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wardenparker · 2 months

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The Stars Re-Align, part 1

Frankie Morales x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.1k Warnings: Reader is given an age and a grown daughter. Starts out as Santiago x reader. Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mentions of military service (obviously), glancing mention of Tom's death, past drug use, off-page abusive relationship, panic attacks, complicated relationships, family drama. Summary: When your daughter and your boyfriend talk you into having a birthday party, you are not prepared for all of the surprises that come your way. Notes: A little love triangle and 'one that got away' vibe for your Feral Frankie Friday!

“Rachel!” Calling from the kitchen is an old, unbreakable habit by now, but dinner is almost ready and you know your daughter is in the living room studying. She has plans with her boyfriend tonight which means she’s getting her reading out of the way, and you’re proud of her for having such good habits and steady resolve. It’s not at all what you were like at her age, and you’ve worked hard to make sure that she has opportunities that you never could have. Being a young single mom was rough, but every second you have with your little-girl-turned-young-woman is worth it. “Supper’s ready, honey. Find your bookmark!”

“Sure thing!” There’s no point in reminding you that her book is a digital copy, no bookmark needed, but she dutifully saves the spot and closes her laptop. “It smells good.” She compliments, walking into the kitchen and over to the fridge to bust out the bottle of wine that had become a habit with dinner since high school. Nothing fancy, just a cheap sangria, but it was a ritual that both mom and daughter enjoyed. “Are you going out with Santiago tonight?” She asks as she gets down the glasses to pour.

“He might come over to watch a movie since you’re going out.” Your two-month-old relationship isn’t deeply committed or deeply anything yet, really, but you like him. He’s attentive, handsome, and funny, and deeply — okay there’s one deeply — good in bed. “Do you want the good parmesan, or the shaker can? We have both.” Spaghetti with onions, peppers, and sausage isn’t necessarily gourmet, but it’s a family staple. Something your dad used to make you when you were growing up in New York City and you have made for your daughter her whole life afterwards.

“Good parmesan.” She hums. “Let’s be fancy tonight.” Bringing the glasses over to the small kitchen table, she moves on to set out the silverware. A chore when she was younger, it’s now just become habit when you eat together. ‘Working together as a team’ is how you always phrased it and it’s something she loves about her relationship with you now. You’re a team. “I’m going to stay at Ben’s tonight, so you and Santiago can have wild sex.”

“Be safe.” She’s twenty-four, so you’re not going to quibble about her sleeping over with her boyfriend, but you do give her a meaningful look when you set down the plates on the table. “Don’t make me a grandmother and I won’t make you a sister.”

Rachel laughs, it’s the same statement you have been using since she was first dating boys after puberty. “But Mom!” She pouts playfully. “I really want a baby sister!”

“Think I’m getting a little too old for that option, honey,” you huff, but laugh anyway. “Ask Santa for one at Christmas.”

She grins at you, bringing over the basket of breadsticks that are an Olive Garden copycat. Plain frozen ones that you brush with butter and garlic salt. So many of the meals you have together are mocks of the restaurant meals she had wanted when she was younger and you couldn’t afford. As an adult, it’s humbling to see the lengths you went to in order to make her happy.

“You’re coming back tomorrow, though, right?” Though you typically aren’t one to make a big deal out of such things, Santiago had offhandedly mentioned to your daughter a few weeks ago that it was a shame you weren’t doing anything for your birthday and Rachel had jumped on board with talking you into a party. The backyard barbecue will be small, but a chance to meet your boyfriend’s friends and have a few of your own friends from work come over. “It was half your idea, after all.”

“Yeah, I’m going to be there.” She promises. “Oh, is it okay if I bring Ben?” She asks. “He’s got another party to go to if not, but he said he would rather spend time with me.”

“Yes, you can bring Ben.” He’s a few years older than Rachel and has had a very different life experience, but you like Ben Miller. He’s doing his best to make an honest way in the world and he treats Rachel with love and respect. And probably in ways that you want to know absolutely nothing about. “There’s going to be plenty of food. Santiago and I are managing that end.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “Of course you are cooking for your own party.” She huffs.

“Get sassy with me and I’ll send every stitch of leftovers home with other people,” you threaten, though it’s hollow and comes with laughter.

“Not like you won’t make enough to still bring home food.” She shoots back with a grin. If there was ever a party, you always made too much food. It might be pasta salad, but you and she would be eating it for a solid week after everyone had gone home.

“Nothing fancy,” you assure her even though you know she’s right. “Burgers and dogs. And veggie burgers for the few people that skip red meat. All the accoutrements. Santiago is in charge of the grill, which he’s very happy about. And I’m making that cheese dip you like along with my guac. Salsa is coming out of a jar despite protests.”

“Let Ben bring the salsa.” She volunteers immediately with a grin. “He’s got some recipe he got from friends he used to serve with.” She explains. “He was going to make it for their party but we can hijack it and bring it to yours.”

“Deal.” That’s one more thing off your checklist and you’re fine with that. “And the cake is coming from an actual bakery, not a supermarket. I do listen to your protests most of the time.”

“The buttercream is far superior.” She huffs happily and lifts her glass when you are both sitting down at the table. “To a wonderful birthday weekend.” She offers. “One you never forget.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You tap your glass against hers and smile. “Forty-two feels like it will be a good one.”

******

“We have the cake, the burgers are all ready to throw on the grill. Fish is bringing the baked beans, Ironhead is bringing the potato salad and you said Rach’s boyfriend is going to bring the salsa?” He arches a brow in concern. “What do you know about this guy? Is it good salsa? Because I’m going to be offended if it’s Pace.”

“I was told he has a recipe from somebody he served with.” The Pace is in its jars in the cupboard where Santiago can’t be offended by it, and you slip past him to look at your checklist taped to the cupboards one more time. “Coleslaw is made, cheese dip is made, and you filled up the outside fridge last night so that’s all set. I think we’re okay. The last thing is the guac and that only makes a few minutes.”

Santiago slides behind you and wraps his arms around your stomach and hums. “So we have time to go back to the bedroom?” He asks playfully, even if he would haul you back there if you said yes.

“Only if you’re planning on disappointing me,” you tease, knowing he never has and never would. Not on purpose. Still, you twist to kiss away the pout that has certainly formed there. “People are going to be here any minute.”

“We could always tell them to go the fuck away.” He laughs as he suggests it and then the doorbell peels out right afterwards. “That’ll be Ironhead.” He predicts. “Will’s always early.”

“Is that his real name? Will?” You call back when Santiago goes to open the door. You can make guacamole with your eyes closed due to the fact that you’ve had this recipe longer than your daughter has been alive, and you go to the fridge to get the ingredients.

“Yeah!” He calls back over his shoulder before he opens the door to find his friend on the doorstep. The smiles are genuine, almost guilty considering the shit they’ve gone through for the past five months since South America. Grief and sorrow have pulled at them, but it also has finally started to let them live again. “You made it!”

“Of course I did. You didn’t think I’d miss out on seeing your ass do something domestic, did you?” Will ‘Ironhead’ Miller slaps Pope’s shoulder. “Nice place she’s got. You tried to move in yet?”

Pope chuckles quietly and shrugs. “Maybe in another month.” He jokes. “Gotta get in good with the kid first.”

“Right, the kid.” With another friendly slap, Will Miller steps inside the house. It’s well-appointed, clean, and obviously loved. “She coming today?” He thinks so, but he can’t remember. Although a barbecue and pool party seems like a kid thing. But somehow Will remembers the kid not being kid. Teenager? He can’t remember now.

“She spent the night with her boyfriend, but she’ll be here.” Pope nods. “Although she’s already said she won’t call me daddy but I can take her for ice cream.”

“Nobody ought to be calling you ‘Daddy’,” Ironhead huffs.

Santiago laughs and shrugs. “You’re right.” He admits, knowing that he’s not father material. One of the reasons you were an attractive option was that your kid was grown. He didn’t have to play daddy, although from what he’s understood, the dad was your first love and was too immature to stick around. “Benny didn’t ride with you?”

“His girlfriend’s got a family thing today.” Will shrugs slightly, but honestly he’s impressed. His kid brother is crazy about this girl. It’s six months in and he’s starting to use some very committed language — which is fucking thrilling to Will as it signals Benny finally starting to grow up where sex and relationships are concerned. “He’s gonna come by later.”

“That’s good. I want him to come and have a few beers. Fish should be here shortly.” Pope will be happy to see everyone, it’s better than just checking in and having a beer. This will be a good time to really catch up. “How’s things with Marie?” He asks Will softly, knowing that Frank has been a little closed mouth about things between him and his lady. South America hadn’t been great for their relationship, although no one really likes her, she’s the one who was dabbling in drugs and got Fish hooked on coke.

“She was throwing some fit last night about Fish being out with another woman.” Which is obviously bullshit. Frankie would never step out on the mother of his child. But living in the apartment next to Frankie and Marie means he overhears plenty of bullshit. “All he was doing was asking if she wanted to come today. So who knows what kind of mood he’ll show up in.”

“Shit.” Pope sighs and shakes his head as he escorts Will though the living room and towards the kitchen where you are. “He needs to just bite the bullet and leave her.”

“We all know that. But it’s Fish. Too loyal for his own fucking good.” Will hadn’t been expecting to see anyone standing in the kitchen, let alone you, and he clears his throat. “Um—sorry, ma’am. Soldier’s habit,” he apologizes.

“It’s fine,” you promise him, actually laughing at the sheer display of manners. “I survived my daughter’s teenage years. You want to know who swears more than soldiers? Teenage girls.”

It’s been a long goddamn time since Will has been around teenage girls, but he just nods politely and offers his hand. “Will Miller.” He introduces himself. “Santiago has talked you up to be some kind of Wonder Woman, and it looks like he was underestimating your worth.”

"That's very kind of you, Will." You take his hand and introduce yourself easily enough, reflecting momentarily that Santiago has pretty friends. Blonde and blue-eyed isn't your type, but good looking is good looking. "Would you mind helping us get the last few things outside? And the pool is open, I hope Santiago told everyone."

“Absolutely, ma’am.” Like any good solider, Will is going to follow orders and he immediately picks up the heavier items to carry outside. “You have a beautiful home.”

"Thank you." It's something you worked hard for, and you continue to work hard for every day. Everything in your life has been to make sure your daughter is healthy, happy, and well taken care of. It was a lucky break that you got a well-paying job in your field to boot. "And you don't have to call me ma'am. Though I appreciate the manners."

“We need to give her a nickname before Taz does.” Will snorts.

"Taz?" You haven't heard that name before, and it piques your interest as Santiago helps you set things out on the table on the deck.

Will chuckles. “Youngest in our team.” He explains. “Short for Tasmanian Devil. Brother’s like a whirlwind of stirring up shit.”

"Got it." The Army nickname thing had taken you a second to get used to, but you're on board now. It's a brotherhood thing, and you like that Santiago has such a tightknit group of friends still. It's not something you've really had much of in your life, so you're glad to see when it happens for people you care about it. "Well, I told Santiago, but whenever your friends get here just let them into the backyard. The bathroom is off the living room, but everything else worth getting at is outside."

“Yes ma’am.” He smirks slightly when he says that again before disappearing out of the sliding glass doors.

"Are all your friends polite and helpful?" You glance back at the man you've been seeing for the last few months and crack a smile. "I'm glad you invited them. It's about time we started to meet each other's friends."

“Until they are assholes.” He jokes, giving you a bittersweet smile. “We lost a friend half a year ago and it seems like we’ve had a hard time getting back in the routine. Thought this might be the little jolt we needed.”

"Then we'll make sure it's a fantastic day." He hasn't confided too much about his years in the service or about where he was before moving back to Florida a few months ago, but this is probably a large part of the reason why. Either way, you slip your arms around him for a comforting hug. It's the least you can do, when he's gone through something terrible and is willing to open about it a little.

“It’s your day.” He protests, turning and kissing your lips. “It’s supposed to be good for you, not me. We will have a few drinks, have a few laughs and then…” He waggles his brows. “Well kick everyone out and I’ll make you cum until you pass out.”

The hum that forms in the back of your throat is as pleased as it is dirty, and you kiss him once more before your doorbell rings again. "I'll get it," you nudge his nose with yours and step back, albeit reluctantly. "Go hang out with your friend."

People trickle in little by little. Friends from work, mostly, and the one mom from Rachel's school days that you stayed friends with despite Rachel and her son never actually having been friends. Eventually the text comes through from your daughter that she's a few minutes away and that makes you smile brighter than just about anything else today.

Pope pulls out his phone and texts Frankie, wondering when he’s coming – or if he’s going to come at all. He is worried about him, knowing that he’s under a lot of pressure. Marie blames him for losing his license and then going down to South America for two weeks when it was only supposed to be one. He couldn’t even tell her what happened and that was causing issues.

Had to wait for the babysitter. On my way now. Says the text that comes through a few minutes later, but there is a temporary distraction from waiting for Catfish: Rachel's car pulls up and parks outside the house, expelling both your daughter and her boyfriend onto the front lawn.

“Come on, Ben.” Rachel grabs his hand and rushes him towards the door. They are running behind because of the pre-party activities he had talked her into and while she’s not regretting that in the least, she wants to get inside and wish you happy birthday.

“Sounds like everybody’s out back, baby,” he steers her toward the fence surrounding the backyard instead of the front door, but when that brings him closer to the actual driveway of his girlfriend’s house he frowns — deeply — in confusion. He shouldn’t recognize the two vehicles sitting behind Rachel’s car and her mother’s, but there they are: Pope’s slick vintage Corvette right next to Will’s jacked up picked up truck. There’s no denying the two vehicles, he’s seen them together far too often. “The hell?” Benny breathes, but Rachel doesn’t hear him. She’s too excited to see her mom and moving them through the gate before he can hang back to do a double take at the cars.

“Mom!” Pope looks up at soon as he hears a familiar happy cry but then he’s immediately frowning. Watching as Ben Miller moves through the fence gate with Rachel. “What the fuck?”

“I told you she was bringing her boyfriend, didn’t I?” Santiago’s level of confusion is confusing in its own right, but you ignore it in favor of meeting your daughter at the edge of the porch to give her a massive hug. “Hey sweet pea!”

It helps that Benny looks just as stunned as Pope does, Will stopping short when he sees his younger brother and doesn’t hesitate to call out. “You made it!” He huffs out and shaking his head at his brother’s fickleness. “Girlfriend’s family already kick you out?”

“Nooo…” Benny blinks against the sunlight, having left his sunglasses in his truck. “You’re at the wrong party, assholes.”

The ball busting smirk immediately slides off of Will’s face, due to the knowledge that there is no way they could be at the wrong party. “Benny…” He glances at a stunned Pope and sighs heavily. “We’re at the right party.”

It only takes about a second more, but by the time Benny breathes “Ohhh shit.” He’s also cackling with laughter. “Are you telling me—” The younger Miller brother looks around and drops his voice for the sake of not embarrassing the girl he adores. “Are you telling me Pope is banging my girl’s mom?”

Will snorts and shakes his head. “Looks like.” He agrees quietly. “Hell of a birthday surprise.” He hopes that it won’t change your daughter’s mind on dating him, Rachel has been fantastic for Ben.

“Fuck….” Pope snickers quietly, shaking his head at the irony. He should probably go spell this out for you so you don’t take it the wrong way. No one knew. Even after hearing about Benny’s girlfriend for months, only Will and Fish had met her so far.

Rachel pulls back and gives you a beaming smile. “Happy Birthday Mom.” She hums, winking at you. “Santiago spend the night last night since I was with Ben?” She’s not been paying attention to the guys, too focused on you.

“We fell asleep watching our second movie.” It’s mostly true — true enough that you can play it off as innocent because you did technically nod off during the second movie — but the empty bowl of popcorn and wine glasses in the living room had waited until this morning to be cleared away once you hauled each other off to bed. “Did Ben have a fight last night or did you guys just go out?”

“No fight.” She shakes her head. “Next weekend, so we just got to go out. Although he wants to know if you would like to come to the fight.” You’ve met Benny and she thinks you like him, but she wants you to get to know him better. Which is why she had suggested they go to your party today instead of his friends’.

“If you want me to.” You don’t feel too excited to watch your daughter’s boyfriend get beat up, but you do want to get to know him better. Rach is so obviously head over heels for him.

“It’s up to you.” She smiles and looks back at Ben, curious to find Will here. “Um— what’s his brother doing here?”

“Whose brother?” Turning to follow her eyes, your head tilts slightly in interest. Santiago and Will are deep in conversation with Benny already. “That’s one of Santiago’s friends. Will.”

“Mom…” Rachel’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s Will Miller…Benny’s older brother.”

“That…” You swallow, slowly registering the situation as you watch the men interact. “That makes things interesting…” You’re dating a man who served with your daughter’s boyfriend…this is going to get complicated…

“Oh god.” Rachel bites her lip as Benny and Pope quickly break away and come over to the two of you. “So…”

“So, this is interesting.” You repeat the phrase almost disbelieving.

“Kind of a funny coincidence, huh?” Benny wraps his arms around Rachel and plants a kiss in her hair.

“I didn’t know.” Rachel promises you with a small shake of her head. “Shit, Ben. I can’t believe I didn’t know it.”

“I think I know why.” You observe, clearing your throat and accepting the comfort of Santiago’s arm around your waist as you look up (and up) at Ben. “I’m going to guess that your nickname while you were serving together was Taz?”

“Yeah.” Benny nods and looks back between all the other men. “Oh fuck, we’ve been just using our nicknames and they didn’t know.” He groans. "I'm sorry baby." He turns to Rachel with an apologetic look. "Pope was talking about his new girl and spending as much time as possible with her, so he missed the last fight you were at."

“It’s a little unconventional,” you admit, wondering what Santiago thinks of all this. “But not terrible, right?” As close in age as you and Rachel are, it wouldn’t be the first time you have had mutual friends. Just the first time you were ever dating mutual friends.

"He's a good guy." Pope assures you, like it's the first time you've met Benny. "And we can kick his ass if needed."

Benny snorts and rolls his eyes. "You wish, old man."

“Rach?” Your fingers run through her loose curls gently and you give her a questioning look. While this isn’t the day you want to have — after all, you do like Santiago — it’s ultimately up to her. Everything is and always has been in your life, and you made that decision for a reason.

"I don't think that you need to stop seeing Santiago just because he knows Ben." She rationalizes. "I think it's fine, what do you think?"

“Just as long as you’re comfortable with it.” That goes for the men involved, too. But they don’t seem to mind beyond being apologetic.

Rachel snorts and shrugs. "Just as long as they don't share sex stories." She giggles and shoots Santiago a smirk. "And we won't either."

“I was not planning on it, sweet pea.” You might be close, but that’s a step too far even for you. “Never ever.”

Agreeing completely, she walks up to Pope and gives him a hug. "So if you make my mom cry, I'll have my boyfriend beat you up." She teases.

“Got it.” She’s a grown woman, but he can’t resist the urge to mess with her thick hair, watching her face wrinkle in disapproval before she moves back to Benny, who smooths the familiar curls with care. “Now we just need Catfish to get here and we’ll have everybody.”

"I'm here!" A hand appears over the fence before he opens it, hat pulled low, and he grunts when he picks up the cooler full of ice and beer that he had stopped and picked up on the way. "Sorry I'm late."

“Fish!” Benny kisses the side of Rachel’s head before peeling off to grab the cooler from him and take it to the porch so his friend can catch his breath. He doesn’t see the tick in the tilt of your head or the way your eyes widen just a second later.

'Fish', or Francisco Morales, looks up and smirks at Benny when he grabs the cooler. Thankful, although he wouldn't make too much of a fuss about it. Getting older sucked and he's still feeling the effects of that workout he helped the other man do just two days ago when his normal sparring partner was sick. "'Bout time you made yourself useful." He huffs playfully and looking towards Pope to wave. Freezing with his arm halfway up in greeting when he sees someone that he had never expected to see before – you.

The way you shrink into yourself immediately is instinct. As much shock as anything else. But within seconds you’re stepping forward to block Rachel from view and shakily a demand an explanation. “What the shit is going on?” You hiss, though you’re not exactly sure who you’re talking to, you just don’t want to make a scene in front of your coworkers. They consider you to be such a calm, collected woman.

Frowning, Pope turns towards you, reaching out to touch your arm and stepping closer to you. "Babe— what's wrong? What are you talking about?" He follows your gaze back to Fish and he grunts in confusion. "Fish? He's another teammate. One of my best friends."

“Fuck.” Deflating on the spot, you feel like you could just collapse where you stand but that wouldn’t help the situation any. “We—we, um—know each other,” you explain quietly. “But it’s been a long time.”

Feeling like he's been kicked in the chest by one of those fucking mules, Frankie stumbles forward and murmurs your name softly. "I— what are you doing here?" He asks, frowning slightly.

“This is my house.” You wonder if Santiago even explained where he was inviting him, or if you have a nickname to their group just like they all do to each other. “I wouldn’t expect you to still remember my birthday.”

All the blood drains from his face and it falls into a wounded look. Realizing that you have to be Pope's girl. "I— remembered." He murmurs quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Seven billion people in the world. Figured someone else would have the same day too." It's almost a kick in the teeth, that comment of yours. Considering he had a fight with Marie because he had said your name this morning when he was talking to himself after waking up. You were the reason he had fought, again, with the mother of his child and she had pitched a fit and left. Making him wait on a babysitter so he could come to this party. To find out that it was for you. He's so fucking lucky that Marie isn't here. He clears his throat roughly and bites his lip. "Happy birthday, gatita." He uses the nickname from a million years ago and steps back. "I should go."

A press of overwhelming guilt and the instinct to stop him makes you reach out, grabbing his arm before you can stop yourself. “No. You shouldn’t.” You admit, even though it hurts.

"No," He shakes his head and gives you a wry smile. "I should." He sighs softly and looks over at Pope. "This is your girl, huh?" He asks, confusing the other man even more. "Keep her and take care of her." He tells him. "You'll regret it if you don't." He reaches for your hand and pries it off his arm gently, squeezing it before letting it go.

“Where’s Fish going?” Benny returns from the deck just a second too late, but just in time to watch Frankie leave again and see the bewildered looks on his friends’ faces.

