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tothepointofinsanity · 7 months

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Greener Grass Awaits Lore "Masterpost"

[This post contains major spoilers for the game, so please be careful while interacting.]

[I would call this a fancy piece, but really it's just me incoherently blabbering about something I like not being talked about enough again. Read it with a kilogram of salt and view it as a discussion piece instead of what it tries to be. Be warned that this is a very long post, and it is encouraged to play the game before scrolling this.]

The Fundamentals: Greener Grass Awaits is advertised as a sport and horror game. In the former, your main objective is to finish all 12 holes on the golf course. In the latter, your character is stalked by undead entities under the moonlight that distract you from your said casual golfing spree. Before all else, we should start by considering the environments presented to us within the game itself, as it contains history and lore relevant to the bigger picture.

The Setting: You break into a prestigious golfing course known as the Green Canyon Golf Club, a club that has appeared on a magazine issue before which crowns it as one of 'the most inconvenient' courses in the world, likely due to the fact that it was built on an island, also featuring courses that loop around bodies of water. A bit of history given to us was that the course was initially meant to be left as open space before it underwent renovations accordingly in 1982. Today, you will find a large bridge that looms in the skyline between hole 9 to 11 which serves as one of the alternate entry ways to the island, as well as long walkways that cut between winding grasslands and forests.

The Golf Course: The lush and verdant environments of Green Canyon's courses boast the transplant of distinctly non-native, European trees to sport its current iconic look, and this impressive landscape is maintained by an outsource lawn-care company known as Greener Grass, a team that specialises in 'large, remote areas' and is known for its apparently weird advertisements. It is also implied from the bizarre ad and posters that plays at the end of the game that Greener Grass Co. has capabilities in helping to 'revive' dead or dried up lawns, and use a special brand of either soil or fertilising materials that assist in this process. The latter is implied from what you find around the caddy shack.

The further you pick and go with your ball, however, the more oppressive the atmosphere becomes. At some places you will see the illusion shedding its scales - bald, exposed trees on yellowed patches of ground despite being surrounded by other lush trees.

The Caddyshack: At the end of the twelfth hole lies a building you were warned to stay away from because "it's bad", according to an actual Green Canyon club member you met previously. All the doors in the building are locked except for the employee's only room, which will reveal a bloody scene. Presumably, the person you encountered previously who gave you the warning was dead on a chair, while a charred body lies on the office table in the middle of the room. Strewn about are cans of gasoline and Greener Grass Awaits co. bags, possibly containing the fertiliser or soil speculated before. The caddyshack is an important place as it functions as the gateway between the human world and the realm of the residing deity.

More of this will be explained later on.

The Forest: Entering the darkness of the room in the caddyshack will magically transport you to a different space of existence. Here, temples are separated by deep forests, with sacrificial alters occasionally in between them. The forests are dark, and staying in the light is necessary for survival. There are two objectives in this section of the game: pop The Blister and then Kill the Tree. You will need to repeat this objective twice as you march further into the home of the eldritch deity. The Blisters are pulsing gobs of flesh, like a heart, that are stuck onto the orifice of a tree in the forests. However, the game developer interestingly refers to them not as blisters, but as wounds. More on this later. Popping the blisters with your ball will open up the temples' entrance to access the Trees in question, hence the latter objective. You Kill the Trees by swinging your ball into the hole beneath its trunk. There are two Trees (so two Blisters altogether) to kill. When both trees are killed, your action provokes the deity living in this space of existence so much that a boss fight is instigated.

With that being said, it's important to now discuss the enemies we encounter in question.

The Antagonists: Sneaking in for some midnight golfing has its consequences the longer you overstay your welcome on the field and continuously stare down the face of evil. Interestingly, this game presents a surprisingly thought-out mechanism and line-up of enemies as they do not operate on a singular basis, but rather as a triangular feedback between a cult, a forest of angels, and a God out of this world.

The Cult: Under the guise of a landscape company skillful in maintaining the surrounding flora, it is heavily speculated that the Greener Grass co. are an elusive cult that has been offering human sacrifices to a foreign deity that promises everlasting scenery (satisfaction, contentment) in exchange. It is implied from some sign boards that the Greener Grass cult have been spreading the deity's influence outside of its realm and into the human world through the transplant of the aforementioned 'saplings from Europe'. The flora of this game are symbolic of the presence of this God, and potentially serves as an anchor for it to assist in the maintenance of the landscape. Some clues eluding to us that it is indeed a cult were the bloodied altars in the forest sections, as well as a weird book lying on one of the chairs in the Caddyshack. The inscription on the front cover is hard to make out.

The three enemies that stalk you through the game are Greener Grass employees, and are the poster children for both the cult and company given they are one and the same. The 'bizarre ad' that plays at the end also features the same trio, and the song played in it has lyrics hinting towards the company's true intentions. Some of these notable lyrics are: "my life is not what I imagined", "what if you could find that green, and all you had to do was come with me?", "it's the answer to your problems if you come with me". Definitely ominous, and the cult's whole ordeal with 'greener grass awaits you' is a play on the proverb of "the grass is greener on the other side".

Essentially, it is a cult that capitalises off people's insecure dissatisfaction with their own lives (which is pretty much in character for most cults in the real world anyways), takes advantage of sentiments of envy stemmed similarly, all with the lure that you will be happy if you join them. However, the cult does not just follow the stereotypical 'what if happiness was evil' trope, but because their motif is directly tied to the deity they serve under.

The 'Angels': The forests between the temples and altars are occupied with a crowd of stone statues that have that trademark grin the employees had. The angels operate in a very unique mechanism. Unlike the trio employees that stalk closer when your back is turned on them, the statues littering the forest grounds follow another modified system of the weeping angel formula - the second you stay with them in the dark without a light source, it will prompt flashing visages of their faces to psychicly overwhelm your vision. They do not directly attack you, instead choosing to paralyse you in with their surrounding numbers if you're left to wander in the darkness. I call them 'angels' as they seem to be closer to the original weeping angel family in terms of how they work, but also due to the fact that they look much more friendly in the light. They are also enthusiastic statues who rotate between striking an unnecessarily cute abundance of poses. All these poses involve them expressing their joy, almost in ecstasy. Praising, worshipping...something. The ironic liveliness of their poses grants them an impression that they are dancing behind your back.

I also like the detail that when a light source is on them, their expressions are always shut-eyed, but with the visages that flash repeatedly in dark areas, even if you can't see them well, the game shows you that their eyes are open, and thus the impression their expressions give off is that they're mocking you.

On their own, the angels are not a difficult enemy given their psychic esque attacks are ceased with keeping the light close to you. But this game is sadistic, so it eventually throws in the Greener Grass employees into the forests as well. What occurs then is that you're forced to move away constantly - so you either get killed by the employee for trying to keep the light with you, or you're killed by the angels once the employee drives you out of the light's radius. Extremely evil. Once again, it is to enforce the idea that everything that wants to kill you in the game are in cahoots with each other. Another minor detail I noticed was that the trio employees from the Greener Grass commercial also broke into dances over something viewed as trivial as growing lawn grass, which is likely a parallel to the Angels' poses. The expression of 'dancing' and a carved, permanent grin, I think, is done to honour their God.

A God: The overseer of the Greener Grass cult, a deity not from our familiar world who is connected to trees, nature, and most importantly, joy. The final enemy of this game is Exuberance, an eldritch divinity who has nefarious intentions of fully crossing over to 'our' world once the Last Sacrifice is Broke Open. A face with a grin stretched wide by tree branches.

Exuberance is an interesting name as it is generally defined by 'the quality of being full of energy, excitement, and cheerfulness; ebullience.' It's not simply the emotion of happiness, but rather, referring to a state of high spirits, of ecstatic liveliness being. Furthermore, and perhaps this is merely a clever coincidence, but 'exuberance' can also be used to describe, 'the quality of growing profusely; luxuriance' particularly with plants, which would circle back to how it is related to trees and the Greener Grass cult. The entities associated with Exuberance are then constantly in a state of 'bliss' and carve their own faces to resemble their deity. After all, since when was the last time you felt so happy the only method of expressing it is through a dance? It's a primal trait, undoubtedly.

It is thus speculated that this God is quite ancient given the appearance of its realm, the forest, contains archaic architecture of temples. Yet, the bodies we find on the sacrificial altars are fresh, the blood more red than rust. Exuberance had been collecting human sacrifices through its cult, as evident by the large amount of bodies/souls that are released whenever the deity takes damage. It has that same air of confidence and arrogance towards humans that most eldritch Gods carry themselves with. Likes to speak a lot. Here are all of its lines:

Abandon this endeavor. You can't kill a God! You will join me eventually, everyone does!

Now I realise who I'm talking to! No matter. Your suit of flesh is fragile. I will break it open, and you will pour out. That body will be the last sacrifice I need.

You cannot keep that world! I will take your dinner from you.

Upon your first playthrough, though, Exuberance's dialogue sounds like complete gibberish or madness when the context is not made clear yet. This whole journey thus far has not made much sense on how it transitions from casual golfing to killing a God, how Green Canyon Golf Club has to do with a cult; but it will hopefully become clearer with the next introduction: The Protagonist.

The Protagonist: Our local golfer may not just be as local as we thought.

We've discussed the setting and the enemies. Now we must talk about the main character: yourself. In the game, you have no reflection to view your character's appearance, but if it helps in any way, you seem to be slightly shorter than the majority of the enemies and NPCs you encounter. This isn't important information, I just think it's funny. Your character is generally regarded as a weirdo, even speculated to be mentally unstable or inebriated by some people discussing this game. The signs seem to be there: vaulting fences into a premium golf course after dark to play golf in the dark, having a tendency to stare at other characters straight in the eyes, unsettling even the security guard, and appears to be obsessed with the sport of golf. Your character is played up to be an infatuated madman with the latter, with mental barriers scribbled about how they wouldn't miss golf for the world, and the leading theory as a result was that the entire game was a hallucination birthed from their obsession with golf, or rather, too bloody drunk and passed out with strange dreams near the canyon. This would have been the case until you consider two things: Firstly, despite claiming to be a hardcore golfer, your character carries around a beginner's guide on the sport, and has only a simple putter and driver in their sling bag. When you kill Exuberance and wake up in front of the club's front door, you also do not recall where you were, only recognising your car was parked, and that you should leave. Not recognising Green Canyon Golf Club indicates to us that something is off, given as discussed prior, it is an infamous place for golfing, and had the character really been a die-hard for the sport, they would have realised it without problem. Secondly, the character you play from the start to the end of the boss fight compared to when you wake up seem to have differing personalities. The character you have been stuck with seems to know what they're doing at all times, and gives instructions on their next move. They're stiff, rigid, and are not easily excitable even in the face of the stalking employees or a dead body. They don't seem to care much about anything at all except for an odd aversion to water, as well as wanting to kill Exuberance. What is even stranger is that the font for the character's monologue is completely different after the boss fight ends.

