listen to every syllable that jimin said pulled on the older girl's heartstrings. it was cute, and it gave her a sense of security that she often lacked when playing.

jimin was glad she convinced yeji to let the taller girl onto the team.

"sunbaenim!" wonyoung ran up to her, a tired smile on her face. "are you ready for the game tomorrow?"

yonsei was their biggest rival, as the two universities were always down each other's necks, waiting for one fatal mistake so they can swoop in and take the victory.

"maybe." jimin teased, her eyes dancing with a playfulness that she only managed to muster in front of her (not-so)mini-me. "it doesn't matter, as long as you're ready."

wonyoung whined, the younger not seeing through jimin's words.

"i'm joking." jimin patted the then shorter girl's shoulder. "i'm ready. don't worry."

wonyoung nodded, beaming up at the taller girl before scurrying off to talk to shin ryujin, hwang yeji's right-hand woman.

"you shouldn't be so nice to her."

the presence of hwang yeji was like an automatic surge of dopamine for jimin, and this wasn't any different.

"she's a kid." jimin tried to defend the girl, sensing the unwavering glare from her captain. "and she still has that drive, y'know?"

"only shit players don't have that drive." yeji looked at her as if the senior was talking about her. jimin pretending not to notice (even if her heart tore a little bit more). "she might take your spot in the future."

jimin smiled, watching as wonyoung made her way over to yujin, the latter throwing an arm around the skinny girl.

"i hope so." jimin spoke in happiness, ignoring the small ugly feeling in the middle of her chest. "she's a good player."

but yeji always had a way of knowing people's emotions before they knew it themselves.

"better than you?"

("is she better than us, dad?")

jimin looked at her captain, and all yeji returned was a smirk.

she loved hwang yeji, even if the girl reminded her of everything wrong in her life.

her mom would come into her room sometimes, crying about how her father had replaced them for a better, richer family. a chaebol of samsung who had left her husband for a nobody from a tech company, one who had a wife cooking and cleaning for him every day. a woman who would stay at home, who gave up her career to serve him and only him.

jimin's mom cried harder, apologizing for not being good enough, rich enough, to make her father stay.

it wasn't her fault, jimin knew it was her own.

maybe if she studied harder, suma would've given her a higher sum for her scholarship, taking the stress off the sole provider of the yoo household. if she had run a little faster, hit a little harder, and jumped a little higher, she would've been the outside hitter instead of hwang "free fall" yeji, instead of being the middle blocker who was too short to get her head above the net.

maybe, just maybe, her father would've been proud enough to stay. maybe her father would've loved her enough to love her mom, even if it was just for a little longer.

but jimin couldn't fly, and that was her biggest problem.

"jump higher."

jimin shook her head. it hurt.

"i can't."

jimin couldn't breathe, the pain with every impact making her legs beneath her crumble under her weight. her knee should be fine now, it shouldn't hurt.

why couldn't it stop hurting?

"jump. higher."

"i told you." jimin sobbed, hands on her knees. the pain was excruciating, like staring straight into the sun. "i can't."

"what the fuck am i even helping you for?" yeji mocked her, her voice echoing throughout the empty gymnasium. the volleyball captain leaned against the pole. "because if we lose, i swear i'll blame it on your shitty ass."

"we're not going to lose." jimin shook her head. it was impossible. never in history had they lost an opening game, and she wasn't going to start now. "look, i just need a break. my knee-"

"i don't care." yeji needed jimin's body, not her. "who gives a fuck about your knee? i'm trying to win."

hwang yeji was two things; methodical and manipulative, and her training jimin (which consisted of half of their 'sessions') was the former. she wasn't going to waste her precious time on a washed-out athlete, even if it was a great source of entertainment.

"yeji, please." jimin begged the way she did to her father. "i'm tired."

she was tired of hurting. she was tired of being the second choice, of not being good enough. she was tired of not recovering fast enough, being too weak, being too pretty, being everything but nothing.

jimin could see her vision blurring, the tears dripping down onto the court as the entire right side of her body burned with overuse.

yeji rolled her eyes, looking at the girl and walked up to her. putting a soft arm around jimin's waist, the cat-like girl leaned down. jimin's face was almost comical to yeji, and it took everything in her to not burst out laughing.

"don't you want this?" yeji asked, jimin's spine-tingling from the softness of her voice. warmth, love, safety. "baby, don't you want to make me happy?"

yeji already knew the answer.

"i know." jimin blinked her tears away, yeji pulling away to wipe her tears. "i'm sorry."

"just try again." yeji tried to hide the disgust as she felt the damp tears on her thumb. she pulled back. "jump higher this time."

jimin nodded.

ignore the pain. she thought. jump.

"i'll try."

jimin backed up from the attack line, the pain in her knee grinding her bones into mush. she ignored it, she had to. she couldn't worry about something so minuscule, not when yeji was expecting the most out of her.

all that mattered was yeji. she needed to make her proud.

jimin ran up to the net, jumping with all the power she could muster. she felt herself floating, like an astronaut up in space, waving down at the earth, or an angel, smiling down at their loved ones to watch over them.

her eyes didn't meet the top of the net.

she landed, her knee buckling under her once more, causing her to fall forward towards the center line. she could feel her ankle nearly twist onto itself, but nothing happened this time.

it hurt. it hurt so damn much.

"if i knew you couldn't do it, i should've convinced coach bam to put wonyoung starting." yeji shook her head, her eyes boring into jimin's.

jimin was pathetic, and yeji wondered if she had chosen the wrong girl in the first place.

jimin shook her head. she need this. yeji needed this.

"i can do it."

yeji scoffed, and it was like watching her father pack in the middle of the night, begging her to not tell her mom until he was gone.

"you can't." yeji stated. "why didn't you just quit last year?"

"i-" jimin knew the answer, and it was because of everyone but herself. they needed her to win, to play, to represent them. she was their pawn, and jimin never learned how to live for herself.

she glared at the ground, an unfamiliar rage burning inside of her. why couldn't she just be better?

she just needed to be better, for once.

"i'll do it this time." jimin stood up, clenching her fist. "i'm sorry."

"good." yeji nodded, watching the fire in jimin's eyes. she held back a smile, the glaring difference making the captain satisfied. "now again."

training finished in record time, but the sea of self-hatred never diminished in yoo jimin.

they were losing.

yonsei was a set ahead of them, 2-1, and jimin couldn't block a single spike from any of them.

her arms were tired from the day before. she couldn't jump high enough, and her knee... she couldn't ignore it any longer. the usual dull ache that she woke up with turned into a severe pounding, blood rushing to her head as she tried to persevere through it.

jimin hated it. she hated herself.

the whistle blew, and jimin looked over to the sidelines, ignoring the expressionless yeji, and the worried ryujin. she walked closer as wonyoung walked past her, and for the first time, jimin was irritated to see the young freshman do better than her.

that shouldn't have happened. she should've stayed. she should've done better.

"sit."

"coach, my knee." jimin bit her tongue. she couldn't cry, whether that be anger, pain or disappointment. "it hurts."

her coach looked at her, leaning down as the other girls on the bench cheered them on.

"does it look like i care?" coach bam looked pissed, squatting down. "look at me."

jimin's eyes locked onto the older man's eyes, his eye brows furrowed with a line in the middle. his faint 5 o'clock surrounded the frown on his mouth, and she could tell his neck was red and tense from yelling at her throughout the game.

"do you understand that you're are costing your teammates everything right now?" coach bam started, clenching his eyes shut. jimin swallowed back her reply. "you should know better than to be the reason we're losing this game. you need to get your head out of your ass and stop acting like you're special."

she knew that. jimin didn't need a reminder of what she wasn't. she already had a mental list of everything wrong with her, and she would survey it every morning an hour before practice.

"you know who's special?" jimin took a deep breath, zoning out as she waited for her coach to stop. "yeji. and you're ruining her chances of getting into the national team."

yeji was the center of the team, and anyone would be stupid to think otherwise.

"yoo!" coach bam shouted, making her flinch. "do you understand me?"

"yes."

he stood up, looking down at her like she meant nothing. "you're lucky wonyoung's around."

jang wonyoung was everything jimin lacked.

jimin hated it.

"ji..." alex whispered, passing her an ice pack for her knee. "are you okay?"

jimin could feel the tears starting to come. it was angry and hot, and it disguised the disappointment she felt.

"focus on the game," jimin could feel the anger building in her chest. "not me."

alex looked at her for a moment.

jimin was never an angry person, not even when they went to high school.

this wasn't jimin.

"but-"

"focus on the fucking game, alexandra."

yoo jimin played fifty minutes out of the two-hour game, all of which took place before the third set.

suma won with the help of jang wonyoung, ahn yujin and oh haewon.

3-2, in favor of suma.

yoo jimin was scared of many things.

she was scared of thunder, her house shaking as she ran to her parents' room. the thought of her death one day made her sick to the stomach, and there was something so unsettling about the thought of lake water to her.

losing yeji was another fear.

and losing her father was one she had realized recently.

"baby, i'm sorry." jimin begged, the hallway empty as most of the girls were in the multi-purpose room celebrating. "baby, please."

jimin grabbed yeji's arm, and the girl yanked her arm away, making the taller girl stumble forwards.

"who are you calling baby?" yeji asked her, her eyes cold and unfeeling. jimin hated when yeji was like this. "we aren't together, especially after that."

jimin could feel her stomach sinking. yeji was so far, and it was all her fault.

everything was her fault.

"my knee, i couldn't-" yeji began to walk away, and jimin lunged for her, her knee screaming at her to be careful. "yeji, please. i'm sorry."

yeji looked at her once more.

"be better." yeji pried jimin's hand off of her. "then we can talk."

"i'm trying." jimin could feel the tears starting to well up inside her. she was tired, and it seemed like yeji didn't care. "please."

yeji walked away without a word, leaving the sobbing jimin alone in what was dubbed suma's 'victor hallway'. the awards mocked her, her smiling face gleaming as if she wasn't currently drowning in self-pity.

she couldn't do this anymore. she couldn't think, her thoughts filtered with something akin to a red filter, skewing her perception in a way she had never felt before. all she felt was a hot burning rage that filled her to the brim with something so volatile.

jimin punched the cement wall, shaking the trophy case next to it.

she didn't care that her wrist wouldn't work the same tomorrow, or that her hand would sting with every contact with the ball. she knew her perfectly manicured hand would be bruised, and her knuckles would have the same fate, if not worse.

she didn't care.

she needed release, she needed to feel something aside from all the sadness, she needed something else, anything else.

jimin didn't know how many times she swung, but she knew it was enough to feel the shock through her shoulder and into her back, and for sores to open at the tip of her knuckles.

jimin sighed, sliding down the now red-stained wall. she would never hurt anyone, but she hated herself enough to hurt herself.

she wondered what would happen if she broke her wrist right there.

the volleyball player heard a small cough, accompanied by the rustling of paper, ice and plastic. jimin's head snapped to the sound, and she could feel the tips of her ears burn red.

"sorry, i was, um," the girl said shyly, and jimin deduced she was most likely a freshman. she was holding an ice pack, looking at the hunched-over volleyball player. "here."

jimin looked at it for a second, scanning the cat-like girl in front of her.

she was pretty, almost like a movie star. she had a beauty mark, though faint, on the tip of her nose, and her cheeks seemed to reflect her nervous fidgeting. her eyes glistened, a sense of innocence that many of the newbies held on her team.

"thank you." jimin smiled, the burning on her hand dying down at the contact of the ice.

the girl hummed, sliding down beside her, jimin's volleyball bag the only keeping the two apart.

jimin glanced at the girl once more. she looked at her, and jimin only felt warmth. she felt safe, like she was surrounded by the yellow-tinted lights of her house, her parents hovering smothering her with affection and love.

but jimin felt sincerity, a sense of truthfulness, and part of her had forgotten that existed until now.

"you're yoo jimin right?" the girl asked, looking at jimin's bloodied hand. she looked down at jimin's knee pads, almost like she was trying to decipher a code. "is it your left knee, or your right knee?"

when was the last time someone asked that? jimin wondered.

"sorry?"

"the ice." the pretty girl hummed, and jimin felt butterflies in her stomach. "use it on your bad knee after."

"oh, right." jimin forgot that there were many people who idolized her, too busy drowning in her self-hatred. "thank you."

the girl nodded, rummaging through her bag. jimin swore she saw a pair of slides in there, similar to the ones wonyoung had worn when she had arrived before the game.

"i have some chocolate if you want." the girl pulled out a ghana milk chocolate bar. jimin hadn't had once since she and her father decided it would be best to put her on a meal plan.

it had been about ten years since she had seen the familiar package.

"i can't eat chocolate." jimin smiled, the blood from her hands no longer seeping out of her hand.

"i won't tell." the girl brushed her hair out of her face, handing jimin the candy bar at her. "it'll be our secret."

("i can't keep secrets, dad!")

"i'm not good at secrets." jimin muttered.

"really? you seem like the type to be." the girl said, scratching her cheek as she zipped up her bag. "well, then i'll keep the secret for the both of us."

jimin nodded, looking at the girl as she checked her phone. the bright light framed her face in a way jimin had never seen before.

the girl's phone dinged, and jimin watched as she picked it up at lightning speed. the girl's face perked up, and jimin swore she had never seen anything cuter until then.

"i have to go. um," the girl stood up, bowing at the tear-stained volleyball player in front of her. "please take care of your knee. i hope that next time i can see you play."

jimin smiled, her chest light.

"i will... um-"

"l/n y/n." the girl smiled, her eyes forming into crescents. "i'm wonyoung's girlfriend."

wonyoung always had the best things in her life, jimin thought.

life was unfair.

"nice to meet you, y/n."

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@serenitygrace24 @moontealemonpie @writingficsblog @kittyeij @cutieseo @limbforalimb @ahnneyong @yumtooki @lcv3lies @sserajeans @jiwoneiric @babycubchae @trsrina @xyxlyn @misumiausworld @slowlyturninggay291 @awkwardtoafault @captivq @ddeonutz @noiacha @sserabey @d7dream @slowlyturninggay291 @lvwr @perfectsunlight @forever-in-the-sky2 @juhyunsthirdwife @uzumakioden @txtbrainrot @rosiehrs @yunjinhart @skisk1 @bzeus28 @deeznutzryu @jisooftme @danistolemyheart @li0ilthecxnt @eggomi @ddoxhan @zhivaxo @sweet-dhrafts @livelaughloveyujin @luveuly @marimo-anura @yunnybunnyy @ivy-aurora @wonyoluvr

#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

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haroldhearsawho · 2 months ago

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@oopsiedaisiesbaby Since you wrote something for me here’s something for you that’s been brewing in my head for awhile now:

Ok so hear me out- I don’t know how people feel about rpf (I mean technically Clegan is rpf) but this picture of Austin and Callum has given me all sorts of ideas, I can’t help it 😩:

So I’m thinking they’ve always flirted with one another but always made it out it be a joke, or like they’d back off as soon as or before it got too serious. Like they’d both say off hand comments or remarks about/to the other that always has the other reeling back and wondering, second guessing everything but convincing themselves they’re trying to make it into something it’s not, seeing things that aren’t there, looking too far into it. And the way Austin looks at Callum- it’s hard for Callum to look back sometimes, it feels so intense and sensual and he’s afraid of his own expression giving anything away. But Callum tells himself Austin looks at everyone that way, he has very intense eye contact and it can easily come across as sexual when he doesn’t mean for it to. So they’ve been dancing around one another for as long as they’ve known each other.