"I don't fucking know." The entire day has been one big bag of surprises and Pope doesn't particularly like surprises. He turns towards you for some kind of explanation, although the nickname gatita sounds familiar, like Fish has mentioned it before. "You know Frank?"

“We grew up together.” It’s the best you can hiccup out before you take off like a shot, following Frankie through the gate. “Frankie!” He’s already down at the street, but he pauses when you call his name and it gives you time to catch up.

Waiting for you as you rush towards him, Frankie takes off his Standard Oil hat and scratches his hair. Struck by how nostalgic the moment is, waiting for you to catch up to him so many times once upon a lifetime ago. “Look, I’m sorry.” He sighs when you are closer. “I didn’t know, okay? I’m going.”

“I think you should stay.” Not as fit as you once were, you puff a little and put your arms around your waist. “We, uh—for Santiago, if nothing else. You’re his friend and I—I’m somebody you used to know.” And there is so, so much to tell him…

The idea that you might want him there makes him pause and he frowns slightly as he stares at you for a moment. “Only if you’re sure.” He still hesitates. “It’s your birthday after all.”

“It is.” And you’re not sure. You’re really not. But since he’s reappearing in your life almost twenty-five years later, the lump in your throat is winning over logic.

“Last time I saw you was on your birthday.” Frankie frowns, wondering how he could have been such a shit head back then. “Seems like the circle is complete.”

“Eighteen was a long time ago.” It was right before he left for boot camp, and you’d been pushing him to commit to you before he left. A stupid thing to do at such a young age. You know that now. But you were so stupid in love with him back then and there was so much going on.

“Yes it was.” He can admit that, biting his lip and shuffling slightly. “And I was an asshole.” He had broken his own damn heart, even if he hadn’t known it at the time.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” Squeezing your eyes shut makes you feel like your heart is going to burst, but the universe has decided that it’s time to finally time to come clean. “I was scared. And I’m sorry.”

“I was stupid.” Frankie has so many regrets from that time of his life, just compounded over the years and he almost steps closer to you, but he doesn’t. He can’t, he doesn’t have that right anymore. “I proved you right. I didn’t come back.” The argument is still confusing in his memory, just as much as it had confused him then. You had pushed to get married before he left and he had wanted to wait. It had become a sticking point and in his stubbornness, he had broken up with you.

“You didn’t come back and you didn’t have a cell phone…and then your parents moved.” With their only child moved on, Frankie’s father had accepted a transfer upstate from the Standard Heating & Oil Co that both of your fathers worked for. “I had—I had no way to talk to you. To—to tell you—” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, surprising you since you thought you had cried every last tear you had over Frankie Morales.

“Tell me?” Frankie frowns and he does step closer, hating to see tears in your eyes again on a birthday. Especially because they seem to be because of him again. “Tell me what, gatita?”

“Fair warning.” Wiping at the corners of your eyes, you can’t quite look him in his even when you straighten out again. “You’ll hate me. And you probably should, at this point.”

“I don’t think I could hate you.” Frankie admits quietly, unable to even imagine a world where he would.

“You might.” Wiping your hands down your face and breathing out a deep, frustrated groan, you look up again to see the eyes of the boy who was your first everything looking back at you, and you crumble. “I didn’t have any way to contact you,” you repeat again, knowing you could and should have tried harder anyway. “And I was scared of losing you because — because I was pregnant.”

The way his brows pull down is instantaneous and he immediately puts his hands on his hips and twists around as he absorbs your news. “You— you were pregnant?” He chokes out, looking back at you with a wounded expression. “I— what? No? What— pregnant?”

“That’s…that’s why I was pushing you so hard to propose.” You admit, eyes cast down at the ground.

“You didn’t say a word.” Frankie shakes his head. “Why— why didn’t you tell me? If I had known—”

“I thought if I told you that you’d only run away from me faster.” Which, at eighteen years old, had seemed like pretty sound logic to you. “By the time I was scared enough to just want you there regardless, it was too late. You were…you were gone.”

“By the time—” he shakes his head, eyes wide and he swallows harshly. “What happened? Don’t— I— what are you saying?”

"I'm saying that you have a daughter." A fact which sticks in your throat now like you had tried to swallow a pinecone. "Who is smart, and kind, and headstrong, and stubborn as hell. But she's doing so well for herself that a lot of that stubbornness just slides right by."

Frankie blanks out for a minute, staring at you before he turns away. Grappling with his emotions as he bends over and tries to take a breath, groaning slightly in disbelief. “No.” He shakes his head, turning back to you. “No! Don’t tell me that!”

"I'm sorry." It isn't worth much, as apologies go, but you kneel down beside him on the grass and wonder if he'll be mad enough to strike out if you put a hand on his back. "I really am. You should have known a long time ago."

“Twenty-four,” he chokes out. “You are telling me I have a twenty-four year old daughter?” His face screws up in the regret and tears. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”

"I had no way to tell you." It's a lame excuse, or at least it feels lame, and you do rest your hand on his back but it's so gentle you don't even know if he can feel it.

“Oh fuck….fuck, fuck, fuck…..” Frankie moans, closing his eyes and his fists bunch against his thighs. “I-I-I— don’t— I can’t –”

"Frankie?" His breathing sounds panicked, and you soothe one hand in circles around his back. "Breathe, okay? Just breathe. Everything's okay. She—she's grown. She's raised. No one is asking you to do anything."

“I—I missed it.” He manages. “I missed everything.” Closing his eyes as he realizes that his trajectory of his life would have been vastly different if he had known.

Oh. It's the opposite. The exact opposite. He's not panicked that you're going to expect him to stay, like you thought he was. He's upset that he missed Rachel's childhood. "There's...there's still the whole rest of her life ahead."

“I— I should have been there.” He drops his head down even more. “Fuck— you must hate me. She must hate me.”

"It's my fault you didn't know. Why would I hate you?" As much as it has ever hurt to lose him, you've never actually hated him. Just missed him. Which isn't the same although they can be confused for each other. "And Rachel— Frankie, she knows the truth. That we were young and lost touch."

“Rachel.” He shakes his head, focusing on her name and it’s so goddamn familiar. “Her name is Rachel?”

"My aunt Rachel died right before she was born," you explain, wondering if he even remembers meeting your mother's sister a million and a half times at different family functions while you were together. He was always invited for every holiday.

“God.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, hating that he had been such a fucking idiot back then. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.

"I am, too." More sorry than you can possibly say, but what else can you do at this point but try to move forward?

“So I managed to ruin another birthday of yours.” He pushes aside the grief and sorrow that is threatening to overwhelm him and locks it down. Compartmentalize, shutting down, it’s what he knows best. He can freak out about this later when he’s left.

"It's not ruined." It's awkward, and it's uncomfortable, and you're not really sure what to do now. But it's not ruined. "It's—it's not—I don't know what today is, but it's..." you sigh heavily and stand up again. "I don't know, Frankie. If you want to leave that's up to you. But our lives cross now, and I know...I know Rachel would want to meet you."

“Oh god. Is she— is she there? Here?” He asks, shaking his head. “Can I meet her?”

"If I wasn't going to let you meet her, I would have just kept my mouth shut about the whole thing," you needle him gently. Just wishing he could or would do as much as crack a smile. It seems desperately needed.

The huff, the quarter of a smile is almost involuntary. Almost in disbelief and he looks over at you with a heavy stare. “I want to meet her.” He tells you quietly. “If I had known, things would have been so different for us, gatita.”

"No use crying over spilled milk, I think." Twenty-four years of regret is a lot to process, but you nod in acknowledgement. Just a small motion of thanks that he is at least saying out loud what you suspected.

“Fuck.” He huffs again and uncurls his hands to wipe them on his jeans. “I’m nervous.”

"Telling you not to be seems cruel," you huff, though you're not sure what else to say. "No one planned this. No one saw this coming. It will be as much of a shock to her as it is to you. As—as it was to me to see you."

“Forty-two.” He shakes his head and looks back over at you in awe. “You don’t look a day over fucking eighteen.” It might be a small embellishment, but you look amazing and so much like the girl he has loved for so long.

"You're not so bad yourself." Santiago may be on the other side of that fence, but a part of your heart has always and will always belong to scrawny Frankie Morales from Brooklyn. Even if he isn't scrawny anymore – which is a thing you can't help but notice.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, centering himself before he nods. “We should go back.” He murmurs.

"I promise she's not scary." Although you'll understand when it is a complete shock to her. And to the others. "Just...let me tell her first? I ran after you so fast that I didn't explain to anyone else yet."

Both of you stand up and he scrubs his hands on his jeans again. “Sure, sure.” He agrees, knowing that it could be sort of a shock, even if she’s known about him her whole life.

"Remember to breathe," you advise him with a wry chuckle, even though it's good advice for you too.

“When I remember how.” Frankie snorts, slightly pacing in place as he glances towards the back yard gate.

"Come on." Nodding toward the yard, you take a step in that direction to see if it will spur him on. The urge to offer him your hand is misplaced, and you have to quell it by putting your hands in your jeans pockets. "We've kept them waiting long enough."

Frankie exhales roughly and trails along behind you, wanting you to take the lead. He has to tell you about Luna at some point, but he will do that after he meets the daughter he never knew he had.

“Sorry about that.” Once you’re on the other side of the gate again, you see Rachel standing in the midst of Santiago, Benny, and Will all looking concerned. “That was…unexpected? Shall we say?”

“Mom?” Rachel moves closer to you and frowns as her eyes slide back to where Frankie is hanging back. “Why are you upset with Fish?” She asks softly, looking back at the other three men and then back at you. “You said you knew him? When? I don’t remember you dating him.” Your dates had been few and far between, even rarer that she had met them, but she would have remembered someone called Catfish.

“I’m not upset, sweet pea. I’m just surprised.” It’s a lie, but a prudent one. You are upset, and it’s because your little slice of peace has been disturbed. But no one did that on purpose, so you’ll just have to live with it. “Why don’t we—we should talk about this inside.”

“No. Here. Now.” She has inherited her stubbornness both you and Frankie. And she’s eyeing the man she had met a few months ago and hung out with suspiciously. He looks like he’s about to be sick and she’s not above taking a baseball bat to his knees if needed, whether or not she had liked him before.

“Rach, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmur, looking around the backyard. Most people are milling about and a few are in the pool, but they obviously all know something is up.

Rachel stares at you for a minute and then she shoots Frankie a glare because you look so upset before she turns around and marches towards the house.

“You guys, too,” you decide, figuring it’s probably best to get all of this over with. Santiago is dating you, Benny is dating Rachel, and Will is bound to find everything out soon enough.

There’s not a lot of hope for him with the glare shot his way, so Frankie hangs back for a moment. Reconciling the fact that Rachel is the girl that Benny has been dating. His daughter is dating his friend. His friend who has been bragging about his girl to him. And their sex life. He’s going to throw up or punch Ben in the mouth.

Once everyone is inside, you check to make sure the bathroom is empty and close the sliding doors tightly. Everyone outside can wait. This is far more important. “Everything is okay,” you start, making sure that right off the bat Rachel knows you aren’t mad and Santiago understands you don’t hate his best friend. His best friend. Fuck. “It was just—as surprising as it was to find out Santiago and Ben are friends…this is an even bigger surprise.”

Frankie leans on the side of the wall, staring at the tip of his boot as he tries to wait for you to tell Rachel. He can’t blurt it out, she’s your kid. Not his— not really. He hasn’t done a goddamn thing to help raise her, but he has to admire the job you’ve done.

"The thing is, Rach." Blowing out a breath, you reach out for your daughter's hand and just pray she won't hate you. "You wouldn't remember when I dated Frankie. Because it was before you were born."

“Hermano.” Pope’s eyes widen and the nickname clicks. He knew he had heard it before. “Gatita? This is—” he whistles quietly. “Mierda.”

When Rachel still looks confused, you breathe deeply and try your best not to shake. Or to chicken out. "There are a lot of blanks to fill in along the way, but...sweet pea...Frankie is—" Oh god, you're going to throw up. You're absolutely going to throw up. "He's your father."

You could hear a pin drop, or a mouse fart, the room is so quiet. Every head snapping towards Frankie in judgement and he doesn’t pay them any attention, focusing on the one person right now that matters. His daughter.

"I don't understand." Rachel stands bog still, clutching your hand with eyes as wide as saucers as she looks frantically between you and Frankie. She had liked this man. He is a good friend to Ben. But now she doesn't know what to think.

“Your mom and I were high school sweethearts.” Frankie isn’t sure what you might have told her, but he’s going to tell her what he knows to be true. “More like middle school, but you know?” He shrugs. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.” He promises. “I swear I didn’t know.”

Will sighs from the other side of the room. “Oh shit.”

"Everything I ever told you about him was the truth." You had worked hard to always be fair to Frankie when you were raising Rachel, even if it led to never telling her very much about him unless she asked. "He didn't know, and I had no way of telling him. It's been...it's been twenty-five years since we even spoke to each other. So you can understand why I was surprised to see him walk in today."

“And he’s friends with your boyfriend and mine.” There’s a note of disbelief in her voice that Frankie doesn’t blame her for.

“We were on the same team for years.” Frankie explains. “I was their pilot.”

“That’s why we lost touch,” you remind your daughter gently. “He left for boot camp.” Considering Ben isn’t the first Army boy that Rachel has dated, you have always sort of had a suspicion that she was subconsciously searching for her dad in these men. It just never occurred to you that it would actually work.

She looks at him, almost accusatory in her gaze. “Why did you never come back?” She demands. “If you loved her, why did you just walk away?”

That makes Frankie wince, and he shoves his hands in his pockets again. “Have you ever done something dumb and been too goddamn proud to admit you were wrong?” He asks quietly, and Pope, despite his own feelings about the entire situation, won’t let Frankie’s daughter twist in the wind.

“He used to talk about his gatita.” He interjects. “Regretting not making up with her and wishing he could get in contact with her.”

“It was harder back then, honey.” The gentle reminder is important, because Rachel might not have grown up in a world of luxury but she’s definitely never known a world without cell phones or social media. “When I told your grandparents that you were coming, we moved. It was just a little further outside the city, but the place was bigger and the neighborhood was safer. Your grandma found a better job and— and with neither of our families still in Brooklyn, we couldn’t have found each other. Even if your dad had come back looking for me, or tried to call our old apartment? We wouldn’t have been there.” At least she hasn’t ripped her hand out of yours yet. You’re considering that a good thing “We were kids, and we made mistakes. Very big ones. But you know he didn’t leave because he didn’t love you.”

“I would have never.” He promises, his voice thick with emotions. He shakes his head and frowns slightly. He doesn’t know why he didn’t realize who she was to him now that he knows. She looks just like a perfect combination of you and him, with your nose, thank God. But her ears curl just like his.

“Oh god…” In trying to process everything, Rachel glances up and looks at Frankie’s hat again, groaning to herself and wiping one hand at the bottom of her neck just like he does — but neither of them ever noticed the simile gesture. “I always just thought the hat was a funny coincidence,” she admits with a huff.

“My hat?” He takes it off and scrubs his hair quickly before putting it back on his head. “Had it since I was a kid.”

The Miller brothers look confused, and you offer them a wilted smile with your explanation. "Both of our fathers, Rach's grandfathers...they both worked for Standard for forever. That's how Frankie and I met."

“Oh shit.” Benny frowns slightly and moves over to Rachel’s side, squeezing her hip supportively.

"I know this is a lot." It's a lot for everyone, but you're mostly just talking to Rachel. Your whole adult life has been lived for your baby girl and now emotions are unraveling at light speed. "But nothing has to change. You're a grown woman, sweet pea. And whatever relationship you want with your Dad is up to you."

“I’ve spent time with him.” She admits quietly. “After a fight of Benny’s.” She looks back at Frankie and bites her lip. “But I’d like to get to know him as my dad.”

"I know this just got sprung on everybody," you murmur again. The fact is that right now you have a yard full of people and all you want to do is disappear under your comforter and pretend it isn't happening. "But...life throws you curveballs, right?"

“Yeah.” Frankie huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling like his entire world has turned on its head. Wishing like hell he could snort a line but he promised himself he wouldn’t touch that shit again.

"We should give you guys some privacy." When Will finally speaks up, it's to motion to his brother and to Pope that maybe they should step outside. There are a lot of emotions creating tension in this room and they're not going to be made easier by having an audience.

Pope shuffles slightly, wanting to stay, but he also needs to think about this entire thing. The situation is blowing up and he doesn’t want to make things worse.

"Maybe you could throw the burgers on the grill? And we'll be out in a few minutes?" He had offered to be in charge of the grill today but that was before everything had gone to hell and now you have no idea what he's thinking. "And I promise we'll talk through everything, too."

“Of course.” He nods and doesn’t lean in to kiss you like he might have just a few minutes before walking in this house. Feeling almost guilty for the entire situation right now.

That missing kiss is enough to tell you that everything has changed. Santiago has never shied away from affection or from public displays, and this is exactly the time that a partner might have offered that kind of comfort. Whatever you end up talking to him about later, you're now prepared for him to end things. But you can't fault him for that. You had a baby with his best friend – even if you didn't know each other then.

“Baby?” Benny looks at Rachel, checking with her before he leaves.

"It's okay," she promises him, going up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I'll find you when we come back out." And she's going to find a White Claw or six in the garage fridge, too. Fuck.

“Okay.” He shoots Frankie a worried look, not liking the despair on his friend’s face and shuffles to the door.

"I figured it might be easiest to just tell them the facts up front and then let all of us talk," you tell them both, now wondering if that was the right move at all.

“Yeah.” Frankie nods, understanding why you did it, but he looks over at Rachel with regret and waits for her to say something.

"Do you, actually...do you mind if I talk to Frankie—" Rachel hums awkwardly over it, before reconsidering. "If I talk to my father alone for a few minutes?" She sort of feels like they're ganging up on him, and while she has questions and she's sure that you do, too...hers are going to be very different from yours.

“I don’t mind.” Frankie glances back over at you for approval.

"I should go make the rounds outside." As much as you don't want to, it is your party and they are your guests out there. Most of whom noticed that something odd has happened even if they don't know what. Still, you nod and lean over to hug your daughter. "Come back out when you’re ready. Ben looked like he'll worry until you do."

“I will.” She promises and Frankie catches your eye as you glance over at him.

“Thanks.” He murmurs, thanking you for the opportunity to talk to Rachel. He knows you could have been very different with this entire thing. Blowing out a breath when you walk out and shut the door, he looks back at his grown daughter. “So hit me with it.” He tells her.

For a second Rachel is dumbfounded. She just stands and stares at him, but then her shoulders slump and she shrugs and she blows out a long sigh. “I guess I know the real reason my middle name is Francine,” she poses, shaking her head. “Mom said it was because The Nanny is her favourite show and I completely fucking believe that because she worships Fran Drescher, but I’m willing to bet that’s one of only like six lies she’s ever told me in my whole life and it’s actually because of you.”

“Francisco Alberto Morales.” He introduces himself to her quietly, nodding and trying not to be humbled by the fact that you gave your daughter a version of his name. Something to connect the two of you.

“And you guys were…you were together for a long time?” She knows the story. She’s heard it from you over and over again. But something in her feels like she needs to hear it confirmed from him.

“Seventh grade until her 18th birthday.” He frowns at the way that makes him sound, how callous it could be construed. He has just walked away after so long.

“And she wanted to get married.” Rachel prompts, needing these landmarks of the story confirmed for her.

“We had a plan.” He shuffles slightly and looks around the neat and well decorated home. You’ve done well for yourself and it shows. “I was going to get through boot camp and my ‘A’ school while she started college and then when I got to my first duty station, she would transfer to a school nearby.” His shoulders round when he remembers that last fight, the missing piece now clicked into place and with maturity, he can see that you had been terrified, not overbearing. “Her birthday, she blind-sided me with getting married.”

“She wanted to skip forward and get married first, and you didn’t agree.” She can see it from both sides, now. As an adult it makes sense why an eighteen-year-old planning his life would think his girlfriend was just trying to trap him — or even that she wanted the wedding more than she wanted him. “But…you never got married at all? Even after Mom?”

“No.” Marie isn’t married to him, he couldn’t do that even if he had been inclined to. She was still technically married to some guy in her past, or so she claimed. “But….”

“Oh god, don’t say Marie.” Rachel bursts out, talking before she can even think. “She’s awful, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. I didn’t feel like I had a right to say anything before but I totally do now and she’s abusive and terrible, and I will absolutely help you leave her if you need help. I’ll babysit Luna anytime and — oh my god Luna is my sister—”

Frankie shuffles and looks down at his feet. Marie hadn’t been at her best the first time that Rachel had come to the bar after the fight. She had been pissed off because his hearing had been postponed again and he wasn’t closer to getting his pilot’s license back.

“Look, if you’re happy, it’s whatever.” Rachel shuffles, not realizing she’s moving the same way as Frankie, and shrugs. She senses she’s hit a nerve. “I’ll still help with Luna whenever you need. I—I always wanted a baby sister…”

“She’s not bad.” Frankie had dealt with her for a long time and it seemed harder to leave than it was to stay. “That was a bad night.”

“If you say so.” She doesn’t believe him, but the very first day she meets her father isn’t the day to push too hard.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he looks around the house again. “Did you and your mom struggle?” He asks quietly.

“My grandparents helped.” The short answer is yes, but she doesn’t want to make him feel guilty. “We lived with them when I was little, then we moved down here when I was about thirteen. Mom got a job with Disney.”

Frankie nods, frowning slightly. He has his retirement and his Thrift Savings Plan from the military, which he will hopefully be able to not use once he gets his license back. He’s not in the best position to offer any kind of help, but he will. “You’re in school, right?” He asks.

“I’m getting my masters at UCF.” Rachel nods again. “I still live with Mom. Here, I mean. She didn’t make me leave or anything when I started college.”

She’s dedicated. Frankie knows that college, especially graduate programs, are expensive. “That’s good.” He bites his lip and wonders if the offer would offend her. “I have my G.I. Bill.” He mentions. “I can gift it to a spouse – which I don’t have.” He shrugs. “Or a child.”

It's a very sweet offer, but that doesn't really surprise her. She already knows Frankie is a sweet guy. "Save it for Luna," she tells him. "I have great scholarships, and that way she'll be able to look forward to school without worrying about student loans."