During the game:

After the game/ending:

The former is more messy, like it's written by hand. The latter is a plain font. This implies that something about your character has changed — the truth was that you were possessed all along, most likely by another eldritch God whom is not Exuberance, and came to the golf course to slay it. There are some allusions to you being a separate eldritch entity: Exuberance recognises you. Not the character you were playing as, but whatever that was occupying the human vessel temporarily. An eldritch God has no reason to remember or know a mere human, after all, hence explaining the second and third line of dialogue by it in the temples, as well as why when the original owner of the body wakes up, they have no recollection of what occured whatsoever, and, effectively as other players have thought - it's all chalked up to both the ordinary you and the players as 'just a dream'.

Your character also refers to themselves as "this body" whenever you enter the water as the vessel you are possessing has no swimming skills. At the very start of the game, you even get to 'choose body'. You're choosing a vessel suitable to your liking to possess. What is more evident as well is the ominous answers that you can use to respond to whatever the NPCs are saying, as well as frightening them due to the possibility even they knew you felt off. You would often hear screams drone louder and louder in the background whenever you got near to these NPCs, as they are actually dead. We 'hear' the truth from what is not directly told to us by these spirits that were trying to advise against proceeding deeper into the course.

Yet, we proceed. The enemies would have directly charged at you from the get-go instead of waiting for you to look away since the way you look at something (eyes are the windows to the soul, and I wonder what kind of thing they would see in the place of one when others look at you) since you clearly hold a certain influence over them by presence and stare alone. The undead should have nothing to fear, and yet even they practice caution against something that reminds them of their patron God. Another reason I believe you're being possessed is because the font you have always used in the game feels handwritten, the same way Exuberance's font is more cursive and messy. Clearly, you are a deity by some means, just a different kind with different intentions; some intentions that are left unanswered even after finishing the game.

Just what exactly does all of this writing amount to?

The Final Story: An expansive golf course known as the Green Canyon Golf Club opens up in 1982 after being renovated from its previously barren state. It was founded on a large island, featuring a diverse, challenging number of holes for people to enjoy while they traverse the canyon's scenery. In order to maintain the green and natural state of the course, Green Canyon managers hired a company known as Greener Grass to assist them. Greener Grass co. appeared to be a rather new company, having only few reviews, but an eye catching advertisement and specialises in the lawn keeping for large, remote areas, which seemed to fit the canyon's liking and geographic description. The hired company set to work, transplanting in gorgeous trees supposedly from Europe, as well as using their own brand of soil to allow the environment of the course to prosper. The environment was clearly well tended to, with the course even forbidding golf carts due to how sensitive and delicate the fields were, as well as advising golfers to not hit their balls into the trees as native birds nested there. Despite these rules, the course was fairly prestigious, its popularity captured in several sports magazines.

What was unknown to the club, however, was that this lawnscape company they hired was actually a cult, and the permission to freely introduce foreign flora to the land had been with the company's intention to bring in anchors tied to the God they made contact with, Exuberance. Through the golf course and perhaps other places not mentioned, Exuberance had been steadily increasing its influence over the human world as it received more and more sacrifices thanks to its formidable cult. The cult worked in a caddyshack on the golf course, and would lure in members of the golfing club with normal statements of refreshments available, only to offer them up as sacrifices to the altars of the temple. The sacrificed bodies were then burned and made into the materials the Greener Grass front used to maintain the lush landscapes. Countless rinse and repeat sessions of bloodshed later, Exuberance required just one more body still to cross over to the human world and, from there, become unstoppable with the fact that its associating flora were planted everywhere by the cult by then.

But the violent rituals of the Greener Grass cult had resulted in innocent souls trapped on the grounds of the course and realm in-between worlds. The souls screamed in their fate of immortalised anguish, and eventually this unbearable abundance of noise roused the deity of the human world from its previous state of inaction. Exuberance is a source of insolence, believing it could attempt to compete with Us for the world we looked after. Something must come out of this. The problem was that Exuberance's realm was closed off, difficult to penetrate without proper mobility. A plan was thus hatched: possess a suitable vessel to appear human in order to get closer to the home of the enemy. It risked vulnerability as the human body was fragile and had a mind occupying it already, but that doesn't matter when casting a heavy filter of obsession with the sport would properly motivate them to do the bidding. This different deity knows that Green Canyon Golf Club had been discreetly converted to a massive ritual ground at this point, and playing by the rules of the world of golf, even if tedious, was necessary to reaching the gateway and destroy the anchors tied to Exuberance.

You play the role of a victim as the undead start to stalk from behind, but something was off about this sacrifice, and the employees take turns reporting back to their God of this issue. Exuberance believed the disguise of a human, not being aware of what laid hidden under the layers of blood and bones. You finish the 12th hole, enter the caddyshack, and find yourself where you wanted to be: on the turf of the enemy's temples. Staying in the light was vital to survival here, and as fresh blood collects in the basin of the altar from a previous sacrifice, the innocence of a stolen life had purified to form a glowing orb. An orb that lights up like a star in the dreary landscape, taking the filth of flesh as it goes. By the time Exuberance had realised the scheme of a trojan horse, you had already successfully killed the trees, and all that was left was to kill Exuberance itself. With each swing, you take out pieces of the God, releasing the souls into the surroundings.

The fight ends with a clear victor, and you wake up outside of the golf club with no recollection of any of this. The deity possessing your vessel had relinquished control, allowing you to continue your life as normal. What occurs after then is unclear, as the advertisement sings its jingle, and we get to see the spine of a book inscribed with strange symbols on the right as the game ends with the sound of a closing door.

TLDR; Local grass cult goes overboard with human sacrifice rituals, acidentally summons worse eldritch being to kill their patron deity just so it would shut up. Happy golfing!

#Grass Archives #Greener Grass Awaits #Greener Grass Awaits game #today on: explaining things to the thin air #i really like the game's lore since it's written like a proper cosmic horror/lvcraft esque #but even outside of ignoring the lore it's an effective horror game #and by that i mean it takes advantage of paranoid people (me)#sound design and songs for this game rock too #Yatoimtop Archives

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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artificer-dice · 1 year

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Guys I messed up 😅

One of the number one rules with working with silicone and molds and resin in a pressure pot is you don't seal in a pocket of air.

Guess what I accidentally did in the stupidest way possible 😅 on the cute d6s I was super excited about too!

I was able to remove them by hacking at the bumps with some wire cutters until they lost adhesion with the face (which I realize is something I need to fix in the process) and I was able to peel them off, which took the paint with it but it should be easy to fix now.

They have hearts for the 6 faces and I love them so I'm going to fix them but it's a learning moment I didn't necessarily want to have today but at least it was salvageable!

#it's been a rough day #it's not even noon yet and i already want to just go back to sleep #it's been raining all morning which means I've been in pain since last night #and it's been fairly intense today #so i was hoping for a win with these cute d6s because the set is a rainbow and they have hearts as the 6s #and then this happened #and i knew immediately what had happened when i saw it #to explain the pocket of air thing: this final step is casting them after inking them in a mold with no numbers so the 6 face disappears #and that mold happens to be open-faced and when I've used it previously I've gotten raised faces so i tried to use a little silicone mat #this mat happens to be longer than that mold but also thin and stretchy which is important #i used a mold weight to keep it from lifting in the center. this particular mold weight was a failed 6d6 mold #for some reason i used it with the d6 cavities facing down which meant there were cavities of air touching the mat #which maybe would have been fine if there wasnt resin in between them for some reason #this resin sealed the space between the mat and the weight which meant those cavities were sealed #again a big no-no in this situation because a pressure pot compresses air #which means that space has no choice but to get smaller because that air inside can't normalize pressure with things outside of it #so it pulled the very thin and very stretchy mat up in an attempt to normalize #well the surface underneath the mat had a lot of resin and it was also sealed and resin doesn't compress (as much?)#so the mat being lifted created this vacuum of sorts that pulled the resin into it like how drawing up a syringe works #and then it cured like that #thankfully the resin is still flexible enough at this stage that once i broke the seal between the two layers it peeled off #which tells me taht in the future i should sand the faces before doing this step to help adhesion so they cant separate #usually separating is bad but in this case it saved me literal hours of sanding because that's what it would have took to fix this #i am good at making dice i promise #this is still in development so I'm still figuring out the fine details within the process #there's no catch-all course you can take to learn these things so I'm kinda just winging it anyway #these are meant to be examples of a method to be used to make custom-faced dice without them being custom-molded #because making one-off designs this way saves on silicone and making the masters in the first place #not something i thought I'd be doing as much but working on this process is why I'm waiting to open commissions again #because this was a majority of the requests i got

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kerink · 1 year

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in light of people's confusion over cecil's longevity in @sexymanotd i wanted to document a bit of his history for those unfamiliar or nostalgic

welcome to night vale is a podcast written by joseph fink and jeffrey cranor. cecil gerschwin palmer is the main character and voiced by cecil baldwin.

it debuted on june 15, 2012 it reached its peak in popularity in 2013-2014

despite this, wtnv has been one of tumblr's top fandoms since staff started tracking fandom-related data in 2014

for the longest time the only thing we knew about cecil's appearance was: "He is wearing a tie. He is not tall or short. Not thin or fat." and that wasn't until episode 19 which aired march 15, 2013. for almost a full year we had no idea what cecil looked like. so tumblr's collective unconscious kicked into high gear and we did what we do best

we created a tumblr sexyman

from know your meme: "Defining traits of the archetype include skinny body type, trickster or villain role and dapper clothing."