Also- as far as their sexuality goes, in my head, Callum has never really been interested in men, but there have been more than a few times where he’s found stereotypical “pretty boys” and “twinks” attractive like he would a woman and thought about what it would be like to have sex with them, and it wasn’t a repulsive thought, but he always buried that in the back of his head. Until he met Austin and then all bets were off, not even to himself could he pretend he didn’t want to absolutely wreck him. But he told himself it was because it/he was Austin, like everyone wants him, he just has that affect on people. And he’s just so fucking gorgeous and lovely that he defies gender and sexuality.

And then for Austin, well- I think he’s definitely felt attraction to men before. More so than Callum. But it’s also something he’s buried deep down and not dealt with or acted upon (except for maybe a few make out sessions or mutual jerking off/hand jobs with his male peers as a teen), because he has a lot of hang ups about it, partly due to how he’s perceived by the public as a pretty and feminine man, so he often feels the need to overcompensate in the opposite direction, also because he doesn’t want to get typecast as that type of man all the time. And also because of so much of the unwanted attention and attraction he has received from grown and older men since puberty. He’s had creepy old and middle aged men creep on him since he was a teenager and so he still feels uncomfortable about it, still gets the creeps sometimes when an older man will make a comment toward/to him or touch him in what could be an intimate way. I imagine he had quite a few uncomfortable or outright inappropriate interactions with or comments directed at him by male executives, producers, and directors as a young teen auditioning for and landing roles on Disney and Nickelodeon, and so obviously that made the “finding men attractive” part of his brain shut off completely, even though men closer to his age (who he was actually attracted to on some level) weren’t the issue and weren’t who made him feel uncomfortable.

So, Callum and Austin have been dancing around each other since they first met. But that night at the Boys in the Boat premiere, Austin gets uncharacteristically sloshed for whatever reason, maybe he just was in a good happy mood and felt safe and so he let himself go a bit. (He always feels safe with Callum). Callum is finding it very entertaining to see Austin so unguarded and carefree; Austin is always friendly and approachable, but he’s careful with who he opens up completely to and who he allows himself to be vulnerable around. Callum is one of the lucky few who he trusts to do so around, and Callum carries that privilege like a badge of honor. Austin is very flirty with Callum throughout the night, and gets more and more so, and touchier as well, the drunker he gets. And by the end of the night, Austin is completely defenseless, with zero inhibitions, plastered over and leaning heavily on Callum to hold him up or else he couldn’t stand by himself, smiling brightly and lovingly at Callum and looking up at him from under his lashes like he always does, but now it’s even more pointed, more intense, and it has Callum blushing deeply and turning his gaze away.

“He’s so lovely, even when he’s plastered,” Callum thinks to himself. “Let’s get you back to your hotel room, big guy, I think you’ve had enough fun for one night” is what he says out loud instead. Austin doesn’t argue, just giggles like Callum said something super funny and leans into him even heavier.

Callum gets his driver to take them both to the hotel Austin is staying at and tells him to wait while he walks Austin up to his room and makes sure he’s okay. In the elevator, Austin lays his head against Callum’s shoulder and looks up at him with a super serious expression on his face, and says “I feel safe with you, Cal.” Callum's heart flutters and melts in his chest and he swallows before he responds. “I’m always here for you, mate, you know that.” Austin smiles at that and leans his head again back on Callum’s shoulder.

Callum gets Austin up and into his hotel room, putting Austin’s arm around his shoulders and holding onto his hand that’s around his neck, trying not to think about how his hand easily wraps around Austin’s entire wrist. The whole time Austin is just hanging off of him. Once he gets him into his room, he bends down to help Austin take off his shoes, but as he does, Austin stops him with a hand on his shoulder and pulls him back up. “Stay the night with me here, Cal?” he asks with those big blue puppy dog eyes.

“I can’t, my driver is waiting for me outside the hotel,” Callum replies truthfully. He can’t deny that he wants to stay, but he knows what a terrible idea that would be for so many reasons, most of all being that he knows Austin will be embarrassed in the morning and it will be awkward as hell. Austin pouts a little bit and oh God, he’s so adorable, this drunk 32 year old grown man pouting looking like he’s about 12.

“You’ll be okay, let’s just get you to bed,” Callum says as he helps maneuver Austin to the bedroom in the hotel suite. As he’s trying to get Austin to sit or lay down on the bed from where he’s still hanging off of him, Austin is looking up at him intensely again from under those damn lashes and rasps, “Kiss me, Cal.”

He’s looking at him completely open. No inhibitions. Just pure, deep desire. And yeah, Callum’s entire body feels like it’s on fire. He audibly gasps. There’s a heat growing in his groin and his heart is beating rapidly in his chest and his palms are sweating and his face is on fire and no, this can’t be happening, what is happening right now. He’s got to be imagining this.

But that’s right, Austin is drunk. He’s not thinking straight, that’s all. He doesn’t have control of his faculties at the moment. He won’t even remember saying it in the morning. He looks away from Austin’s intense gaze and manages to choke out, “I can’t, Aus. You’re-you’re drunk.” Austin, damn him, gets that stupidly adorable and heartbreaking pout back on his face. His eyes even seem to be filling with tears, his forehead wrinkles up.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” he whines. Callum at first feels absolutely heartbroken until he realizes that Austin has probably never been rejected or denied a kiss once in his life; he’s probably genuinely confused with Callum’s answer. He laughs under his breath at that. “God, the irony, if he only knew how much I want to” he thinks.

“I cant, Aus. I’m sorry. Come on, let’s get you into bed.” Once he’s gotten him to lay down, Austin closes his eyes and it seems like it will only be a few seconds before he’s passed out. Callum pats him on the thigh and says, “I’ll text you tomorrow,” as he heads out the door and back down to where his driver is parked outside waiting.

The next day, Austin texts him around noon just to thank him for getting him safely back to his hotel room, and apologizes for being so out of it. Callum responds that it wasn’t a hassle and that he was glad he had a good time and enjoyed himself. Neither of them mention what Austin had said. Callum doesn’t ever ask him if he remembers what he said that night. They return to their normal dynamic, and luckily (or not) it doesn’t change anything about their friendship or feel awkward or weird at all.

Then I think maybe months later, after the Masters of the Air press tour has wrapped (in which there was a hell of a lot more flirting and touching), Austin texts Callum when it’s in the middle of the night (super early morning) in the UK and late at night in the US, asking if he’s awake. The buzz of his phone on his nightstand wakes him up and he responds “Now I am, thanks” and then his phone is ringing.

“What’s the matter?” He asks when he picks up because this isn’t like Austin at all.

“Cal,” Austin breathes on the other line. His voice is raspier and even deeper than normal if that’s even possible. Immediately Callum is awake and feels a sharp heat pooling in his groin.

“Cal, please tell me you wanted to kiss me that night. Please tell me you wanted it just as much as I did.” Austin sounds a bit tipsy, not fully sober, and Callum wants to curse him out for torturing him like this. “Austin are you-”

“I’m not drunk, Callum. I’ve had a couple drinks to loosen up but I’m not drunk. I’m just sick of pretending. And I want you right now. I want you so badly, Cal, I can’t take it anymore.”

Callum hears rustling around on the other line and realizes that Austin is touching himself. And at that realization, all bets are off.

“Jesus Christ, Austin, are you touching yourself right now?”

“Yeah” he breathes, his breath hitching a bit. Hearing Austin in this state, it’s something Callum had imagined so often but never thought he’d actually get to hear. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it as he reaches into his pants and pulls his cock out and starts tugging on it.

“Jesus, Austin, you have no idea, no idea how bad I want you. Wanted you for so long, it’s been torture not being able to touch you the way I want to. You have no idea what you do to me, have no idea the things I want to do to you.”

Austin moans on the other side of the phone. Callum is enthralled with how high his breathy moans are, so much higher than his deep voice regularly.

“Tell me,” Austin breathes.

“God, baby, I just wanna get my mouth on you, all over you. Wanna make you feel so good. Wanna do everything to you, with you. Anything you want, baby boy. You’re so fucking gorgeous, Aus. The way you look at me sometimes- You drive me fucking crazy.”

By this point they’re both jerking themselves off loudly, they both can hear the other and they’re both close, picking up speed.

“Wanna hear you, baby. Wanna hear how good you feel, thinking about me there making you feel good instead.”

Callum feels high, drunk, delirious. He still can’t believe this is actually happening.

“So good, Cal. Wish you were here touching me.”

“Yeah” Callum grunts back, he’s at the point where he doesn’t have any words left to use, his mind is fogged by white hot desire.

“Sometimes I fuck myself on my fingers and imagine it’s your cock inside me,” Austin rasps.

And that about does Callum in.

He groans loudly, “Yeah? You want my cock, baby?”, he’s proud that he is able to get that much out in response.

Austin moans on the other end “Yeah, I want it. Want your cock so bad. Been thinking it about for so long, now, Cal.”

That’s all it takes for Callum to come all over himself and his bedsheets. He can tell Austin is close on the other end.

“Come on baby, want you to come for me. Wanna hear you come. Know you sound so pretty when you do, while you’re thinking about having my cock in you.”

Austin keens at that and Callum can hear him finishing on the other end, high breathy moans and gasps filling the space. God, he sounded even more beautiful coming than Callum ever imagined, and he’d imagined it plenty.

“Jesus Christ, Austin, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says once he gets his voice back fully. Austin laughs breathily on the other end, still breathing heavily.

“Wow, Austin. That was- just wow. So fucking hot. Damn.” Austin laughs breathily again. They’re silent for a few moments, catching their breaths, and Callum starts to get a bit nervous.

“Now what did I do to deserve all that, huh? What provoked all this? Not that I’m complaining,“ he asks.

“Was at a brand event tonight, and this male brand ambassador was all over me. And I’d had a few drinks- I’m not drunk, I promise- and all I could think about was how I did want a man touching me like that. But not him, or any other man, I just wanted you. Have always wanted you, Cal. I- sometimes I feel uncomfortable with male attention, having men wanting me. But you- you’re the man that I want, Cal. I want you to want me. And well, I used to tell myself I was just seeing things that I wanted to see, but I could have sworn you looked at me like you wanted me back that night- That night at the premiere, when you brought me back to the hotel- I could have sworn you wanted to kiss me, even through my drunken haze. The way you put your arm around my waist sometimes, how you touch my face. I love when you do those things, Cal. The way you had your hand wrapped around my entire wrist that night I was drunk- I loved how it made me feel small, protected. I love how much bigger you are than me, how you make me feel safe.”

“What city are you in right now?”

“…Huh?”

“What city are you in right now, Aus?”

“I-I don’t understand what that has to do with anything at the moment.”

“Because I’m looking up the next flight out of London that I can get on so that I can get to wherever you are right now. Now that I know you want me to touch you, I can’t stand another second of not being able to get my hands on you like I want to. What city are in right now, Austin?”

“New York,” Austin breathes.

“I’ll be there by this afternoon.”

#austin x callum #austin butler #callum turner #masters of the air #headcanons #drabbles #fic ideas

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cleminthewriter · 8 months ago

Text

Mom says it's my turn to give the demon drugs

So context:

This was both inspired by this post and by the conversations I had with friends on discord. We joked up the concept of Clyde eating Alex's weed gummies cause i remember hearing somewhere it's fav candy was gummy bears. Ultimately, this lead to this 1.7k word fic being created. I hope everyone is in for a ride. It should be noted I've never been on weed, so there's probably some inaccuracies. Just pretend that cause of veldigun.

(nevermind the veldigun in canon can't get drunk or high but ssshh)

If there are issues involving boundaries, this will be deleted.

Tw for Drugs (weed)

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

By now, Alex knew what to expect the second they got home from work: Clyde getting up to some kind of mischief or somewhere sleeping (Depended on whether they had the night or day shift), all while a bunch of random hallucinations danced around like sugar plums on christmas. Usually the hallucinations were depicting the shadows of kids, that weird ghost they disguised themself as, or a being that looked like it and a larger being Alex had theories on being that “partner” it’s looking for.

What Alex did not expect was a thousand, pretty much shapeless, hallucinations in bright, neon colors, which were spinning around the living room as if it were a planetarium. In the middle of it all, laying upside down in a pile of blankets, cushions, pillows and other such soft looking material that Alex could tell came from around the house, was Clyde, who had a thousand yard stare as it’s many different voices muttered things Alex couldn’t even vaguely understand.

Ok, so something was up with Clyde. Now the question was what.

Alex’s first thought was it somehow a sort of seasonal behavior thing, like the hibernation it went through a few months ago. Alex was praying that this time they wouldn’t accidentally get dragged into it, but then they looked at the walls the hallucinations were projected to. Their shape suddenly reminded Alex of something:

Gummy Bears.

Alex recalled Clyde talking about it’s love of Gummy Bears some time ago, but why was it the hallucination? Alex figured, perhaps since Clyde was in this zoned out space, asking might work. “Clyde?” Alex called to get it’s attention. To Alex's shock, instead of being ignored, Clyde whipped it’s head towards them so fast it could have given Alex themself whiplash. The two stared at each other for a few seconds (Clyde’s was intense and locked directly on to Alex, while Alex’s was filled with vague fear and too afraid to look anywhere else).

“ALEX!” Clyde yelled as they quick moved into a position Alex immediately recognized. They were just barely able to dodge before Clyde moved to ponce. “They’re gonna eat me. This is the moment. I’m dead.” Alex's panicked mind told them. They braced for a second, preparing for an attack.

But the only attack they got was Clyde word vomiting.

“Ohmysixareyouokareyouhurtwhydidyougetoutofthewayineededtoprotectyoulankmannandthecaretakerscouldcomeforyouandidontwantthemtotakeyouimeanimagineifyougothurtidontwantyoutogethurtialreadylostmypartnerandidontwanttoloseyouaswellyoumattersomuchandineedtokeepyousafecomeoneletsgetyouinthenest-”

Alex slowly stopped bracing and stared at the veldigun, who was now standing over them with a large, thick blanket (the one they got from the white elephant game last christmas. They remember it so well since Roy stole the panini press grill they got first). “Clyde what-” is what Alex started to say before said large, thick blanket was thrown on top of them. They could feel Clyde grab them and pick them up in said blanket, before dumping them onto the pile.

“There, with this blacket I found now we don’t need to worry about touch. I can keep you safe right here, only I go out.” Clyde stated like it didn’t sound like they were keeping them hostage. “Great plan I know!”

Alex was able to get their head out of the pile right before Clyde laid directly on top of them. Alex hadn’t felt this much weight on them since college when they visited a friend and their great dane sat directly on top of them. Only this time it felt like there were now three. Apparently, while Alex had been thinking of this, Clyde had begun talking again.