It’s feels like a rejection, even though he knows it’s not. He nods and clears his throat. “That’s good.” He has an odd sense of pride for her achievements, even though he had done nothing to contribute.

"What do you want to know about me?" There's probably plenty, but now Rachel feels a bit self-conscious. She's at least heard stories about him. All he knows about her is whatever Ben has told him.

“Everything.” The word tumbles out before he can stop himself and he looks embarrassed. “I— I want to know everything.”

"Everything is a lot," she laughs, but understands. She wants to know everything about him too. She's wondered about her father forever. "What if...what if we did some father/daughter stuff? I could come over and spend time with you and Luna or we could grab a drink sometimes? Just...exist together. And all the get to know you stuff will come in time?"

“Yeah.” He nods eagerly and smiles at her, his eyes crinkling and his face lighting up at the idea. “I like that. Any time. Any time at all.”

“Okay.” She’s feeling bone tired by all of this so she can only imagine how you and Frankie feel, but as Rachel moves over to the notepad on the far table to write her number down for him, she purses her lips slightly and tilts her head. Her thinking face. “Don’t…please don’t be too hard on Mom?” She asks, holding the slip of paper out to him a second later. “She doesn’t ever say it, but I know she’s missed you. And she worked so hard to raise me alone, she just…she deserves the world.”

“I’m not mad at your mother, querida.” He promises, taking the paper and looking down at it before he folds it up carefully and tucks it into his pocket. “I’m mad at myself.” He explains. “Too goddamn proud to admit I was wrong, and I apparently missed out on a hell of a life.” He looks up at her with pride. “And a hell of a daughter.”

“Well shucks, Paw,” she laughs, obviously very touched by the sentiment. “I guess we both have a bunch to catch up on. But we can do that.”

He snorts and huffs out a grin. “By the way, I’m going to punch your boyfriend in the mouth.” He warns Rachel. “So don’t go screaming at me when it happens.”

“Benny?” She makes an audible huffing sound. “What did he do?”

“You’ll find out.” He won’t say now, but he shrugs. “He deserves it, and he’ll know it.”

“Seems weird, but okay.” Men do weird things sometimes. She’s not so young that she doesn’t know that.

He chuckles and sweeps his head off his head again. “You look like your mother when you wrinkle your nose.”

“It’s funny.” She wrinkles her nose again but consciously, wondering if she really does look like you that way. “She always said I had your smile. And your ears.”

Frankie reaches out and brushes her curls back behind her ears and smiles. “You do have my ears.” He admits.

“Is it weird? She asks, stifling a laugh. “To realize that?”

“Surreal.” He admits with a sigh. “I don’t know what to think. I went from being too old to have a six-month-old, to being the dad to a grown ass woman.”

“I was teasing Mom about wanting a little sister last night,” Rachel admits with a groan at the irony. “Shows me right.”

Frankie smirks slightly and shrugs. “Isn’t life sometimes a kick in the teeth?”

******

“What a Fucking kick in the teeth.” Will pushes out a sigh in the backyard, cracking open the beer he grabbed from the cooler Fish brought.

“Yeah.” Pope frowns at the grill, pushing the perfectly aligned burgers with the spatula. “Who would have thought?”

"What are you gonna do?" It's not as though Pope has had a lot of time to think, but Will knows him long enough to know that the wheels are already spinning. They have all heard Fish talk about his gatita, and now that they know who she is? It at least warrants a reaction.

Pope glances over at Will before he looks back at the grill, his movements a little stiffer than just a moment before. “What can I do?” He asks rhetorically. “She was his first.”

"Just because she was his first doesn't mean that he has to be her last," Benny offers, not quite sure what else to say. They all know that Pope had been starting to fall for you, even if it had never been said. Now he is very obviously pulling back.

"No, but she would want him to be." He admits quietly. "She had told me about her first love. She didn't tell me his name." He says pointedly when Benny opens his mouth to ask the obvious question. "But she told me enough to know that she's still in love with him. And we know that Frankie never got over her."

"So it's not about stepping back," Will observes, sipping his beer in the hot Florida sun. "It's about letting them be together."

Closing the grill, Pope sighs, hands on his hips as he looks around the backyard and comes to his decision. "Don't you think Fish deserves to be happy?" He asks quietly.

"Of course he does." The idea that Will might think otherwise practically makes him clutch his proverbial pearls.

"And fuck knows we want Marie gone," Benny huffs under his breath.

"His gatita is the one to make both of those wishes come true." He's sure of it and he will bow out like a gentleman. It's the least he can do since the last half year of hell in his personal life is partially his responsibility. He had pushed Fish to come to South America. Pope looks back at both of the other men. "Want to help me fix Fish's life?"

Benny is the first to smirk, clapping his hands together and rubbing them dramatically. "You gonna pull a binder out of your ass or are we talking this one through?"

"First, I'm going to get really drunk and pretend like I'm not falling on a sword." Pope snorts, snatching the beer out of Will's hand and taking a drink. "Then, we're gonna figure out how to get Fish custody of Luna." He tells them quietly. "That little girl is the reason he's still with Marie."

"We just need proof that she's the one with the drug problem." Will mumbles, not wanting to say those words too loud. "And we need his hearing to go through so he can get his damn license back."

"Yeah." He sighs and points at Will. "Can you talk to your ex?" Pope asks, knowing it's a big favor. "She's still working in the DA's office, right? Maybe she can help us? Or know someone who can?" Being a paralegal isn't the same as being an assistant DA, but she knows people.

"I'll see if she can at least point me in the right direction," Will nods in agreement, knowing that as uncomfortable as talking to his ex-fiancée will be, it's definitely the right course of action. "She always like Fish. It shouldn't be too hard to get her to give an e-mail or phone number of who can help."

“Marie isn’t going be happy learning about Rachel.” Pope glances at Benny. “You know that.”

"She's going to be furious." Ben agrees, wiping his hand through his hair and blowing out a raspberry. "She's gonna think Fish kept it from her on purpose."

“Poor bastard looked like he was about to fall over.” Pope sighs. “I hate this.”

"We're gonna make it work," Benny promises him. "Sorry you got shoved into the middle of it, though."

“It��s okay.” It wasn’t and it actually really hurt that he was going to have to end things with you and pretend that he’s just friends with you, but his brother is worth it.

"Better to find out now than a year from now," Will offers, knowing it isn't a whole lot of comfort. But at least it's honest.

“Yeah.” You walk out of the house and he immediately turns to watch you. “Better now.” Santi murmurs, his heart aching.

******

Most people leave around dinner time, splintering off to nighttime plans or to go home to their families. Santiago, Frankie, and the Miller brothers stayed long enough to help you clean up and Rachel is loading the dishwasher when you realize Santiago has gone temporarily missing. On a hunch, you go down the hall to your bedroom and frown to see him there, tucking things back into his duffel bag.

"Decided not the stay the night?"

He hates that you caught him and he stands tall after shoving in a t-shirt and tamping down the guilty feeling. “It’s been a…surprising day.” He tells you. “Figured it might be better to change the plan for tonight.”

"Just for tonight?" You have a feeling you know the answer, but you want it out in the open. No questions or doubts.

His eyes slide away from you and for a moment, he falters. Wondering if this is the wrong thing to do. “No.” He admits, walking over to you and cupping your cheeks in his hand. “I am— was— falling in love with you.” He won’t lie to you. “But you’ve been in love with Frank for far longer than you’ve loved me.”

It's enormously frustrating for him to be both presumptuous and right. The last thing you want is to admit it, especially as tears press at the back of your eyes, and so a protest comes out of your mouth instead. "He's with someone else," you point out, knowing that someone mentioned it earlier. One of the Miller brothers, you think. "He's—he's—it's so complicated, Santi."

“I know it is.” His brow pinches together and he leans forward to kiss your forehead. “And if it’s too complicated, I won’t let you twist in the wind.” He promises. “But you deserve to find out if your love for him is still there.”

"This isn't how I saw today ending." Overwhelmed and next to tears was definitely not on the docket, but you're not going to beg him to stay. That's not the kind of girl you are anymore. You haven't been in a long time. "What a shitty birthday."

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Pope closes his own eyes and leans his forehead against yours. “I can stay if you want.” He offers in a whisper, feeling guilty all over as his resolve crumbles.

"You'd feel guilty if you did." He's a good man, that's why. It's part of what you liked so much about him when you met, and part of what's grown on you. "Like you were betraying Frankie."

“I would still stay.” He promises.

"You'd feel guilty and then you'd start to resent me." The defense mechanism of crossing your arms over your chest might guard you in spirit, but it doesn't stop you from feeling like utter dogshit in this moment. "Just...know that this isn't how I wanted things to go between us. That's all."

“I know.” He murmurs softly, the slight smile on his lips ironic. “I know, baby. I didn’t want this either.” He admits. “But I’m still going to be here for you. That won’t change.”

“Could I just ask you one favor before you go?” All things considered, it’s very minor and sort of the least you could possibly ask.

“Anything.” Pope would do anything for you, he’s proving that, but he wouldn’t deny you simple request if it’s in his power to take care of it.

“I don’t know if you’re going to see them at all tonight or not but just…don’t tell Rachel yet? She’s going to spend the night with Ben again and I know her. She’ll come straight home to be with me instead. I don’t want to ruin her night.”

He chuckles softly, aware of what that says about you as a mom. “You are a good woman.” He murmurs, leaning in kissing your forehead again. “I won’t say anything to her.”

“I’ll tell her tomorrow.” You promise him. It’s not that you want to hide things from her — it’s that you know she’ll act rashly out of loyalty to you if she finds out tonight. She might even break up with Ben, which is the last thing she actually wants or that you want for her.

“When you tell her is up to you.” He would never think that he should have an input on your relationship with Rachel or when you tell her. “Whenever you are comfortable.”

“Well…” A shrug and a half sigh are the best you can do, not really sure of what else to say. Maybe you’ll get on Pet Finder tonight and look for a cat. Or three.

“Oh…” Pope reaches into his bag and pulls out your gift. “I didn’t want to give this to you in front of everyone.” He tells you quietly. “But this is for you.”

“You didn’t have to.” Especially now. Especially with everything that’s happened today. But you still smile weakly and accept the bag. Yup. It’s gonna be me and three cranky, elderly cats. That’s my future. “I—um, thank you. It’s…very sweet of you. You’re a very sweet person.”

“No, I’m not.” Pope snorts as he steps back. “But you are worth the effort.”

Impulsively, it does make you want to ask why he’s leaving, then. But you know the answer. You know this is about you and Frankie having a past and that nothing is going to change Santiago’s loyalty to his best friend. What’s even more annoying is that you like that about him, it hits harder and hurts more. All you can say without letting the emotions through the floodgates is just to excuse yourself to grab the book of his that you borrowed because it’s downstairs in the living room.

Staring at the door, Pope sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket to text Will. Deciding that he needs a drink after the emotional rollercoaster of the day.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

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lostwords-found · 2 months

Text

So that last post by Alesis Newman, the one that was locked by "BetterTheNew", was dated January 3 2018. Eight months before her previous post.

The police files on Dr Samuel Webber were dated April 3 2009. Eight months before the date in his journal.

Dr Samuel Webber murdered his ex and then was turned into a tree. We don't know what happened to Alesis Newman's ex before she turned herself into some kind of coral creature, but she was taking bereavement leave at the end. Out of death, something is trying to be born. Or reborn...

...Oh yeah, and let's not even go near this other (lonely, eye-encrusted) rabbithole, let alone down it:

Norris read Dr. Webber's case, about a man who murdered his lover rather than lose her and then was trapped alone in a walled garden, in denial about what he had done and eternally haunted by her voice, with only a small piece of himself remaining aware and perpetually terrified but unable to voice its fear. Cool! Yeah. That's definitely... that's definitely not significant or deeply upsetting in any way.

But Chester... Chester read Alesis Newman's case, about a woman who intentionally destroyed herself in the wake of a lover whom she saw as trying to change her into the person he wanted her to be--and replaced herself with something new and inhuman. Something that has her eyes.

And by post 13, using her paralysis computer, Alesis is writing with her eyes. So is that actually her writing? If it's not, when in that sequence of posts did it stop being her? What does "no longer her" actually mean in this context? Certainly, she's becoming something that the Alesis of eight months earlier, the Alesis of the immediately-deleted fourteenth post, would no longer identify with--if some part of her still existed.

Cool. Yeah. That's definitely not significant... or deeply upsetting... in any way.

OK but I said let's not go down that rabbithole, so let's forget I just said any of that and go back to talking about the post dates, yeah?

Yeah.

So, sometimes some of these cases have some interesting correspondences with TMA statements, so there might be something there. Alesis started that thread, opening up to everyone about her journey to creating a better her, on June 20, 2018. I wonder if there were any TMA statements dated June of 2018?

Case #0181206 (June 12, 2018)

Statement of unknown bystander regarding an encounter with The Archivist.

...Oh.

Okay, well, that's... interesting, but not necessarily meaningful. Let's try this: the last date in her transformation/replacement, the last point where maybe there was still something left of the original "her," was September 3, 2018. Anything interesting happen in TMA in September of 2018?

Case #0182509-A (September 25, 2018)

Original recording of events leading to the disappearances of Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Alice Tonner and Peter Lukas.

...Ah. Ha. Um. Well, that could also be an interesting coincidence. What about that deleted 14th post that was somehow eight months earlier, back in January? The one with an Alesis who still tried to cry out against the thing she was becoming?

There's nothing in January, but... oh... right.

Case #0170908 (August 7, 2017 )

Statement of Elias Bouchard, regarding the dreams of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, currently unresponsive.

...

Case #0181502 (February 15, 2018)

Statement of Oliver Banks, regarding his dreams and trying to run away. Statement given directly to Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, currently unresponsive.

...January of 2018, Jonathan Sims was in a coma. September of 2018, the Archivist received the final mark that would enable Jonah's ritual.

January through September of 2018 in the world of Protocol, something was trying to be born into a physical form, replacing Alesis Newman.

Cool, I say through gritted teeth. Yeah. That's definitely not significant, or deeply upsetting, in. any. way.

#red string boarding it up in the house tonight #chester I *fucking* see you #🙃🙂🙃🙂🙃🙂🙃#i'm FINE it's FINE everything is FINE #tmagp speculation #tmagp 23 #tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers #the magnus protocol spoilers #tma spoilers #the magnus archives spoilers #pondering magpods

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lot-of-nothing · 5 months

Text

Entwined (Ch. 5)

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

A first date???

Warnings: Sexual innuendos and working through internalized homophobia

Author’s Note: No beta but this chapter took me wayyyy too long. This week was crazy with getting a new apartment states away and defending my thesis 😵‍💫

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4

Jacob nervously slipped into the kitchen as Melissa waited expectantly for a ziti you requested to finish baking. He attempted to keep space between himself and the Italian - for his own safety of course. The space between the two roommates had grown after he confronted Melissa a few nights ago about seeing her kiss you. Tonight he was looking to mend the bond between them.

He leaned on the kitchen island, hands clasped and eyes studying the countertop, “I wanted to, uh... apologize for what happened a few nights ago. I shouldn’t have been so abrasive.”

The redhead only offered him a momentary glance which was harsh and skeptical. It was clear she wasn’t interested in having any conversation about the events Jacob witnessed. While Melissa continued giving Jacob the cold shoulder, he wanted to make it clear he was there to support her, “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.” “There isn’t anything to talk about.” Melissa quickly responded in a monotone with her back to Jacob so she could go about her business of pulling the ziti from the oven. She placed the baking dish on the top of the stove, and took a deep breath as she pulled the oven mitts from her hands and tossed them onto the counter. Spinning to face her roommate, she cocked her head and forced herself to make peace with the young man, “Thank you, Jacob.”

“I found a new puzzle for tonight... if you would like.” The young man gestured towards the dining room where he left the puzzle, earning a smile from the redhead.

With a flick of her hand, Melissa turned off the oven and folded her arms over her chest, “I would like.”

When Melissa picked up your phone call and wedged her phone between her ear and shoulder, she had no idea you were sitting outside her house. Before she could get a word in edgewise, you spoke - trying your best to sound smooth and collected so she couldn’t tell you were fearful of her rejection, “Let’s go, Schemmenti.”

“What?” She leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes to hide her enthusiasm from Jacob who sat across the table with his head cocked, staring at her in curiosity. They were about half way through their 3D puzzle of the statue of liberty when you interrupted.

After opening your car door, you step out and lean against the car door frame, smirking as you catch a glimpse of her red hair through the front window. You doubled down on your mission of taking Melissa out, giving her an order rather than asking, “Come on out here. I’m taking you on a date.”

“What makes you think I’d go on a date with the likes of you?” Melissa tittered as she tried to hide how she enjoyed flirting with you from her companion.

You reply sarcastically, feeling a sense of excitement wash over you when you make her laugh, “My good looks and sense of humor. Or perhaps my love of long walks on the beach.”

Melissa finally lifted herself from her seat so she could make her way to the front window where she pulled aside the sheer blinds to catch a glimpse of you. Your cheeky smile melted Melissa’s icy exterior as did the way you leaned your cheek on your forearm as you gazed at her. She had one hand on her hip as she stared you down, “Where are ya’ takin’ me?”

“I’m still trying to decide between the Olive Garden or some chain sports bar where we can watch the Cowboys play.” You joke, grinning wildly as you watch her lip curl.

She turned her back to you, looking around the room for her purse and shoes, “Are you tryin’ to get me to say no?”

“Just testing to see how much you like me.” You quip as you watch her curiously. More than anything you hope your joking wouldn’t turn her off from the date you had planned.

“What’s the dress code?” The redhead asked, glancing down at her comfortable outfit of old jeans and an Eagles shirt. She had been ready to slip on her shoes so she could meet you, but she began to second guess herself.

“Something easy to take off.” Your quick wit made the redhead stifle a laugh as she clumsily began gathering all of her belongings. Her pacing made her seem a little too eager to Jacob, causing him to arch his brow in amusement. You could see her grabbing her leather jacket and purse which caused you to remember the ziti you asked her to make just for this occasion, “Oh, and did you make that ziti?”

“Well, yeah.” She scoffed, almost offended you would question her willingness to cook for you.

“Bring that too.”

— Melissa folded her arms over her chest and watched out the window as she skeptically wondered where you could be taking her so late in the evening. When you turned into the stadium parking lot of the Lincoln Financial Field, she glanced over at you with a look of pure disbelief. She didn’t believe you could get her into the Eagles home stadium for a single moment, “And how do you think you are gettin’ in here?”

“I know a guy.” You shrug as your eyes sweep the parking lot for the entry point your cousin told you to find.

Melissa was all heart eyes in the passenger seat, watching you with complete amazement. Her chest swelled with pride when you ended up handing over her ziti to your cousin whilst telling them she is the best cook in her family. And the cherry on top was how you gave a subtle threat to your cousin to make sure they would return Melissa’s baking dish to you. In a period of five minutes, you tapped into three of her love languages: having connections, bribery through food, and not-so-subtle threats.

—

Melissa was like a kid in a candy store as you gave her free reign of exploring the sports complex. As a night security guard, your cousin had agreed to give you access to everything as long as you set him up on a date with some girl you knew from high school and Melissa’s cooking was just the icing on the cake.

The redhead was in her happy place when she settled on the Eagles sideline bench and grinned up at you, “You didn’t have to go to such great lengths to get me to sleep with ya’.”

“Who said I was trying to sleep with you?” You cock your head as you stare down at Melissa, your heart jumping into your throat as you consider sharing your true intentions for her. While every fiber of your being was screaming for you to stay quiet, you remembered you were conducting your relationship with Melissa on your own terms rather than giving her all of the power.

You popped yourself down on the bench next to Melissa, stretching your legs out in front of you as you stated your intentions with confidence, “I’m gonna get you to fall head over heels for me.”

“Oh, is that so?” Mel perked up in faux excitement as she loved to challenge anyone when they were filled with a noticeably high level of confidence. Her heart stalled in her chest at the notion of you trying to get her to fall for you - in a way it felt like too much too soon and a long time coming all at once.

You nod, staring out across the field with your chin held high, “Indeed it is.”

Melissa allowed a few moments to pass between you before she spoke again. While the prospect of a new relationship was frightening for her, she was determined to give a romance with you a fighting chance. She leaned into you when she spoke, giving your arm a loving pinch, “This is a good start, but if your guy can get us into the locker rooms, things will go a lot quicker.”

—

You shifted the car into park outside Melissa’s house and a silence fell between you. The date had gone well, but now there seemed to be a new energy between you that had yet to be felt by either of you before. It was almost as if there was a palpable mutual yearning that expanded far beyond sexual desire.

This feeling terrified Melissa.

“Everything is going to change.” When she spoke, you felt the need to do a double take to see if Melissa had been replaced with a 16 year old version of herself. Her tone was the same as when she told her father she wanted to be a teacher rather than the next Effa Manley - fearful of disappointing loved ones.

You shifted in your seat to more readily face the redhead. Cocking your head, you tried to give her an encouraging response, “Why does everything have to change?”

“Didn’t everything change for you?” She asked as she chewed her lip, one hand lifting to her miraculous medal to rub the image of the Virgin Mary with the pad of her thumb.

While it wasn’t easy coming out when you were teenagers, you remembered the support you received from your family and Melissa. At the time it was all you felt you needed, but of course, after telling Melissa about your attraction to the fairer sex, you did gain a sexual partner - the thought of which made you grin, “Mostly life was better. It helped having good friends.”

Melissa hummed to acknowledge your response before falling deep into thought. She wouldn’t even know where to start. Jacob would be easy, but Barbra? She felt sick at the thought of even discussing the matter with her.

You broke up her swirls of anxiety with your own question, “Why did you say yes to this date?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Melissa retorted as she was briefly filled with relief of a lightened mood before realizing you were completely serious. Her face fell once more as you left her in a heavy silence to respond to your question. Her reasoning stemmed from your spat that occurred months ago, “When you told me you remembered that night before the wedding… I forgot how you asked me to give you a chance and I never did.”

“I said a lot more than that.”

“So did I.”