know your meme identifies wheatley (portal 2, 2011) and the onceler (the lorax, 2012) as being likely tumblr's first sexymen. and the onceler fandom was at its peak in 2012-2013, the same time as wtnv. in addition to this, the hannibal fandom has been cited as one of the contributing factors to wtnv's success on tumblr.

so tumblr had created an archetype that worked and the wtnv fandom was made up of mostly hannibal fans - the foundation for putting cecil in a suit was there. and honestly? cecil's at work in the show, why wouldn't he be well dressed?

however, while this explains his attire it doesn't explain some of cecil's more unique sexyman features, namely the tentacles. for this we have to return to the 2014 fandom review analysis where you can see the most popular fandom at the time: homestuck

haven't you ever wondered why almost a quarter (189/923 at time of writing) of E rated wtnv fics on ao3 are tagged tentacles or tentacle sex? why cecil having tentacles for a dick is such a seemingly popular headcanon? well look no further then homestuck cultural hold over.

throughout all of this, the development of the sexyman archetype on tumblr and the rise of homestuck, one creator really stands out: kinomatika

kino was one of the most popular homestuck artists on tumblr at the time, popular for their eridan fanart. if you google image search "welcome to night vale" kino's art is still one of the first results you'll get

their design was so popular in fact it was featured in wtnv related articles from the time

and yes there were absolutely other artists giving cecil tentacles and moving tattoos at the time, but it can't be understated the reach kino had and the influence their homestuck roots had on their design choices

i recommend going through the archive of @nightvaleartclub to see how cecil used to be portrayed back in the early days. unfortunately the earliest fanart i've been able to find is july 2013 and i find it hard to believe it took tumblr a year to draw him. although, i started listening at episode 5 and didn't start drawing him until then myself so who knows...

cecil has had tumblr's heart in a vice grip since episode 1, with "20,000 posts, 183,000 blogs and 680,000 notes using the #Night Vale tag" during its first week. tumblr's love for wtnv has always been fairly genuine, from the impact the writing has had on tumblr humor and future story telling, to how wtnv paved the way for lgbt+ representation in indi media, to how it popularized podcasts as a medium for story telling, to the little comforts some of cecil's quotes still bring people today

cecil is not only a founding father of tumblr culture, but also a blorbo of the people. cecil the character in canon has a tumblr account where he posts his art and slash fanfiction.

although cecil's character has developed over time and we've come to see what a ditzy, eccentric, brat he really is, changing his status from sexyman to babygirl, cecil is absolutely a character you should embrace. and you know what... despite what i've said in the past

#cecilsweep

[ID: Images one and two are Google analytic graphs for the search terms "welcome to night vale" and "wtnv" between June 15, 2015 and January 27, 2023. They both depict very sharp spikes around 2013-2014 until the lines decrease greatly over time.

Image three is a drawing of Cecil from Welcome To Nightvale. He is white, with white hair, glasses, a third eye on his forehead, and he is wearing a suit. In the background is the silhouette of a neighborhood from the WTNV official art, a galaxy, and a moon. It is tinted purple. Image four is the always has been meme. Instead of the earth is the tumblr logo, and the text is: “a wtnv fansite?” “Always has been”. End ID] id thanks to @princess-of-purple-prose

#wtnv #welcome to night vale #sexymanotd #cecilsweep

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yanderestarangel · 2 months

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did u delete a fic? i swear i saw a tio!miguel fic earlier today

a/n: hi angel! thank you for asking, in fact there was an age restriction and I decided to delete it, I'll take advantage of your comment and repost it. ✧⁠*ᜊ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᜊ.

"TIO" MIGUEL O'HARA X FTM READER

𝐓𝐖: dark plot, toxic relationship, power play, non con, dub con, manipulation, age gap, step!incest (non-blood uncle), invasion of privacy, stalking, threat, dead dove, dark smut, latino ftm reader, femboy reader, jealousy, aggressive sex, recorded sex, dom!miguel, v!sex, blowjob, spanish nicknames, send nudes, degradation, objectification, AU, male x male, porn plot, long fic, brain rot, creampie, blackmail.

Family parties were normal for your family, getting together some close relatives and celebrating on any weekend, always with plenty of music and laughter filling your ears, was annoying at times, but you couldn't say 'no' to a tradition.

You felt the cold of the night breeze enter your skin, each hair left its place accompanied by a strange chill ── you were being watched, and you knew very well who it was... Tio Miguel.

Miguel O'Hara was a friend of your father, a mysterious and serious man, even though your family welcomed him as if he shared the same blood, he still had the same look of rigidity and seriousness ── no one knew much about his past, if he had some relationship or family before moving to your city years ago, but it was only said that he worked as a caretaker on some local farms ── which made him earn too much money for a simple caretaker, but that matter was not touched by no one in your family.

You obeyed the strict rule of calling him "Uncle" or "Tio", since when he arrived, when his eyes met yours, it was as if something awakened in his core ── a flame lost for years, now burning in his soul, and you it was the kerosene that made this fire worse.

Your attention returned to reality, seeing the tanned man go to the place where you were, sitting next to you; muscular legs crammed into the black jeans he always wore, with a weather-beaten dress shirt that had previously been white, now appeared to be a light vanilla shade, hugging the girth of his robust muscles. He had a cold, fresh can of beer in his right hand, while his left went towards his hair, arranging some loose strands that insisted on falling on his forehead, his lips formed a thin line, the corners turned down in disapproval ── The sight of you hiding from the celebration hurt him, a pang of possessiveness invaded his chest, soon remembering the things he had seen, however, before touching on the topic of rupture the words came out softly from his throat.

"What is wrong, carinõ?"

He asked softly, hand reaching out to take yours gently. His grip was firm but not unnecessarily tight, calloused skin warm against your own.

"You should be out there, dancing and laughing with your family... You seem thoughtful mi principito"

You sighed in response, quickly explaining that you weren't in a party mood, your hands went back to the cell phone that was previously in your pocket, making the Mexican's eyes narrow in response to such an act. O'Hara took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, then crushing the drink can in his hand and turning to you, he knew exactly what he wanted to know and he wanted the truth.

"Who was that boy, mi vida?”

He questioned, pulling you closer to his frame as the music swelled around you. His fingers traced idle patterns on your back, you felt the burn of heat on his body, the smell of expensive men's perfume and cheap alcoholic drink.

"You were speaking so intimately with him..."

His voice was a low purr, tinged with warning.

"This is our moment, just us... I dropped that phone." That was a threat, making you make a quick excuse ── after all, you knew exactly what he was talking about, you were going out with "Hobbie Brown", a friend from your college, but you didn't expect your uncle to have seen the two of you together (but it wasn't very difficult, you and the boy always clung to each other even if you didn't have anything officially. )

You moved away from Miguel's heat, before the sensation was still tolerable, but now it seemed like a violent flame and about to explode like a time bomb. Your mouth opened, speaking sweet lies, trying to mask the fact that you were going out with Hobbie ── you knew that the best way was to lie, even if it didn't do anything, you had already seen how your non-sanguine uncle acted like a crazy man when you were around people other than him. Miguel's eyebrows arched in disbelief, dark brows furrowing deeply. "Tell me, corazón, is there something you wish to confess to me?"

He asked, tilting his head curiously. His gauze lingered on your lips, as if he could taste the lie on them. "I see what happens around me, my heart."

He murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

"And I do not like it... Do not lie to me, mi angel, because the next lie I hear from your sweet lips, you'll regret it." The sound of his voice was a low rumble, like thunder on the horizon. He pulled you close again, his lips brushing your ear softly.

"You play with fire... Mi pequeño."

His voice was a whisper now, his breath warm against your skin.

"And one day, that fire will burn you."

He released you then, stepping back with a harsh exhale. His eyes were stormy, his features set in a hard line. Miguel stared at you for a moment, as if he could read your thoughts, as if he could feel your fear ── Finally, he sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"If I ever hear of another man touching you like that again... I will end him." He muttered, downing a large gulp of his drink before setting the bottle down on the table. You watched him leave, the loud footsteps on the raw cement floor were enough to tell you that he was angry. The rest of the party was strange, you felt tio Miguel's eyes on you, even though the atmosphere was pleasant for the other participants in your family, everything had gotten worse after the confrontation you had with the man ── you thought about telling about your uncle's strange behavior towards your father, but you knew it wouldn't help, they would just defend Miguel and say that you were exaggerating... But you felt like you weren't.

You went to your room, while you saw the tall man's shadow in the hallway, bumping into the walls because he was too drunk to think or stand on his feet ── you saw him leaning on your door frame, while you asked calmly if he needed some help. Miguel's eyes met his, his vision slightly blurred from the alcohol he had consumed. He licked his lips, his gaze roaming your body hungrily, but he didn't act, only a sob and a sad laugh left his lips, while he showed his white canines.

"You are mi ninõ. You always have been and always will be... There is no escaping your destiny."

He babbled, his words filled with drink, but he was serious, like he had never spoken before, you could see a mix of dark emotions that burned in his brown orbits, each word, no matter how slurred it was, carried a clear truth that could not be said aloud by several taboos.

His hands reached out, gripping your arms tightly. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving small red marks.

"Don't forget this... You would never lie to your Uncle right? I will protect you... Incluso si es de ti mismo."

He leaned closer, his breathing heavy and laced with the smell of whiskey.

"But I will also punish you if you disobey me."

He let go of you then, frowning as he looked at the marks he had left on your arms.

"Go to bed now."

He mumbled, turning away from you and stumbling towards the door.

"Sleep well, my precious boy."

His voice was filled with alcohol, spite and a twisted desire ── the latter making his gaze linger on you for a moment longer, as he staggered out, ignoring everything and everyone around him, you tried to ignore the burning in your stomach, a mixture of fear and a bittersweet heat near your stomach, you were maybe just very tired... Right? You pushed away the thoughts that consumed your mind, trying to grab the fog of sleep that you tried to achieve, you hoped for a good day... But little did you know what fateful destiny had planned.