“-I mean, today you were a whole half hour late getting home. A whole half hour. This must mean you are hiding something, like you're getting questioned. Of course, you’d be the type to panic and accidentally reveal something. So someone’s gotta protect you.” Ah, so being in a weird state doesn’t change the fact they like to sass ok. Alex stopped paying complete attention when they looked at the creature’s eyes. … When did they get so red?

“-and I do care about you, and I never want to ever see you hurt. I miss you everyday you leave. Today I just sat on your bed for an hour missing you. Sitting on your bed wasn’t too bad though. I found these gummy bears in the bedside table drawer and-”

“WAIT GUMMY BEARS?!?!” Alex interrupted Veldigun's rant, for a horrible, terrible, completely awful realization came to Alex’s head. Clyde’s confusion only gave more fear to Alex.

“What about the gummies? Sure they tasted a little different from the usually gummy bears, and now i feel my ooze shifting around my entire body but I just assumed-”

“How many did you eat?” Alex firmly questioned.

“...I don’t know… Thirty-teen? I saved some cause I felt bad about eating all of them from you. That's a funny thing you do to me Alex, I feel bad doing “Mean” st-”

“Oh fuck…” Alex whispered. That horrible, terrible, completely awful realization has now grown thirty-teen times worse. Clyde still looked at them confused, before getting distracted and looking at one of the hallucinations.

“Haha, that one looks like a bear in a banan-” “Clyde those were my edibles.” Alex uttered in fear. “Your High. On Drugs. Weed.”

Clyde stopped and stared directly at Alex’s face. It seemed to contemplate things, or maybe it was pulling memories from some other they ate, looking for anyone who it ate that has eaten edibles. (Alex made a worthless attempt to escape the pile of blankets and other soft things while Clyde was in this state of thinking.)

“Why didn’t you label it?” Clyde questioned with an attitude.

“I don't know, it‘s in a personal location people shouldn’t be going though. Why were you looking in my bedside table?” Alex sassed back.

“It was open!”

“Sure, sure. Can I leave-”

“NO!” it yelled as it wrapped its arms around the soft items pile it trapped Alex in. When Alex shut up, it looked them directly in the eyes.

“The caretakers, they probably know I’m here. They’re gonna tell Lankmann and then he’ll take you from me. You’ll be hurt and mistreated, and I’ll be alone and by myself again. I don’t want to lose you. I really don’t. But now if I keep you right here in this amazing nest I made, you’ll be nice and safe and warm and-” Clyde continued it’s rant on the importance of keeping Alex safe and protected from the terrible foundation. Alex listened intently to the veldigun; if they could’ve, they would have placed a hand on it’s cheek for comfort.

The rant came to a pause as Clyde began pointing out the different hallucinations, and Alex decided to finally say something.

“Clyde, I had no idea you cared that much. I find it awfully sweet, however, you know I can’t stay in this… nest.” Alex softly explained. Clyde just gave it puppy dog eyes (how and when could it do that) as it started to cuddle.

Most likely, all this was because of weed, and not genuine. So while Alex was touched by it saying it cared about them, Alex should probably find some kind of distraction to get Clyde away from these thoughts until the high ended.

Luckily, they had a TV with a VHS player and some tapes in a cabinet on the other side of the room. Now to get Clyde off.

“Hey Clyde, since you don’t want me to leave the pile, what if you got some Non-Editable snacks for us to eat? I’m sure we’re both incredibly hungry.” Alex offered. Lucky for them, Clyde perked up at the mention of snacks.

“I can do that! Can’t protect you if you're hungry!” it exclaimed as it got up and trotted to the kitchen, brightly colored hallucinations leaving with it.

Now was Alex’s turn to move.

They quickly (and quietly) escaped from the nest and snuck over to their VHS cabinet. Inside were a bunch of different video tapes, all Alex needed were some good videos with pretty colors and silly voices, preferably horror for Clyde. Alex was perfectly aware they had very little time to choose, and they had to act fast.

They began going through a rapid pace, trying to find the perfect one for Clyde to watch. From the kitchen, Alex could hear it go though cabinets for food. They also heard the dishwasher going off. Alex was now going to ignore the sounds coming from the kitchen. This was for the sake of sanity.

Alex, who noticed some of the bright colors returning to the room, eventually told themself “screw it” and grabbed a random tape. They removed it from the slip case, and inserted it right into the player as soon as they started to hear footsteps approach the living room. Right as Alex hit the play button, Clyde entered the room.

“What the hell Alex, get back in the-”

“La la la la, La la la la, Elmo’s world!”

…And Alex came to the horrible realization they inserted one of the joke gift they ended up with from the white elephant game two years ago: six vhs tapes of Sesame Street (remembered cause Lauren admitted it was just to get rid of old tapes her kids didn’t watch anymore). Alex thought they grabbed at least something scary, like Critters, cause they knew that was something Clyde would enjoy. But goddamn Sesame Street? This was a wild card. Clyde could either be unimpressed or decided “fuck it, they die”.

But surprisingly, neither happened. In fact, Clyde seemed to get… entranced by the show. Alex moved away from the TV so Clyde could get a better look. Said veldigun sat on the nest, putting down the “snacks” (Alex was pretty sure it brought back some dish soap, a sponge and what looked like all 5 bags of sandwich bread) it got, and just watched the show. Alex observed for a minute before also joining in on watching Sesame Street.

The rest of the night was spent in this way, just watching those tapes of Sesame Street. They’d occasionally joke and chat, but it was mostly quiet from that moment on. It was quite nice. Soon, both would pass out from sheer exhaustion, Clyde would finally be sober from weed and deny remembering anything from that night (Alex couldn’t tell if it was lying or had genuinely greened out from gummies), and Alex won’t make mention of this night to it.

But right now, they were just a human and a veldigun, one high as a kite, and just chilling watching some puppets sing.

#doai sitcom au #doai #doai fanfic #crackfic #well more like #weedfic #tw drugs #alex williams doai #doai clyde #clemin writes

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starryriize · 1 year ago

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Hey, My first request to you 💁🏻‍♀️ :

Can you do headcanons or short imagine to go ice skating with &Team even though s/o isn't good at doing that? You can decide whether it's a date or they'll go as a group but plis make it kinda romantically between each member and their s/o. 🫂

when their s/o isn’t good at skating | &team

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼 genre: fluff & really romantic!!

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼 pairing: bf! &team x fem! reader

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ 🪼 author's notes: ahhh anon i know exactly who you are 🤭 ilysm btw <3 but yes!! i changed my initial format of this bc i am not a skater but i am a klutz so i can relate fr

🫧laur’s taglist: @chiiyuuvv

— klutz squad (nico, taki, jo)

nico - oh boy is he laughing 😭 he’s definitely concerned as he tries to help you up but falls on his ass. you’re both on the ice cackling at each other and how out of balance you both are ! gives you his arm to steady yourself and it ends in you both acting like penguins on ice. gives you a little kiss on your forehead and squishes your cheeks bc you may be a klutz but you’re his klutz !!

taki - he’s…not laughing at you, i promise!! it’s just the way you fell was incredibly funny and you laugh at him when he defies all expectations of physics 😭 you guys opt to hold hands with each other but it’s doesn’t work as well as you hoped… you end up giving up on ice staking entirely after falling 5 times with taki going down with you !! tells you it’s okay and you end up sharing cocoa together :((

jo - immediately concerned that you fall so often but finds it funny bc you arranged the date…and you have the balance of a leaf :(( he bursts out giggling tho and proceeds to *purposely* fall to sympathize with you! 😭 he’s so cute tho and he really does try to help you!! like nico, gives you kisses all over your face and asks if he should kiss any places you hurt 🫶🏼 (pls i need kisses from jo) he also gets you some cocoa and holds your hand <33

— immediately steadies you (k, ej, maki)

k - lowkey teases you when you fall right as you step on the ice !! gives you his arm to hold on to and steady yourself on ! also thinks you’re cute when you’re giggling at how much of a klutz you are 😭🫶🏼 puts! his! hand! on! your! waist! steadies you by holding you waist, making sure you’re fully upright (i love him sm)

ej - i feel like he goes into instant leader mode!! his eyebrows are creased and he’s next to you asking all sorts of questions. also believes that you can just hold onto him and gives you his arm to hold, or his hand, or his jacket! 😭 he’s chuckling to himself as you wobble and then fall right back down again! holds you close to his side and you guys just skate slowly together :(( thinks it’s very kdrama-esque to kiss in the middle of the rink 🫶🏼 (double points if you have to tiptoe in your skates)

maki - he’s both laughing and concerned for you! he wanted to take you roller skating in the summer but seeing your balance issues…he immediately decided he wouldn’t :(( i mean, your safety is important!! on the ground laughing and helps you up, offers to hold your waist behind you as you try to skate again 🫶🏼 don’t worry, once you both are home, he puts on a show and makes you your favorite dessert!

— teacher squad (fuma, yuma, harua)

fuma - he can do anything and everything atp so i think he would start teaching you how to balance yourself and how to gain momentum to start moving on the ice!! lowkey explains it in very simple terms but gets the point across 🫶🏼 puts his entire arm around your torso and you guys skate together in sync - albeit a little slow :(( kisses your cheeks when you make one circle around the rink and repeatedly says he loves you (he’s so sweet fr idc he’s a standard)

yuma - this is based on nothing but i think he’d be the type to teach you as well!! he might not know a lot about skating but he knows a lot about balance and control so he helps you stand up! takes it in steps and explains it similar to a dance choreography- kisses your forehead after every step and spins you in happiness 🤭 dips you and gives you an even better kiss :(( (stop i love him sm this is making me blush)

harua - i feel like he’s secretly good at surprising things…but he would immediately be like “okay so you place your feet like so”!! probably incredibly patient with you too :(( if you end up sad, he’ll probably be sad with you. teaches you to move around and i see him as the type to be lowkey romantic so he would spin you around! (this is too cute i’m giggling thinking abt this🤭)

**i do want to point out that all of them would probably check for any signs of you being hurt by the ice or if you’re in any immediate pain, hence why i didn’t add that into every member!!

#laur’s thoughts 🧚🏼‍♀️#&team imagines #andteam imagines #andteam x reader #andteam fluff #&team fluff #andteam jo #andteam scenarios #&team k imagines

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writingjourney · 2 years ago

Text

Unprecedented | Secondo x gn!Reader

Or: The four times you almost get Secondo to admit his feelings for you and the one time you succeed.

Summary: Working with Secondo is only half as bad as people make it seem – at least until you fall in love with each other.

Content: 12.7k words, gn!reader, pining, sexual tension/suggestive language, food mention, blood/minor injury, forced proximity, soft secondo, terzo being a menace, smut-ish in part four but definite smut in part five (thigh riding, unprotected sex, penetration, dom/sub dynamics), 18+ MDNI

thank you for being patient with me, this is my first time writing Secondo, so pls go easy on me ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link

1 Voluntary Abstinence

The air gets colder by a few degrees as you take the last few narrow steps down the winding staircase into the basement. Burnt-down candles are illuminating the hallway from small alcoves, wax dripping down the weathered stone, their light flickering off the dark brick walls. Amongst these dancing shadows you make your way to the door at the other end of the hall. It’s made of iron, heavy and airtight, the rooms beyond kept on very specific temperature and humidity levels to preserve the precious items they’re protecting.

You push it open and find yourself in a small antechamber that leads into three different rooms – a tiny office, the restoration workshop and a small storage room. Entering this area always feels like stepping foot inside a secret laboratory, though it looks far less sterile with all the shelves of old tomes, paintings and other cursed as well as non-cursed artefacts.

“Papa?” you whisper upon closing the door.

“Office,” a steady voice calls back.

You find Papa Emeritus II bent over the desk, sorting through papers. He’s wearing his narrow reading glasses, the paint by his ears slightly smudged while his outfit remains pristine. Black slacks, a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled up casually, his usual black leather gloves switched for white cotton ones to avoid fingerprints and sweat stains.

He’s hard at work, has been for most of the morning, trying to save a rare first edition of Nietzsche’s Der Antichrist. He lets you observe him from time to time, ever since you expressed your genuine interest in his restoration work. His book-binding fascinates you the most so whenever an interesting project emerges, he lets you know and you get as much time off from your regular clergy duties as possible in order to learn from him. Lucky for you, Sister has no issue excusing you from time to time to help Papa down here. Not many Siblings have the patience or steady hands to work on these intricate projects and even less want to work with Secondo at all, if only for his understandably high standards when it comes to handling fragile artefacts.

“How is it going, Papa?” you ask casually.

“I am taking some time to document the process and sort through these,” he says. “My hands are a little too shaky for bookbinding right now.”

When you don’t reply, he finally looks up at you. His eyes appear bigger behind the glasses but he quickly takes them off, the marks now imprinted on his nose making you smile. Only the smile quickly vanishes when you take in his tired eyes. Even under the black make-up he looks exhausted, sleep-deprived and almost hungover, though you know he wouldn’t drink in the middle of a project like this. So there has to be a different cause.

Secondo, meanwhile, takes you in as well. You’re wearing the tight habit that hugs your body in all the right places today and he’s very pleased with that. Perhaps by now you’re aware it’s his favorite, he knows you’re observant like that, such a smart, sharp-witted thing you are. He’s trying very hard not to stare but you’re too busy worrying to notice.

“Are you feeling alright, Papa? You look… ugh.” You’re clearly trying to find a polite way to put it and it amuses him greatly. Even now you hesitate to speak your mind around him. “I mean, you seem like you’re in need of some rest.”

“Yes, sleep was not a priority last night.” He smirks to himself at the memory, he can still feel it in his sore muscles as well. “So you will have to excuse me looking a bit tired today, Sibling.”

Your lips press together into a thin line. “Oh. Of course.”

Secondo does not miss the hurt that’s flickering over your face. Once, he might have, but by now he’s seen this look so many times that he can catch it in milliseconds. The guilt he feels upon glimpsing it is the main reason he established certain rules in the first place. As a man with many lovers, Secondo had to find ways to stop anyone from developing any actual feelings for him that he cannot reciprocate. Most of the time, this isn’t a real issue, the intentions are clear, people seek adventures, a like-minded lover who can satisfy them in ways that others can’t. But from time to time expectations change, feelings get in the way and it’s so very human but very bothersome at the same time. Secondo has no desire to toy with anyone, so at the first hint of anything that goes beyond lust, he usually calls it quits to avoid inflicting any more pain than necessary.

But there is a key difference here: You’re not his lover.

“Well, I won’t keep you, Papa, I just wanted to see the progress and check in on you. I have to help out with lunch preparations now, but perhaps I can come back later,” you say without meeting his eyes again. “I wish you a productive day nonetheless.”

He wants to stop you and say something, only he’s not sure what there is to say at all. Please, do come back? Don’t leave yet?

It’s only when you’re out the door that he realizes he could have just thanked you.