When you opened your door to a red eyed Melissa, you were literally taken aback by the redhead pushing her way into your arms. It was the night before she was set to marry Joe - some loser firefighter she had met while tailgating at a Eagles game. You hated him since Mel told you he wanted to take her to a strip club on the first date.

While you would never tell her ‘I told you so’, you knew he wasn’t the right person for her. You kept your mouth shut, hugging her to your chest and guiding her further into your little apartment so you could close the door.

She told you through teary eyes and angry hiccups that the rehearsal dinner had gone terribly and that Joe was a complete pig. You didn’t offer an opinion, opting to let the redhead rage as you settled on the couch together. She would wave her hands over her head and curse in Italian while you nodded along, only deciding to pull her to your chest once more when hot, angry tears began rolling down her cheeks.

Rubbing Melissa’s back was an easy way to settle her anger, but her tears continued to fall regardless of how many times she wiped them away with her sleeves. You held her face to your chest and spoke softly, hoping she wouldn’t turn her anger onto you, “Maybe you shouldn’t be marrying him if all of this is happening and you aren’t even married yet.”

“My parents have already paid for the wedding. I can’t back out now.” Melissa nuzzled her cheek against your chest. She was in absolute despair yet she wasn’t willing to actively do anything to solve her issue.

“But if you do, then… maybe we could be together.” It was unavoidable for you to sound like you were begging. You wanted this so badly. You wanted her so badly. In the brief moment where she didn’t respond, you couldn’t stop yourself from trying a little harder, “Come on. Give us a chance, pretty girl.”

Melissa only peered up at you, and her furrowed brows and sad eyes broke your heart. “I want to… I just-”

You held a hand to her cheek, brushing her hair from her face. You were desperate for Melissa to come to her senses. Couldn’t she see that you were meant to be together? Your voice was barely above a whisper as you moved to press your lips to her forehead, “I love you, Melissa. Please.”

The redhead eyes lit up at your words - like you had ignited something within her. Without a moment’s hesitation, Melissa shifted to sneak closer so she could press her lips to yours. She kissed you over and over - each kiss was filled with so much desperation it left both of you breathless.

She pulled away only for a moment, her forehead resting against yours, “I love you.”

From there you fed off one another’s passion and energy like frenzied sharks. You ended up making love on your living room floor, clinging to one another as if you would be separated forever if any distance formed between you. Only if you would have known that distance was fated to form regardless.

Melissa’s face was unreadable. You couldn’t tell if she was reliving that night with regret or fondness - perhaps it was a combination of both. You watched thoughts run through her mind and her green hues were pleading when she spoke, “Have your feelings changed?”

“Never.”

Melissa both feared and adored your response.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes longer, spiraling at the omissions of love and not wanting your time together to end so soon. It was finally Melissa who made the move to leave, followed by your immediate reaction to open your door as well. You felt the thrum of excitement as you circled the car and walked the redhead to her door.

She stopped when she had a hand on the door handle and glanced back at you, noticing you were at the bottom step with no intention to go any further. Her brows furrowed in confusion, “Aren’t you coming inside?”

“No. I’m just walking you to your door.” You shrug, craning your neck back to watch her with a cocky smile.

“Chivalrous.” Melissa’s dry humor emerged as she abandoned the door handle to stand a step above you - her hands sliding up to your shoulders while she stared down at you. After years of being entwined with one another, you wouldn’t have thought her next words would make you so nervous, “Do I get a kiss at least?”

Wrapping your arm around her waist, you pull her into you, relishing in the feeling of her body weight pressing against you. The feeling of her green eyes staring intently down at you was overwhelming, especially as her focus on you was unwavering. Glancing back and forth, you whispered with a shyness that made you want to swallow your words, “Aren’t you worried about the neighbors getting the wrong idea?”

“Hadn’t crossed my mind.” She whispered in return - a white lie meant to soothe any concerns you may have about her intentions. Melissa had no interest in her neighbors knowing more than they needed to about her personal life, but she chose to wrap her arms around your neck and press her lips to yours regardless.

You could have sworn you felt Melissa Schemmenti moan as she leaned into you more to deepen your kiss. This wasn’t any moan, however. This high pitch, quiet moan was a ‘please dear god keep kissing me’ moan. It made your heart race and your stomach twist into knots - so much so that you pulled away.

“Goodnight, pretty girl.” You lingered close as you whispered your farewell, ghosting her lips with your own before you gingerly took a step back.

Melissa swayed where she stood, her flushed cheeks hidden by the dim lighting of the streetlights. She folded her arms over her chest, shrugging as she hopelessly attempted to find a way to bid you goodbye that wouldn’t rob her of her ‘tough guy’ style. The redhead suppressed a smile and watched you through heavy lidded eyes - she was smitten and hated every bit of it. “Yeah yeah yeah. Get off my lawn before I have to turn a hose on ya’.”

—

Melissa settled onto the couch next to Jacob and was stewing with mixed emotions she didn’t know how to process. For years she hadn’t given you the chance of letting you in emotionally, and the very second she let her walls down, she was tripping over herself to get your attention. She found you to be a perfect balance of everything she wanted in a potential partner, successfully making her feel remorse for how much of your time she had wasted by not pursuing this sooner. Mel was fearful of how you would move forward together, but god she wanted it terribly.

Jacob interrupted her thoughts with his own - knowing full well he was treading on grounds that could quickly earn him a place on Melissa’s ‘Perpetually Ignore’ list. He was shockingly plain and confident with his words, “I know you are going through something right now, but don’t... hurt your friend in the process.”

Melissa sat in his words, truly taking them to heart. She wanted to do better by you and she knew where she needed to start, but she was fearful of taking that leap. The redhead stared down into her lap as she began picking at her nails, “We aren’t really friends...”

Tears formed in Melissa’s eyes, but she wasn’t about to let Jacob see how scared she was to admit those words aloud. She hadn’t even truly come out to Jacob and she was feeling entirely overwhelmed at the prospect. Jacob wasn’t phased, rather he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. He rubbed her arm gently as he spoke, “I know, Melissa... I know.”

Link to Chapter 6

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta, @unicorniusfallapatorius, @sapphicxrat, @earpivore

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #toxic relationship? kinda

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theehorsepusssy · 8 months

Note

How did your friends come up with 'Horsepussy'?

i was working at the Olive Garden at the Vancouver Mall and it was the first Olive Garden in Pac NW. It was really slow when we first opened up cuz nobody knew what the fuck it was. They would schedule 23 servers on the floor each and every shift but we wouldnt have hardly any customers, so we all stood around and smoked cigarettes and got high and snorted crank and lots of fucking in the employee bathrooms. It was like a party atmosphere at times. Other times it was a bunch of us crammed into a tiny side station talking shit as we waited for people to show up. My best friend was once telling us about the night before he crashed at some dykes place and he and some other guy could hear them eating pussy in the other room and it sounded like "PLBPLBPLBPLBPLB" and the dude asks "horsepussy?" And all us OG waiters laughed at the story and started all yelling "Hey, Horsepussy" to get someones attention and me and my friend were usually the Horsepussys being yelled at and eventually it was just me being referred to as "horsepussy" ..for the last 35 years.

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mellowsadistic · 6 months

Text

Easter Bunnies - Part 1

Melony and her boyfriend meet up with their friends for a garden party, but the girls are acting more like toddlers getting ready for an Easter egg hunt, and Melony's boyfriend expects her to join them.

***

“Are you looking forward to playing with your friends, sweetie?”

Melony scowled at her boyfriend as they walked up the driveway. “Don’t say it in such a patronising way, Peter!” she snapped, tossing back her long black hair. “How many times do I have to tell you not to talk to me like a child?”

“Sorry, Mel,” said Peter, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, baby. I know you’re very sensitive about that sort of thing.”

Melony pressed her lips together. Even his apologies were infantilising! Mostly she liked having Peter as her boyfriend; he was tall and handsome, and decent enough in bed, but he could be infuriatingly condescending at times – even though they were the same age, he sometimes treated her more like a toddler than the twenty-four-year-old woman she actually was. But now wasn’t the time for an argument. She’d save her scoldings for when they got home.

Peter knocked on the front door, and a few moments later it swung open to reveal a smiling, sandy-haired young man. “About time, you two!” George said cheerfully, standing back to let them over the threshold. “Happy Easter! Come on in. Hazel and Oliver are already here.” He shook hands with Peter as he passed and, to Melony’s annoyance, placed his hand on her back to move her along down the corridor, as though she couldn’t do it by herself. “Hazel’s just upstairs with Oliver, being changed into something more comfortable,” he said, “and Jackie’s playing out in the garden.”

Melony clenched her teeth. There was that word again. Playing. Anyone could be forgiven for thinking he was talking about a trio of three-year-olds, and not three grown women in their mid-twenties. And there was something about his smile that Melony didn’t like. But then George often looked like he was laughing at some private joke. It was maddening! She didn’t know how Jackie could stand it.

They were led into the bright kitchen at the back of the house. Double doors opened out onto a wooden decking, and beyond that a large green lawn with patches of brightly coloured Spring flowers. But before Melony could head out into the sun, she heard running footsteps on the landing above them, and then the unmistakable sound of someone rushing down the stairs as fast as they could.

“Hazel!” she heard a man call. She recognised Oliver’s voice. There were more hurried footfalls above them. “Wait for Daddy, silly girl!”

A moment later, a young brunette woman ran, or rather toddled, through the hallway to join them in the kitchen. “Mewwie!” she squealed, coming to a stop in front of them.

“Hazel?!” Melony gasped. Her normally shy, reserved friend was standing in front of her wearing a pair of trainers on her feet, a set of bunny ears on her head, and absolutely nothing in between. Her bare pussy and perky breasts were on full display, though it didn’t seem to bother her one bit. There was a vacant, innocent look in her green-brown eyes, and she was grinning broadly.

“Hazel, what are you doing?!” Melony asked, blushing scarlet with second-hand embarrassment. “Why are you dressed like that?!”

Oliver chuckled as he entered the kitchen behind his girlfriend. “I’m not sure I’d call her dressed at all, Mellie,” he said, winking at her. “My little lady was more comfortable in her birthday suit, but I insisted on shoes.” He patted his girlfriend’s bare bottom. “And of course, she absolutely refused to go without her pretty bunny ears.” He kissed Hazel on the cheek. “Didn’t you, baby girl?” he cooed. “You wanted to be Daddy’s nakie little bunny rabbit!”

Hazel giggled delightedly. “Nakie bunny!” she echoed, bouncing on the spot and making her boobs jiggle about.

“But she has to tell Daddy when she needs her potty,” Oliver said, “because we don’t want to leave any puddles on George’s floor, do we, baby?”

Hazel nodded seriously at her boyfriend. “Tell Daddy,” she agreed. “Don’t need puw-ups!”

“Not during the day at least,” said Oliver, bending down to give his girlfriend another kiss, this time on the forehead. “You’re Daddy’s big girl, aren’t you?”

“What the fuck is going on here?!” Melony demanded in a shrill voice. She realised she was breathing very fast. A part of her was sure this had to be some bizarre joke, but the blank look in Hazel’s eyes was telling her otherwise. She looked around at Peter and George, but neither of the boys seemed to think there was anything wrong with the situation. In fact, George looked like he was trying to hold back laughter as he took in the sight of Hazel standing nearly nude in front of him, prattling like a toddler. Peter was looking at her, however. There was a smirk playing around his lips, and an almost hungry look in his eyes.

Melony suddenly remembered that George had said Jackie was out in the garden, and she rushed to the back doors. Her heart dropped into her stomach when she reached them. Jackie was indeed playing in the garden. She was prancing about awkwardly like the littlest of toddlers, giggling and trying to catch butterflies. She wasn’t naked like Hazel, but Melony almost wished she was. She wore a pale pink dress, all frills and lace, and so short that it did nothing whatsoever to hide the enormously thick nappy she wore beneath. Even as Melony watched, Jackie bent over to peer at something in the grass, and her diapered bottom was thrust high into the air. The padding was sagging and discoloured. She’d clearly wet herself. A moment later, she straightened up and turned around, smiling even more vacantly than Hazel. Her blonde hair had been tied into a pair of pigtails, and she too wore a set of bunny ears.

Melony felt sick to her stomach. Something was very, very wrong here. Hazel and Jackie needed the hospital, or a psychologist, or something! They couldn’t be allowed to just walk around humiliating themselves like this! They needed help! Before she could get over her shock, however, Peter had walked up behind her and slipped a pair of fluffy bunny ears onto her head.

“What? What are you…?” Melony spun around, confused and angry, to see her boyfriend grinning at her. She lifted her hands to her head, feeling the soft ears, ready to rip them off, but by then it was already too late to stop the warm, fuzzy contentment spreading through her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes…

#mellowsadistic

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manicpixiefelix · 7 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 19.

Summary: We follow Oliver Quick in the aftermath of that night in the bathtub. In the days that follow, however, and the Arts Collective dinner drawing ever closer, you seem unusually upset. However, once he meets your mother at the party, a lot of things start to make an unfortunate amount of sense.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; masturbation, fantasies and memories of bathtub activities, pervert/enabler dynamics. Also reader's mum is in this chapter so we have warnings for implied child neglect & family trauma, as well as reader talking negatively about themselves a lot.

A/N: 8997 words. OLIVER POV and a huge chapter to sink your teeth into. goes many places, and we finally get to meet at least one of the reader's parents. i believe this is what the kids call 'conflict' in a narrative. Also the reader's parents now officially have names; Pearl & Andreas. Also nana's name is Bijou. let me know what you guys think ! <3

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Every time Oliver closes his eyes, one of about seventeen million different, lewd images pops into his head of either you or Felix. It seems his mind literally will not allow him to think of anything else, which is fine when he's alone in his room - your room, your bed - but less than ideal when he's sitting across from the two of you over breakfast. Nothing about the way either of you interacted with him was at all different from any other morning. Part of him feels like he's going crazy when you give him a sleepy smile and drop a kiss onto the top of his head in passing on the way to get yourself breakfast.

"Morning Ollie," mumbled affectionately, like it always was from you.

Though it should be noted that Oliver isn't often at breakfast before you and Felix. Both of you are reasonably punctual, and usually seem far less tired than you both seemed to be, so that at least pointed to what happened last night not being a dream. That, and Felix grinning at him as he sat down, placing a mug in front of your setting at the table, and held his own.

"How'd you sleep, mate?" With mirth shining in his eyes; he knows. What he knows and how much, Oliver isn't sure, but there's no way he'd be smiling like that otherwise. What does it mean for him if Felix knows? Where do they go from here?

"Bit restless," Oliver hears himself saying, and trains his eyes on his breakfast, feeling the heat creeping up his cheeks already. Felix makes an apology that sounds completely insincere, and punctuates it with a loud yawn, stretch, and groan. Eyes drawn to Felix, the response almost Pavlovian, and most certainly desperate, all Oliver sees is the pleased little smile Felix wears, still watching him. In the next moment it's gone, turned on you as you place a plate of food in front of him and then at your own place, settling down beside him, as you always do.

The talk over breakfast seems to be the same as it ever was. Plans for the day, with you sighing and declaring that after spend the day before in the garden, you'd be doing quite the opposite, and leisuring in the library, watching something yet to be decided if anyone wanted to join you. He could have sworn there was something pointed in your eyes as your gaze swept over the whole table, landing on his briefly. But then the conversation was moving on, and Oliver had to act like he had any room for decent thoughts in his head at that moment.

Breakfast has become unappealing. He already misses the taste of your blood.

He has to excuse himself, despite having barely eaten half of what he'd served himself. Everyone else enquires after him, asking if he's okay, and he hopes the smile he wears is good enough to stave off further questions.

"Just not hungry this morning is all."

He wishes he'd been as lucky as you, wishes you'd drawn blood; a scab he'd pick forever, a reminder of how thoroughly you'd gotten under his skin. Something in him burns to be scarred by you, marked by you both, a want so violent that you're reduced only to instincts. Bite and touch can be one in the same.

Oliver wasn't stupid. He knew what had been happening. It had been hard enough before last night with this game you'd been playing, the show you'd been putting on. A thrilling chase, tension stretched thin, waiting for Felix to finally make a move to prove that he wasn't just stringing Oliver along. The things he's seen you and Felix doing, the noises he'd been hearing -

Back in his room, he doesn't even realise how hard he's breathing until he slams his door shut, slumping against it, his heart racing.

He never thought it would have been you who broke the rules of this game you've been playing. But now Oliver's left picking up the pieces of his understanding, trying to figure out what the fuck it all meant. He locks his door frantically as he recalls something Venetia had once said to him on one of the few nights he's joined her for a cigarette outside before he would head up to the study -

"Felix hasn't needed since he was ten years old," Venetia's eyes flash with something more than amusement in the moonlight, "he was a desperately needy little brother growing up, clinging to me if mother wasn't clinging to him." The two fingers not holding her cigarette curl into a half fist. With a sly smile, she cocks her hip and leans against Oliver, "he wants, though."

A strange spark of desire arks through Oliver at her words, her knowing, teasing tone, like the flare of a starting gun, a confirmation of what he knew he'd already been working towards. It was nice to hear nonetheless. He tries to act like it doesn't effect him.

"Don't you all?" He glances at Venetia out of the corner of his eyes, tone smooth and unwavering, "you Cattons are the kind of creatures who all seem to want." Then, wetting his lips, "that's what that butler is for after all, and Y/N?" Venetia smiles broader, faint laughter escaping between her teeth.

"Oh, we all want, Ollie," with unrestrained condescension, "but so does most everyone; I know you want, I've seen your eyes. But we Cattons always get what we want, that's the difference you can sense."

"I get what I want, Venetia, I just have to work for it," he says eyes flashing as he looks at her through his lashes. Charming Felix's sister was more habit than actual desire, but he wasn't above using underhanded tactics to win over the Cattons as a whole. Even in the moonlight, he catches sight of Venetia's faint blush. Again she laughs, but her gaze drifts over the grounds.

"Then my brother's mutt must not like you that well," she mused, and takes another drag from her cigarette, "if you still have to work for what you want." The remark catches Oliver off guard for several reasons. After a moment he has to confirm that it's you that she's talking about; Venetia's look says obviously, "haven't you noticed that they can't want for themselves?"

Curled up on his your bed, hand wrapped around his own cock in what's become something of a ritual since he'd arrived and you'd begun playing this game with him, he wonders, not for the first time, if Venetia was right. It seemed as though you'd confirmed as much the other night, that you simply loved him, perhaps even wanted him, because Felix was so fond of him. Even when you'd first slept together you'd danced around the idea of what you'd really wanted, even as he pressed, insisted.

He picked up early on - and told you as much - that you want to be wanted, but Venetia's words had shaken even that belief, or at least, it's origins. At times it seemed like Felix was the kind of creature who fed on the adoration of others, who's to say that you simply wanted to draw people into his orbit, to feed his ego, rather than for your own satisfaction. After all, Oliver couldn't imagine you without Felix, anyone who was drawn into your warmth would find themselves eventually in Felix's light.

And Felix was impossible not to love.

Did that explain last night? Were you afraid you were losing Oliver? Was it simply to keep that spark of desire in his chest burning bright? Except if you knew why he'd been in that bathroom in the first place, surely you could have intuited that his desperation for Felix hadn't waned.

His free hand goes to his own throat, fingers catching in the metal chain that rest there, tangling up the same way yours had last night. Cold, sharp pressure against his throat, he squeezes his eyes closed and sees Felix's head tipped back, steam curling, sweat and water clinging to his gorgeous skin as he gasps and moans and -

"Good boy," the memory of your voice in his ear. A mess of memories from the night before, of the lewd sloshing of Felix's bathwater caught up in the eroticism of the moment, leaving Oliver's imagination to run wild. The memory of how your breathing became stuttered, the way you'd shuddered, getting off to Oliver whimpering your best friend's name in your ear as he came. Were you too thinking of Felix, or getting off believing that Oliver was?

Can't want for themselves.

Except there had been a look in your eyes, in your smile, that dangerous, thrilling thing that lit you up as you licked his spend from your fingers like you were relishing the taste of him. Self satisfaction, a kind he'd never seen on you before.

Perhaps Venetia was wrong. Perhaps he could make you want him for your own sake. Perhaps you had already started.

The fantasy warps again, this time to something entirely new, flickering back and forth between debauched depictions of you and Felix, both coveting him for your own.

"My Ollie," possessive echoes of what he hopes to one day hear, until he's conjured an image of you both, lavishing him with affection without sparing each other a second glance. Wanted by both in your own right, "our Ollie," but still wanted as a collective. Loved by your shared love, not just by extension.

Then the fantasy returns to just last night. The fantasy returns to watching Felix and desperately hoping the man was thinking about him while making those noises. The fantasy returns to you, pressed against him, hand slick with Felix's bath water and both getting off to the idea of him. The fantasy returns to the taste of your blood on his tongue knowing his cum was on yours.

The fantasy returns to you both getting off to him.

Oliver finishes embarrassingly quickly. Again. As he does most days here; there's no shortage of memories to pull from, you and Felix have made sure of that. It's also why he finds very little shame in the act anymore; surely you both know that his mind wanders to you like this, why else would you continue to put on such a show when he still hasn't made a move. After cleaning himself up, and still not quite sure what to make of your intentions last night, he decides to put that from his mind for the time being, and enjoy the day he has with you at least.

In the library, it's you, and Felix, and a box set of Classic Doctor Who; the fourth one, Oliver's pretty sure, judging by the scarf. The smile you both give him is nothing but warm and completely innocent. Oliver grins back easily, and takes a seat. It feels the same as it always has. Like nothing has changed.

But Oliver learns quickly that they have.

That night, he finds you in the lilac study in only your underwear. Underwear too nice to be worn by pure chance. Feigning innocence you tell him you can change if you're making him uncomfortable, but that it's a warm night. It's no warmer than any other night has been thus far.

"Does Felix know you're in here with me, dressed like this?" Oliver leans in the doorframe, arms crossed, unashamedly gazing over your body. Instead of a real answer, all you do is grin, raising your eyebrows at him, as if in challenge. So this is for Felix's benefit too, Oliver thinks, perhaps showing off his willingness to share you, trying to coax Oliver into making the first move on the man as a way to continue using his most beloved toy? Wanting you, and by extension, wanting Felix.