You woke up to your parents cleaning the house, it was a hot and irritating Sunday, you woke up sweaty and to the loud sounds of rooms being dragged from one place to another ── you really didn't want to be there, so your father told you to go to your uncle Miguel's house, even though you insisted on saying the opposite, that you could handle the chaos at home and help them, but your parent just repeated the phrase and sent you to keep O'Hara company at his house.

Everything would be better than facing him again.

You wore your most comfortable and cool dress for that sultry summer day ── your breasts bounced and you felt the coolness of the wind blowing beneath your legs, reaching your thighs and panties, an adorable boy, on the way to the wolf's house.

Walking under the sun until you saw Miguel's house in a rural area and away from the common neighborhood, you called his name, soon seeing the man come completely sweaty and shirtless, still wearing the same pants from yesterday, while drying his sweat of his brow, letting you into his comfort.

"Fine."

He grumbled, he turned around, taking you home without saying another word. The tension between the two of you was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words.

As you entered the house, you noticed a slight disorder. Miguel's usually immaculate house really needed some cleaning. He gestured for you to sit on the couch.

"Your father said you were coming..." He sighed with a hand on his hips as he looked at you steadily. "That's good, now we can continue our conversation from yesterday, okay? I want the truth my boy, give me your cell phone, unlocked... After all, you have nothing to hide from me right... You and Hobbie are just good friends... Right?" His voice carried that threatening and authoritarian tone again, you stuttered but when you saw your uncle's look you swallowed hard and accepted your fate, obviously you had spicy messages on your cell phone, but what could you do? Running unfortunately wasn't an option, neither was screaming, you were trapped in a spider's web, and in the possessive man's judgmental gaze.

"Now. Give it to me. Or else you know what I'm capable of."

He repeated as you handed him the electronic device ─ and it didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for... Miguel's eyes narrowed as he flipped through the messages on his phone. His grip tightened around the device, his knuckles turning white. A mixture of anger, jealousy and hurt crossed his face as he read the explicit messages and saw the intimate photos, you were really with that boy... You were doing everything behind his back.

"How dare you show your body to that piece of shit!"

His voice was laced with bitterness and disappointment. He threw the phone onto the table, the screen cracking on impact.

"Do you think you can send nudes to some random boy and get away with it?"

He took a step towards you, his expression darkening.

"Did he make you wet? Did he make you excited?" His words came out like venom, his hand shot out, grabbing your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him. Miguel's grip on his chin tightened, his fingers digging into his flesh. His angry eyes fixed on his, his expression filled with a mixture of possessiveness and pain.

"I expected everything... Except that, I'm tired, tired of just being seen as your fucking uncle... I can give you so much more than that boy ever could. I can make you scream, make you beg for more. But you need to understand that you are mine."

His voice was filled with a desperate need, a desire that was both warm and terrifying. He pressed his body against his, his erection evident through his jeans. You tried to protest again, in vain, you just felt O'Hara's thick lips on yours, it was strong, his tongue dominating his as he held you tightly. His hand guided your trembling hand to his hard, throbbing erection, pressing it against the fabric of his pants. He let out a low growl of pleasure, the sound vibrating against your lips.

"You always make me hard on boy... So fucking hard." He continued kissing you fiercely, your free hand moving to grip his waist, his fingers digging into your flesh. He pressed your body against his again, now the bulge of his pants rubbing against your thigh. The intensity of his touch and the raw desire in his eyes made your own body respond, despite the fear and confusion, it was so wrong, but it felt right at the same time.

"Do you think you can show yourself like that to anyone? Do you think there will be no consequences?"

He pushed you back, guiding you towards the couch again ─ his hands exploring your body with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

"Strip for me, baby boy. Show me that body you dared to share with someone else. Show me what only I should see."

His voice was commanding, his eyes burning of lust and anger. He watched as you hesitantly complied, removing your clothes piece by piece, revealing your naked form to him ── your dress was discarded somewhere in the room, your breasts bounced while your nipples became hard from contact with the air, your pussy was already wet, a simple kiss had done that to you.

He looks at you with admiration... All of that was for him, a banquet of the gods, he wasn't going to leave you in punishment, no matter how angelic you were, he was going to reduce you to a dumb and beautiful mess, totally broken for him.

"Look at you... So eager to please, so desperate for my touch. Did just one kiss from does your uncle get you this wet?"

A smile played at the corners of his lips as he took hold of his cell phone, opening the camera app with a sinister glint in his eyes.

"Well, since you were so willing to show yourself to that boy, I think it's only fair that I capture this moment. Don't you agree, my precious angelito?"

He positioned himself in front of you, his cock springing free from his pants. The sight of his naked arousal feels a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. He pulled you down to your knees, his grip firm on the back of your head.

"Suck it," he commanded "Let the world see what a slut you've become."

You hesitated for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. But the thought of defying him only fueled his anger further. With a mixture of trepidation and submission, you wrapped your lips around his throbbing length, your tongue swirling around his head. He groaned, his grip tightening in his hair as he began recording your submissive act.

"You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth. Such a good boy, taking it all in."

He continued to record, capturing each salacious moment as you eagerly pleasured him. The taste of his cock and the sound of his moans filled your senses, heightening your own pleasure. Your body responded, the tingling warmth between your legs growing more intense with each passing moment.

"No one else gets to taste you like this. You're my slutty boy, and I'm going to make sure everyone knows it."

He spoke as the fat and hot tip of his member hit your throat repeatedly, making you choke and connect your nose with his groin, the lack of air making you momentarily see stars as he let you breathe again.

As Miguel reached his climax, he grunted and released a hot jet of cum into your mouth. He groaned with satisfaction, feeling the pulsing sensation as he emptied himself into your mouth. The taste of his essence filled your senses, mixed with the bitter-sweet humiliation of the situation. Once he had finished, he withdrew his dick from your mouth, his grip firm on your face. He forced you to open your mouth wide, showing your dirty tongue, coated with his cum, to the camera. The sadistic glint in his eyes only intensified as he instructed you to swallow it all.

You obediently complied, gulping down his cum, heavy tears ran down your body, while his thumb pulled your cheek to show him even more of your oral cavity.

"Look at the camera....You look like a damn porn star... A filthy, little porn star."

You barely had time to react, then the man trapped you beneath him again ─ his thighs separated yours, while he looked at your cunt milking the air with so much excitement, making him laugh mockingly and dominantly ─ without prior warning, his thick cock entered your wet pussy, stretching you to your limits and causing a mixture of pain and pleasure to surge through your body. Your legs were draped over his shoulders, granting him unrestricted access to your most intimate parts.

As he thrust into you, Miguel focused the camera on your tear-streaked face, capturing every moment of your vulnerability and submission.

You were a mess of conflicting emotions, a beautiful sight to him as he reveled in his dominance over you, The desire makes you delirious, completely erasing your sense of right and wrong ── soon you find yourself thrusting your hips onto his cock, whimpering pathetically as you moan his name.

"Mmm, you're such a buen chico para mí.. such a good and beautiful pussy... You hid it from me for so long... But you showed it so easily to that bastard... You disappoint your uncle sometimes, boy."

His hand left the camera momentarily, his fingers finding your clit, caressing it in a way that made your moans intensify, he watched your reactions closely, moaning with lips parted, as he looked directly into your teary eyes.

"See, I knew you'd love this, aren't you? Oh, sí... Mierda- Eres tan apretado chico".

Then, with the peaks of moans and pounding of flesh on flesh, his grunts grew louder and more primal as he climaxed. With one final thrust, he released his hot sperm deep inside your pulsating pussy, filling you with his essence. When he pulled out, the camera captured the evidence of your intimate connection, showing the mixture of his cum and your own juices. Your pussy clenched and milked the air, aching for more even after he finished.

"You've taken all of my cum... Un buen chico para tu tio."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction mixed with a tinge of shame as you watched your body respond to his touch.

He smiles at the video on his cell phone, while looking at you with a dangerous glare.

"Now you're going to be a good putito... After all, you don't want this to leak out to our family, do you?"

You had no choice, and maybe you didn't even want to... Miguel had broken you, as he always wanted, you were his now, only his.

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luveline · 4 months

Note

would you ever be willing to write the day spencer and stripper!reader met in the grocery store? i’ve always loved the concept when you’ve referenced it in the story, i would love to read it👀 you’re absolutely incredible and i can never say anything not anon to you because my blog is flooding you with notes constantly and i’m embarrassed😅

thank you for your request ❤️ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for domestic violence and workplace abuse

There's this weird organic grocery store by Spencer's place that's far too expensive, but it's a ten minute walk, so that's where he goes. (Weird in separation to organic.)

He needs a lot of groceries now he's home for the week. Bread, vegetables, rice, flour if he wants to try and make pancakes, which he does. He also needs a new pen to write a letter for his mom, but Leaven is slightly too small for a stationery section.

He doesn't know what he'll say to her in this one. Maybe that the cases he's going on are easy, or that he's been reading about crows. She's not feeling well lately. It might help her to know he's doing gentle things, even if it isn't true.

No, he thinks. Can't lie to her. He never lies to his mom.

Eggs. Sugar. Coffee grounds. He fills his cart. It'll be a lot to carry on the way home, but better to do it in one go. He likes keeping busy but he's a human being, too, and he's looking forward to spending at least sixteen hours in bed after dinner tonight.

You look tired, too.

Your back is turned, but Spencer knows it's you. You must live close by, he's been seeing you duck in and out for months. Usually with a loaf of bread or a single box of painkillers tucked in your pocket. You don't steal, he'd be able to tell, and he wouldn't say anything if you did, anyways. All he knows about you is that you have a nice smile when you have the energy, and your voice is like silk. Purposeful or by nature, he's yet to guess.

You're standing by the end of the aisle near the checkouts with a basket hanging from your fingers. All you're buying today is a box of pancake mix and a bag of peas.