✦ ✧ ✦

Despite what occurred in his office before lunch, you’re back in the early afternoon hours, presenting him with some painkillers and a cup of black coffee. He can tell by the smell alone that this hasn’t been brewed in the kitchens; you clearly begged Terzo to let you use the fancy coffee machine in his office. It’s always worth it, even if Terzo teases him mercilessly when it comes to you by now, his little assistente, as he calls you.

You don’t comment on your hasty exit from earlier as you set down your cargo on his desk and take a seat on the wooden chair opposite from him. You’re staying for a while, it seems, that’s good. He can use your company after working alone in the basement all day.

Not used to someone taking care of him, Secondo tries not to show how your simple gesture affects him. “Thank you, my dove. This is just what I needed.”

You smile with genuine kindness, the sort of smile that always makes him pause as he feels its paralysing effect on him. “You’re welcome, Papa. Are you feeling any better?”

He smiles and takes a much needed sip of coffee. “Yes, but I think I should take a bit of a break from…” He stops, trying to word it carefully. “… the nightly activities.”

“Oh, really?”

Your eyes bore into his and it’s like you’re begging for the honest answer he simply cannot give you. Secondo knows – he knows of your feelings for him, he knows of your desires, your wishes, your hopes. And he’d be a liar if he claimed not to return them. But right now being a liar seems easier to him than admitting to any of this.

“I am not getting any younger and I can’t have it impacting my work too much,” he states instead, a lame excuse for certain. His stamina is impressive even now and his reputation precedes him. It’s the lack of sleep that’s affecting him more and more, some joint pains maybe, but even that is barely worth mentioning – he can focus when he has to. Satan knows he could have a Sibling or even a ghoul over every single night if he really wanted to.

There is only one reason he doesn’t find proper fulfilment in most of these nightly encounters anymore. And that reason is looking at him with wide and far too hopeful eyes right now.

“I’m sure some people will be very sad to hear that,” you finally say, glancing away.

Not you, no, he thinks.

You shift in your seat, then, and he can’t tell why exactly you’re so nervous all of a sudden. It could be the subject matter. He doesn’t take you for being shy, so maybe it’s because of your very obvious attraction to him, the mere idea that anything could happen between you, implied by the fact he’s telling you about his sex life right now when you’ve been lingering on a safe professional level for months.

Secondo is not in the habit of discussing his private matters with people who aren’t involved, as much as Terzo tries to coax the details out of him over drinks sometimes. He is a private person, discreet, not necessarily secretive but certainly disinterested in any sort of unqualified opinions. But with you he feels safe enough to at least hint at them, if only to see that delicious blush spread across your gentle face.

“Well, I’m not saying that I’ll stay abstinent forever,” he finally says, aware that he’s sending out very mixed signals. “But I think I will be more selective from now on.”

You look at him again and your eyes still shimmer with expectation. He almost hates himself for giving you false hopes. But he can’t help it, you just look so stunning when you’re flustered for him, when your eyes circle in on his bare forearms, his gloves, his lips, your breathing becoming heavier by the second. Arousal suits you, he decides. It takes a lot of restraint to withstand the urge to show you what he could do to you if he just gave in. And this is certainly not the first time the image of fucking you on this very desk pops into his head.

In the end, you don’t comment. It’s something he appreciates a lot about you, the fact that you know when to shut up. And for the rest of the afternoon, while you watch him work on the Nietzsche, standing idly by the side with your eyes glued to his hands, you barely say another word. But you don’t have to – the very telling smile that never leaves your face speaks for itself.

✦ ✧ ✦

2 Papa’s Personal Pasta Day

Wednesday is Pasta Day.

Three different types of pasta, three different types of sauce you get to choose from. It’s the best day of the week, everyone agrees – even Secondo.

And yet your Papa is nowhere to be found today.

It’s not rare for him to skip lunch or avoid the bustle of the dining hall, but you always, without a doubt, catch him here on Wednesdays. As you eat the remainders of your own meal, staring at the empty spot next to his brothers where he usually sits, you wonder what keeps him occupied. You know he finished the Nietzsche but you also know that he recently got another box filled with rare books. So the only real explanation is that he’s even busier with those now.

Which means he’s skipping lunch altogether.

A sudden movement in your peripheral vision. Terzo stands up with his tray, though you can already see two Siblings scurrying towards him, ready to do the job for him. Without thinking too much you gulp down your last bite and hurry after him, asking a friend to dispose of your empty plate, an idea forming in your mind.

You catch him in the hallway as he’s sauntering back to his office, humming a merry tune.

“Papa!” you call out to avoid running after him for another five minutes.

“Hm?” Terzo spins around, smiling in recognition. “Oh. Buongiorno, Sibling. Don’t you look so well today?”

“Thank you, Papa. I was wondering if you can you spare me a moment?”

“Ahh, for you always!” The corners of his mouth curl up into smirk. “I hope you don’t come to complain about my fratello? Because that list is already very long.”

You assure him it’s not a complaint and follow him to his office. Once inside, he casually leans against his desk, folding his hands neatly in front of him as he awaits your plea. A few dots of red pasta sauce stain his right glove but you’re too nervous to point them out to him.

“I have a… a request,” you start, fidgeting under his intense gaze. “It’s unusual and I totally understand if you won’t allow me such a thing. But… can I use your kitchen?”

“My kitchen?” he asks, brows shooting up in surprise. “Whatever would you use my kitchen for?”

You blush profusely as you start to explain. “It’s just… your brother skipped lunch today and you know he’s working so hard on these books right now. He probably forgot to eat again and it will give him another headache in approximately two hours. I would ask to use his kitchen, of course, but then it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore and you know I can’t use the Ministry kitchens because they’re busy in there now cleaning up. And I really don’t want to bring him reheated leftovers.”

Terzo considers this, considers you. “Oh Sibling, you really do like him, eh? What is it that you see in him? He’s a grumpy old man with no sense of humour.”

“He’s not so grumpy when we’re alone,” you offer, even more heat creeping up your neck. “And he can be funny, in a kind of dry, unintentional way.”

“Hmmmm. My coffee machine, my kitchen…” Terzo furrows his brow, the skull paint on his face giving him a slightly menacing look. “What is next? My bedroom?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh no! No, it’s not that kind of… not that kind of thing.”

Terzo chuckles and his features relax, making way for genuine amusement. “No? You want to tell me you don’t fuck down there?”

“N-no…”

“Ah, well, so it is on me to give it a little nudge?” His hand moves up to his chin in mock contemplation as he smiles at you. “Va bene, you can use my kitchen but I have one condition.”

You give him a pleading look, folding your hands in front of your chest. “Whatever you want, Papa, I will gladly do it.”

He smirks again, fishing for his keys before throwing them at you. “I expect some leftovers in the fridge tonight. And they better be good.”

✦ ✧ ✦

Carrying a tray down the narrow steps into the basement is not an easy feat, especially because your mind constantly tries to tell you that this is a bad idea and you forget to watch your steps. In the humidity underground the stone gets especially slippery, just like your situation with Secondo. You’re not quite sure how he’s going to take this. You shouldn’t have made such an effort. This whole idea was born from mere intuition, from that pathetic need to impress him that you always carry around with you.

But you just can’t control that tiny part of you that wants to prove just how perfect you are for him, how well you’d take care of him if he just allowed you to be in his life – no matter how unlikely that is.

You just hope it’s not awful, especially since Terzo is going to eat that big bowl of pasta you left in his fridge. To be fair, his kitchen looked like it had never been used before, so at least you don’t have to worry that you messed up his routine.

You sigh in relief when you see that the lights are on in the workshop. You can hear Secondo in the main room, so you set the tray down in his office, the only area down here where eating is actually allowed, and then knock very carefully to avoid startling him.

“Oh.” His eyes land on you and sets down the book in his hand that already looks mostly finished. “Good morning, Sibling.”

You lift your eyebrows with a smile. “Hello, Papa. Though I’m afraid I have to tell you that it is not quite morning anymore.”

He eyes the clock on the wall above him, exhaling in defeat. “I forgot the time, to be honest. I missed lunch, no?”

You linger near the door, ready to take the plunge. “Well, you did, but… are you hungry by any chance?”

✦ ✧ ✦

Secondo is not quite sure what to expect when you lead him into the office. What he certainly didn’t expect was a tray that resembles the ones used for room-service in the upscale hotels he loves to frequent, cloche and napkin included. He knows you have good taste by being around you so often, but that it is this excellent is news to him. The thought of you choosing this fancy dishware for him is almost enough to make him smile.

“So you brought me lunch?” he asks, though he should not be surprised by your efforts. You’re always attentive, you most likely noticed him missing earlier and pieced it all together.

“I made this in your brother’s kitchen,” you warn him. “So, he might ask about it.”

As he takes a seat behind the desk, Secondo’s brow furrows. “You made it? It’s not from the kitchens?”

At this question you bite your lip. He tries not to stare at your mouth. “Uhm, I made it, yes. I didn’t want to bring you stale leftovers and besides, they didn’t have your favorite today…”

Secondo leans back in his chair. He can tell that you expect him to scold you, to tell you that he wouldn’t have minded the leftovers, that you shouldn’t waste your time on such a thing, but that’s not what’s on his mind at all. To anyone else, he might have said these things, but to you? He feels his heart swelling in his chest at the gentle care you offer him, an altogether unfamiliar feeling, so all he can really do is stare at you in wonder.

You seem uneasy under his lingering gaze, your restless hands fiddling with your habit. “Okay, well, I should leave you to it. I have other dut–”

“No, no, you stay,” he commands and there is no room to question him. He will not let you scurry off again, not this time.

He waits for you to take a seat before he removes the cloche from the plate, revealing a beautiful serving of Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe, complete with freshly ground pepper on top as well as some half-molten parmigiano. He fails to suppress a surprised exhale as he takes in the food. It’s a beautiful plate, one he may well find in one of his favorite restaurants in Rome or Milan.

“How do you know what is my favorite?” he asks, spreading the napkin out over his lap.

“Oh well, I’ve… I’ve seen you get it for lunch whenever they offer it… Maybe it’s not your favorite, I just assumed…”

“It is my favorite,” he admits. “You’re very observant, my dove. I should be more careful around you, eh?”

You smile at him and the corner of his mouth curls upwards as well before he quickly averts his gaze. Secondo grabs the fork and moves it around in the pasta, his stomach giving an urgent growl. It’s beyond him how he managed to miss lunch being this hungry, but you made sure to give him his very own Pasta Day and a much better one at that.

From your side of the table, his feelings are still veiled in shadows, hidden by the severity of his features. You can’t quite tell what he’s thinking, but you have to admit that the situation is a bit awkward because all you do is sit here and watch him eat. Secondo, completely unbothered, has quickly finished half of what you put on his plate and you feel mildly concerned that you didn’t bring enough. He moans softly every few seconds and you struggle to hide what it does to you. There is something inherently erotic about this man eating your food, the way he seems to treasure every single bite, how he licks the sauce off his painted lips before using the napkin to gently clean them, leaving a mouth-shaped black stain on the cloth. It’s not hard to imagine the same shape covering every inch of your body, an entirely unhelpful thought. Secondo can’t hear how rapidly your heart is beating in your chest, but he may well notice how you sit there with your thighs pressed together, hands covering your lap.

“It’s good?” you ask for distraction, fiddling with a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Very good,” he states. “Have you not tried it?”

“Uh… well I had to hurry down here before it got cold.”

Secondo fills another fork, expertly wrapping the spaghetti around its tines. Then he holds it out to you, his other hand kept flat underneath it, and you realise that he wants you to eat.

That he wants to feed you.

Your chest feels like exploding as you lean over the desk to reach him. Eyes locked with his, you slowly open your mouth, pushing your tongue out just enough to give him a glimpse. His hand doesn’t move, in fact he’s completely static as his eyes move to your open mouth. They stay glued there, his own lips parting just slightly. The expression turns his features unusually soft.

“Papa?” you ask, trying to hide a grin.

Secondo looks back into your eyes, but before he can move, you wrap your lips around the fork and slowly drag the spaghetti off. He watches your every move and his reaction gives you the courage to continue. You moan softly at the taste, the intense aroma of the Pecorino still evident in the sauce and it is good, you have to give yourself credit for that.

You hum vocally, a sound that hits Secondo like a brick.

You’re so deliciously unaware of the pain he’s going through, how the sight of you licking your lips nearly drives him insane. Your tongue darts out to reach the corner of your mouth, but there is some sauce closer to your chin that you have to remove with your thumb. When you suck it off the digit, Secondo has to fight a deep groan and it comes out as a strangled cough. His cock is twitching in his pants, already half-hard, and he knows he has to get a grip. You’re eating, it shouldn’t have such an impact on him.

“I may need some more practice,” you say, sitting back in your chair. “But I would say it’s better than in the kitchens.”

“You’re modest,” Secondo states. “It was perfect, my dove, thank you. I could not have prepared this dish any better and I have made it a hundred times.”

An almost shy smile, only betrayed by the way your lips quiver as you hold back your delight at his praise. “You’re flattering me, Papa, I’m sure you’re way more proficient than I am.”

It’s an endearing look on you, a hopeful sort of confidence, laced with a hint of hesitation. He’s not sure where his next words come from, but despite their barely hidden meaning he can’t hold them back. “I hope I get the chance to return the favor soon. I think I know what your favorite is and I happen to know the perfect recipe.”

Your grin widens, your whole expression one of warmth and joy and he’s rendered speechless for a very conspicuous amount of time.

“Should I get rid of the tray?” you ask. “I think your brother wants his dishes back.”

He finds his words again at the mention of Terzo. “Only if you come back down here after. I need your help this afternoon or I am going to miss dinner as well.”

“Certo, Papa,” you say, mimicking his Italian. “I will be back before you notice that I’m gone.”

You grab the tray and he watches your figure disappear through the door, slumping back in his chair with a myriad of thoughts and feelings running through his mind that he can’t possibly catch up with. His hand finds his crotch as soon as you’re out of sight, adjusting just enough to get rid of the painful tightness in his pants.

At least this time he didn’t forget to thank you.

✦ ✧ ✦

3 Seeing Red

He’s trusting you with a Crowley.

It’s unprecedented. Secondo had Siblings watching before, he had them assist him before by bringing him tools, but never before has he allowed them to touch any of his delicate books.

It’s the next logical step. You have been watching him for months now, you have practiced on less valuable books and shown unexpected talent. And even now, with the Crowley in hand, he’s surprised to find himself trusting you completely.

Inexplicably, his eyes find you ever few minutes without his own doing. It’s not to control you, though maybe a tiny part of him does indeed check in with the state of your work. Whenever you look back, you hold his gaze so confidently. It’s intoxicating to have your eyes on him, fully aware that you reciprocate the feeling, and even when you don’t look back, seeing you so patiently focused on the needle in your hands is quite the sight.

His staring doesn’t stay unnoticed. You catch him looking at you for the tenth time in the past few minutes, though that is only a rough estimate. As elated as you are by his attention, you’re genuinely getting frustrated with him. He has to feel the tension between you. You refuse to believe that all those lingering looks are meaningless to him.