For a moment, Oliver marvels about how easily you're able to catch and manipulate his focus according to your every whim, it seems. Who are you outside of the showmanship? Is there a real person under there? Maybe he should walk away, ponder this on his own or ask you in the light of day when you still at least pretend around the others and each other.

"I thought they were cute," is what you finally say, sitting forward, "I'm quite fond of blue," you add, snapping the waistband of your underwear against your hip. Blue like Oliver's always wearing, blue like his damn eyes, blue like he once told Felix was his favourite colour. Fuck. Fine, he's just a man after all, and a lesser man probably couldn't even hold out as long as he has against you and your gorgeous fucking body in the lamplight, and that look in your eyes.

It's not as intense as it was the night before, but he still gets you off through your underwear, and at his foolish encouragement, you leave a bruising hickey on his neck. Before you part ways for the night, you walk with him to his door, which rather unnecessary, just to let him know there's concealer in his shade in the top drawer on his side of the bathroom.

"You planned this all then?" He smirks at your nerve to be so casual about this all, pressing you against his door.

"You give me too much credit," you teased, gaze flicking from his eyes to his lips, "call it wishful thinking on my part," and you both know he doesn't believe you, but he still kisses you, grinning.

He tries to use this shift in the dynamic to find out more. Perhaps the physical intimacy meant you would be more open to emotional intimacy, even even he hears Felix in the back of his mind.

The day after he'd enquired about your father's work, the day after he'd pressed his ear to Felix's door from the bathroom and heard you sobbing about your parents, Felix himself had pulled Oliver aside with a tight smile shortly after breakfast.

"Ollie, I'm sorry I didn't mention it earlier mate, but about yesterday; we try not to bring up Y/N's mum and dad much around here."

"I'm sorry, I didn't -" Oliver tried, but Felix waved him off easily.

"No, I know you didn't know, you didn't mean anything by it," he assured warmly, but as he went to leave, Oliver couldn't help himself.

"Why?"

Felix stops. For a very long moment there is absolute silence. Stillness. Felix's smile doesn't reach his eyes when he turns back. There's a practiced easiness to him, something about it rehearsed and unfamiliar compared to the levity with which he usually carried himself.

"Because they don't have a kid."

And Oliver has no idea what to say to that, what he could possibly mean by that, so he lets Felix leave.

So when he starts to ask more questions, he careful about them. But he can't seem to catch a break. He gets confirmation that you and Felix have known each other since you were ten, and you're more than forthcoming about your life since then, but for all intents and purposes, you didn't seem to exist before then.

Tensions are running high the day before the first event, for you especially it seemed, even though you'd made it clear you wouldn't be in attendance. When he overhears you speaking with Elspeth, he hears something in your voice he'd never thought possible; despair.

"Do you have to host them in my garden, Elspeth?" You sounded like you were on the verge of tears. The matron of the house's voice is soothing as she reminds you that it's one of the most beautiful spots in the Estate. Your garden? "But every time she's in there she breaks my statue -"

"No she doesn't," Elspeth tries to dismiss, but you huff a surprisingly petulant whine.

"She does! Twice now! The seeds, there should be six, and I know it's her, Farleigh told me -"

"I won't let it happen again, pet, I promise."

"She knows it's mine, I know it, she's doing it on purpose -"

"It won't happen again."

Oliver doesn't know enough about your issue with the Arts Collective that is coming over, or whoever this specific member is that has you so upset, so he has to bide his time to get the answers he wants.

And he's not getting them from you. Clearly.

You're withdrawn during dinner. No-one else comments on it; it's like they all understand whatever it is you're going through, and only Oliver's left out of the loop. Not even Felix seems particularly worried, and that's the bit that surprised Oliver.

In the lilac study, much later, Oliver finds you in your pyjamas, sitting on the windowsill. When he asks if you're okay, you bark a humourless laugh.

"By all accounts," you give a thin-lipped smile, fidgeting with the unlit cigarette between your fingers, "I should be completely fine." It's not even close to being believable. When he sits, chin gently coming to rest on your knee as it hung down the back of the sofa, you sighed, dropping the act and lighting your cigarette. 'It's nothing," you mumbled after a moment, dropping his gaze and taking a draft of your cigarette.

"It's not nothing," Oliver assured softly. Looking up at him, the barest frown creased your brow.

"I never went through the kinds of things you had to," you admit softly, unaware of the cogs suddenly turning in Oliver's mind, "my life is," you laughed without even a hint of humour, "blessed," but the word comes out bitterly. With your free hand, you reach out to run your hand through Oliver's hair, pushing it back off of his forehead, "you don't need to worry about me, Ollie." Shame pulses through Oliver all at once, his lie weighing heavily on his consciousness. He leans into your touch, lets his eyes closed, terrified you'll see the guilt there.

"I do worry 'bout you," he pushes, voice faint and demure, his eyes still closed. He lets the words hang in the air, lets you turn them over in your mind, won't overplay his hand. There's the sound of the cigarette sizzling, then a long, deep sigh from you.

"You don't know me, Ollie."

It's strange to hear you say it, hear you finally admit it. Oliver hasn't been imagining things, you've managed to evade his attempts to genuinely get close to you. Part of him wants to scream, wants to shout well whose fucking fault is that, wants to holler with some kind of vindication. Instead, he kisses your knee, and whispers that he'd like to.

"You'll get there, I'm sure," you tell him with what he's sure is an attempt at warmth, once more carding your fingers through his hair, "spend enough time with Fi and you won't have a choice." It comes as a surprise to hear the forlorn notes in your voice. But then, as quickly as they were there, they'd disappeared, and you start telling him about the guests that would be in attendance at the dinner the following night.

"Why do you know all this if you aren't going?" He's struggling to retain any of the information you've dumped on him - whose married to who, who are the artists and who are the appreciators, the scandals each have been attached to - but it seems to come so easily to you. You're on your third cigarette when there finally comes a lull in the conversation.

"So I can tell you?" You gave him a confused little smile, but he still doesn't understand.

"But what if I wasn't going?"

"But you are," you frowned a little, confused smile becoming more forced, as if his lack of comprehension almost pains you, "why wouldn't you be?" Oliver blinks, "I always knew I wasn't going, but I always knew you would, and I -" you shrugged a little helplessly, "I know things. Now you know things." This time your grin is genuine, as if pleased to be able to help him in your own way.

"Does any of this really matter?" He doesn't mean for it to sound as blunt as it comes across, but thankfully you don't seem offended. Instead you bark a laugh, leaning back against the windowsill and casting your gaze to the navy sky outside.

"They seem to think so," you groaned, as if you'd been subjected to these people and their egos one too many times, "and they love to feel like they matter. Taking the time to know people makes them feel like they matter, at least that's how I was raised." It's a crack, the barest hint to your past that Oliver will ruminate on for days to come. He remembers very sharply how you'd blurted out that you weren't meant to matter. Slowly but surely he's piecing together a picture of your past. So far, he's not liking the image it's coming to form.

So he steers from dangerous conversational territories.

"'s that why you let Venetia talk to you the way she does?" It's not hostile or judgemental, he makes himself sound as genuine as he's able. A thoughtful hum escapes you while you keep looking out across the Estate's gardens, "like you don't mind if she's mean because you know that at least she feels good about herself around you?"

"I adore Venetia despite her sharp edges," you say softly, "and she and I both know this, but she's..." looking back to Oliver, your smile is sad as your mind drifts to Felix's sister, "insecure," voice low, you give a tired shake of your head, "if I knew how to draw lines in the sand, I'm sure she would have crossed it long before now."

"All these Cattons need to be wanted, don't they?" Oliver grins widely, leaning back and reclining on the sofa, watching you crack a genuine smile.

"Why do you think they keep me around?" You joke, but Oliver takes this moment and locks it away in his mind for further pondering, along with all the other revelations you'd afforded him. At least you look brighter when you leave then when he'd walked in. The last thing you tell him is to be punctual to the garden the following night; Elspeth thinks highly of punctuality.

"Am I not going to see you before dinner tomorrow?" Oliver frowns, also standing.

"Oh," you stall by the door, something awkward in your tone, "I'll be around at breakfast, and maybe lunch, but I'm probably not going to be much company or conversation."

The next morning, Oliver finds your words to be true. At breakfast, your gaze is glassy, your movements robotic. Pamela appears to have overslept, but Oliver seems to be the only one who even notices. There's a strange air in the house. Farleigh's more terse than usual, while Felix and Venetia seem to have glued themselves to your sides, the two of them chattering quietly between each other despite how you don't even appear to be aware of their presence.

Over lunch, you too are missing from attendance, as is Pamela once more. Elspeth spends a good portion of the meal trying to encourage her children to adopt a lighter mood. Neither cooperate with her request.

"This might be the best you get from them," Farleigh glanced at Felix and Venetia wearing near identical pouts, both focusing entirely on their lunch, "unless you're planning to surprise us all with dropping a house on the wicked bitch of the -"

"Farleigh, please," Elspeth cut him off sharply, "don't call her that." Farleigh's sharp gaze flicks to his aunt, but his mouth stays shut, "it's one night, can you please just be civil?"

"One night for her," Felix says pointedly under his breath.

Oliver is at a complete loss. Trying to think back on all the guests you'd told him about, he can't for the life of him recall which they might all be referring to. It bothers him enough that once lunch is finished, he looks for you; he'd like a little more warning if he really was to be walking into some kind of lion's den that evening. When he asks Felix, all he gets is a sighed 'study' and little else.

The study door is locked, so he knocks. On the other side, he hears a sigh.

"Go away, Ollie."

How had you known it was him? But that was a question for another time.

"I have a question about tonight -"

"I don't want to think about tonight, just go away, enjoy yourself -"

"I need to know more about the guest list; there's someone who seems to really bother Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh, but I can't remember who it could be that you told me about." He lets himself sound desperate, sound a little helpless and lost; you'd gone so far out of your way to make him feel at home here, he knew you'd -

"Um," after a moment, the door creaks open. Barely. Peering out, you don't look quite right, "it's- um, I think -"

"'re you alright?" Genuine concern wells up in him, but you pull back when he reaches out for you.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine, I'm just- fuck, Ollie, I'm high; what are you, my -" but you cut yourself off with a soft, angry swear, as if mad at yourself for reasons well beyond Oliver's understanding. Gaze unfocused, you frown deeply as you lean heavily against the doorframe. Oliver bit back further concern, taken aback by your relative hostility, "there's this curator that really gets under their skin," you recall after a moment, unable to meet his gaze, "last I checked she was about Elspeth's age; Pearl L/N."

Oliver doesn't remember you even mentioning a Pearl last night amongst all the rest of the guests.

"What's she done that's so bad?" But his words curiously cause your expression to scrunch, "do you not like her either?" You shook your head so hard you almost lost your balance; this time you don't shy away from Oliver when he holds your shoulder steady, "what'd she do?"

"She's just vapid," your voice is so small; there's so much you're not telling him in this moment, Oliver can tell, "you don't need to make her feel like she matters, she knows she does," you swallow thickly, looking at the doorframe, "but if you compliment the work of Bijou L/N in her general area I'm sure she'll jump at the chance to tell you how she sold her Aurora triptych for the same amount that her mother's first house cost." You advised bitterly, lip curling, "she loves hearing herself speak," you spat as an afterthought, immediately trying to slam the door as if you'd forgotten Oliver was even there.

Catching the door, he asks once more if you're okay, and you finally look at him, pain in your eyes like he's never seen before, tears, unspilled, turning your gaze glassy.

"I do hope you have a good night," despite the sadness in your voice, you sound sincere, and Oliver lets you close the door once more.

As he's getting himself ready for the event, Oliver finds himself musing over the information he'd gotten from you. It's no surprise the Catton siblings aren't a fan of this woman; he can't imagine they enjoy being in the presence of someone who craves the spotlight even more than either of them do.

Your advice about an early arrival paid off at least, as Oliver finds himself in the fairy garden with Elspeth in her lavender gown, as always being an incorrigible gossip. With very little genuine care for her own daughter, Elspeth's gossip finds a home amid disparaging remarks. If he carefully files Venetia's insecurities and less noticeable flaws away in the back of his mind, he does so only in case of emergency. Despite their disagreements, Felix clearly loved his sister too; how Oliver would use the information Elspeth gives him to his advantage would remain to be seen, but he reasoned it was good to have.

When finally he's given the chance to comment on Pamela - indirectly, every possibly sharp remark was wrapped in layers of silk at Saltburn - Elspeth's guilt is unmistakable. So Oliver does what he does best; he tells Elspeth exactly what she needed to hear. He drives a wedge in her memories of the woman she'd kicked out, shut the door on the guilt and the thought of return, soothing the Catton matriarch in the process. Sometimes it really was shockingly easy to make the Catton Family Players dance.

"You know it's very good of you taking Y/N the way you did," Oliver adds for good measure, "eleven years I think they said?"

"Oh," Elspeth's brow creases for just a moment as she thinks back, "I suppose it has been that long, hasn't it?" There's a faraway look in her eyes, but Oliver sees an opportunity for information you and Felix were always rather evasive about.

"I would have thought it would be strange," Oliver offers, his tone carefully neutral, but of course light, "having so many people here all the time; Y/N, Farleigh, Pamela, me. You're very generous, very kind." Elspeth gives a gracious smile at the compliment, eyes shining in the twilight. The same grace with which Felix accepts Oliver's soft spoken compliments when it's just the two of them.

"Saltburn was built for company, Oliver dear, nothing strange at all," she tells him in earnest, "James and I have always welcomed our loved ones with open arms, and I am proud to have passed that sentiment on to my darling children."

"Venetia certainly seems fond of Y/N."

Something about Elspeth's expression tightens for the barest moment, and she takes a sip of her wine with a hum that almost sounds like an agreement.

"Y/N seems to believe as much," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "and I suppose she hasn't run them off yet, though I suspect their loyalty to Felix has far more to do with that than whatever apparent kindness my daughter has afforded them."

"I'm sorry...?" Oliver tips his head to the side, confusion masking his intrigue.

"Lord knows I try not to judge my darling children and their friends, so I of course would turn a blind eye to their youthful trysts and experimentation, but really Venetia's been using the poor pet in bad taste for years now, treating them like a dog; you've seen the way she antagonises them, I can't imagine what she's like behind closed doors, nor why Y/N puts up with it!"

"You haven't tried to stop it?"

"Felix has come to me about some of the things Venetia's apparently said, but he seemed more miffed than anything, said Y/N wasn't at all bothered," Elspeth sighed, shaking her head, "I think they pity her, honestly."

"Sounds like Felix and Y/N have pretty inseperable, and you obviously care about them a lot too."

"Felix has always been wonderful at making friends," Elspeth gives a sweet smile, casting her fond gaze at Oliver for a moment, "but Y/N was this tragic, little thing; the first time they met us their parents enquired about whether James and I would like to host them for the Summer, of course I wasn't even aware I was talking to their parents when the offer was made, but Felix had taken quite a shine to them so of course we were more than happy to agree. Then," she gives such a dainty shrug, expression fond and blithe, "they called again as schools were breaking for Christmas, something about how fond Y/N had grown of us all; after that they didn't even have to call."

"So they've been coming back here all this time?"

"Oh the children would often holiday elsewhere during the break, but Y/N was almost always with Felix, wherever he was," she smiled wide, mind alight with memories of your shared youth, "their parents have always afforded us a generous stipend for allowing them to remain with us and Felix so consistently through the years, so it was never any trouble or burden to take care of them."

A long pause follows, and Oliver lets himself mull over all he'd learned, fascinated by it all. But he keeps coming back to one thought;

"You didn't know you were talking to their parents?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You said back when you and Felix first met Y/N, you hadn't known you were talking to their parents?"

"Well, no," Elspeth says, and takes a moment to think carefully about the past, about her next words, "but we were at a business event, I suppose they wanted to remain somewhat professional." Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. There's something there, something more. Something about these memories has softened the matriarch, even more than discussing her own daughter.

"Well I know they love you," Oliver tells her, though he's only rarely heard you and Felix talking about the family, "and I know they're grateful to you, and your husband, and all you've done for them, the care you've shown." And there it is, that faraway softness, that hint of maternal love that almost looks foreign on her.

"We haven't done all that much," Elspeth admits gently, soft smile gracing her features, "just what anyone would do, I think."

"More than what their own parents did, it sounds like."

Elspeth's expression falls, her gaze dropping to her hands. She takes a long sip of her wine.

"They're lovely people, really, please don't take what I've said as any kind of inducement on them as people, I think you'd actually find them quite charming," she says, almost forcibly cheerful, "they're exuberant, fascinating people; they've been wonderful friends to myself and James for quite some time, long before we welcomed Y/N into our home, actually," she laughs a little, looking back up, apparently having shaken her just moments ago, "I will say it was quite the surprise to find out they had a child just the same age as Felix." It's an evasive answer, one Oliver doesn't want to let her get out of but doesn't quite know how to turn the conversation back. The silence is not uncomfortable, but Oliver is still grateful that it's Elspeth that breaks it once more.

"He's never been particularly fond of them," Elspeth somehow gives him an in without Oliver even needing to pry further. Her tone is dismissive, like her son's distaste is simply childish, "but Felix has always been loyal," she smiles warmly once more after shaking her head, "I really do think you'll like them; so much of Y/N comes from them."

"I'll like them?" Oliver frowned with confusion, to which Elspeth nodded, reiterating the sentiment, "you think I'll meet them?"

"Of course, darling, they're coming to dinner tonight," she shakes her head after a beat, seemingly correcting herself, "well, their darling mother. She was at Oxford with James, studying Art History, if I do recall -" but she's cut short as Duncan announces the arrival of the first guests, and Elspeth stands, smiles, slipping comfortably into the role of the perfect hostess.

Oliver feels like he almost understands. Like he's right on the edge of putting all the pieces together. There's too much new information, too many social rules he still doesn't know; part of your discomfort was almost definitely related to your mother being here, and that vapid curator Felix hated -

"You are going to need this," Farleigh presses a glass of champagne into Oliver's hands. He seems more irate than usual, but unusually, it doesn't seem to be directed at Oliver. As the guests begin to filter in, they stand side-by-side at the edge of the garden. Farleigh looks like he belongs there, long and elegant, hand in his pocket and his own champagne glass poised delicately in his grip as he glowered at the others.

"Not a fan of the Arts Collective either?" Oliver enquires, carefully taking a sip.

"Tell me that isn't Fredrika's boy!" Comes a call from across the garden, and Farleigh plasters on a smile as he nods and tips his glass to the gentleman who'd gleefully identified him. They both hear him exclaim to some others he was with, "look how tall he's gotten!" But thankfully the man makes no move towards them, choosing instead to blatantly discuss Farleigh, and-or his mother, with little regard for the man himself.

"They've always been kind to my mother," it's the most diplomatic and genuine Oliver's pretty sure Farleigh's ever been while speaking to him. Still, his discomfort does not seem to ease.

"So I suppose there's just a few bad apples then," Oliver muses, "Y/N warned me about Pearl." It takes several seconds of silence for Oliver to finally give Farleigh his full attention. There's a curious look in his eyes, one Oliver hadn't quite been expecting.

"Did they?" He says very carefully.

"The woman sounds like a pain," Oliver says easily, trying his best to ignore the sudden strange vibe that has picked up around them, "but I assumed all these rich folks have an ego on them, so she must be some kind of something since they barely mentioned their own mother and I know they're not fond of her either."

"You are an idiot," Farleigh looks like he can't even believe the words coming out of Oliver's mouth. There's that lost feeling again, like everyone knows some kind of secret that he's not allowed to, like they all want to keep dancing around the truth, afraid of giving him real answers. Farleigh shakes his head in disbelief, an unsettling, quiet anger in his eyes, "you are a fucking idiot -"

"Oh my god, wow!" Comes a bright voice from far closer than Oliver had been expecting, "I'm getting flashbacks, Elle, are you getting flashbacks? Doesn't he look just like Freddie making that face?" Farleigh, beside Oliver, freezes.

When Oliver turns, he sees Elspeth approaching him with a painfully familiar woman on her arm, saying that this is the one I was telling you about; Oliver -

Oliver recognises your mother by her smile. It lights up her whole face, so comforting, so warm and full of affection as her gaze lingers on him.

"Oh, Oliver, I'm sure you're darling, but I must say hello to Freddie's youngling," she enthuses with a laugh. Farleigh looks like his body is three seconds away from engaging in some kind of fight or flight response.

"I see you remember Farleigh, my nephew," Elspeth points out, and the woman wraps Farleigh up in a hug that he does not reciprocate.

"Of course," she gleefully identifies, and Farleigh makes an uncomfortable noise to the affirmative. When she lets him go, she doesn't do so entirely, holding him at arm's length for a moment as she looks him over, "you are such a marvel, darling, every time I see you!" Glancing over her shoulder at Elspeth, she wears a charmingly teasing smile, "never tell James that his sister got all the good genes," and Elspeth, despite the backhanded compliment, seems only endeared by this woman's antics. Finally she lets Farleigh go, stepping back and continuing to size him up, sparkle of mirth in her eyes, "how is your mother, darling?"

"Elsewhere," Farleigh answers shortly.

"Of course, is she still in New York?"

"For the time being," it seems to be enough for her for now, letting him go. Then, she turns her attention onto Oliver, letting Elspeth make the introduction.

"And this is Oliver, a dear friend of my Felix's who's staying with us for the Summer," Elspeth rests a warm hand on Oliver's shoulder, but the woman forgoes propriety to also hug Oliver tightly.

"Oh wonderful to meet you, Oliver - Ollie, can I call you Ollie? Do they call you Ollie?" She says as he awkwardly hugs her back, running on autopilot. Oliver makes some kind of noise, he's sure, but apparently your mother takes that as an affirmative. Pulling back, she smiles with such genuine warmth it's almost jarring to think about what he knows of her, "oh Ollie, so lovely to have you here, it's so good to see beautiful, bright, fresh faces as fans of the arts; you are a fan of the arts, I take it?"

"I suppose," he offers awkwardly, to which your mother gives a laugh. It doesn't sound like laughter should, there's something a little mean about it, something condescending.

"Darling boy you're with the Arts Collective, at Saltburn of all places; one would think to do their research before attending an event such as this -"

"Wine and cheese in the garden were we get high -?" Farleigh's snide aside that hopefully only Oliver hears as he mutters it under his breath is cut off by Oliver's quick apology.