Weird, he thinks with a smile. Spencer likes weird stuff. It's quirky.

You turn to see which checkout is empty and Spencer's smile abruptly drops.

You have a bruise across half of your face. It isn't strictly fresh —he can see the split skin on your cheek starting to close in on itself, and your purpled eye is open (though barely). You're frowning. Spencer knows how bad it hurts to get hurt like that. For a split second he can't believe someone could do that to another person, and then he remembers the hundreds of women he's had the privilege to meet at their most vulnerable, who trusted him, and he thinks maybe he's capable of helping another one.

“Hey,” he says.

You meet his eyes with a funny smile. “Hey. Sorry, am I in the way?” you ask, your voice stretched, thin but not weak.

“No, you're not, it's… I see you here all the time.”

You hold your breath. When you talk, it rushes out. “So?” you ask wearily.

“Are you okay?”

Your funny smile fades as Spencer's had. He supposes that's the talent of cruelty. Even when it's over, it's not truly over. Your bruise still hurts, and Spencer still needs to know you'll be okay when you go home tonight.

“I see you all the time too. We've… we've actually spoken before, haven't we?” you ask after a moment.

“Yeah, about spirometry. I was out of breath running and–” It doesn't matter. You asked him if he was okay, and he explained that he was, just that his lungs don't hold much air on account of his own laziness, and it doesn't matter. “Are you? Alright? It's a bad bruise.”

“It's getting better.”

It might be, but there's something so raw about seeing you standing there in your sweatpants too big for you and a hoodie with a hole in it, purple and yellow contusion across your eyes and nose like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Spencer will admit to feeling sorry for you.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks, knowing this isn't the right place. “There's the cafe at the front? Let me pay for my stuff and–”

“I'm really okay–”

“You had a cast on your wrist two weeks ago and now you're here with a limp and a really bad bruise,” he says softly, imploringly, “I just wanna talk to you about it. You don't have to say yes, I'm not trying to be weird, but I–”

You cut off his mile a minute speech with a small smile. “Okay. I'm not, you know, doing anything anyways. It'll be nice to sit down.”

Spencer knows it's dumb, but he wants to show he has good intentions. He takes your basket out of your hands and nods toward the cafe past the checkouts. “I'll come and meet you.”

“You don't have to,” you say, gesturing at the basket.

“The damage is done, right? This place is ridiculous.” He doesn't like the way you're holding your hip. It makes him feel sick, even though there's no proof one way or another to say you've been hurt beyond your bruising.

He pays for his things and yours and meets you at the cafe. He's half expecting you to have bolted, but you sit at a table near the entrance, completely still.

Spencer puts his two bags under the table and offers you your pancake mix and peas in their own bag.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“It was my boss.” You look at your fingers, spreading them slowly over the table top. “I’m a dancer. Sorry. I know you’re going to ask.”

“And he hit you?”

“Yeah.”

Spencer knows the number for every women’s shelter in every state, but he doubts it would matter to you. He can tell already that you’d say no. He can tell you’re scared, even if you don’t realise it yourself. “Is it getting worse?”

You can’t offer him anything else. He understands how that feels. There have been moments where he desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, what was going on in his life, but he always holds his secrets like a perpetual ache in his throat. It’s like he can’t tell someone, even if they ask.

Sometimes he just wishes they’d ask twice.

“You can tell me. It won’t sound stupid,” he promises. He’s in some odd place between Agent Reid and young, terrified Spencer, determined to help you, but not sure how. “It’s getting worse, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, the weight of tears on your tongue.

“You’re a dancer. Is he just a boss– Does he… abuse you financially?”

You laugh wetly. “He’s not my pimp.”

He can feel his face heating up.’“No, but do you get paid on time? Everything you earn?”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t get paid on time. He takes a percentage, and somehow there’s always another percentage, and then discipline. And now…”

“Now he’s hitting you.” Very badly.

“I’m not stupid.”

Spencer frowns gently, talks softly, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.”

“No, I know, but I need you to know I’m not stupid. When we talked before, you– you’re so smart, I bet you know so many smart people.”

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. Perhaps you don’t want to talk about being hurt anymore. It must be a kind of torture to be hurting and know that that hurting will come again. There isn’t an end in sight for you, just right now.

“Can I buy you something to eat?”

“I have money,” you say, taking your small purse from your pocket. There are a few notes wedged inside.

“You can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach, and you should take painkillers again soon. You had some before you came, and they’re wearing off.” He meets your confused frown with a frown of his own. “Your hands are twitching like you want to move away from yourself.”

“You’re very perceptive,” you say in that smooth murmur. Power clawed back, he thinks. You’re protecting one of the things you can control about how you’re seen when everything else is far from it.

“I’m a profiler. Do you,” —he tries not to sound hoity toity— “know what that is?”

“No.”

“I’m an FBI agent.” You’re laughing as he takes out his badge. He joins you. “I know it sounds like I’m making it up.” Spencer offers you his identification passport slowly, so you know he isn’t wielding it around to be an asshole. “I’m in the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse the way people act. That’s why I know you’re in pain.”

You take his badge, looking between his photo and his real face with a growing smile. “If you need all that to know I’m in pain, you’re not as smart as you think,” you tease, gesturing to the mottled skin of your bruise sweetly.

Spencer buys you both cold sandwiches from the front of the shop and a drink to wash down your aspirin. It’s awkward, he guesses, but he’s used to that by now, and under it he can feel your palpable relief. You trust him to not hurt you, if nothing else, and he can work with that.

#spencer and stripper!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

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“Piper?”

“Here.”

“Damien?”

“Here.”

“Clovis?”

No answer. Nico reaches over and pokes him, hard, and the son of Hypnos startles awake long enough to manage a garbled, “Present!” before nodding off again. At Chiron’s nodded permission, Connor procures an airhorn from what appears to be thin air, grins, and blares it right next to Clovis’ face. He shrieks, flailing off the chair, and would have slammed his face in the ground if Nico hadn’t caught him by the back of the shirt.

“Thanks, man,” he says, yawning.

Nico hauls him back upright, patting him on the shoulder. “No problem. I’m gonna let you fall next time.”

Clovis eyes him warily, shifting at Nico’s too-wide, sharklike grin.

“Noted,” he mutters, sitting straight to try and stay awake. “Jerk.”

Nico pats him on the shoulder again. “There, there.”

Chiron continues with the attendance.

“Butch?”

“Here.”

“Miranda?”

“Yep.”

“And…” Chiron sighs, peering through his reading glasses. “Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…” He glances down at his clipboard, slowly tapping his pen on the edge of it. “Where is Will?”

A groan ripples through the gathered campers.

“Just start without him!” someone shouts, sinking into their chair.

“He always takes forever!” another person agrees.

“Almost like he’s busy running the infirmary that keeps us all alive,” Lou Ellen says drily, but her one vote of confidence is drowned out by several dozen other voices, all complaining.

Before Chiron has to deal with too much of a coup d’état, the rec room door creaks open, and Will comes strolling in after it, ignoring the heaps of boos and launched ping-pong balls at his tardiness. The beam of sunlight from the one dusty window seems, suddenly, to become a great deal stronger, highlighting the blonde of Will’s hair and strengthening the gleam of his easy grin.

“Perforated artery,” he explains cheerfully, settling down in the one empty chair. “Rogue Ares cabin mine went off. Had to do emergency surgery.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth does he kick off his flip-flops, curl up in the rickety wooden chair, place his head on the nearest shoulder — Pollux, this time, who rolls his eyes affectionately and shifts to be more comfortable — and immediately starts snoring.

“Well,” says Chiron after a moment. “Let’s begin.”

“Wait,” Clovis complains, “how come he gets to sleep?”

Instead of answering, because there is no delicate way to say because he’s my favourite and I am a giant hypocrite, the centaur moves on. He gracefully avoids the various mutterings and calls for mutiny, instead running through the usual cabin check-ins at the speed of light to delve into the more interesting — and therefore distracting — things, such as Personal Grievances. This portion of monthly head counsellor meetings is Nico’s favourite, because he gets to sit back, be silent, and watch a bunch of teenagers yell at each other for his own personal amusement. On especially great days, he communicates with Connor through a series of complicated hand gestures to coordinate betting pools. Today, he is up seventy-two dollars. (Did he throw the pool by betting against himself and then inventing a fight with Chiara? Yeah. Did he cut her a deal for halfsies beforehand, making this technically fraud on two counts? Yeah. Can anyone prove it? Absolutely not. Suck on that, Stoll. You wanna be beat at your own game any day of the week? Nico’ll beat you at your own game any day of the week.)

As he’s accepting three dollars from a huffy Nysa (obviously the physical altercation count was going to reach six, c’mon, doesn’t she pay attention to these things), a hoof stamping the ground makes Nico jump.

“Boys,” Chiron says tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that’s quite enough.”

Both campers immediately burst into louder arguments, continuing to flail and smack at each other as their voices get more and more raised and illegible.

“Boys!” Chiron stamps his hoof again. This time, they fall silent, staring at the old centaur with flushed, guilty faces. “Sherman, get Malcom out of that headlock. Malcolm, we are not building a pig pen in the dining pavilion so the Ares cabin can ‘eat in an environment more suited to their mannerisms’.” He pauses, nodding in acknowledgement. “As funny as that was, it was entirely inappropriate to say. Apologise at once.”

“My throat is too bruised to do so,” Malcom grumbles.

“My throat is too bruised to do so,” Sherman repeats, mockingly. “Gods, it’s like you’re asking for me to jump you.” At the immediate catcalls and jeers that follow, he reddens, hastily shouting, “Like mug! Jump like mug him, guys, like beat him up! Shut up! Shut up, or I swear I’ll —”

“Sit down, boys,” Chiron says, banging his hoof again. “For Hera’s sake. It’s like you want to embarrass yourselves further.”

Nico snickers with the rest of the counsellors as Sherman and Malcolm return to their seats. In their desperate attempt to separate from each other to assure their status as Heterosexual, Guys, Please, they manage to bump into each other, losing their balance and collapsing on a heap on the floor, more tangled than before. Predictably, this makes the flailing worse, which is unfortunate for them and their misery but a source of great entertainment for everyone else. Among the hooting and hollering and camera flashes, Chiron sighs, putting his head in his hands and muttering something about teenagers and being too old for this shit. Or something.