A sudden sharp pain in your finger. You hiss, more in surprise than in pain, and quickly pull away. The thick, curved needle pierced your white cotton glove and dug straight into your skin. By pulling it out so rapidly, you must have damaged an artery or at least left a pretty big wound because the blood spills out immediately. The shock only lasts for a quarter of a second before you pull your hand away, just in time before a few heavy droplets of blood drip down your wrist and onto the floor. Fortunately, the book still looks pristine and you take a shuddering breath of relief.

“What happened?” Secondo asks.

“I… I–”

Before you can explain, he’s by your side, roughly grabbing your arm to hold it steady.

“I didn’t bleed on the book,” you stammer. “I pulled my hand away really fast.”

His grip on your wrist is impossibly tight and you wonder if he’s going to scold you for your clumsiness, for being so distracted. His lips are pressed together as he takes in your shaky frame, his eyes meeting yours with such intensity that you struggle not to break away and you feel your lips quivering as you fight back tears.

“I’m so sorry, I– I didn’t–”

“I don’t care about the book,” he says and then he pulls you out of the workshop. Once you’re safely back in his office, he leaves for the storage room. You stand there, watching the blood run over your hand, pressing your thumb into your pulse in hopes of limiting the blood flow just like he did. But the once white glove is ruined by now, blotchy and red all over.

When Secondo returns, he carries a first aid kit. He sits down on the chair in front of his desk and motions for you to join him. You carefully step beside him, hand out-stretched in a cautious offering, but he’s having none of it, he just pulls you straight into his lap and grasps your wrist again.

“Let’s examine the damage,” he says, even though you’re not sure you can even hear him. His strong thighs are firm underneath yours, keeping you steady, but then there’s the throbbing in your finger, his hand on your arm, a wild mixture of impressions that overflow your sensory perception. Your rapid heartbeat surely does nothing to help with the bleeding.

You fight the urge to shift nervously but he doesn’t seem to notice your state, just turns your hand skyward and gets to work. He meticulously removes your bloody glove, one finger at a time, the fingertips of his own turning red in the process. Frustrated by the barrier, he removes them as well, throwing them aside with an annoyed grunt. Once his bare hands grasp yours, you feel a shiver running down your spine. The pain in your finger ceases to exist for a moment as you realise that this is the first skin on skin contact you ever shared. You’re closer than ever, so close you can smell the remainders of his cologne, feel his exhales on your skin.

“It’s not as bad as I thought,” Secondo muses. “You hit a bad spot.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I’m not usually so careless.”

“I know, my dove. It happens.”

Not to me, you want to say, not while I’m here, trying so hard to impress you.

“Go wash out the wound,” he orders then, his hand patting your hip in encouragement, dangerously close to your ass.

You reluctantly hop off his legs and wash your hand in the sink in the workshop. The water runs red at first but turns clear in the matter of seconds. With the blood gone, the wound only looks half as scary and you’re far less shaky when you return to the office.

You expect Secondo to just leave you to yourself now, but he immediately pulls you back into his lap, turning slightly to reach into the first aid kid on his desk, fiddling for bandaids and a spray bottle with disinfectant. You patiently hold out your hand, waiting for him to figure out the logistics.

The antiseptic stings and you flinch, more from shock than actual pain. Secondo is so careful, not a single tremor in his deft fingers as he applies the bandaid, making sure it sits tight around your still throbbing digit.

“There,” he says. “It is better now, yes?”

You nod, sniffling as you try to calm down. “Thank you, Papa.”

His mismatched eyes meet yours and the concerned furrow in his brow softens. One of his hands rests on your hip, the other comes up, hovering by your jaw as though he’s scared to touch you. You feel his fingertips grazing your skin, tickling, exploring cautiously.

His gentle touch gives you courage. You lean in slowly and press your lips to his cheek. The feeling of his skin against your lips is so soft that you linger, kissing again and again, slowly moving them further down while one of your hands skims his other cheek. Your last kiss hits the corner of his mouth and you hear him suck in a sharp breath through his nose. His lazy grip on your hip suddenly tightens until you can feel the tips of his fingers digging into your flesh.

You sit back and look at him. There is something wild in his eyes now, a flicker of… you can’t quite decide if it’s lust or anger. For a long moment he stares at you like this, a terrifying expression that keeps you static. Right when you come to the conclusion that he must be angry, that you have to apologise, his hand shoots up to grab your chin and then his fingers push into your hair, his second hand joining in until he’s properly holding your head. He growls and presses his lips together until his whole face is tense.

“Papa,” you whisper. “Did I–“

He shuts you up by moving to stand, simultaneously lifting you onto his desk and pushing himself between your legs until your chest is pressed to his. The first aid kit flies to the floor, but the impact is only evident by a distant cluttering because all you can focus on is him. Secondo’s hands find your head again, holding it in place as he continues to stare at you, eyes moving from your lips to your nose to your cheeks that are squished between his palms, and then, finally, they meet yours.

You think he’s going to kiss you as he leans in, but then his head abruptly turns to the side and he buries his face in your neck. With a groan, he pulls you further into him, squeezing so tightly that you lose your breath.

“You’re killing me,” he mumbles. “Oh, my dove, you will end me.”

”Papa–“

Another groan. He sounds like he’s suffering, a wounded animal about to turn into roadkill. You don’t quite understand. It feels good to be so close to him, to have him hold you like this, so you simply sink into his embrace, move your unhurt hand to the back of his neck and softly scratch his scalp. He sighs deeply, slowly relaxing against you.

“What is this?” you mumble.

He gives a dry chuckle. “I wish I knew.”

✦ ✧ ✦

4 The Storage Closet Incident

Are you high on glue and paint solvent? Maybe.

In any case, your head is spinning. You spent all morning so far sorting through a fresh delivery of restoration materials, taking inventory and checking if they’re complete. Papa was here earlier to check in with you but left for a clergy meeting half an hour ago, so you’re left alone inside the storage room. There are three more boxes outside in the hallway and you’re on your fourth now, different types of paints and solvents and glue. You never opened any of the cans but you swear you nevertheless inhale the biting fumes.

Upon crossing out the last few items on your list, you hear a heavy knock. Maybe you should be cautious with opening considering that no one ever knocks here, but you do indeed find Secondo in front of the entrance, still fully robed.

“Forgot my keys upstairs,” he mumbles, patting down his pockets as though they would magically appear if he just tried hard enough.

“You can take the ones inside the storage room for the rest of the day,” you suggest.

“Humph.”

He’s usually in a pretty foul mood after clergy meetings that involve his father, so you’re not surprised by the lack of conversation. You watch him pull the keys out of the lock – the door stays open while you’re busy in the storage room anyway – and when he carries them into his office, you think nothing of it. Any potential concern would have escaped you at the latest when you catch him shedding his robes through the open door. As soon as they’re hung up on the coat rack in the corner, you can’t help but sigh. He’s wearing his classic black shirt underneath – black because it won’t show the paint stains on his collar. But it barely touches his neck anyway; he keeps it open just enough to display the first few inches of dark, curly chest hair. You take in his slender form, the taut muscles on his arms stretching out the fabric as he moves around, sorting through the papers on his desk, hands covered in tight black leather gloves that perfectly match his belt.

“So…” He looks up and catches you staring. “How is inventory going?”

“Great,”you say, finally looking back at your actual work. “I’m more than halfway done.”

“Good,” he says. “You’re fast.”

You smile when you deposit the last bottle of glue onto the shelf. “Speaking of inventory, can you help me carry the rest of the boxes? I left the big ones for when you get back.”

He’s already back out of the door before you even finish your sentence, carrying one of the heavier cartons inside to where you’re standing. You push it in front of the designated shelf and wait for him to bring the other two boxes in as well – carrying both at the same time. On his way inside he bumps against the open door to the storage room and it falls close behind him. He sets the boxes down and you notice him flinching as he rights himself, even though he covers it up with a low cough. You make a mental note to acquire something for his back pains, perhaps Primo can whip up some sort of tincture or cream. And even though you highly doubt Secondo would let you rub it into his back, the image is very clear in your mind now.

You hide your deepening blush by pulling out your neat little list, flipping through the pages without actually reading anything. “Thank you, Papa. I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon sorting these until Sister needs me.”

He moves to reach out for your arm, but his hand drops before he ever reaches it. “Thank you, my dove. I know it’s tedious work.”

You smile at him, a little disappointed that he didn’t touch you. “Well, I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

His gaze lingers on you for a little longer before he pulls himself away to return to the office. Only then do you realise that something is very odd in here. The door is closed. Fully closed. With no functioning door handle inside, you have no way of getting out without the keys. For a second, all you can do is stare at the metal bar used to pull it open – and the very empty hole where the key would usually be found.

“You have the keys, Papa,” you remind him.

“I don’t,” he states. “They’re on the desk.”

His lips are pressed together tightly and you can feel the colour draining from your face. No one ever comes down here, there is no chance people are going to find you anytime soon, at least not before your friends notice you missing.

You swear you can hear him mumble a cazzo, before he lets his forehead rest on his hand, massaging his temples, but your heart is beating so fast that it drowns out all other sounds. You’re not necessarily panicking, even though you do suddenly begin to wonder whether you’re secretly claustrophobic or not.

“It’s fine, I have my phone,” he says but you already know there won’t be any reception down here. Your suspicion is confirmed when he sets it down on the shelf next to him with a little too much force.

“My friends will probably come looking for me when I miss lunch.”

He looks over to you and suddenly his expression changes. There is a glimmer of something almost dangerous in his white eye that makes him look menacing, the effect only amplified by his skull paint and the sharp lines of his cheekbones. You back against the wall behind you, unable to look away despite your body telling you to be on alert. The last time he looked at you like this was when you hurt your hand and you wonder if he’s finally going to initiate more. The thought is arousing and bone-chilling at the same time.

”Papa–“

“Are you scared?” he interrupts, reading you perfectly.

“No,” you reply. “I’m not claustrophobic.”

He approaches you slowly, the soles of his black leather shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. “That is not what I meant.”

When he stops right in front of you, you swallow, your throat suspiciously dry all of a sudden. You can smell him over the paint solvent now, his cologne so heavy in your nose that you get dizzy. If you weren’t high before, then you are definitely high now. Instead of fear, you suddenly feel incredibly, stupidly bold, full of adrenaline and longing.

“I’m not scared of you,” you say somewhat confidently. “I’m not scared of being alone with you.”

You should be, his eyes are telling you. Even closer now, he leans into you, his hands resting on the wall on either side of your head. You know the eye contact is something he enjoys so you keep your eyes on him without flinching away.

“If I had you right here right now no one would hear you screaming.” He chuckles uncomically, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. “I could do to you whatever I want.”

“Then why don’t you?”

He furrows his brow. “Hm?”

“Why the hell don’t you?” you challenge. “Why don’t you show me what you want to do to me?”

He seems taken aback by this, staring down at you with his lips slightly parted. For a second you think he’s going to snap back, scold you for disrespecting him, but he just huffs out a laugh. “You know why.”

“No I don’t!” You fight back tears as all of your suppressed emotions threaten to spill out. A strangled sob almost swallows your next words. “I don’t.”

Secondo stares at you and you finally look away, trying hard to stay quiet. You know this is not what he expected to happen and neither had you. But you can’t stop, you’ve lost control over your emotions and now that the cork has been removed you can’t get it back inside.

“I keep trying to find a reason why you don’t want me.” You force your gaze to meet his once more, despite being afraid of what you’re going to see in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me, Papa? What do I lack that the others before me had? What is wrong with me that you don’t even want me for a night?”

You’re crying now, struggling to make sense of him. Frankly, you’re already embarrassed by your outburst and expect him to laugh it off or gently tell you that he appreciates you but just doesn’t feel attracted to you like that. Even him yelling at you would help at this point.

“My dove–”

“Don’t call me that.”

He cocks his head to the side, his lip quivering slightly. “Where is this coming from now?”

You don’t reply, even though your pout should be answer enough. Secondo regards you for a long moment but there is no anger, only curiosity.

“Who knew you could be so feisty?” he mumbles, leaning in even closer but turning away just before your mouths can touch.

His lips ghost over your cheek, down your jaw, but they never touch. All you can feel is his hot breath on your skin, the tip of his nose dragging over your cheekbone. You squirm, letting out a desperate, high-pitched whimper. Secondo chuckles against your ear and the unfamiliar sound goes straight to your core, goosebumps running all over your body.

“You’re cruel,” you whisper. “So cruel.”

“I am.” His lips touch the shell of your ear. “But you seem to enjoy it.”

Impulsively, you wrap your hands around his neck for support. Secondo moves to look at you again, his pupils blown wide with lust. This time, you close the gap by leaning in, but he turns away just slightly, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. You try again, more boldly this time, and you swear your lips are already grazing his, but then they’re gone again. His hand moves to grip your chin painfully tight, his thumb digging into your cheek so hard you can feel it pressing against your teeth. You’re completely immobile and when you test it out, his grip tightens even more. You’re pretty sure you’ll find subtle bruises all around your jaw tomorrow.

Secondo’s mouth still hovers just in front of yours, his exhales tickling your face, but he remains just out of reach. You whimper in desperation and he chuckles again, nuzzling your nose.

“Not so bold anymore now, eh?”

“Please,” you whine, squirming in his grip.

“Please what?”

You let out a half-strangled mewl. “P-please.”

Secondo hums and he can feel your body shivering underneath his, muscles jerking, everything inside of you trying to reach for more. He knows he’s being cruel, knows that you’re suffering, but he can’t deny that the thrill of having you at his mercy like that is spurring him on. He wants to test out your limits, see how far he can go, if he can get you to beg even more. You’re always so good, so quiet and polite. Seeing those previously unknown sides of you is like unwrapping a birthday gift and why should he stop when there is still so much more to explore?

You whimper louder this time and he brings his other hand to your waist, pulling you flush against him. A gasp and your mouth stays open just slightly, lips wet and glistening with spit, still pushed into a beautiful little pout bis his gloved fingers. He pushes his erection against you, eliciting a moan from you that seems to come from somewhere deep within. It’s what tips him over the edge, his patience dissolving into thin air. He unravels, closing the gap and swallowing all of your other sounds with his mouth. The kiss is sudden and almost violent. He has to release your jaw to ease the pressure on your head, but he just moves his hand down to your neck instead. More moans and whimpers as his tongue pushes into your now open mouth and it’s adorable how you keep trying to move against him. He rewards your efforts by easing up just slightly, allowing you to taste him as well.

Secondo is not sure what’s taking hold of him but he can’t fight the urge to taste more of your body. You’re all breathless when his mouth moves to your cheek and over your jaw, soothing, exploring. His lips find the soft skin below your ear, a shiver running down his neck. He can feel the tendon there twitching underneath his tongue and then he’s just sucking with reckless abandon, his intensity the result of a week-long, maybe even month-long starvation.