"It's my first Summer here; I'm a fan of the arts but I thought it would be best to set expectations low considering the calibre of guest. I'm not much of an artist but that doesn't hinder my appreciation," he bullshits quickly, and your mother's eyes light up, taking the bait entirely.

"Nice save," Farleigh mutters under his breath while your mother all but swooned at Oliver's humility.

"Oh! Then I do apologise, dear, I'm glad to have you here, glad to see not all hope is lost for the youth," she shook her head with a fond exasperation, "your friend Felix has never taken much interest unfortunately," she chuckles, "one of his very few flaws, I'm afraid."

"I'm also friends with Y/N," Oliver adds quickly, and immediately feels Farleigh's hand on the small of his back, voice in his ear - don't.

"Sorry darling, I don't know who that is," your mother sounds completely and utterly sincere; nothing in her smile or her body language betrays it as a lie. Despite Farleigh's warning, Oliver pushes.

"Your kid, Y/N," he can feel Farleigh actually grabbing onto the hem of his jacket, voice a snarl now - stop.

"Ollie, dear, I don't have any children," she says with what appears to be complete earnestness. Oliver blinks quickly, stepping back, faintly apologising.

"Sorry, I must have gotten some wires crossed," he says weakly.

"Are you feeling alright?" She puts her hand to his forehead, sweet concern written all over her face. God, she looks so much like you, he really thought - "can we get darling Ollie some water?" She snaps her fingers at one of the servers insistently, rudely, directing Oliver to sit down. He did so, and Farleigh took a seat next to him, wrapping an arm around Oliver's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," Oliver hears himself speak almost automatically, "I don't think I caught your name." Immediately the woman's expression morphs into a pantomime of apology, offering her hand.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so used to being known at these things - god, listen to me I must sound like I have such an ego, sorry, Ollie, darling," the woman's smile reeks of practiced perfection, "I'm Pearl L/N." Everything stops for a very long few moments as Oliver shakes her hand and processes this news. He blinks a few times, and Pearl laughs airily in the twilight, "oh, maybe he does know me; look," she tips her head to Elspeth, "the boy's starstruck." He's liking her less and less and the moments go on; he can see exactly what the others' problem is with her.

"Sorry, Pearl L/N?" Quickly retracting his hand, he tries to remember what you'd told him mere hours ago, "are you the same Pearl L/N who managed to sell Bijou L/N's Aurora's to..." he trails off, having no actual idea of where the paintings had gone, but banking on what you told him about Peal enjoying the sound of her own voice. As anticipated, she looks frankly delighted, throwing her head back as an uncannily familiar laugh echoes from her. In his peripheries, he sees the approving look Elspeth is giving him.

"My word, yes, they're still up at The Met," she tells him, "I suspect it will be a cold day in hell before they're taken down; they paid more than my mother paid for the house she painted them in."

"Your mother -?"

"I'll take care of him," Farleigh cuts him off with a cold smile to Pearl. It's enough to distract the woman, who coos fondly.

"Oh you really are Freddie's, she must be so proud of the man you are, Farleigh."

Farleigh gives a jerky nod, robotically thanking her for the compliment, and she swans away to greet some of the others who've just arrived.

"Sorry, I thought... she just reminded me so much of Y/N," Oliver mumbled. Farleigh extracts his arm from around Oliver's shoulders, something dangerous in his eyes as he watches the woman, now talking and laughing and socialising with such exuberance and ease.

"You are a fucking idiot," Farleigh bites out venomously, not even looking at Oliver. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest. They both watch for a moment as Pearl takes the arm of another guest, coaxing them and the group they're with to sit over on the picnic bench.

"Can you stop calling me that if you're not going to tell explain to me why?" Oliver finally snaps back, turning to level a glare at the tall gentleman beside him. Farleigh meets his unimpressed look with one of his own, gazing into his eyes as if his next words were of the utmost importance.

"Why exactly do you think that Y/N L/N has a problem with Pearl L/N?"

Oliver feels like a fucking idiot. All the pieces are finally in place, and the picture, Oliver realises, is much bleaker than he'd realised.

Farleigh looks back at the picnic table. The general chatter has died down now, and it seemed that catching up between members of the collective was in order. But his focus was captivated by the woman with your smile. Your mother. Everything familiar about her started to make his skin itch. Everything about you started to make a lot more sense.

There was an effortlessness to how she dazzled the collective, pouring affectionate praise onto the artists as they shared their creativity and triumph, offering support and suggestion to other curators and appreciators like herself who found themselves looking for advice.

Charming, exuberant, fascinating, just as Elspeth had told him she's be. Oliver just remembers hearing you weep about how, in the eleven years since you'd been welcomed into Saltburn, she'd never once asked about you.

"I'm in talks with the Vatican about doing a documentary on the Sistine Chapel," Pearl tell the collective airily when it's finally her turn to share. Chin in one hand, the other picking at the statue at the back of the table that's just behind her, Oliver remembers the argument you'd had with Elspeth just yesterday, "but it's been such a runaround," she groaned, reaching up for one of the stone seeds the sculpture was trying to eat, "so many legal meetings and all this red tape; I've got a meeting with the pope and several high ranking members of the clergy to see if I can get their blessing and bypass all this nonsense. I swear Michaelangelo would be rolling in his grave if he knew the effort one must put in nowadays to appreciate his work." A meeting with the fucking pope?

"Pope Benedict the Sixteenth?" Elspeth says with disbelief, the gaggle of women scattered around the garden echoing the sentiment.

"Has there been another one instated while I wasn't looking?" Pearl smiles, teasing edge to her tone that's uncomfortably familiar, but then there's a faint crack, and she looks up guiltily. Or at least, she looks exactly the way a guilty person should look.

"Darling, you do that every time," Elspeth laughs lightly, while the woman puts the stone seed down on the table before her.

"Surely it hasn't been that many times," she responded, though Farleigh's voice is in Oliver's ear.

"That's the third."

"Fine, let me get you another one," the woman offers, "a proper nymph for this darling little fairy garden, something pretty and fitting, not this..." She looks up at the statue, at the myth of Persephone gleefully eating what seeds are left, at the figure with your unmistakable likeness, "strange, sad little thing," she laughs, before adding that the garden itself was beautiful, and that Elspeth had to get her in contact with the landscape artist. Elspeth, surprisingly, suggests that they should head inside since it was swiftly approaching dinner.

Felix and Venetia are already sitting at the table, a mostly empty bottle of wine on the table between them, both cups far less than full. Farleigh takes the seat opposite Felix, and pulls Oliver down to sit across from Venetia. Neither of the siblings speak, but both are looking at Farleigh as if they can divine some secret message from his wordless expression alone.

"No, I take it back," Pearl's voice fills the dining room, drawing all attention as the others filled in around her. The way she's looking at Felix and Venetia is so painfully endeared; if Oliver didn't know any better, he'd say their glares in her direction were cruel, "Elle, I think Cattons are just cursed to have beautiful children," sighing with a teasing, faux disappointment to Elspeth as she passes behind the siblings to take her seat, she greets them both warmly.

"Children," Elspeth prompts, sharp look in her eyes like she's embarrassed by their lack of grace, both Venetia and Felix nod in greeting, her name coming out as a robotic mumble.

"How lovely are they," Pearl sits, fawning over the Catton siblings to the other guests, who all chatter in faint agreement. As expected, however, Oliver finds he can hear Pearl's voice over all the others, even though she sat herself across from Elspeth, at the other end of the table, "Elle, really I'm in endless awe of you and James, Saltburn has never looked so spectacular as it does under your care, I'm sure my home would go to ruin if Andreas and I ever attempted having a child, let alone raising one half as lovely as you've managed; twice!"

"Pearl," Elspeth told her, voice loud enough that it too carried, "I'm sure that if you had a child, they would be -"

"Oh you're just being kind, Elle, don't waste your breath on hypotheticals."

Across the table, Felix looks like he's about to cry.

Oliver feels... unexpectedly hollow. Every word Pearl speaks reminds him of the state he'd seen you in that afternoon.

"I hate her," Venetia snarls, loud enough for only the four at the end to have heard. There's something about this moment, looking at the siblings and their cousin so completely united against this common enemy, that finally makes Oliver realise and believe just how deeply they all cared for you. Even Farleigh was regarding him in solidarity.

Somehow Pearl still hadn't noticed the black cloud that hung over the other end of the table, or perhaps after eleven years she was used to ignoring it. At least the rest of the collective didn't seem too bothered by it, making bright conversation amongst themselves and leaving the furious youth to stew in their collective anger.

"Why didn't you tell me Pearl was your mum?" Oliver heads immediately to the lilac study. The door opens right as he's about to knock, like you'd heard him coming; you look better than you had that afternoon, but his words have your expression falling.

"I'm sure she didn't see it necessary to tell you I'm her child either," you snapped back, hostile. Oliver goes quiet. You crossed your arms, gaze dropping to the ground, "exactly."

"I don't know you," voice faint, Oliver steps back. Finally it starts to hit him, everything that's happened, everything he'd learned and witnessed and heard. The ache begins in his chest and blooms as he looks at you and tries to reconcile all he now knows. How had he not realised that in all the time you'd spent together, you'd never even given him your last fucking name? "I don't know who you are."

"I don't owe anyone anything -"

"Especially not yourself, right?" Oliver cuts you off, at war with himself when he sees the hurt in your eyes. Still, he can't stand by and let you talk like this, let you become a secondary character in your own damn life, "don't owe yourself the chance to believe that someone cares about you, wants to know you, to make you feel like you matter? I want to know you, I want to I love you," the words sound so raw, and he aches, shudders with each deep breath in, "but there is something wrong with you."

There was no anger in your eyes when you'd closed the door, nor any kind of betrayal. Oliver wonders if that would have been easier to stomach than the guilt, the look of apology. You agreed; you believed he was right. Regret begins to claw at his gut the moment he stumbles back, towards his room; he should have waited, given himself time to think, to process before going to you. Fuck, he really shouldn't have gone to you knowing the state you were in.

Oliver is hollow with want, despite his outburst, desperate to be close to you. But there's no way he can come back from this tonight. All he has is the people who care about you. If Oliver had learned one thing tonight, it was the Catton children and their cousin all did love you, each in their own way.

And Venetia Catton was smoking outside his window in a see-through nightgown.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick smut #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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t-horn-n · 3 months

Text

— clean up crew

PAIRING: miguel o’hara x reader (gender-neutral)

GENRE: hurt/comfort

SUMMARY: he thinks that you take too many risks on missions. you think he’s a hypocrite.

“I don’t think you’re listening to me, Miguel,” you berate.

Your anger feels like a vat of boiling water beneath your rib cage.

“No, you’re not listening to me,” Miguel retorts. “If you were, we wouldn’t still be talking about this, thirty minutes later.” His voice sounds pinched and low.

It’s at times like these that you think it would be much more simple if you just hated him. If you could take all of the things you felt about Miguel O’Hara and exchange them for that single-minded five letter word.

“You’re only listening to me enough to argue with me,” you insist.

“But how many times have we fought about this, querida? You’re always the one to start it.”

You stand between him and the door to his office in the Spider-Society’s headquarters, so he focuses on a holographic dot map of reported anomalies. He never likes to sit still when you fight. At work, he pretends to swipe through reports or analyze charts. At home, he’ll get up to fix himself a mug of decaffeinated coffee or clean the dishes in the sink or fold the laundry you left on the kitchen table. You’re often arguing with his back. You try very hard not to resent that, or rather, not to resent him.

“I would drop it if you would just listen to me.” It’s mortifying that your voice shakes when you’re angry.

He thinks that you take too many risks on missions. You think he’s a hypocrite.

“I have,” he says, exasperated. “But this is the third time this month that you’ve gotten injured—”

“Bruises don’t count, Miguel.”

“Let me finish,” he warns. “You sprained your wrist two weeks ago. The month before that you pulled a muscle in your neck. In May you dislocated your shoulder. Last year you were out for three months when you fractured your collarbone. You throw yourself around like you’re unbreakable.”

“Oh yeah?” you hiss. “What about you? You flung yourself into that collapsing building on Tuesday.”

“And you notice that I am unhurt.”

“Right.” You roll your eyes. “Because you’re just so perfect, boss. The strongest. The smartest.”

His shoulders tense.

“I’m worried that one day you’ll break and they won’t be able to fix you,” he tells you. “If I did what was good for you, I’d send you to the clean up crew.”

Your face heats. That’s mean, you both know it. It makes you want to be meaner.

“Oh, because you always know what’s best for everyone? Honey, don’t you think you’ve let all this power go to your head?”

“No, I—”

“‘Clean up crew.’ Sometimes you’re such a goddamn asshole, Miguel. Remember when that Vulture got away on Earth-1014 and totaled a neighborhood because the team was across town taking care of a bank robbery? That was your call. And when Hobie broke his arm? That was thanks to your directions. The reason why—”

As if you were doused with ice water, you stopped talking.

“Go on,” Miguel says, but it’s more tragic than heated. When he looks at you, his eyes are glassy.

You clench your fists such that you can feel the prick of your fingernails against your palm.

Clean up crew. God.

“I’m done with this conversation.” And then you’re out the door.

He’s already at home sitting at the kitchen island when you open the door. Something anxious has been festering beneath your skin for the past three hours and it’s still there, simmering, as you kick off your shoes, taking your time to put them on the shoe rack. Then you grab a Dr. Pepper from the fridge and crack it open before leaning across the island towards him.

A plate of the leftover lasagna from Olive Garden sits in front of him. He looks at you now. You’ve got a feeling that you appear as tired as he does.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I was cruel. You’re right and I’m sorry.”

Miguel blinks at you over red sauce and ricotta cheese.

“I—” he starts. He looks down and drags his fork through noodle. You notice that he’s got a speck of something at the corner of his lips. “I do regret the neighborhood on 1014. And Hobie’s arm. I regret it most when I’m watching you get carted off to treat another injury.”

“I know,” you reply. “And, God, no one blames you for 1014, and Hobie only likes to give you a hard time. I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have said I would send you to the clean up crew.”

“No, probably not. But I shouldn’t have called you an asshole.”

He nods, slowly, and your shoulders relax.

“We’ll talk more after you eat,” says Miguel.

“Alright.”

— m. list

#x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara fanfiction #spider man x reader #spiderman x reader #spider man fanfiction #spiderman into the spiderverse x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse #spider-man into the spiderverse #spider-man into the spiderverse x reader #spider-man 2099 x reader #spider man 2099 x reader

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notmorbid · 9 months

Text

garden of earthly bodies.

dialogue prompts from garden of earthly bodies by sally oliver.

do you think this is a mistake?

i think you should say you changed your mind.

do you remember what we talked about?

i have endless stores of self-pity.

i feel less awful than before.

you're allowed to lose it now and again.

i don't mean to be horrible.

you can't adopt someone's pain to dilute your own.

stop being smart with me.

you'll give me a heart attack one day.

you're pushy.

life has a way of revealing the truth to you before it occurs.

how come you haven't said anything?

i wish you'd take things more seriously.

i wish i knew when i was going to die. then i could be ready for it.

i'm relieving you of your conscience, alright?

i don't want to write about it. i don't owe that to anyone.

nobody has seen your face in half a year.

i had a strange dream in the night. you were in it.

you probably won't remember most of it.

you need to look out for yourself. nobody else will.

can you stay in my room tonight? i don't want to be alone.

there's no point in being secretive.

you can't shut everyone out. one day they won't bother.

i don't think i'm really in myself.

i miss you all the time.

are you in any pain?

i'm bored of waiting for everything.

you're almost smiling again.

think more of yourself and less of others.

don't give away your thoughts. you won't get them back.

you don't have to say anything if you don't want to.

i wanted you to love me the same way i love you.

do you believe in god?

what can you not tolerate in others?

what is the quality you least like about yourself?

i love my parents, but i've never understood them.

this is the most alone i've ever felt.

i have to find something to wear.

hospitals manage despair, not disease.

it helps if you're stoned. only, don't do that.

i don't want to leave you if you're so unhappy.

watch the road, not me.

do you visit cemeteries often?

female comradeship is its own religion.

don't pull that sad, serious look you do.

i'm running out of ways to procrastinate.

i could like anything about you.

i wonder if you'll ever hate me.

life is too long and too brief.

i was always going to come home again.

you don't look like you.

you'll get back to feeling like your old self. just let it happen.

i don't even know what it means anymore. to 'be myself'.

i know who you are. i just can't believe it.

i'm not going to make this easy.

nothing is ever as sinister as you think.

i can tell something's not right.

we'll move at your pace.

i miss who i was. i don't feel like the same person anymore.

a life can end and not be over.

you had me. what about me?

#rp meme #rp memes #sentence starters #ask memes #inbox memes #ask meme #horror meme #families

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intoanotherworld23 · 8 months

Text

Grinding In The Garden

Pairing: Reader x Oliver Quick

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, there is sex in this and that’s it, minor fingering, minor spanking, unprotected sex, sex in a garden, public sex, dirty talk

Summary: Oliver wants to take you for a stroll around the garden, and of course he’s got another idea in mind

Authors Note: Please be sure to reblog and comment if you enjoy it would mean a lot, and keeps me motivated to keep writing! Tag list is always open so feel free to ask and I’ll be happy to add you! Thanks so much everyone! XOXO

Hall Of Hunks

"Ollie what if someone walks by?"

Whimpering to Oliver as he tugged your pants down to your ankles. The cool air breezing over your exposed core. It felt like your heart was racing a million beats per second. Your stomach was in knots at the thought of getting caught.

"Then we give them a real show." He jokingly said his focus solely on your naked lower half.

Tugging on himself as he licked his fingers and rubbed them over your folds. Body jolting at how cold his fingers were, and goosebumps appearing on your skin. His touch was gentle but boy did it have an affect on you.

The thought of maybe Felix or Venetia walking by and seeing what's happening did kind of turn you on a little bit. If anything it's what you and Oliver secretly wanted to happen.

"Someone seems to like that idea." It was like he was reading your mind.

"I can see that cunt glistening for me." Licking his lips at how wet you really were.

Pushing two of his fingers inside of you making you gasp as you turned your head to the side to catch a better look at him. Bending your back a little more as you spread your legs as far as they could go. The sounds of your wetness every time he plunged his fingers back in echoing in your ears.

"Ollie please." Begging him to hurry up so you could feel him.

"Look at you so desperate. About to be fucked in the gardens like the greedy little whore you are." His words sounded cruel but he said them with such sensuality.

Oliver wanted to take you on a walk through the gardens at the Saltburn estate, and you should have figured he would also have something else in mind. Randomly confessing to you that he's always wanted to do it where anybody could see. He could never keep his hands off you.

"Are you ready for me sweetheart?" Cocking his head at you as he curled his fingers up your core clenching tight around his digits.

"Yes."

A hand coming down on your cheek making you jolt in surprise realizing those weren't the exact words he wanted to hear. He had a certain way he wanted you to address him sometimes.

"Yes, sir."

"That's a good girl for me." Pulling his fingers out your juices coating them feeling the wetness on your hip as he gripped your flesh. "Always a good girl for me."

Bending his knees as he spread your cheeks apart so he could push his cock towards your entrance. Your hands gripping onto the tree that you were currently bent over. Parting your mouth as you felt him slowly slide inside of you. Stretching you out as your cunt swallowed him whole.

"Oh fuck this feels too good."

Groaning to himself as he clenched his jaw to refrain from cumming too soon. Feeling your slowly stretch around his length. He wanted to enjoy this.

"Keepin that cunt nice and tight for me."

"Ollie please move." Whining as you wiggled your hips back and forth hoping he caught the silent demand.

"Anything for my girl." Pulling his cock almost all the way out before slamming back in you loud moans leaving your lips.

"Like that sweetheart?"

"Mhm fuck yes." Mumbled through your teeth biting your bottom lip.

Oliver was amazed at how well you could take him. Watching the way that your walls gripped him almost like you didn't want him to leave. His cock disappearing as you swallowed him whole.

"God look at you." He teased as he watched you back your hips to meet his thrusts. "Taking my cock like this when anyone could see."

Nails digging into the tree bark as his cock was so deep inside you could feel him in your stomach. Your lower stomach bulging leaning your head down just barely enough to see his cock pounding into you. Closing your eyes as your body moved back and forth from the powerful force of his thrusting.

It was eerily silent where you two were except every once in a while you heard crickets chirping or something. The only sounds you could really hear was your moaning and yours and Oliver's skin slapping against one another.

"You're doin so good for me darling." His voice a gentle praise of acknowledgment.

Oliver could tell you were getting closer the tighter you were squeezing his cock. He wasn't far behind you, and wanted to feel his sweet release when you did. Strained groans and grunts slipping past his lips as he looked from where you two were connected to trying to get a glimpse of your face.

"Oh god I'm there Ollie." Backing your hips into his thrusts to feel more.

"Fuck let me feel that tight little cunt cum around my cock." Pushing deep inside you with a sharp thrust a scream leaving your mouth.

That familiar coil forming in the pit of your stomach as you blinked away a tear. Oliver leaned forward to kiss your shoulder tenderly then nibbling softly on your skin as you whimpered at the sensation.

Oliver's face was spanked red as sweat dripped down the side of his face. Hands grasping your cheeks squeezing the flesh between his fingers so badly wanting to take a bite. Oliver was obsessed with how you felt around him, and he could live inside you if he had the choice.

"Fuck me that's it." Oliver growled into your ear like a wild animal.

That clearly set you off as your body tightened and legs nearly gave out. The air had left your lungs for a brief second taking a huge inhale then exhaling. Thank god Oliver was holding you otherwise you would have collapsed to the dirt ground.

"Mmmm my god." Crying out into the air as your walls squeezed him like a vine.

Your orgasm smacking you in the face as your entire body felt like it was on fire. Squeezing your eyes shut as your body trembled, and your head was spinning so fast you felt like you were floating in the air.

Oliver groaning and panting above you as his cock twitched feeling warmth spreading inside of you. If it wasn't for him holding onto you your body would have collapsed to the ground.

Your arms shaking as you tried to steadily catch your breath. Taking small breaths as you tried to come down from such an intense orgasm.