“If everyone’s quite done,” he says finally, ignoring Connor’s quip about how he could watch a few more minutes, actually, “I would love for this meeting to end. I have to do something that doesn’t involve teenagers for several hours. All of you exhaust me.”

“Except Will,” Sherman says petulantly, scowling at the still-sleeping medic. Pollux, who by close proximity has become endeared to the human disaster (Nico knows the feeling; he’s still convinced Will has weird powers that mess with one’s oxytocin levels by virtue of smiling as there is no way that someone so annoying can be so simultaneously endearing), glares somewhat protectively.

“Sh,” he hisses, at the same time Chiron says, “If the rest of you spent less time trying to kill each other and more time trying to fix the consequences of said attempted murder, I would be more lenient.”

Lou Ellen speaks up. “Also, Will has that whole cute, can’t-stay-mad-at-me thing.”

Various campers nod and mutter in agreement.

(Nico knew he wasn’t the only one.)

Nyssa clears her throat. “If we’re ready to return back to the actual meeting, I have a point of discussion.”

Chiron nods, gesturing for her to continue.

“The vans are breaking down,” she says bluntly. “Again. Because they’re, you know, older than everyone in the room.” She glances at Nico, frowning. “Well, except for him.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “Youngin’s, these days,” he says, shaking his head disdainfully. “No respect for their elders.”

Chiron raises a bemused eyebrow. “…Indeed. Nyssa?”

“I need parts again. Preferably from that place in Virginia? They don’t ask questions and price fairly. That would be best. Only I need the van to go get the parts, so. You can see the conundrum I’m in.”

“Easy fix with the chariot,” Chiron decides. “Can someone wake Will?”

“Gladly.”

“Without the airhorn, Connor.”

“Aw. I’m not doing it, then.”

“How tragic. Pollux?”

Gently, the son of Dionysus taps Will’s cheek, shaking him until he blinks awake.

“I was totally paying attention and I think we should go with the second option,” he says, yawning.

“Not asking you to settle a debate, but nice try,” Pollux says.

“Well, shit. That one usually works.” He flicks still-tired eyes around the room, smiling when his gaze rests on Nico. Nico rolls his eyes, willing down the heat to his cheeks. Judging by the teasing edge Will’s grin takes, it does not work. “Whattaya need, then?

“The chariot,” Nyssa says. “Vans are breaking down again. I need a part from a shop in Roanoke.”

Will straightens. “Like, now?”

“In the next day or so, yeah.”

“There’s a strawberry delivery on Saturday,” Miranda pipes up. “So sooner rather than later.”

Will nods. “Yeah, that works. Hell, I can probably be back by —” he checks his watch — “late tonight, honestly. Just gimme the part number and —”

“I kind of meant that I could go,” Nyssa interrupts, looking at him strangely. “I know what the part looks like. I just need to borrow the chariot.”

Will presses his clasped hands to his face, inhaling deeply.

“I would absolutely love to lend you the chariot blessed by my father who has gone totally silent,” he begins, in a tone that makes Nico think that he would not, actually, absolutely love to lend out the chariot blessed by his father who has gone totally silent, “only that the last time I lent someone this super important chariot it came back in pieces.”

“I remember.” Nyssa levels him with a look. “I fixed it.”

“Exactly! So you appreciate how much I would like it to not be broken. In fact —”

“Alright,” Chiron interrupts, holding up a hand. “You’ve made your point, Will, the errand is yours. Choose a buddy to lower the chances of you dying and check in before you leave.”

Predictably, this choice is not well-recieved. Because why would things be easy?

“Totally not fair,” Sherman protests, the loudest of all complainers. “Will’s no less likely to break it just because his cabin thinks they own it —”

“Finish that thought and I will curse you in twelve different ways for the next eight months, Sherman.”

The Ares counsellor snaps his mouth shut, sensing the new, hardened edge in Will’s voice. “Noted.”

“He’s got a point, though,” Damien hedges. At Will’s glare — boy, is that chariot a sensitive topic, Nico is noticing — he holds his hands up, shrugging his shoulders. “We draw straws for small errand-quests, Will, you know that. It’s not fair that you just get to call dibs.”

Will takes a long, slow breath, fingers pressed to his temples. When he looks back up, his expression is flatter than the entirety of the Midwest, jaw set and eyebrow raised. He narrows his eyes, contemplating, then clearly comes to a decision, nodding to himself. Everyone watches with bated breath as he climbs up to stand on his chair, folds his hands together, clears his throat, and says, voice carefully controlled, “Who can guess how many surgeries I’ve done in the last week?”

For a long moment it’s so silent that Nico can hear every rustled shirt as people fidget, every aborted cough and uncomfortable swallow. Will’s eyes are piercing, and he takes the time to stare at every individual counsellor until they meet his eyes, squirming, and look immediately away.

Nico’s impressed. Sometimes he forgets how godsdamn rigid Will’s backbone is.

Finally, someone offers a guess.

“One?”

“Try four,” Will corrects, smile more like a bare of teeth. “I have not had a circadian rhythm since I was thirteen years old. I sleep when I can. And yet, somehow, you clumsy fucks manage to near kill yourself at the exact moment my subconscious even considers approaching REM sleep, every single time, and then I get to spend my next several hours piecing your sorry ass back together by hand, since hymns barely work right now. If I have to see another surgical pin I am going to stab it through someone’s eye. Am I making a point?”

No one answers.

“‘Cause I can make it clearer,” Will drawls.

“No need,” Chiron says hastily. “The quest remains yours, so long as there are no further objections.”

Wisely, no one speaks up.

“Perfect. Nyssa, if you’ll stay behind with me to iron out some details, everyone else — dismissed.”

The tense air immediately evaporates as people practically spring out of their seats, sprinting for the door. Nico is among the last to leave, having to stay and stop several fleeing demigods to collect his wares. On his way out, a heavy arm slings over his shoulders, and he’s suddenly enveloped by the intoxicating scent of lavender body wash and pure sunshine.

“Get off me, Solace,” he complains immediately, coming up to wrap his hand around Will’s forearm in the guise of shoving him off. Will is entirely unfazed, holding him tighter.

“But I have a proposal.”

“Take it elsewhere.” He ducks out of Will’s hold and sweeps his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling with an oof. Unfortunately, he doesn’t look any less sunny and smiley from the ground, somehow making it work for him, actually. He settles against the soft grass, sighing, hair fanning out like a golden halo. He pats the spot next to him, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in the late morning sun, and Nico swallows roughly, joining him.

“You wanna come with me to Roanoke?”

“Yes,” Nico says automatically. Will grins, and he flushes. “I mean, I guess if I have to. Loser.”

“Ever so grateful, Neeks.”

“You should be.”

He keeps his voice prim and superior, attempting to uphold his image, and since he is delusional he convinces himself he’s successful. Will, though, is entirely undeterred, lazy smile still on his face and arms stretched above his head, the picture of unbothered. A sliver of skin shows where the hem of his shirt rises and Nico ignores it. He doesn’t even glance at it, or the glint of Will’s belly-button piercing, at all. Nor is he aware of Will’s shorts riding up, or the curve of his calves as he crosses his legs. All of these things go unnoticed. Obviously.

“I have a proposal for you, if you’re done checking me out.”

Nico shoves his flaming face in his knees. “Did you know that in all the corners of the Earth I have been to, I’ve only encountered three things uglier than you?”

Will’s grin only gets wider. His eyes, even, start to get squinty as the force of his smile squishes his cheeks. Entirely unsubtly, because Will is the least subtle person alive, he reaches out and sends a wave of calming energy into Nico’s body, slowing his rapid heart rate.

“…Right.”

“Three things, Solace.”

“Of course, of course.” He removes his hand, graciously allowing Nico the space to breathe and remind his lungs that their job is not voluntary. “I’ll come pick you up in a half hour? Wear a jacket.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Nico pauses. “Yes.”

“Stellar.”

“God, you say such nerdy things unironically. How do you have friends?”

“I dunno.” He gets to his feet, brushing the dirt and grass from his shorts. “You tell me.” He leans down and presses a smacking kiss to Nico’s hair. Nico presses his fingers into his eyeballs until they hurt, screaming silently into his palms.

He waits until the smacking sounds of Will’s stupid flip-flops retreat before braving the world outside his little ball of misery, squinting at his retreating form.

“I think I should get a lobotomy,” he says out loud to himself, because, realistically, if his braincells are already spilling out of his ears like loose quarters every time Solace so much as smiles at him then there’s not much to lose, is there? and stomps off to his own cabin.

Out of spite, he chooses the New York Giants jacket he got from Percy, just because he knows Will hates it.

That’ll show him who’s bossing who around.

Totally.

———

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itsactuallywhitewolf · 2 years

Text

What I think Dating Eddie Munson would be like

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

• okay so this is a lot so get ready for a shitload of fluff

• alright so first things first

• eddie would be the biggest simp for you

• like really

• boy would worship the earth you walked on

• even before you started dating

• before you guys were a couple he had the biggest crush on you for years

• his friends in hellfire couldn't hear it anymore

• "You know what happened today in english class?", he'd start as he sat down on their usual lunch table in the cafeteria

• "Y/N came an-"

• "and walked past you? looked at you? Eddie, don't you think it's maybe time to make a move or... you know, let it go? You're always talking about her, and it's not even anything special, it's getting ridiculous," one of them would interrupt him

• "If you would have let me finish then you would know that she came and asked me to study. Together. At her place. Tonight", he explained through gritted teeth, shooting him a death glare, but smiling proudly when he shifted his glance to the others on the table

• they'd be speechless tho

• just as he was when you had asked him

• fast forward 2 months and he finally asked you out

• and after that everything was going just perfect

• Eddie is the most caring boyfriend there is

• he'll always make sure you're happy

• he'll try his very best to cheer you up again when you're down

• he'd cuddle you and hold you and listen to you talk about ehat was bugging you

• but you'd also do anything for him when he was in a bad mood or sad

• you'd take him somewhere safe and quiet where no one would walk in on you, most of the times his bedroom in the trailer, and calm him down there

• you'd hold his face reassuringly and he'd lean into your touch, slightly turning his head so he could kiss the inside of your hand

• however, mornings with him were the best part

• his raspy morning voice was your favorite

• don't even get me started on the bedhair

• another thing: HANDS

• you'd always watch his hands, no matter what he was doing

• if he was playing the guitar

• scribbling something down

• rubbing your clit

• you just loved his hands : )

• you'd also constantly play with his rings

• you once tried them on, most of them way too big on your fingers but Eddie insisted you keep the one that fit

• "take it, babe. as a promise ring."