You moan into his ear and he thinks he’s going to lose it, his hips move on their own accord, pushing against you. It’s not a lot of friction but it’s enough to extract a deep groan from him. He wants to let go, he wants to have you so bad that it’s starting to obscure all rational thought. But he can’t lose control like that, not right now. As a safety precaution he pulls away, slotting his knee between your legs instead. With his hand on your hips he pulls you forward and you groan at the friction. A strangled sob and you try to wriggle for more. It’s uncomfortable with all the layers of clothing in between. His own pants are so tight that it provides him more pain than relief but to see you unravelling under his ministrations is enough to keep him going.

“Please,” you whisper, wriggling even more but his hand on your hips stays firm. He can feel the fabric of his pants getting wet under your movements, your crotch hot against his leg.

“Feels like you’re leaking onto my thigh,” he whispers back. “You’re such a mess, my dove, and I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You moan again, completely beyond words. He had this coming, he knows it. This was bound to happen at some point, the inevitable. But you’re at his mercy now and Secondo knows how to handle responsibility. He can see in your eyes that you’re too far gone now and for a second this clarity hits him like a brick. It’s almost like he’s watching the scene from above, bird’s eye view. This is exactly what he did not want – to fuck you like it’s just that, like it’s just sex, a quick romp in a closet, not even fully undressed, no real intimacy. Right now, it’s all you want, it’s all he wants, but what’s going to happen after?

Secondo pulls his head back to assess the situation, but when he sees the slowly drying tears on your cheeks, your still watery eyes, his paint and spit smeared all over your face and neck, he can’t bring himself to say any words that could possibly hurt you.

He’s lucky to be spared any excuses by a plethora of muffled noises in the background. Your eyes widen at the same time as he hears them and reality slowly settles around you again.

“Fratello?” The voice is barely audible through the thick door. “Secondo? Hellooooo?”

He acts faster than you even seem to realise what’s going on, gently letting go of you in favour of banging his fist against the door as rapidly as he can, trying to draw attention to you. There is barely any time to recover. The door opens after a minute and you find Terzo glancing into the room, hands still on the key in the lock.

“Oh, there you are, Secondo. Got locked inside, eh?” Then he smirks. “And with your little assistente no less. Tesoro, you look so flustered, did my brother–”

“Stai zitto,” Secondo snaps, pushing past him before his brother can get any good glimpse at the situation in and on his pants. “What do you even want down here?”

“Oh, thank you, caro fratellino, for saving us from being locked inside this room all day.”

A scoff. Secondo’s eyes find you again when you close the door of the storage room behind you and you struggle to meet his eyes. A pang of guilt, fear even, of what is going to happen now.

Terzo, completely unhelpful, looks between the two of you. “So, what happened here, eh? What did I miss?”

“Nothing, Papa,” you say quickly. “The door closed but it doesn’t have a handle on the inside. We had to use the key for something else earlier and forgot to put it back.”

“That’s not what I meant, tesoro.” Terzo glances at his brother and then back at you, furrowing his brow now that he’s seeing you both in proper lighting. There is a sudden edge of concern on his face. “Sibling, you look like you’ve been crying.”

Secondo is surprised that this is the first thing his brother comments on. You avoid both of their gazes, wringing your hands behind your back. “Oh, it’s nothing. I should probably go… I need to get back to work and I’m already late. Sister won’t be happy.”

Terzo cocks his head to the side, stopping you before you can walk out. He talks in a hushed, gentle voice, practically shutting Secondo out. “You should take a moment to calm down, tesoro, have a trip to the bathroom before you face Sister. You’re quite the mess.”

You nod at him, a grateful smile on your face, and then your eyes meet Secondo’s. A quarter of a second, nothing more, and he has no chance to convey anything with his expression. You give Terzo another pained smile and then you hurry outside.

The two man both wait for you to close the door before they face each other. Secondo has settled behind his desk by now, a healthy distance between them that seems to be the only thing keeping their tempers in check. Secondo can’t help but scowl, gripping the edge of the table so tight that his knuckles turn white. “This is none of your business, Terzo. I don’t meddle in your affairs.”

“Why did they cry?” Terzo asks, unimpressed. “What did you do?”

“Why do you ask it like that?”

“It’s usually not a good sign when someone cries after making out, fratello. Don’t think I cannot see your ruined make-up. Your little assistente looked even worse.”

Secondo almost jumps from his chair. “You think I would hurt them?”

“I don’t think you would hurt them,” Terzo explains calmly. “Not physically at least. But everyone sees how they look at you, stronzo, how you look at each other. Did you fuck up?”

Secondo breathes out a sigh, his hand relaxing as he leans back in his chair. “I don’t know.”

Terzo takes a few cautious steps towards him. “Look, I know, you’re not the type, you don’t fall in love, blablabla. But it is never too late to settle down if you find your person, you know? It may feel like giving up your freedom, but look at what you gain.”

“Aha. And what is that?”

Terzo smirks. “Someone who puts up with all of your bullshit.”

A drawn-out pause as they stare at each other.

Finally, Secondo exhales all the stowed anger, shaking his head incredulously. “I can’t believe you’re trying to explain to me how relationships work. You.”

Terzo shrugs, moving back towards the exit. “Think about it. You are going to feel so much more balanced.”

He’s halfway out the door when Secondo notices that he never told him why he was here in the first place. Thinking back, he’s not sure he’s ever seen his brother in this workshop or anywhere close to this part of the basement before.

“What did you want down here?” he calls after him.

“Huh?” Terzo turns back to him, shrugging nonchalantly. “Ah, you know, a ghoul noticed you two were trapped in there and to be honest… I’m kind of invested now.”

✦ ✧ ✦

5 Returning the Favour

A note.

You pick up the weighty envelope that someone, most likely a ghoul, had delivered to you earlier by sliding it underneath your door. The paper has your name on it in beautiful cursive, deep black ink, a green wax seal with a II stamped into it, keeping the contents safe. The note inside is written in a similar fashion, kept very brief and in neat handwriting. All it says is: My quarters, 7pm. Secondo.

Considering you spent most of the night in pure agony, this is a welcome glimmer of hope. He is reaching out and that is what matters, despite all of your doubts and anxieties telling you otherwise, obscuring the joy you should feel at the fact that things are finally moving.

You take the note and press it to your heart, sitting back down on the bed in your tiny quarters. It smells vaguely of his cologne or at least the whimsical part of you wants it to. In any case, he wrote it, thinking about you, maybe even longing for you. Your worries slowly melt at that thought, even though you’re aware you’re in love with the most unattainable man in the whole abbey.

If you had glanced outside the window in that very moment, you would have caught Secondo making his way through the gardens and to the greenhouse – a man on a mission.

He had been pondering all night what he could possible do to make it up to you, to set things right. And there is really only one thing he could think of: Food.

When you made him lunch he promised to return the favour. Another unprecedented lapse. Secondo cooks, he loves to cook, but he does not cook for his dates. It’s too intimate, too personal. His kitchen is sacred, preparing food a form of meditation after a long day. It’s a part of himself he doesn’t share with fleeting encounters.

So when he found himself in a nearby Italian market earlier, carefully choosing the ingredients for a meal, he almost felt lost. He’s bought in bulk before, he’s bought for himself before, but he’s never bought specifically for two. And most unsettlingly, it feels good.

Now, here in Primo’s sanctuary, he has almost made peace with these new developments.

Almost.

“Buon pomeriggio, fratello,” he greets the older man. “I am in need of some fresh basil.”

Primo immediately picks up his scissors. “Che fortunato. My basil plants are thriving at the moment.”

Secondo has no doubts about that. The smells inside the greenhouse are rich and aromatic, a sensory reminder of all the summers he spent in the Italian countryside, trying to connect with his roots. As much as he loves big cities with their bustling night lives, clubs and parties, exclusive bars and restaurants… this is home.

While he’s busy reminiscing, Primo moves to an array of basil plants in the corner, their oval leaves a vivid shade of green. Secondo is pleased with that. They’re going to turn his dish into the most beautiful colours and since his objective for today is that everything has to be perfect, details like that matter.

“È sufficiente?” Primo asks.

“A bit more. I am cooking for two tonight.”

Primo furrows his brow, cutting some more leaves off the delicate plant. “You have a guest for dinner? Someone special, then?”

Secondo hates that he knows him so well sometimes, but Primo is the only one who was ever even close to a healthy father figure for him. His counsel is the only one he truly values, even though he is rare to seek it out these days.

All he can do is give a curt nod in reply.

“You’re in love,” Primo states with a smile. “That is a good thing, you know?”

Secondo makes a face. “I feel like I am sick. I don’t know how people do it.”

“It will stop feeling like that at some point,” Primo explains, carefully placing the cut basil in a small basket. “You will grow to appreciate a steady presence by your side, fratello, especially when you reach my age.”

Secondo wants to reply that he doubts it, but it would be a lie to pretend he hasn’t thought about it since getting close to you. You are steady. You are smart and kind and caring, he can talk to you as well as be silent with you. There hasn’t been a single moment in all these months now in which he’s grown tired of you. And yes, that is unprecedented as well.

“Thank you for the basil,” Secondo says.

Primo gives him a gentle, brotherly smile.

✦ ✧ ✦

A tentative knock.

Secondo looks up from the counter and towards the door, his heart rate quickening in a concerning jump. Another knock, more confident this time. He chuckles to himself. You’re nervous but you don’t want him to think that you are – which is exactly how he’s feeling right now.

Before he opens, he wipes his hands on his black slacks, rights the collar of his white shirt, and then there you are. There you are.

And it’s a sight he will never forget. He’s very pleased to see that you dressed up for him. When he kisses your cheek in greeting, he catches your scent and the perfume with its sweet as well as tangy notes perfectly mirrors your character. It takes everything in him to break away again.

“Thank you for following my invitation,” he says, closing the door behind you.

A shy smile. “It sounded more like an order.”

He feels his heart plummeting and for a second there is a shadow of doubt crossing his mind. “Is that the reason you came? Because you felt obligated?”

Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head. “No. No, I would have come either way, no matter why you want me here.”

Relief. He takes your arm and gently guides you further into the room. “I want you here because I promised to cook for you and I intend to keep that promise.”

“So, this is a dinner date?”

“Yes.”

“A date date?”

“Yes.”

Your smile is worth it, genuine and so bright that he almost forgets what he’s supposed to do. Your lips are all he can focus on when you’re so close and it’s only when he sees them form an O that he realises he’s been staring. Secondo finally pulls you into the kitchen area and motions for you to sit on a stool at his counter. It’s surreal to see you here, such different surroundings, but it’s a sight he could get used to.

“Is that fresh basil from the greenhouse?” you ask.

Secondo values a professional mise en place, every ingredient neatly laid-out ready to be used which gives you the perfect opportunity to analyse everything he’s going to use. “It is.”

“So you did guess my favourite.”

“I didn’t guess, my dove.” He looks up at you. “You’re not the only one who is observant.”

You smirk and while he’s busy filling a big pot with water to boil the pasta you take in his quarters. Naturally, they are much bigger than yours, the kitchen and living area combined into a spacious room, all dark colours, black and grey, contrasted with a few light grey touches here and there. You notice a lingering smell of incense and what you can only assume is cigar smoke. A small serving cart turned into a bar sits next to an emerald green couch with velvet upholstering. Your eyes are drawn to a carafe filled with a dark ember liquid, sitting right next to a crystal ashtray that reflects the remainders of sunlight streaming in through the arched windows.

Secondo sets the heavy pot down on the stove and the thud makes you turn your head back to him. He’s noticed you drifting off, hoping that you like what you’re seeing, that you wouldn’t mind spending time here more often. His home in the abbey has been crafted very consciously over the past decade, every item carefully curated. He’s toying with the optimal balance between luxurious and still slightly understated, comfortable.

Your face doesn’t betray your opinion but as he turns on the stove, you slip from your stool. He watches you from the corner of his eye as you join him behind the counter and tries not to let you deter him from the task at hand – salting the water, one of many steps. You come to a stop right behind him and then he feels your arms snaking around his waist, squeezing tightly as you press yourself into his back, your cheek right against his shoulder. It’s an unexpectedly tender hug, like you just need to be close to him in any way that you can, and despite your soft affection that he so struggles to accept, he’s immensely relieved to have you closer.

Secondo lets you hold him for however long you want. He can clearly imagine your squished cheek, your puckered lips, and all he wants is to spin you around and kiss you breathless. But his plan says no physicality until after dinner. He knows he won’t be able to stop once you start touching, and he has a lot to do until then, a lot to say until then. So it’s dinner first, then discussing the necessities, and then he can fuck you.

“My dove, you’re distracting me,” he says, finally adding a generous amount of salt to the water.

“Mhm.” You duck underneath his arm and hug him sideways now, your face melting into his neck. When your nose brushes against his sensitive skin it’s almost enough to make him come undone. A shiver runs down his spine and you give a satisfied hum at his reaction. “Actually, I was wondering… is it allowed to kiss the chef?”

“Ordinarily, it’s not.”

A kiss just below his ear. “And un-ordinarily?”

Fuck his plan.

He grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him, bringing one gloved hand up to cup your cheek. He stops for a second, taking in the barely visible bruises on your jaw. With the memory of what happened in the storage room clear in his mind, he feels a jolt of lust, and then his mouth is on yours. This time, he’s not as forceful, but it’s not as soft as he would wish either. He can’t help but push his tongue into your mouth at the first opportunity, tasting you and a hint of minty toothpaste. You moan softly, clinging to the front of his shirt until he’s sure he could have spared himself the trouble of ironing it.

He breaks away, staring at your swollen lips, the skin around them all red and wet with spit.

Oh, that mouth.

He’s going to lose his mind over it, slowly but surely, and he can’t help but kiss you again, slower, deeper, exploring every inch of you with his tongue.

When he breaks away this time, you smile and the way it stretches your lips, plumps the apples of your cheeks and brings out that joyful glimmer in your eyes – it feels so personal, so very intimate to him. This kind of smile should belong to him and only him.

“Are you very worried about this?” you ask suddenly, smoothing your hand over his shirt. “About us?”

A deep, long sigh. “I worry, yes. I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

Your hand slides up his neck, softly cradling his cheek. “All I want is you, Secondo, in any way that I can.”

He smiles at the use of his name, closing his eyes as he leans into your touch. It may well be the first smile in a long time that he doesn’t even attempt to hold back, though he’s not sure if that’s true. He catches himself smiling at the mere thought of you more often than seems healthy. In your presence, his mouth does a lot of things he simply can’t control anymore.

Like kiss you again right now, fiercely, passionately, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth until you start whining. At this point, he doubts he will ever be sated. His need for you is an ever-expanding black hole and he’s teetering at the edge of being consumed himself. But he’s no stranger to uncertainty, to taking risks, as much as he hates the feeling of powerlessness. And so the next time you part, he turns off the stove despite the water almost boiling, and pulls you into his bedroom.

There should have been a conversation at some point tonight that lasted more than that one sentence of reassurance you gave him, an honest exchange of expectations, feelings and hopes, but maybe he doesn’t have to say it.

It’s a knee-jerk response, a very reactionary change of plans: Make love to you (or at least attempt it), eat dinner, then fuck you for the rest of the night.