"We gotta go on walks like that more often." Oliver joked as he smacked your ass a genuine laugh bellowing out of your stomach.

#oliver quick #Barry keoghan #oliver quick smut #Barry keoghan smut #oliver quick x reader #Barry keoghan x reader #oliver quick fic #barry keoghan fic #oliver quick imagines #barry keoghan imagines #oliver quick fanfiction #oliver quick saltburn #barry keoghan fanfiction #Saltburn smut #Saltburn imagines

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sssilverstoned · 9 months

Text

sympathy for the devil ꩜ cl16

type: fluff? besties to lovers? let's say that. a friend is done dirty but is she really a friend? debatable. flashbacks, angst-ish (a guilty conscience is always a great outfit addition, no?)

word count: 4.6k

warnings: language, suggestive but no smut (finger sucking. i was in a mood,) charles is a reformed cheater, so let's say some moral ambiguity all around

lily said: hello hello! welcome to the inner workings of my hyper fixation on summer romances and a couple of bestieeeees who should just be a couple. now that this guy is out the way, i'd love to formally open requests! a drabble, fic, oneshot, hit my line ! we can get into the details of who i do and don't write for later <3

You are not a terrible person. You're not even a bad person, truly. It's something you repeat to yourself like a mantra as you look away from Charles's side profile across the long table.

He's looking like summertime, soft like an afternoon nap, but sharp like a stinging on your skin from too many 5 more minutes called from the patio. His neck is elongated slightly, trying to hear Joris's story over Mirabel's loud laughter. When he leans like that, you can see a peak of the remnants of the hickey you sucked into his pale skin the evening before. Your stomach hurts.

Charles's own nose is red, he's scrunching it on occasion like no one will notice his discomfort, and his necessity for aloe vera. You've packed it in your bag because you know he wouldn't have. He knows to ask you for it later.

You excuse yourself from the long table, your dinner in front of you looking great, but you were nowhere near hungry. When you push your chair back to stand, it makes a low noise against the floor of the garden, and his head whips to you immediately.

It was your friend group's traditional holiday you were gathered for, an annual week at Mirabel's family home right on the water. 4 girls and 5 boys, room assignments remaining relatively static throughout the years. There was that one year Clara and Sammy shared a room, but, as both of them would easily say, it wouldn't be happening again.

"Everything okay, y/n/n?" Peter asks from your diagonal, which makes more heads turn to your now standing figure. You let out an uncomfortable huff, disguised as a laugh. Charles can read you like his favorite book.

Your linen dress clings to your body, yet flows off you effortlessly. He remembers seeing it on a hook in your room, wondering how it would look on your figure when he pretended to not watch you change tops. Reality was always better than fantasy, this he knew for certain.

"I'm alright, just chilly. Want to grab my sweater."

"I'll go with you, want to charge my phone anyway," Emma smiles up at you from her seat, standing up as well.

Charles follows your figure with your eyes until you disappear into Mirabel's villa, then continues to pretend to be listening to whatever Peter has begun rambling about.

"Did you see the way he and Oliver left the pantry in disarray this morning?" Emma's practically hissing her disdain, her shorter legs pumping overtime to catch your gait. You were hoping she couldn't.

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"Charles," she gags. "Tried to cook breakfast, and of course it was shit. Can't believe you didn't know."

You did, you helped him clean it up.

"I feel like it's quite hard to burn oatmeal," you snort, scrubbing the pot.

"Too much sugar in the pot, I suppose. That's how you make yours, yes? With brown sugar?"

You look back at him from where he was leaning against the counter, watching you help him fix his mess. Oliver had cleaned up the spilled flour on the floor of the pantry, then ran out to get pastries from a bakery before the rest of the villa woke up and threatened his life.

"Surprised you remember how I like my breakfast," you say.

"Why?" he asks, cocking his head. "I know a lot about you."

You click your tongue, suddenly shy under his intentional gaze. Your focus is back on the pot, and a stubborn clump of congealed oats. Charles peers around the kitchen quickly, before coming up behind you, a large hand circling your waist.

"How did you sleep? I realize I didn't ever ask," He drops a kiss to the crown of your head when he finishes speaking, and your breath hitches. Not with love or affection, but with a strike of fear, almost. It was an open air kitchen, and while everyone seemed to be sleeping in, you never really could know who may be stirring about.

"Slept fine. Kept the windows open," you shared a room with Clara on these trips, you two were always the closest of the girls growing up and never minded sharing. She didn't say anything when you came in at 2 am with mussed hair and swollen lips, and you were grateful for it.

"You could have stayed, Joris didn't come in until late."

You finally bristle, dropping the pot onto the drying rack. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

You turn in his grasp, eyebrows frayed in the middle of your face. He hates when you look at him like this. "Y/n, we're not children anymore. We're two consenting adults."

"Emma will hate me."

"And is that worth your happiness? Whether or not your friend, who you aren't that close to, by the way, is mad at you?"

"You cheated on her, Charles."

You clear your throat as you blink away the memory. Emma scoffs again at the thought of Charles. "He even had the gall to come out on the patio at the same time as me this afternoon."

"Everyone was on the patio, Emma," you level, already getting irritated with her tone. She irritated you often, Charles wasn't necessarily wrong about your lack of proximity to her. She was always a bit bratty, but had too much history with the group to be left behind, no matter how much she seemed to irk everyone. "You can't expect him to walk on eggshells around you, he's still a part of the group."

Emma stops walking, but you keep pace. "Are you defending a cheater, y/n?" You're glad you didn't stop.

Your eye twitches, and you're glad that she can't see it. This conversation was draining you, yet it's barely started, and already, it's over. She did this nearly every time they were in the same vicinity, and it was getting old. Or maybe, it was the guilt that you were fucking her ex-boyfriend.

It was a mistake that they dated in the first place. He had just broken up with his long term girlfirend, someone you all never seemed to get along with, and Emma's eyes were always slightly googly for the boy. Her attention was more palpable, and better received, than the rest. So they began to fool around, began to hold hands a bit more at group dinners. You heard her say 'boyfriend' much more than he did, though.

The cheating was a bit egregious, even for Charles. For the sake of everyone's friendships, his romance with her was kept under wraps, the superiority of a professional PR team apparent over gossip columns and nosy fans. It was the nosy fans, unfortunately, that had found Charles in a club somewhere in Italy with his tongue down some model's throat.

She cried, shouted, did everything but rip her own hair out at the photos that surfaced. Perhaps it hurt her most that people were excited to see Charles with the woman, finally seen with someone that wasn't an engineer or Vasseur. They didn't know about her, and frankly, they never would. She was never terribly important to Charles, everyone knew that, and now she did too.

The group had moved on, sans Emma. No one really made fusses about it in the first place, their relationship running its course over only about 3 months. The boys saw it coming and, well, the girls had warned her. A rebound was always obvious to those watching.

The worst part, the part that made you feel so ill all the time, is Charles wanted to be yours, and you wanted to be anywhere but the villa.

You grab your sweater off of the chair at the vanity mirror in your room, bristling at the chill coming from the open window you had left during the night, and now day. You hear the laughter of your friends, of Peter shouting over Oliver, and Charles laughing from his belly. You hate that you can tell his laughter from the rest.

When you sit back down at the table, Clara waits for you to scoot your chair back in and place the napkin in your lap. "You lost her inside, eh?"

You crack a smile, Clara was your most blunt, and funniest, friend. "Had to, lest I hear about Charles's trespasses again."

Clara chuckles into her wine glass. "If only she knew."

In a lowered voice, you turn closer to her. "I think she may actually lose her mind if she found out, Clara."

She rolls her eyes. "Find out what? That you two are obsessed with each other, yet you won't take him seriously? That she was collateral? Shit happens."

"That's not what this is."

"Please. He'd marry you tomorrow if given the opportunity, y/n. Deep down, she knows that was never her anyway."

When you look back up at Charles, he's already looking at you, looking so endearing that you have to look back down at your chicken and roasted vegetables. You're still not hungry.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

It happened quickly, but the buildup seemed to make it inevitable. You were always a friend of the leclercs, your mother's growing an affinity for each other when you were quite young. You grew up alongside the boys, Charles always having a soft spot for you in particular. Charles escorted you every time your father hosted a gala, and voluntarily was your designated driver on nights out. One in particular, 6 months ago, sealed fates.

"Charlie, just take one shot."

"If I take a shot, I won't be driving," he laughs at you, looking at you with little twinkles in his eyes. He and Emma had just finally broken up, the past 3 months couldn't be categorized as anything but odd. After they had notified the group, in their own respective ways, you had seemed to have gotten your fun loving, a tad awkward, but always down for what you were plotting, Charlie back. He had agreed in a heartbeat to meet you and Clara at the club. It makes you grin.

"That's fine, uber exists. Have fun for once, please?" You pout, tequila speaking for you. Everything was already a bit hazy, much funnier than normal, and less serious.

"Yeah, come on Chaaaarlie," Clara giggles knowingly. He'd do anything if you asked for it, this was a fact.

With a shake of his head and faked disdain, he downs the shot, hears your cheers, and suddenly, one shot is seven and you're both screaming the lyrics to an old Fergie song that blasts through the speakers.

Heels were a bad, but stunning, idea. You felt cute and confident, but by the time you had stopped dancing like a mad person to get a drink of water, the balls of your feet began to throb.

"Please don't take your shoes off in this place," Charles begs.

"Don't be my father," you frown. "My feet hurt."

"Your feelings will be what's hurting when someone steals these off the section couch," he points to your feet, and there was a touch of validity. They were Jimmy Choos, after all, and cost more than you could comprehend. Charles often went overboard on your birthday gifts.

"I'll take that risk."

"I'll hold them."

"You won't," you say with a laugh, used to his dramatics. But he shocks you, gingerly picking them off the couch and holding them on his index and middle finger.

"Charlie, put my shoes down."

"I will do no such thing."

Somehow, somewhere between promising Clara you'd text her when the uber dropped you and Charles off at his place, helping him get the key into the lock of his door, and sitting on his kitchen island, Charles finds himself in between your legs, staring into your eyes that had glitter and mascara surrounding them.

It wasn't normal of "best friends" to be around each other like this. He knew that. He hadn't wanted to be just your best friend in a while though, but having you in that capacity was better than nothing at all. Especially when he had seemingly bounced from one girlfriend to the other, and deep down, he knew it was because he was bored. They weren't you, no matter how much imitation was attempted. Perhaps the only person who was aloof to his truest desires, was you.

"You looked very pretty tonight, y/n/n."

"You looked dashing yourself," you wink, "the girls in there told you that though, no?"

He rolls his eyes. "That wasn't anything. Just fans, same shit as usual."

"You usually are being hit on by pretty girls, is what you're saying?" You continue to tease. Charles can't stand your smart mouth sometimes, especially how much he can't help but love it.

"To be fair, I don't really notice. I'm always looking at you, anyway."

You don't have a response for that. He's never said it outright, never crossing the line. But now he has, and there's no going back.

"Charles, you just broke up with Emma."

"I know,"

"You cheated on her."

"I know,"

"I'm your best friend."

His turn to grin. "I know."

In a fashion completely unlike you, throwing caution to the wind felt like the only option, pulling him in with your legs, locking around the back of his waist, lips pressed onto his, hair between your fingers. He tastes like tequila and mint gum, like the things you regret yet adore. He wonders if this means the same to you as it means to him.

When you wake up in his bed, makeup removed and your favorite shirt of his draped over your body, you inhale deeply when you feel the familiar soreness stretching through your lower half, and the weight of his arm roped around your body. Now that you've gotten your taste, you weren't giving it up.

"Did you pack the aloe vera?" You hear him from your doorway, blinking back from yet another memory.

"'S in the bathroom, look in the blue toiletry bag," you call, not looking away from where you were taking your hooped earrings out in the mirror. It was a domestic encounter in a way, like a scene taken out of context 20 years from now. Maybe one day, you'd be on holiday with a family of your own, enjoying silence once your kids were asleep after playing in the water all day. Maybe you'd be actually sharing a room, instead of whatever the fuck this was.

"You seemed off at dinner, everything okay?" Charles asks, rubbing the gel on his soon-to-be-peeling nose.

"Fine," you shrug, turning back to look at him, and not just his reflection. "Just wasn't so hungry. And cold, like I said."

He chuckles a little to himself. "I could tell," he nods with his head down to your chest. Your nipples had pearled, and supposedly, had been pearled, and were obvious through the thin fabric of your fitting dress.

"Jesus Charles," you berate, turning back to your mirror. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm a man," he corrects. "Who's seen what's under that dress and thinks it's a great sight. But I also like your mind and your personality and all that, of course." Idiot. He sits on your bed, making himself comfortable against the headboard as he watches you get ready for bed. Domesticity. "Will you be going back to Monaco after this?"

"No, visiting Clara's family in the states for a little."

He makes a discontent noise. "How long?"

"A week," you answer. "Miami."

"Fun, going to go out?"

"What is it to you?" You ask, half jokingly, half alerted by his series of questions.

He shrugs this time. "Care about you, want to know what your plans are. Is it a crime?"

"No, just makes me fear you're in love with me."

"I'm on my way to that, I tell you that all the time. And you make jokes because you know it's true."

You stand up from the vanity, looking at him with an expression that makes his heart hurt. It's that wounded puppy look, the way you used to look at Arthur when Charles would tell him to fuck off from trying to hang out with the two of you as teenagers.

"I don't really know what to say when you say those things." He stands up from your bed, meeting you where you stand in the middle of you and Clara's room. He still smells just like all your favorite aspects of summer, and that tired look in his eyes from a day of relaxation and release melts you. "I know I'm in my head."

"'S a good head to be in." He moves the strans of your hair that were falling over your forehead behind your ear, smoothing his fingers over your jawline until his fingers lift your chin. "That's better. Couldn't see your face."

"What is this, Charlie?" Your eyes search his, and he hates how scared you look. "Like, seriously. We, we fuck, we sleep in the same bed more than we don't."

"We always have done that, you've shared with Enzo and Arthur before too I'm sure."

"Don't be dense."

"I think that's just how I am, mon amour."

"Such a shithead," you mutter with a huff, annoyed with his smug expression. "I'm being serious. If sex is just what you want, or need, right now, I don't think I can do this anymore."

"It's much more than that to me, don't insult me," He no longer has a grin on his face, mouth turned much more stoic. "My actions precede me, yes," you withold commentary on that, "but I'd never do anything to hurt you, y/n/n. I care about you, think about you all the time, want you wherever I am, always."

A part of you thinks this is what you've always wanted to hear. A gorgeous, successful, personable man who you've grown to trust infallibly your whole life is 5 feet short of professing his love for you, and yet, you can't let yourself fully be happy. Because for the last 6 months, you've ducked and dodged your own friends, not wanting them to know about the two of you. He did cheat, for crying out loud. On someone you have baby photos with. No matter how annoying, or selfish, she comes off, Emma wasn't going anywhere in your life. And you'd be devastated if she did this to you, so he remained your dirty little secret.

"Am I interrupting?" Clara says teasingly from the doorway, a wine glass still in her hands. "Sorry, Mirabel wanted me to check on you."

You clear your throat and step away from Charles. "Not at all. Charlie's got a sun burn."

"Ah. You are pale," Clara notes. "Figures."

"Thanks, Clar."

"Still drinking?" You nod toward her glass. "Pour me one, will you?"

"Sure will." She turns, and you make to follow.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, I think."

"Y/n,"

"Not right now," you say firmly, "please?"

And you've got that withered look, that look that screams exhaustion. Guilt's gonna kill him one day, he's sure.

"Fine."

And with that, you head out the door, leaving Charles in your room, regretting not telling you how he felt about you when his girlfriend told him to. Before Emma took that mantle instead, and before you started looking at him like it was hard to do so.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

Sammy brings it up first, but the entirety of the day was the beginning of the end of secrecy.

The next day had been decided as a boat day, everyone prepared for another long day in the sun, this time on the open waves. The girls had all gone below deck, in search of champagne and a bottle opener, and Sammy and Charles were far enough from Oliver, Joris, and Peter for them to hear a conversation.

"I've got a question I think," Sammy asks. He makes an affirmative noise, head leaned back against the cushions of the lounger, sunglasses sliding down his still peeling nose. "Are you and y/n hooking up?"

Charles immeditely looks up at Sammy, mouth open in a scramble for the most believable way to say no. "No, ah, why would you say that?" oh dear.

"Mate," Sammy winces.

"Fuck me," Charles yanks the glasses off and wipes both hands over his face. He keeps them there when he asks, "how?"

"Leaving hickeys is one thing, her jewelry on your bedside table is another." The central heating unit for their floor was in Joris and Charles's room, Sammy did go to adjust it yesterday morning. Fuck. "Does Emma know?"

"No," Charles says quickly. "No. Y/n doesn't want anyone to."

Sammy quirks his mouth to the side. "Well, are you dating?"

"No,"

"Ah." Sammy looks out on the water, stewing over this confirmed theory of his. You all suddenly appear from inside, cheering with a bottle clutched in Emma's hand, you with the opener. When he looks back at Charles, he sees that even though all four of you stand there he's looking at you. This must be sympathy for the devil, Sammy thinks, because why else is he feeling bad for someone whose problem was multiple attractive women had feelings for him?

"Charlie, can you help?" you pout, unable to get the cork loose from the bottle. It was obvious you were tipsy, drunk even, you all had been drinking since the sun came up.

"Fucks sake y/n, use your arm!" Clara groans. Sammy looks back at Charles, willing him with his brain to not be at your beck and call for once.

"I've got it," Charles chuckles, like an idiot, if you ask Sammy. He pops it, a cheer coming from the group at the appearance of bubbles and spray. It gets all over his hands as he attempts to hold the bottle away from his body, and he shakes the excess off as the cheers continue. Oliver whisks the bottle away to be divied up between everyone's cups, and Charles goes inside to wash his hands off. You slink off behind him, unbeknownst to him, or the rest of your friends, except for Emma, whose interest is piqued by your sudden absences.

"Thanks for the help," your voice is sweet in the silence of the kitchenette.

His head whips to your figure, slightly startled by your presence. You're barefoot, a brown bikini only covering what's absolutely necessary to be covered. He can't tell if he loves it or he hates it. Your open button up shirt tossed on as a cover up intrigues him, because, is that his?

"Is that my shirt?" Charles repeats, out loud this time, eyes trained like heat seekers as you move close. His hands lay in the towel, champagne still dripping off his fingers. You've seemed to have distracted his process.

"No, but it seems like you would love it if it was."

He raises his shoulders. "You're welcome to them."

You hum, "good to know." You're looking at him like prey, it makes his throat dry and he's not sure what to say. You're always the bubbly one, the sunshine when he's being grumpy and difficult.

Charles lifts his hands from the towel that he still hasn't utilized yet, pushing his luck by placing a hand on your hip. He plays with the string on your right hip, fingers begging to untie the bow. "You only like talking to me when we're in kitchens, huh?"

He makes you laugh with that, or maybe it's the alchohol making you do it. "I always like talking to you. It's you that can't keep hands to yourself."

A hand slides up his chest, resting casually, yet his heart races faster. That familiar, warm feeling settles in his lower stomach, and he wills himself not to harden like a teenager. "We both have a problem with hands, I see."

You tilt your head in challenge. You pull his hand off of your hip and lift it, analyzing the digits still drenched in champagne. And to his utter surprise, you take his index finger into your mouth. The eye contact you hold as you do so has his mouth dropping open slightly in a daze, mind going to static as he feels the warmth and wetness, the pucker of your lips. You hum as you release his finger with a pop, licking your lips.

"Don't think I have a problem with your hands at all, Charles."

Charles, not Charlie. He's ruined.

How you saunter away after that leaves him gobsmacked, flustered, and most of all, hoping this boat would be docking soon.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

"I have an offer for you," is how you start the conversation. You're all showered, evening attire thrown on and awaiting the metaphorical dinner bell. The two of you plus Peter were sat out on the patio, and were left alone when Peter ran in to the bathroom for a moment.

"When I come back home, we should go on date."

Charles thinks he mishears you. "What?"

"A date, Charlie. You know, when two people who share a romantic interest go out toge-"

"Enough, smartass," He stops your condescension. "You would go on one with me?"

You take a deep breath. "Yeah, I would. I like you, and all that."

"And all that," he repeats. "What every man wants to hear."

"Do you want to go on the date or not?"

"I do, I really do. Have wanted to for a while, you know."

You smile softly, resting your head on the lounger. "I know."

"Dinner's ready," Emma comes out to announce. When she sees it's only the two of you, her expression changes slightly, something only you'd notice after years of experiencing emotions from her. "Where's Peter?"

"Bathroom," you answer easily. Emma looks at the two of you intently, and Charles turns towards the water, not really interested in making conversation with the woman who's profusely stated her aversion to him.

"Hm. Well, come down soon."

When she closes the glass doors, Charles all but laughs out loud. "What a nightmare."

"Your ex," you rebut, "can't believe that to this day. If you didn't like her, why'd you do it?"

"Because I didn't think I could have you."

His veins fill with regret when he says it, he knows its not fair. But it's true, you know it as well. "Well, no more collateral damage, then." You stand up from the lounger, brushing down your dress. "Pick a good restaurant for the date."

Dinner begins well, Mirabel telling stories and Oliver denying them all. It's when the laughter dies down after Joris recounts their last trip to Nice that things begin to slant.

"Y/n/n," Emma calls from down the table. You turn to her, as everyone does.

"Yeah, Em?"

"I just have been dying to know," she starts, clasping her hands under her chin. "How long have you and Charles been fucking?"

Peter chokes on his wine. The table is utterly silent, and everyone's face carries the same shocked expression. And, wow, you've pictured this moment dozens of ways and hundreds of times, but honestly, this one was rare form. But after everything, especially today, caution was once again to the wind.

"About 6 months," you calmly answer, reaching for your glass. "Give or take."

"You bitch," she hisses. "Are you not even ashamed of yourself?"

"Are you not going to address Charles in the slightest, or is it just y/n's fault that they have sex?" Clara asks, and Mirabel and Oliver can't help the snicker in their chests. Sammy takes another piece of salmon from the middle platter.

"Yes, I could have said something," you mull.