• ASDFGHJKL

• when you weren't around he'd also refer to you as the queen or Mrs. Munson

• "Hey, Eddie! You free this friday for another campaign?"

• "I don't know, dude, gotta ask the wife."

• He loved you and was certain that it was only you for him

• No one else could compare

• therefore he would also be protective as hell, especially after you went to the upside down

• he was happy you both made it out of that hellscape, he wouldn't ever risk again to lose you

• would be so jealous tho

• if he ever saw a guy of the basketball team try to flirt with you he'd immediately come to your side, hand at the small of your back, and with the widest grin tell the dude to kindly fuck off

• same was for you, you weren't really keen on Eddie having a deal with a girl from the cheer team

• it's not that you didn't trust your boyfriend, it's just, you never know with those cheerleaders

• you'd be the goofiest couple in school

• always doing something weird that would make everyone would stare at you

• once when Eddie saw you walking down the hallway he dropped all of his things to the floor only to run towards you and spin you around in a hug as if he hadn't seen you for months

• he had literally seen you 5 minutes ago

• he'd also often obnoxiously swing out your arms together when holding hands and walking down the hallway to your next class, making you stumble and bump against other students

• calling each other freak, nerd and weirdo for funsies was a usual for you

• hugs from behind

• all. the. time.

• you'd be standing at your locker, putting some of your stuff away when he would suddenly appear out of thin air and hug you tightly, pulling you away to twirl you around

• he's such a dork

• a lovesick dork

• when he was rehearsing with his band you'd join him, watching him play on his electric guitar, practised fingers strumming the strings in a way you've never seen before

• it was so hot

• you sometimes even forgot to breathe

• it took everything in you not to jump him right then and there

• he once tried teaching you how to play, you sitting on his lap as he put his hands on top of yours on the instrument

• his breath fanning against your neck

• god have mercy

• this went on for about 10 minutes until he got aware of the state you were in and started to kiss your neck

• let's just say that the guitar lesson was over very soon and you moved on to do something way more interesting instead : )

• sometimes you'd draw little doodles on his forearm when you were bored

• which made him come up with an idea

• so one day he showed up at your place, falling through your window and onto the carpet in your bedroom to show you the new tattoo he got

• it was one of your little drawings

• "wait, is this real??"

• "Yes, sweetheart, new and just healed"

• you couldn't believe him

• but the next day you got an appointment with your local tattoo artist and got matching tattoos together

• at nights you would sometimes go out for late night drives

• you know that one scene from perks of being a wallflower? it would somehow be like that

• the windows of his van all the way down, music blaring loudly through the speakers while you'd lean out of the window and feel the air hit your face, getting lost in the moment

• Eddie would watch you from the side as you did so, one arm stretching out to hold your knee so you didn't fall off

• he would be wheezing tho when you climbed back in with a disgusted expression on your face "I think I just swallowed a fly..."

• you'd watch him do his homework while laying on his bed sometimes

• "what is it?"

• "nothing. you're cute when you're concentrated."

• "don't mock me, Y/N"

• "I'm not! It's just, I don't see you like this often," you'd laugh, him groaning as a response before continuing what he was doing

• one time he was trying to cook dinner for you

• and almost burned the whole kitchen in the trailer

• now he just sticks to takeout when he wants to treat you :D

• therefore he'd also never bring lunch to school so you'd always pack him something extra just so he'd eat something instead of just chewing on some cashew nuts

• don't get me started on the hellfire shirt

• you love when he's wearing it

• it just looks so good on him

• and it'd also smell so much like him, so you'd always steal it from his closet

• but the boy goes feral everytime he sees you in his shirt

• something in him just stops working at the sight

• therefore you're never wearing it for more than about 15 minutes until it hits his bedroom floor

• whenever you both go out and leave his place together he always makes you sit down on the small steps in front of his trailer to tie your shoes, kissing your thigh while kneeling down in front of you before pulling you up and opening the door of his van for you

• such a gentleman

• however date nights aren't really date nights anymore because almost evertime one of the kids he's friends with is third wheeling you

• or all of them are

• you've practically become their parents now

• sometimes you're lucky tho and you get Steve and Robin to babysit instead

• but you love those little shitheads anyways ♡

• just like Eddie, they would be so excited everytime you joined one of their D&D campaigns

• Dustin and Mike would eagerly explain you the rules each time you got confused while Lucas would quietly give you tips for your next move

• Eddie would watch with a grin on his face while you were trying to follow each of them in between their rambling

• and now listen

• THE EYE CONTACT

• the game was just about to end and all the nerves were high up, you were the only one that could make the final move and all of the players were counting on you

• "What are you gonna do now, Queen Munson?", Eddie would speak from his dungeon master's throne, looking you in the eyes with a shit-eating grin, curious as to what your last move is gonna be

• You held the eye contact for a minute until you stood up and took the dice

• "I'm gonna hit him with a freaking fireball"

• then you threw the dice, it rolled acrossed the table until it stopped just right in front of Eddie, showing the number 20

• "SHE DID IT! SHE KILLED VECNA!", Dustin screamed, making all the other stand up and cheer as well

• You just looked at your boyfriend on the other side of the table, your look telling him everything he needed to know

• You both told the other's you'd stay behind and put everything away, so as soon as the last of them left the club room, both of you rushed to the other, teeth clashing in hasty kisses while undressing each other in a frenzy

• after that you'd go to his trailer, putting on some old vinyl of his uncle, and just swaying gently to the soft tune of the music

• you were in love and nothing else in the world could change that♡

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things spoilers #stranger things season 4 vol 2 #stranger things season 4 #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader

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moonseonghwa · 1 year

Text

Rewind - Choi San

You and San had always been close, and when you joined him to his usual friday night parties, your view of your best friend seemed to have changed more than you’d like.

word count: 3k

warnings: bestfriend!san, unprotected sex (boooo), hickeys, choking (slightly), creampie

a/n: i’ve been sooooo busy but i’ll update cruel summer in a few days! also not proofread so excuse my mistakes

ateez masterlist

Your detectable boredom hung in the air around you, cutting through the intense smell of liquors and marijuana. Three things you wish were easier to ignore. You were standing in the corner, with a red-colored cup in your left hand as you debated on just leaving right now. Your friend was here, somewhere in the huge house, and you were waiting for him to finish whatever he was doing just so you could finally go home.

Honestly, you were never one to enjoy parties, always declining politely and saying you had other things to do. You didn’t mind telling your best friend ‘no’ over and over again whenever he begged you to come with him. Which explains the surprised face this morning when you told him you’d join today.

You were here because you heard Mingi would come. A person you’ve been eyeing for a long time, but never had the confidence to talk to. These sorts of parties make those kinds of things much easier. The conversation will flow, and alcohol courage will keep it going. You thought you would see him tonight, but he never showed up, which explains your wish to leave. And to be very honest you wouldn’t stay here any longer even if he did show up.

You finally noticed San, your best friend, on the dance floor, his hands wrapped around a random girl’s waist as she was saying something in his ear. He was laughing, making you roll your eyes. It wasn’t anything new to you. He has taken multiple girls to your shared apartment, resulting you in sleeping with earphones every time he did because of the clear moans resonating through the thin walls.

He was for sure making them feel good though, and sometimes, you would think about wanting to be in their place for once, before shrugging away that thought immediately. He was your best friend, and roommate, so there were boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed.

You watched him for another moment before deciding to leave, not wanting to go back home with him and the plus-one whose voice would be heard the rest of the night.

San, on the contrary, was constantly thinking about you. He knew about your little crush and figured you were somewhere too lost in Mingi’s kisses to come and talk to him. He was excited to hear you were coming to the party, finally joining him in what felt like ages, but when he heard Mingi was coming, he got the message and left you alone for the night.

However, when he noticed your dress in the corner of his eyes, he followed your form to the entrance, immediately breaking away from the girl as he followed you. He pushed the bodies in front of him out of the way, trying to keep up with you and your fast tempo.

‘’Where are you going?’’ He yelled after you when he caught up to you outside, making you turn around, surprised to see him jogging towards you.

‘’I thought you were leaving with that girl, so I was heading back already’’ You said, planting your hands in the pockets of the leather jacket you borrowed from San, the jacket he thinks is way too big on you. He just can’t deny how good it looks on you, his clothes, claiming you as his in some way.

‘’I wouldn’t leave with someone else when I took you to this party, I thought you were with Mingi’’ He said, starting to walk towards the direction of your shared apartment, making speed up to walk with him.

‘’Didn’t show up’’

‘’You’re too good for him anyway’’ He muttered, clear enough for you to hear as you let out a chuckle.

‘’You seemed to be enjoying yourself out there’’ You said, changing the subject so he wouldn’t make your heart flutter like that again.

Because he looked absolutely gorgeous right now, the light sweater accentuating his toned shoulders while his hair fell loosely on his forehead, a smirk plastered on his face at your comment. The dimly lit streetlights illuminating his face. His steps matched yours, while he subconsciously made them smaller so he would be at the same pace as you.

‘’She wasn’t interesting’’ He simply said, running a hand through his hair as he looked at the road in front of him. The sound of your steps on the concrete could be heard on the quiet road, and you couldn’t help but feel a little proud of yourself that you were the one San was taking home at the end of the day.

You just hummed, closing your jacket a bit more at the night breeze, before he threw his arm around you, his body warmth warming you up more. Your heart tightened, a reaction you didn’t see coming at the small move he has done multiple times before.