The bedroom, unsurprisingly, is dominated by a huge four-poster bed, clad in emerald green sheets that give off a sweet scent, only overpowered by the smoky aroma of the incense burning on Secondo’s altar, the light of numerous black candles dipping the room in a warm, flickering light, heavy curtains blocking out the sun completely.

You stand in front of his bed shivering in anticipation.

“Two things,” he says, eyes fixated on yours. “First: In here, it is Papa. At least for now.”

You nod.

“Second: You will tell me immediately if I do anything that you don’t like. No shame, no judgement. You use your words to let me know what you want or do not want. Yes?”

“Yes, Papa.”

He smirks. You learn fast, but he knows that already. Secondo reaches out for your hands, taking both of them in his and bringing them to his lips, gently but insistingly kissing your knuckles. In the dim light, his features look daunting, a stark contrast to his soft mouth. His eyes meet yours, fervently, longingly, and then he drops your hands and pulls you in for a real kiss. This time, knowing he won’t have to hold back anymore, he lets his hands roam free, opening buttons, freeing every inch of your skin with deft, confident fingers, until you’re completely bare in front of him. His mouth doesn’t leave yours even as you gasp for air, sucking and licking on whatever he can reach. Ultimately, he keeps your bottom lip trapped between his teeth to allow you some air, teasing it with his tongue before swallowing your next breath yet again. Meanwhile, his hands explore the outlines of your body, big, curious hands still covered in leather, mapping out every single detail.

Shaky fingers toy with the buttons on his shirt, not managing to open any of them but trailing further down until they find his belt. He allows you to fiddle with the buckle, if only because your warm fingers graze his abdomen with every attempt to open it. When you give up and reach further down, he gently removes your hands and pulls away from the kiss.

You look at him with big eyes, whimpering softly, and he can tell that you’re nervous.

“Relax, my dove,” he says, swiping his thumb over your hot cheek. “All I want is to take care of you. Now, get on the bed.”

You do as he says, so obedient. Secondo removes his belt slowly, watching you stretch out amongst his sheets and pillows. His hand falters at the sight. You’re beautiful, a dream come true, and in that moment he is immensely relieved that he did not give into his impulses before.

With your eyes on him, he removes his shirt and steps out of his pants. He didn’t bother with underwear, so when he joins you on the bed there is nothing separating you anymore. Your skin is hot under his as he crawls between your legs, towering over your shivering form.

He can’t help but kiss you once more, licking into your waiting mouth. Your hand moves to his head, scratching softly, and he hums as he allows his lips to travel to your neck. He finds a deep purple hickey there which shouldn’t come as a surprise to him since he left it there a mere day ago but the sight nevertheless makes him proud. You’re already marked as his and when the night is over, your whole body will be.

Making true on that promise, his lips trail down your body, stamping soft, lingering kisses to your chest, your nipples, licking down to your abdomen where he stays for a moment.

“Hm, così dolce,” he whispers. “So sweet.”

“Papa,” you say.

He looks up. “Yes?”

You buck your hips slightly. “I need… I need more.”

He sits back, intense eyes circling in on you as he removes his gloves, throwing them aside. “Open your mouth, tesoro, show me that sweet tongue.”

You do, poking out your tongue slightly, and he leans back over you, sliding two fingers in between your still swollen lips. You start to suck, swivelling your tongue around his digits and he can feel his cock twitching at the sight and feeling.

“So good for me, my dove,” he whispers. “So good for your Papa.”

You moan around his digits, the vibrations sending a pang of need into his body. When you start to breathe heavily through your nose, he decides that his fingers are wet enough. His hand snakes down your body, collecting more of your arousal, and then he starts working you slowly, carefully. You whimper, demanding more, but for right now he’s not going to hurry. You’re not going to come before he’s inside of you.

He continues for a bit longer until you can feel the arousal flowing through your whole body, building up into waves that make you shiver. His fingers find your waiting hole, spreading out the combination of spit and arousal on his hand and stretching you open bit by bit. His hard cock, already leaking precum, sits hot and heavy against your thigh. Mismatched eyes never leave yours, catching ever flicker of lust and pleasure in your half-lidded eyes, even as the squelching sounds between your legs get louder and you barely manage to hold his gaze anymore.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, Papa.”

“Please what?” he demands. “Words, tesoro.”

You swallow heavily, chest heaving as your body tries to search for his, but he’s hovering just above you, propped up on one arm, massaging your insides with the other.

“I want you, Papa,” you say. “Please, I need you inside of me, need to f-feel you. Please.”

Secondo could listen to you all day and maybe later he’s going to see just how long he can get you to beg, but right now he’s too impatient, too eager, spurred on by how tight and wet you feel around his fingers. His cock is aching for friction and so he removes his hand, ignoring the disapproving whine you let out.

“Since you ask so nicely,” he says.

Cock in hand, he lines himself up, carefully pushing inside. Your head falls back into the pillows as you let out a drawn-out hum, taking him so well, inch by inch, and he feels a flutter inside of his chest at the sight. Your legs wrap around his back, heels digging into his ass, and he lets his chest sink onto yours, waiting for you to relax, to adjust. Pressed together like that, a searing wave of emotion overcomes him, deep, warm, an intense longing to never let go that is utterly unfamiliar to him. He has to unload the sudden tension in a heated kiss, feeling your moans and whimpers reverberating inside of him as he slowly starts moving.

He tries to make it last, to keep up a careful, deliberate rhythm. He really, really tries, biting his lip to hold back, but he soon has to go faster to stay sane. More desperate noises from you as his thrusts get harder and weeks of held-back need for you spill out from inside of him. Attaching his lips to the still unmarked side of your soft neck, he starts sucking, biting, trying to absorb you into him. You keen, one hand on his neck, the other tightly grabbing his shoulder for support. With a pop, he removes his mouth to take a deep breath and your expression is hazy, eyes clouded with lust. He shifts his weight onto one arm, angling your hips up slightly and you clench around him over and over again at the changed angle, crying out softly at every roll of his hips. He feels himself getting close and to his relief he can tell you’re getting there too, trembling underneath him more and more.

“Please,” you say, strangled, whimpery. “Please, Papa, I n-need to– need to come.”

He growls, bringing his hand between your bodies to help you over the edge. It’s strenuous, his arm protesting wildly, but when he feels your sticky arousal on his fingers, it’s enough to keep him going.

“Come for me,” he says. “Come on my cock, tesoro. You’ve been so good for your Papa.”

It’s all you need, two more thrusts and a few words of praise, and you tighten around him, crying out as your whole body shudders. He gives a few more laborious thrusts to draw out your pleasure before he finally changes the angle, taking the weight off his arm until he can pound into you harder, chasing his own release. His hips snap against yours, loud obscene sounds, and you whimper in overstimulation, arms wrapping around him gently as he stills. A low moan leaves his burning throat and he spills inside of you, filling you up with his seed. His hips stutter a few more times before he rolls onto his side, dragging you with him.

Heavy, panting breaths fills the sudden silence of the room. Secondo pulls you close and you settle against his chest, breathing kisses to his sweaty skin, softly licking up the column of his throat. He only hums and for a long time, you stay like this, tangled up in silky sheets and the comfort of each other. His hold on you is so tight that you don’t, not even for a second, doubt whether he meant everything that just happened, all the things he can’t bring himself to tell you yet but that you can feel so clearly even in his silence – and for now, that’s enough.

“You sabotaged my dinner plans,” he finally whispers, breathing more slowly now. “I didn’t even get to open the wine.”

You chuckle against his neck. “Would you like me to help you preparing it now?”

Secondo sighs deeply, pulling you closer. “No, my dove, give your Papa a few more minutes of this, yes?”

By the way you can feel him twitching against your belly, you highly doubt that it’s only going to be a few more minutes. He knows this too, his plans long abandoned, and when you prop yourself up to look at him, eyes full of reverent love for an old man like him, he starts to embrace all of the changes you bring into his life. Maybe Terzo was right after all, maybe it’s never too late, not even for someone like him.

Thank you for reading! I know this was very long but believe me, writing it was a pain too :D I hope you enjoyed it – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always very appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

#secondo x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus iii #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #secondo smut #secondo fluff #soft secondo #ghost #ghost fanfiction

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kilistina · 2 years ago

Note

hiii just wanted to say i love ur posts so much. ur so good at writing pls never stop😫 i just finished reading punk 57 and the whole “tell me something true” line has me in a CHOKEHOLD. pls pls pls write about assholery being cold and distant with y/n out of nowhere even though they’re friends. can the reader be fem and have bunny as a nickname too? it’s been on my miiind and i just know you’ll write it to perfection <33

i fucking ADORE this suggestion sm. whoever you are, message me pls bc i wanna rack your brain for more lmao

lmk if you wanna be tagged in part 2 when—if—it comes out <3 i hope y’all enjoy this part though bc it’s truly one of my favourites so far.

i recommend listening to these two songs while reading: wet dream - wetleg, desire - meg myers

•••

dirty dancing. pt1

word count: 4.4k-ish

disc. nsfw content ahead. mdni. brief coke mention—in passing, includes fem! reader n harry styles, bold ass language, kinda slow burn but not really, some sexy dancing ig n aaaangst. enjoy my whores <3

•••

Things have been weird with Harry for a while now. You’re not exactly sure how or why the rift even started, but it did. And it’s only been getting worse.

You’ve been friends for what—two years now? Never too close, but close enough to be able to communicate about any issues you’ve had with each other. You and Harry don’t really argue, he’s not the confrontational type. Not with you, anyway. And not when he’s sober.

You aren’t the biggest fan of confrontation either. When things get too heated or overwhelming, you cry. It embarrasses you—being unable to handle your emotions. You know that you’re only human, and you’d never judge someone else for crying in the middle of an argument, but because it’s you, because you know yourself so well, you judge yourself over it. Weird pattern, but hey, it’s real.

Right now, you’re out at a bar with your friends—the same group you’ve been hanging around since high school. Mitch and Sarah have been highschool sweethearts for as long as you can remember, they’re like the parents of the group. The cool parents. The parents everyone secretly wishes they could have. Niall and Lewis are attached at the hip, too—platonically. Been best friends since the day they met.

You’re the closest with Niall since you’ve been living with him through college, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You have other girlfriends but they’re not as close to you as Niall and Sarah are. Sarah’s like a diamond you’ve always loved. They all are. They’ve always been by your side when you needed them—Harry included. You got lucky, sure. Not everybody has the luxury of picking the good ones before college and life gets in the way.

The bar is slowly coming to life. People who came for a meal are leaving, and people in the mood for a night of drinking and dancing are all piling in. You’re excited. It’s been way too long since you’ve let loose. You’ve been too stumped with work and college lately, you’ve barely had any time to breathe without someone breathing right there with you. And of course, you enjoy the company of others. But when you have to be sober for it all? Eh.

Harry’s similar to you in that sense. He loves socialising. Absolutely adores it. He’s an extrovert. But after weeks of constant company, he gets burnt out. The only thing that helps toughen the blow is alcohol. Or coke, but he’s stopped that for a while now.

You prop your elbows up on the edge of the bar and lean against it, looking around for the bartender. He has his back to you, mixing someone else’s drink. You clear your throat and he turns his head to the side, catching sight of you and nodding his head to let you know he’ll be a moment. You nod back and wait, turning to face your friends.

“Anyone wanna shot with me?” You arch a brow at your five friends, and they all smirk and nod their heads. Harry included. “We all good for a vodka?”

Everyone nods a second time in response, and you turn back to face the bartender.

“What can I do for you, gorgeous?” He shoots you a warm smile.

“Five shots of vodka, please.” You smile back at him and he nods.

“Straight?”

“No, gay,” You murmur a witty reply and he laughs, beginning to fill five shot glasses for you. You swear you can hear Harry coughing back a laugh from behind you too, but you don’t pay him any attention.

You double tap your phone’s off switch, activating the apple pay, and you hold it up to pay for your drinks.

“No need, beautiful,” The bartender holds his hand up, “This round’s on me.”

You shrug, exhaling dramatically, “I won’t try and convince you to let me pay.”

“I wouldn’t let you try.” The attractive bartender plays along, smirking at you.

You mouth a quick thank you to him and he gives you one final wink before turning his attention to the small group of girls next to you, catering to them now. You grab the shot glasses off the counter and hand them out to everyone, and you all hold them up and clink them together before downing them in seconds.

“Fuck,” Sarah sticks her tongue out as if that’s going to help the taste in her mouth, “Never gets easier does it?”

“Doesn’t need to,” Niall grins proudly, setting his shot glass down on the counter, “You’re just weak.”

“Yeah we fuckin’ get it, you’re an Irish heavyweight. We should all bow down at your feet, you’re a king and we’re peasants who can’t handle a measly shot.” Lewis rolls his eyes and pretends to worship him.

Niall frowns in confusion, “Who you calling a heavyweight?”

Harry snorts at the two men bickering. They’re like two peas in a pod, and typically, people who are so close tend to argue every now and then.

The group has that dynamic. Sarah and Mitch, Niall and Lewis, you and Harry? You’re not sure if you and Harry count. You’re not as close as the others. You wouldn’t call him a best friend. A friend, yes. A good friend? That’s pushing it, but still, yes. A best friend? No.

It’s not that you wouldn’t like to be closer. You’ve just never really been given the chance. Harry’s always kept a safe distance from you. You’ve hardly ever spent time alone, always speaking and engaging with each other the most when others are around to witness it. Sure, a part of you wishes that Harry would pay you more attention, but the other part of you doesn’t think he deserves it. If he wanted to, he would, right?

“And aren’t you Irish too?” Niall questions Lewis, continuing on with their unserious bickering.

“Yeah like a third,” Lewis shrugs, “From my dad’s side, but you already knew th—stop deflecting. Y/N, tell him to stop deflecting from how much of a cock he is.” He points towards you and tries to get you involved.

You giggle and shrug your shoulders, “You are a bit of a cock sometimes, Ni.”

“Both of you can suck me, honestly. I’m fuckin’ great.” Niall flicks his hair dramatically and you and Lewis snicker.

“I’m with Niall,” Harry lightly nudges Niall’s chest with his elbow, joining in on the joke, “Both of you can suck him.”

“You fucking weirdos,” Mitch shakes his head at the lot of you, not surprised in the slightest by your antics, “Miss Jones and I are gonna go dance, you lot can either keep bickering or come join us. Choice is yours.”

With that, they both head for the dance floor together, holding their hands in the air and laughing.

“I’m joining those twats,” Lewis gestures to them, looking at the rest of you, “You three game?”

Niall nods, “Course. Harry, Y/N?”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” You nod towards the bar, “I feel like some more drinks.”

Everyone’s attention shifts to Harry. He clears his throat as he thinks for a moment, “Yeah, me too. Be there in a bit.”

Lewis and Niall both nod at Harry and beeline for the dance floor, already beginning to bicker again on the way. You giggle at the sight of them and shake your head, turning to face the bar again. Harry joins you, standing by your side. Neither of you look at each other, you keep your eyes in front of you at the neat array of liquor set along the counter.

“Nice night, don’t you think?” You break the awkward silence threatening to form between the two of you.