Emma looks around, utter disbelief on her face as it seems everyone's refusing to intervene on this one. You can't blame them, and those who did know, well, their wine glasses are filled.

Emma gets up from the table with a curse of Charles's name and a disgusted look your way, and Clara clears her throat.

"So, anyone have any recommendations for clubs in Miami?"

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff

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hwashotcheeto · 8 months

Text

𝑩𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅'𝒔 𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 (4)

Best Friend's Mother Masterlist

Chapter: Four

Milf!Park Seonghwa X gn!reader

Summary: A week has gone by since your late night secret with Seonghwa. You kept telling yourself to not entertain the idea of anything more than a one night stand. But Wooyoung, as always, throws a wrench in your plans.

WC: 4.4k

CW: Suggestive towards the end, kissing, touching, lots of teasing, Wooyoung is a cockblock, fluff, cuddles

AN: I spent a whole day writing this, my body hurts, my brain hurts, but I wanted to get this chapter done so badly. I hope you all enjoy it.

Tag List: @hyunjinsjeans @malldreamprincess @unlikelysublimekryptonite @becauseilovedyou @kittkat44 @babyxhoiz @asleepylilcat @mxnsxngie @rxnexxi @mommahwa1117 @acciocriativity @anxiousskylar @h3arteyes4mingi

“Hey guys,” Wooyoung said as he entered the living room. “I have an idea for something we can all do.”

The announcement shouldn’t have filled you with fear, but it did.

The week was a roller coaster, if you had to be honest. You’d wanted to keep your interactions with Seonghwa to a minimum, only talking to him if he talked to you, only if you absolutely needed to.

And it felt like torture.

You wanted to talk to him, you wanted to be nice, you wanted to sit with him and have long conversations about anything and everything. You wanted to give him hugs like Wooyoung did.

But you were scared of what would happen if you let yourself do that. If you fell deeper into him. If your lust for him turned to something more than sex.

You weren’t ready to confront that. Despite Wooyoung constantly dragging you with him to do anything, and “coincidentally” always having Seonghwa be there too, you didn’t think it was something beyond Wooyoung wanting to spend time with you. And of course, you were going to spend time with Wooyoung, so you were in a difficult spot.

And yet, the whole time you were trying to subtly avoid him, Seonghwa wasn’t dumb. And unfortunately, he was more observant than you’d thought he was.

And he hated to admit that he thought about it every time he laid down to sleep. He’d lay in his bed for hours and think about you. About the night you had together.

The way you’d look away when he tried to talk to you, the slight red tint in your cheeks when he’d call you “dear” or “sweetheart,” the little tremor in your voice when you talked to him. He was hopelessly attracted to you, and he knew you felt the same way about him.

And you both were battling with your desires in your own ways.

If only you knew that the gorgeous man you were daydreaming about was doing the same thing just one wall away.

You force a sweet smile at Wooyoung as you come back to the present. Seonghwa also looks up at him.

“Eomma, you know that restaurant you’d take me to as a kid?”

Seonghwa smiled and shook his head. “I’ve taken you to many restaurants.”

“The really expensive one that we went to for special occasions?”

“What’s the occasion?” You wondered. In the back of your mind, you wondered if Wooyoung was about to reveal his “relationship” with San to his mother. But the smirk Wooyoung was giving you shot that theory down quickly.

“Isn’t our presence enough of an occasion?” He answered, standing up straighter, puffing out his chest a little. Seonghwa laughed and shook his head again.

“Your presence is always an occasion, nae sarang, but I can’t just take you. That place-”

“Requires reservations,” Wooyoung interrupted, finishing his sentence. “Well what if I told you I already took care of that?”

You and Seonghwa both blinked, not completely believing him. You had no idea where this was going, or what restaurant they could possibly be talking about. Even if you did know the name, it wouldn’t have helped, because you could never afford to go to a restaurant nicer than Olive Garden.

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa started, in the signature disappointed parent tone that said everything without having to say it. The tone that meant “you shouldn’t have done that.” But it didn’t dissuade Wooyoung in the slightest.

“Come on, why not? I haven’t been there in a long time, and it’s something we can all do together.” He put extra emphasis on the word “together.”

You turned your attention to Seonghwa, and he was looking at Wooyoung with nothing but love in his eyes, with a little smile on his lips. He knew that no matter what excuse he made up, he was going to relent. He was going to say yes, because there was no reason to say no.

Part of him wanted to see how serious Wooyoung was. Part of him wanted to see what else Wooyoung was up to. He had his suspicions, but couldn’t tell for certain.

“What day do you have this reserved?” Seonghwa asked, tilting his head back a little.

“Tonight,” Wooyoung said proudly. “The perfect night to go out to eat.”

Time had started to warp and bend for you since you were thr0wn off your usual schedule, but Wooyoung had mentioned to you earlier that it was a Saturday. You realized now why he bothered to point it out.

Seonghwa still pretended to roll the idea over in his head. Both you and Wooyoung knew he was faking it based on his smile, but you two were still waiting with bated breath for his answer.

And finally, Seonghwa sighed and nodded. “Okay, when do we have to be there?”

Wooyoung did a little happy dance and squealed. You smiled and sighed in relief.

You didn’t feel so scared about the idea of going to dinner with Seonghwa knowing Wooyoung was going to be there. You’d have to throw together a decent outfit from the clothes that you brought, but you were sure you could do it.

And that’s what you did. About an hour before you were going to leave, you had taken a shower and made yourself look nice before you went to sort through your clothes. Just a simple outfit, but it still made you look put together. It wasn’t luxury, but it would pass decently for an hour or so.

As you were going to leave the room, there was a knock on the door. When you called for them to come in, Wooyoung peeked in. He took one look at your outfit and shook his head.

“No, that’s not gonna work.” He left and went back into his room. You followed him, befuddled.

“What do you mean, I look fine!” You protested, but Wooyoung was already going through his closet to look for something better. He frantically grabbed at different clothes, looking them over, and rejecting most of them.

“Fine isn’t good enough, this is a high class restaurant.” Wooyoung pulled out a shirt that he was satisfied with and tossed it onto a nearby chair. “Thankfully, your awesome best friend is here to help you.”

You sighed and looked at his outfit. He wore black slacks with a belt, with a white button up tucked into the shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his arms. This was the nicest you’d ever seen Wooyoung in the entirety of your time knowing him, Wooyoung never dressed up for anything. Not even to the formal events your college hosted.

Realizing that, you decided to listen to him and accept the clothes. You let Wooyoung dress you in the outfit he’d picked, and he helped fit and adjust it so it looked good on you. He accessorized you as well, with a couple of necklaces and rings.

You had to admit, when Wooyoung was done with you, you looked much better than you did before. Much more worthy of a fancy restaurant dinner.

Wooyoung also put a coat over your shoulders. “To match the outfit,” he commented.

“I have a jacket, Wooyoung.”

“Not one that goes with your clothes.” You rolled your eyes, but buttoned up the coat regardless. He had a point, sure, but you mostly just wanted him to shut up.

You and Wooyoung made your way to the front door and waited for Seonghwa.

“How do you have all these nice clothes anyway?” You asked, remembering that you never asked what Seonghwa did for work. With his nice house and Wooyoung’s extensive wardrobe, he had to be doing something amazing.

“My mom is a model,” Wooyoung says nonchalantly, looking at his phone.

Oh. Of course he was.

“What does he model for?”

“Mostly shoes, but he does a lot of other stuff. He has a couple deals for a few different luxury brands.”

Of course he does.

As you were about to continue, you heard a bedroom door close, and the familiar click of heels across the hardwood and down the stairs.

Your breath caught in your throat as Seonghwa came down the stairs. Good Lord, he looked fucking stunning.

He’d dressed himself in black slacks, a white, long sleeved turtleneck, and heels. Heels.

His silky black hair was curled and fell down in beautiful waves, his bangs framing his face perfectly. A few gold chains hung from his neck and rings on his fingers. He’d even put on makeup, with small wings by his eyes and sparkly eyeshadow, with sparkly, glossy, pink lips.

You had a sudden urge to kiss him.

You knocked yourself out of your daze when Seonghwa came over to the door. “Are we ready to go?” He asked as he reached into the closet for a coat.

Wooyoung pushed off the couch, already having a coat like you did. “Yeah, we-” And then his phone began to ring. “Oh-Sorry, let me take this.”

Wooyoung took a few steps away as he answered the call. “Hey. Oh, no. Oh, that sucks. Do you want me to come help? Yeah, I can come over. I’ll be there soon. Okay, bye.”

“Who was that?” Seonghwa asked, fixing his coat, which was white and fluffy, and long enough to cover his entire body, leaving it open. You tried to focus your attention on Wooyoung instead, who was putting his phone into his coat pocket.

“A friend from college, he needs me to come over.”

You had a strong feeling who that “friend” was.

“What happened?” You asked, but Wooyoung was already making his way to the door hurriedly. You grabbed onto his arm to stop him, and as he looked at you, you could see in his eyes that he was scared.

There was genuine fear there. Your stomach suddenly filled with dread wondering what could’ve happened to this unnamed “friend.”

“I’ll explain later, I just really have to go.” He pulled his arm out of your grip and opened the door. “I’m sorry, you two should still go enjoy dinner!”

“Wait, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa tried to stop him, but Wooyoung was already gone.

And you and Seonghwa were alone. As the silence stretched on, another realization dawned on you.

You were about to go to a restaurant and have dinner with Seonghwa. Alone.

“Well,” Seonghwa began. “Do you still want to go?”

“Yes,” you blurted, way sooner than you wanted to. Seonghwa’s lips curved up into a smirk.

“You don’t have to hide it anymore, sweetie. He’s gone.”

Your heart stops and you can feel sweat break out all over your body. Of course he knew, of course he’d seen how you were avoiding him and being shy around him. But you weren’t prepared for him to confront you about it.

And all that you can say is a soft, strangled, “What?” Seonghwa laughed softly and closed the gap between you two, standing over you. He made you feel so much smaller than you already were.

And you wanted to grab him. Desire burned in your bones to reach out and hug him, pressing your face into his chest, being safe and happy in his arms, letting the rest of the world fade out.

But you held yourself back, and forced yourself to keep eye contact with him. And he was loving the panic in your eyes.

“You can relax. It’s okay.” Seonghwa grabbed your hand and held it gently. “Enjoy this night with me.”

“But Wooyoung-” You tried to argue, but Seonghwa shook his head.

“He’s an adult. He’ll be okay. I’ll leave my phone on if he needs me.” He squeezed your hand gently. “Please. Come with me.”

And who were you to tell him no, when Seonghwa was asking you to go with him?

You followed Seonghwa into the restaurant, and you were already impressed in the first few seconds.

The entrance had little lanterns on the walls with candles inside them, illuminating the small hallway to the hostess stand and the rest of the building. There were large potted plants along the carpeted walkway, and the walls were adorned with large, gorgeous paintings of different landscapes and animals.

You stayed close to Seonghwa, but still far enough away to not touch him. He didn’t allow that, he grabbed onto your hand and laced his fingers with yours. The small gesture made your stomach flip over.

The hostess looked up and smiled at Seonghwa, and she started speaking in Korean. You heard her say “Mr. Park,” but you couldn’t understand anything else. Seonghwa responded, but there was a slight stutter in his voice.

You looked up at him, but before either of you could say anything else, the hostess motioned for you to follow her, and she led you into the dining area.

The dining area had the same theme of decor as the hallway. Dark moody lighting, lanterns, paintings and plants everywhere. The tables ranged in different sizes, from large to small, and nearly all of them were full.

But there was one open small table, with only two chairs with it.

You and Hwa took your seats, removing your coats first and leaving them on the chairs. You turned to Seonghwa and you nearly choked seeing him in the low lighting. Highlighting the bright parts and increasing the shadows, he looked like a character from a movie.

“It’s funny,” Seonghwa began, looking at you. “The reservation was under my name. For only two people.”

Your heart stopped for a second. And then you couldn’t help but laugh.

Wooyoung, the fucking brat. He set you two up. He was never going to come with you two.

Seonghwa laughed too, a soft, beautiful sound. “Did you tell him?”

You shook your head aggressively. “No, he told me not to.” And as soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Seonghwa’s eyes flicked up to you, and chills ran all across your body as when his eyes met yours. A smirk appeared on his lips again.

He was about to make a comment when a server came over and, in Korean, began to speak to Seonghwa. The look on his face disappeared and was replaced with a bright, award winning smile.

And somehow, jealousy began to burn in your bones, seeing the server clearly flirting with Seonghwa. You couldn’t understand what either of them were saying, but the way the server was smiling, giving him half closed eyes, laughing at what he said, it made you angry.

You balled your hands into fists by your sides, trying to keep your face neutral as the conversation went on. It was brief, but it was enough to piss you off.

The server walked away and Seonghwa turned his attention back to you. You forced a small smile and unclenched your fists. Seonghwa smiled back and crossed his arms, leaning on the table. You awkwardly kept your hands in your lap, not knowing what else to do with them.

“I’m sorry you’re getting left out of a lot of conversations. All I did was order for us, I hope you don’t mind what I got.”

“We’ll see when it gets here, won’t we?”

“Of course, we’ll see.”

And silence went over you both. You weren’t sure how to do this. This was less of a simple dinner and more of a date, and you’d been working to avoid this. But now you were sitting in front of him at a luxury restaurant waiting for food.

You had no idea how to fill the gap, since you hadn’t ever planned for this. You could see in Seonghwa’s eyes that he had ideas. But he just watched you.

He delighted in how you squirmed under his gaze. Holding eye contact, but nervously fidgeting and shifting around. Maybe he was just a little bit of a sadist.

“So,” he finally said, sitting up to take a drink of water. You let out a heavy breath and gulped, suddenly needing the water too. “Should I teach you a few words? Just for fun?”

“Sure.” You set the glass back down and put your hands back in your lap, still fidgeting with them. “That sounds fun.” You smiled, but it was weak and forced. Seonghwa was living for your nervousness.

“Okay, first word, eomma. It means ‘mom.’”

“Wooyoung uses that one,” you piped up. “I guessed that’s what it meant.”

“Yeah, that was easy.” He went quiet as he tried to think of more words to teach you, and one popped up in your head.

“What about the one you call Wooyoung?” Seonghwa looked at you, and his smile spread across his whole face.

“‘Nae sarang?’ It means ‘my love’.” His smile made butterflies burst in your stomach.

“That’s cute,” you squeaked out, reaching for the water again. Seonghwa’s eyes sparkled in delight.

“I thought so too,” he mused, leaning back on the table.

He was playing you like a goddamn game and you were falling right into it.

He was teasing you, toying with you. Trying to break you and admit that you wanted him as badly as you knew you did. He saw it all over you, but you refused to admit it.

But he’d made you. He knew he’d make you crumble for him.

“How about another cute one? ‘Jagiya’ means “baby,” like the pet name.”

The looks Seonghwa was giving you while he was teaching you these words was obvious. You knew the game he was playing. And you were powerless to stop it.

“Yeah, it’s cute,” you said softly. Seonghwa moved so he could prop his head up on his hand, under his chin.

“Why don’t you try it? Go on, say it.”

You gave your best attempt at the word, and Seonghwa’s heart fluttered hearing you say it. He was already imagining you calling him that.

And maybe someday, nae sarang.

No. That’s ridiculous. That would never happen. That’s not possible.

But what if it was?

The food came not long later, and the same server from before was the one to deliver it. The server was more bold this time, putting a hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder while she spoke to him.

The jealousy bubbled up in you again. Aren’t servers not allowed to touch customers unless it’s an emergency? This had to be a violation of some kind. Could you report the server for being inappropriate? Maybe, but you don’t know how you would.

“Sweetheart?” Seonghwa called softly. You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at him. You realized the server was nowhere to be found. How long had you zoned out?

“Sorry, I-”

“If looks could kill, that server would’ve been dead and buried.” He said as he picked up a pair of chopsticks. He spoke so matter-of-factly that it almost sounds like a lecture. Your cheeks burned hot and you looked down at the food, which looked delicious. A noodle based dish. “Go on, try it. I think you’ll like it.

So you did. You struggled with the chopsticks for a bit before you got a hold of them, which Seonghwa found adorably amusing. You grabbed a small bite of the mixture and took a bite.

And he was right, you loved it.

“Oh, this is so good,” you mumbled as you continued to eat, trying to remember your table manners and restrain yourself. Seonghwa could only smile as he watched you.

“I’m glad you like it.”

You both ate with minimal talking. Mostly because you were starving and hadn’t eaten in a long while, and you were loving the food. Seonghwa didn’t mind, because he was happy enough being here with you.

You were adorable. Plain and simple. You were stuck in his head.

Which is why he wanted you to admit that you wanted him to.

You got back into Seonghwa’s car as he did, settling back into the seat.

“Thank you for that, Seonghwa.” You looked over at him. “I really appreciate this. This was really nice.”

“You’re welcome, jagiya.” He started the car and began the drive home. He’d made the drive many times before, with Wooyoung, who had set you both up. It’d be an interesting conversation when you both got home.

You were sitting in the seat beside Seonghwa with your brain shorting out from the pet name. Jagiya. You knew there was a chance he’d use it on you, but it still broke your brain.

“Jagiya?” Seonghwa called softly. He glanced over at you, and he smirked, seeing your eyes glazed over.

Seonghwa placed his hand on your thigh. Gently, very gently. He didn’t move, he just kept his hand there. Just a gentle, steady pressure.

But he felt how your thigh tensed under his hand. He glanced up at your face, and your eyes were wide and clear, but your hands were gripping onto the seat below you.

“Do you want me to stop?” Seonghwa asked softly.

“No,” you blurted.

It shouldn’t have made him so happy to hear that, but he felt the desire bloom in his bones. He gently squeezed your thigh, massaging it.

And it made fire shoot up your leg and all over your body. Your stomach was churning inside you, your head was growing light. You didn’t think you could melt so badly from a simple touch, but you felt like you were actually turning into a puddle in the seat.

Every night, all week, he was in your head. You were thinking about your night together. His hands on your body, his arms around you, how his touch lit you on fire. You craved it more than you knew.

Seonghwa’s hand moved up your thigh, and you couldn’t cover your mouth in time before the whimper fell past your lips. Seonghwa bit his lip at the soft sound.

“I missed you, sweetheart.” His voice had slipped into a deeper octave, something more sensual. “I wanted you back in my bed. Don’t deny it anymore, you wanted it too, didn’t you?”

You bit your lip to stifle the rest of the noises that tumbled out of your mouth. The constant circles he was rubbing into your inner thigh, right next to where you needed him most, mixing with his voice, his confessions, you were a mess.

A mess just like he wanted.

“You wanted me too, jagiya. You thought about me, you wanted me. You wanted me to fuck you again just like I did before.”

Somehow, you were back at the house already. You hadn’t paid attention, how could you? Your brain was wrapped up in Seonghwa, all in him. Just him, and how badly you wanted him again. He was right, of course he was.

He turned to look at you, with his eyes half closed, his hand still on your thigh. He squeezed tighter than he had before.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you, jagiya. Tell me.”

Fuck it.

“I want you to fuck me, Mommy.”

“Good doll.”

You both quickly got out of the car and into the house. You pulled your shoes and coat off, and dropped it onto the couch. You turned to Seonghwa and choked on nothing as he stripped his coat off, tossing it aside, his eyes trained on you.

The only light in the room was a lamp by the door, making him look fucking angelic. An angel here for you.

He grabbed you and pushed you against the wall, his hands on your waist, his body pressed against yours. Your hands locked around his neck and pulled his lips to yours, beginning a messy, passionate kiss, all tongue and teeth.

Desperation clawed at you both like a frantic, wild animal. Seonghwa’s hands wander to your shirt, pulling it up and rubbing up against your skin, his lips traveling down your neck.

“You don’t want to go to bed?” You breathed, gripping onto his pretty silky hair.

“We’ll get there eventually, I need you now.” He gripped onto your waist again, pressing against you harder, almost pushing you up the wall.

Your legs fell open for him almost embarrassingly easily, but all pride had been thrown out the window.

Seonghwa’s hands ran down and grabbed onto your thighs, and you grabbed onto his shoulders, ready to jump into his arms.

Until you both heard the front door open.

You and Seonghwa both immediately jumped away from each other, trying to pretend that you weren’t just all over each other as Wooyoung came in the door.

Seonghwa had gone over to put his coat away, and flashed a fake smile to his son. They exchanged a brief “hi” before Seonghwa tried to cover up the sin you were about to commit.

“We just got home too! Did everything work out with your friend?”

“Oh, yeah.” Wooyoung took off his coat as well, and you couldn’t help but smirk when you saw his messy clothes. His shirt was untucked, his collar wasn’t properly fixed.

And oh, what’s that, just under his jaw? A little bruise. And how would Wooyoung get such a small bruise in a spot like that?

It took everything in you to not burst into giggles knowing exactly where Wooyoung had run off to.

All three of you agreed that everything worked out, everyone pretending they didn’t know anything about each other, before you headed up to your separate bedrooms. Not without you giving a little smirk to Wooyoung.

You’d give him shit in the morning about his dirty little secret. You knew you would.

But you were back in bed, laying awake, thinking about Seonghwa.

Fuck. This was a new level of desperation for you.

And realizing how badly you wanted to be back with him sucked any sexual energy out of you. You just wanted to be in his arms now.

As quietly as you could, you snuck out of your room and went to Seonghwa’s door. You didn’t bother to knock, you couldn’t risk waking up Wooyoung.

You slowly opened the door and slipped inside. Seonghwa was already waiting for you, and happily pulled his blankets back to let you into bed.

You crawled in and laid next to him, putting your head on his chest. He held you tight and close, and finally, what you craved was yours.

“Too risky to continue?” You whispered.

“Too risky,” he whispered back. And that was fine with you.

At least now you had him. You had his arms around you. You were in his bed. He was rubbing your back. Your head was on his chest. And everything felt right. Everything felt good.

Whatever your future held, you knew it would have Seonghwa in it. You would be sure of it. How could you ever let him go?

“Stay with me,” he whispered. “I really did miss you.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered back.

And you stayed.

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed! 💜

This is a work of fiction written by me. This does not represent the idol(s) in any way. Any re-upload is not allowed and will be reported.

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