You catch sight of Harry nodding his head, “Always a nice night with this lot.”

Dry as fuck. You might not be close with Harry, but you aren’t stupid. You know the way he speaks to people, you’ve seen it. Harry could have an hour long conversation with a tree. But with you, it seems like a fucking chore.

You want to scoff. You want to scoff at how fucking childish Harry’s acting with you. Why can’t he look at you or have a normal conversation with you?

You sigh, not wanting to overreact over such a minor reply and ruin the night for yourself. Although Harry seems to be doing a decent job of that himself.

“Can’t argue with that.” You murmur.

“Mhm.” Harry murmurs and you wait a beat for him to say something else, anything else.

He doesn’t.

That’s it.

“I feel like I don’t know you.” Your words spill out before you can stop them.

Harry’s taken by surprise. He turns to face you. Now he’s looking, at least. “Sorry?”

“I feel like I don’t know you.” You sigh, repeating yourself.

“What is there to know?” He furrows his eyebrows at you, gesturing to the bartender that he wants a glass of something.

“You tell me, Harry Styles.”

He sighs, running a hand through his curly hair, “Y/N, what are you trying to get at here?”

You shrug, “I dunno, I feel like I click with everyone else. I’ve got a connection with everyone, H. Everyone but you.” Your words come out harsher than you intended. You’d feel a little guilty if they weren’t true. But they are.

“That was unnecessary.” Harry murmurs so quietly that you almost don’t hear him.

“You asked me a question and I answered it.” You stand your ground, sick of Harry’s half-assed efforts to conversing with you. You’re a catch, your friendship is amazing, and you’re great to talk to. What the hell is Harry’s problem?

He laughs, scoffing at you in disbelief, “Fuck, you’re such a bitch sometimes.”

You almost choke on your own saliva, “Excuse me?”

“You fuckin’ heard me, Y/N. I called you a bitch. Because that’s what you are half the time when shit doesn’t go your way.” Harry doesn’t know where this is all coming from, but it’s coming.

He doesn’t mean it, obviously. He’d never mean that. He doesn’t think you’re a bitch. Again, never. But he’s angry. He’s angry and you’re angry and you’re both speaking without thinking it through properly and you’re both making an absolute mess of the situation and each other—

“What the fuck?” You stare at Harry in shock, your eyes wide with disgust.

He’s confused by your offended reaction, “What, are you surprised or something? Come on, Bunny. You know better than that.”

“You don’t have to be such an ass,” You scold him, “We used to get along. We used to be closer. We’ve never been as close as the others but at least we used to speak. At least I was able to walk into a room knowing you were there and look forward to it.”

His face relaxes at your words. He knows you mean well. You’ve both been hotheaded for a moment but now you seem to be calming down. You’re bringing your point across well and he can’t fault you for it.

“But what now? What fuckin’ now, H? You never speak to me when we’re alone, and then when you finally do, it’s this. It’s an attack on my character. Does this shit get you off or something?”

Never mind.

Harry scoffs at your sudden change in tone, feeling agitated again, “Fuck you.”

You slam your hand on the counter, “Fuck you, Harry!”

He glares at you as you continue scolding him, “What the hell are we even doing here? Go spend time with your actual friends.”

“Hey, wait a second. What?” He leans his head to the side in confusion, not knowing what you mean, “We’ve known each other for years, Bunny.”

“I don’t know a single thing about you.” You point out, making him roll his eyes. “Don’t roll your—“

“Where’s my favourite place to eat?” Harry cuts you off with a question. A question that you know the answer to.

 “That’s not—”

“Where do I go when I’m upset?” Again, another question you can answer.

“Harry—”

“How did I get the scar on my chin?” That’s a special question. You gave it to him the day you met.

You sigh, knowing where he’s going with this. He’s not understanding what you’re trying to tell him and it infuriates you.

You tap the tips of your fingers on the countertop, feeling anxious, “That’s not what I—”

“You do know me, Y/N. we don’t need to speak every two seconds or braid each other’s hair to know each other well.”

Your eyes begin to prick with tears. That isn’t what you meant and he knows that.

“That’s not what I meant.” You lower your voice as it threatens to crack.

“Then what did you mean, Bunny?” He crosses his arms and stares at you, waiting on an explanation.

You groan, throwing your head in your hands.

The truth is, you can explain. You can explain everything you’re feeling well. But is that going to get you anywhere right now? Maybe. Maybe not. You have a better idea.

“Do you consider me a friend?”

Harry’s face drops. You can tell that he’s upset and borderline offended that you’re even asking that question.

Of course you’re friends. You’ve been friends for years. He adores you. Why can’t you see that he adores you?

“Bunny..” He takes a step towards you, and you take one back.

“Do you?” You insist on getting a solid answer.

“Of course I consider you a fr—”

“Don’t lie.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m not—”

“Tell me something real, Harry. Please. God, please just tell me something that isn’t base level for once,” You beg, “Tell me something true.”

He raises his eyebrows slightly. He’s taken back. He wasn’t expecting that from you at all.

He stays silent.

“You can’t, can you?” You scoff at him, not knowing why you expected anything to come from this conversation. You should’ve known better than to be hopeful about how things were going to go with Harry..because it’s Harry, “I don’t know why I thought you’d—“

“I still smoke cigarettes.” Harry cuts you off, blurting out an admission. He tenses his jaw in realisation—he’s just as shocked as you are.

Oh.

Your eyes widen at his confesion. Harry’s been gloating to everyone about how he so easily quit smoking three months ago. You’re all so proud of him, considering how difficult it is to quit something cold turkey the way he did. The rest of you haven’t been able to shake the bad habit. Apparently, neither has he.

“You do?” You question.

He nods, “Less. But I do.”

“Why?”

He almost smiles at your question, “Why do I smoke?”

“Why did you lie about it?”

He sighs, looking down as he answers you, “Everyone’s got something, right? Sarah and Mitch have their relationship, Niall has his singing, Lewis has his stand-up every Friday, you have your double degree. I just wanted something that everyone could be proud of. Felt like something small like that would’ve been manageable to keep hidden from everyone.”

You frown, “Harry..”

“No,” He shakes his head, refusing to let you feel sorry for him, “No. Seriously, no. We’re not about to do pity. That’s not what we do with each other.”

“Okay,” You clear your throat and agree to let it go, grabbing a now filled shot glass and handing it over to him, “Drink?”

He smirks at you, silently thanking you as he reaches forward and takes the shot glass from you.

“Sorry for calling you a bitch.” He murmurs, offering you a small, sincere smile.

You give him one back, “Sorry for being one.”

His small smile turns into a grin.

“To the truth.” You hold your glass up to cheers his with.

“To the fuckin’ truth.”

You both down your shots and tap them down on the counter to gesture for the bartender to refill them. He complies and neither of you waste a second to down the next ones. Over and over, shot after shot, you continue to drink until you’re buzzed.

You’re both good at handling your liquor, and you know how much you can take. By the time you’re done with your shots, you’re over the moon. Buzzed and aware. Aware of what you feel, aware of where you are, aware of who you’re with. Aware.

Harry leans down, his face dangerously close to yours. He’s never been this close, you don’t think. You’ve never seen his face so clearly, you’ve never seen his chest tattoos so well, his necklace dangling, his—

“Should we go dance with the others now, you think?” He speaks into your ear and you feel your stomach beginning to erupt with nerves.

“Yeah,” You inhale sharply, nodding, “Sure.”

Harry grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd, keeping a hold of you even when you reach where your friends are. The contact is strange but you welcome it, liking the new barrier that’s being broken between the two of you.

Over the years, you’ve noticed how touchy he can get when he’s under the influence, so you have an idea of what you’re getting into. You like being on the receiving end for once. You could get used to this side of Harry. You like being his friend. His real friend.

Once you get to where the others are, you quickly gauge what they’re all doing. Mitch and Sarah are in their own little world as usual, dancing together as if it’s their wedding night. Niall’s dancing with a random girl he’s probably going home with later tonight and Lewis is making a fool of himself in the middle of them. Ah, friendship. You love to see it.

“Nice song, yeah?” Harry leans over to your ear, speaking over the music. The song playing is one of your all time favourites—Wet Dream by WetLeg.

Anyone who knows you, knows the way you feel about this song. It’s become tradition to play it everytime you carpool. A fine tradition, you think.

“Oh, the best.” You start bopping your head to the beat of the song, singing along with the lyrics you know and love.

“I was in your wet dream driving in my caaar, saw you at the side of the road, there’s no one else around you’re touching yourself, touching yourself—“ You start yelling out the words along with everyone else on the dance floor, shaking your head side to side and dramatising every word. Harry watches you and smirks, letting you have your moment.

“You said—“

You’re about to keep singing the next part when he beats you to it, “Baby do you want to come home with me? I got Buffalo ‘66 on dvd!”

You let out a surprised laugh at the fact that Harry even knows the words to the song, loving that you’re seeing this side to him. You’d never expect to have something as simple as loving a song like this in common, but here you are.

Beam me up—beam me up!

Count me in—count me in!

Three, two, one—three, two, one!

Let's begin!

The song continues and you realise that you’ve both been staring at each other for a good ten seconds in silence, just taking in the sight of each other. Harry really is beautiful. The way his hair hangs perfectly below his shoulders. The way his dimples show at the smallest hint of a smile. The way his eyes burn into yours. You never want to see anything else. Just him. Just Harry.

“I was in your wet dream, driving in my caaaar!” Harry’s voice breaks you out of your daydream, and you laugh as he grabs your hands, dancing with you to the beat of the song.

“What makes you think you're good enough to think about me when you're touching yourself?” You continue the song and he pretends to be shocked, acting out the song with you.

“You climb onto the bonnet and you’re licking the windscreen! I’ve never seen anything so obscene!” You both sing the next part together, leaning in close to each other’s faces and practically screaming with the biggest smiles on your faces, “It’s enough! To make a girl blush! It’s enough! It’s enough to make a girl blush!”

The rest of the song plays and you both continue to scream out every word, making the most of the moment you’re having and hoping it never ends. Neither of you are sure what’s going on but neither of you are complaining. You’re both witnessing a new side to each other and you’re enjoying it. Perhaps you were made to be best friends like the others. Maybe it was meant to happen like this.

The song eventually comes to an end and you both let out a deep sigh, catching your breath for a moment as another random song plays.

Harry looks down at you with parted lips, “Nice singing, Bunny.”

“Could say the same to you, H.” You smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. The move is natural and you don’t put too much thought into it. Neither does Harry.

His hands find their way to your waist and you both sway in time with the music, singing the lyrics into each other’s faces and having the time of your lives.

“I haven’t had sex in 5 months!” His voice is just loud enough for you to hear over the music.

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

He leans closer to your face, “I said—I said I haven’t had—”

“No I—I heard you H,” You chuckle, “I’m just a little—”

“Surprised? Yeah me too.” He grins at you, suddenly seeming to be completely comfortable with you in a way you never expected, “I stole that chocolate bar from you last week by the way, it wasn’t Niall.”

You laugh for a moment at his strange confessions until you process what he just told you, “Wait that was you?”

 “Loud ‘n proud, bunny.” He grins proudly.

“You—you fucker!” You gasp, playfully hitting his chest with one of your hands, keeping the other where it was around his neck.

 He chuckles, playing along, “Did you forget what I just—”

“Shut up!”

You both laugh, continuing to move your bodies together.

“What about you? Tell me something true.”

You purse your lips together, trying to come up with something to tell Harry. There’s a million things you could tell him, but you want to catch him off guard. You want to see an honest, raw reaction from him.

“I think you’re really pretty.” You finally say, shrugging your shoulders.

Harry raises his eyebrows at you, unsure if you’re being serious. “Pretty?”

You nod.

He tilts his head for a moment, “Weird choice of words.”

“I don’t think so,” You smile at him, “You’re a pretty boy.”

He smiles back, “You’re a pretty bunny.”

“We’re pretty.”

“We are.”

You both smile at each other and share a brief moment. A moment of what—you’re not sure. Two friends being supportive of each other? Two friends suddenly becoming closer and making the most of it? Two friends two friends two friends—

The next song begins playing and your heart begins to pace more. Desire, Meg Myers.

The two of you exchange a look, knowing that you won’t move together to this song the same way you have been for the others.

You know that you won’t be singing along with this one. You’d rather feel it. Feel Harry.

You move your hands away from around Harry’s neck, and he keeps his on your waist, holding you close. You move your hands down and place them over his, feeling electric all of a sudden.

Baby, I wanna fuck you

I wanna feel you in my bones

The song is loud and the coloured lights are flashing red. The atmosphere has changed—not only in the bar and on the dance floor, but between you and Harry. The way he’s looking at you is different. The way you’re looking at him is different. The way he’s touching you is different. The way you’re touching him is different.

I’m gonna tear into your soul

You begin to sway your hips to the beat of the song, holding your eyes over Harry’s. Neither of you dare to look away. You wouldn’t dream of it.

How do you want me?

You begin to turn your body in time with the music, turning your back to Harry. He leans his head down, resting his head on your shoulder and keeping his hands by your waist as you continue to move against each other. You feel a surge of confidence—you’re not sure if it’s the song, if it’s the alcohol, if it’s Harry’s random confessions, if it’s the feelings you’ve been suppressing from him for years—but it’s here. It’s here and you’re about to make the most of it.

Yeah I gotta hurt you, I gotta hear it from your mouth

Boy, I wanna taste you, I wanna skin you with my tongue

I’m gonna kill you

You lean your ass back, moving it against Harry’s crotch. He sucks in a breath, and the only way you know it is because you feel his teeth graze the skin of your bare shoulder. Your eyes close at the feeling and you grow bolder, moving the same way a second time.

He tightens his grip on your waist. You can feel the bulge of his cock against your ass and you can only imagine how much it’s straining against the band of his jenas. You almost pity him. Almost.

I wanna feel you

I want it all

I wanna feel you

I want it all

You continue moving against Harry, enjoying his little reactions to your touch. To the way you feel. He begins trailing kisses down your neck, applying pressure and sucking on your skin. You still. You can’t focus on anything but the way his lips feel against you.

What’s going on between you both? What the fuck is happening? Why the fuck has it taken so long? Why couldn’t it happen sooner?

So many questions.

“Bunny,” Harry groans against your shoulder, placing one last kiss to your neck before moving his mouth to your ear, “Tell me something true.”

You know exactly what you want to say. Again, there’s so much you want to tell him. You want to tell him how good he feels against you, how much you love the way he moves his body against yours. You want to tell him that you feel the connection now. You want to tell him that you know he can feel it too. There’s so much to say, but you settle for the most simple thing. The most important one.

“I want you.”

•••

aaahhhh!!! i’m sososo proud of this one. idk why but this shot has a special place in my heart. the smut will be included in the second part. and believe me, it’s gonna be SMUT. i’m such a whore for angst n this friendship trope is just chef’s kiss.

anyway enough chat. i hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 if you liked what you read then please reblog n comment. feel free to suggest ideas for new posts too.

have a good day or night wherever you are n stay safe, always <3

- k

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