You continued the comfortable silent walk until you were in front of your door, entering the code as you felt San’s body dangerously close to yours, his hand ghosting your side. When you got inside, you immediately made a beeline for the couch, dropping your exhausted body on it as San chuckled at you.

‘’Let’s go to sleep’’ He grabbed your arm, lifting you from the couch easily as your body crashed against his, his hand on your waist supporting you before guiding you towards his room. You kept walking to your own room though, but the hand on your wrist stopped you. ‘’Stay with me’’ He said, making your eyes widen.

‘’Why?’’

‘’You sleep in my bed most of the time, why not today?’’

Because I want to kiss you so bad, it’s killing me.

‘’Because I just want to watch my drama a bit more’’ You lied through your teeth, not daring to tell him the actual reason. Because you don’t trust yourself right now with the drinks you’ve had tonight.

‘’Just stay with me tonight’’ He almost begged, making your insides twist at the thought of sharing a bed with him right now.

You don’t know what switched inside you tonight, but you were constantly thinking about San, a problem you usually never have. You thought it could be the way none of the men inside the frat house interested you, thinking about how much better San would be at something, or how San wouldn’t make you uncomfortable when he touches your sides when the other guys did.

The interior of his room reflected his personality. Black and white themed, not too much but still detailed with the paintings he hung on his wall. He was neat, neater than any boy of your age that you’ve seen the rooms of.

Before you knew it, you were in his bed, wearing his t-shirt as he stayed a fair distance away from you, but not far enough to keep the countless thoughts about him out of your mind, and if it wasn’t for your tiredness, you wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep this quickly.

That tiredness slipped away when you woke up a few moments later. San’s hand was wrapped around your waist, splayed out on your bare stomach while his crotch pressed against your ass. His mouth was so close to your ear that you could feel his pillowy lips against the side of your neck. You had to bite back a whimper when he pulled you closer, the friction making you realize just how turned on you were by the feeling of his hands on you.

It was bad, you knew it, so you tried to fall back asleep. You shifted, trying to get out of his tight grip as he only pulled you closer, a groan leaving his mouth which went straight to your core. It took a couple more minutes of shifting before you felt yourself growing more and more frustrated.

‘’Sannie’’ You whispered, looking back to see his eyes flutter open.

‘’What’s wrong?’’ His raspy voice spoke, lips so close to yours, you could feel his breathing against them.

‘’You’re too close’’ You said, voice weak and shaky.

‘’Hmm? You don’t want me close?’’ He teased, his hand rubbing your stomach softly.

‘’I do, but it’s dangerous’’

‘’And what if that’s exactly what I’m looking for’’ He said, moving his body which resulted in him hovering over you as he moved your hair out of your face. You didn’t dare to say anything, afraid of what might come out of your mouth. ‘’Tell me,’’ His head moved to your neck, placing his lips against your collarbone, ‘’You really want me to stop?’’ he placed another kiss, making your breath hitch as you struggled to keep yourself from moaning.

‘’Cat’s got your tongue?’’ He chuckled, a side of San you’ve never experienced showing. His own cat-like eyes look at you with that gaze you recognize. As if he’s telling you he’s got you right where he wants you to be.

‘’I’m going to get some water’’ You said, shoving yourself out of his grip before stumbling towards the door. You didn’t know why you wanted to get away, but you were so scared of finally showing yourself to San. The confidence you always had slipping away when he was so close to kissing you. You filled your glass with cold water before gulping it all away in one go. Your hands leaned against the counter, contemplating what you were going to do now.

The door of San’s room opened, revealing him as he walked towards you with his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, exposing his extremely well-toned torso clad in his workout compression shirt. There was a smirk on his face as he approached you. He grabbed your glass before filling it up with water himself and taking a small sip.

‘’You good?’’ He asked, trying not to smile at your flushed red face. You were trying to play it cool, looking at him with those eyes of yours, but he noticed your foot tapping on the ground, indicating how nervous you seemed to be.

‘’Fine’’ You hated how weak your voice sounded.

He laughed, placing the glass on the counter. ‘’Why are you nervous?’’ His voice was still raspy. He moved a bit closer, feeling his body heat against your skin as he leaned towards your ear, ‘’Do I make you nervous?’’ He asked.

‘’You do’’ You said before doing something you will probably regret tomorrow, but those worries were for tomorrow only.

You crashed your lips on his, catching him off guard as he smiled in the kiss. His hands pulled your hips closer to his, making you groan as he sucked on your lower lip before entering his tongue in your mouth. You felt every part of your body on fire, something you haven’t felt in such a long time.

Your hands were tangled in his hair, pulling it back, eliciting a deep grunt from him. His hands went to the back of your thighs, lifting you up to sit on the counter as he went between them, kissing you like there was no tomorrow. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, so lost in the feeling of his lips on yours. He was slow with you, fingers rubbing your thigh and leaving the skin burning with pleasure.

He took you in his arms, walking you to his room again as he dropped you back on the bed, your legs wrapping around his waist. He sat back, pulling off his shirt as you did the same with yours, revealing a dark purple lace bralette. His favorite color.

‘’Did you wear this one for me, hm?’’ He teased, placing his lips underneath your ear, making you sigh in pleasure as you nodded, not daring to tell him you were thinking about him when you bought it.

He kissed you again, his hand around your waist making you arch your back against his torso, feeling his way bigger body against you as it caged you between him and the soft mattress.

He had imagined this before, whenever he brought a girl over, he would think about the sounds you would make if you were in her position and the way your soft skin would feel against his.

‘’You’re so hot, can’t believe we didn’t do this earlier’’ He muttered, breaking away from the kiss as he kissed the top of your breasts while fumbling with the edge of your panties, your breath coming out staggered by his movements. ‘’Always imagined it’s you whenever I bring a girl over’’

Now that was a comment you didn’t expect, and one that made your panties ever wetter in just a few seconds.

‘’Please just fuck me already’’ You whined, growing needy and just wanting to feel him deep inside you. He tutted at you, his hand moving away from your panties.

‘’We’re going to do this my way, and I’m going to take my time’’ He said, ‘’Want to see all of you’’ He added, kissing down the valley of your breasts and opening your legs with his knee.

You bit your lip, his lips coming close to where you needed them the most. You looked down at the view, his head between your thighs, a view you would probably never forget.

San felt the same way, feeling your soft skin under his fingertips, your small breaths and whimpers music to his ears as he teased you slowly because he never wanted this moment to end. It felt like a dream. His lips went back to your stomach, kissing their way up to your lips again.

‘’Can I take these off?’’ He whispered, pulling your panties down when you nodded, exposing yourself to him. His hands then went to your waist, lifting you up as his fingers undid the clip of your bra.

He gawked at you, making you hide your body with your arms as his hands grabbed your wrists. ‘’Don’t hide’’ He pushed you back down against the bed, this time pulling off his own trousers and boxers, leaving him naked in front of you as he smiled at you, making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

‘’Do you want to do this?

‘’Yes’’ You whined, high on the feeling of what was about to happen.

San entered two fingers, making you throw your head back in delight. Your hand came up next to your head as you held onto the pillow tightly, pleasure erupting in your body as he held your hips in place with his other hand. His fingers went up to your clit, rubbing it slowly as you moaned his name over and over.

‘’Please San, I need you inside’’ You said, pulling him towards you for a kiss as he smiled at your needy state.

‘’Yeah, need my dick?’’ He said in a cocky tone, wanting to see you beg for it.

‘’Yeah- need it now, please’’ You said, the feeling of his fingers driving you near the edge.

“Condom?” He asked, looking into your eyes.

“I’m on birth control” You assured.

However San didn’t tell you that you were the only one he asked, but because it was you, he couldn’t help but want to feel you. All of you.

His hand went around your throat, holding it softly while he locked his eyes with yours, his fingers leaving you as you felt his tip enter you. He pressed a bit harder on the sides of your throat, making you moan out of bliss as you felt his hips meet yours.

‘’So good, baby, all mine’’ He whimpered at the pleasure, slowly pulling out, then pushing in with the same speed. You felt the drag of his cock inside your walls, feeling every vein and rolling your eyes back when he pulled out again.

He kept the slow pace, fucking you deeper every time. His hands were all over your body, gentle touches keeping you close to him. You were seeing stars, lost in the pleasure and his lips on the side of your neck.

‘’Mingi could never fuck you like this’’ He said, sucking and creating marks to show off to others that you were his now. ‘’Hm? Would he fuck you better?’’

‘’No, he can’t’’ He sped up at your answer. His hand went to your clit, rubbing circles, getting you closer and closer to your high. Your nails were digging into his neck, his hand placed on your hip, holding you in place as his hips snapped deeper inside of you. His groans went straight in your ear, his deep raspy voice like music. He grabbed your leg, hoisting it over his shoulder as the angle made you see stars.

‘’Gonna- ah’’ You mumbled, not able to form a proper sentence. ‘’Gonna cum’’ You moaned, watching the way he slid inside you easily as you threw your head back, the high taking over. Your brows were knitted together as you came, making it hard for him to last any longer.

‘’Good girl’’ He praised, stroking your sweaty hair out of your face as he pounded deeper inside of you. ‘’Where do you want me to cum?’’

‘’Inside, please, fill me up San’’ You stammered. ‘’Need it, need it so bad’’

He stilled inside you at your words, before releasing his load deep inside you, groaning as his head was buried in the crook of your neck. You stayed like that with him for a while, until he pulled out, kissing your cheek softly.

‘’Are you okay?’’ He asked, making you nod with a smile.

He got up, threw on sweatpants as you closed your eyes, still in bliss, before you felt a wet cloth between your legs, San cleaning you up before handing you his shirt. He dropped beside you, pulling you to his chest.

‘’We should do this more often’’ You chuckled, making him smile against the top of your head.

‘’Like a regular thing?’’

‘’I mean, if you want to?’’ You mumbled, suggesting friends with benefits with San was something you never thought you would do.

‘’I definitely want to’’ He chuckled, lifting your head and placing a kiss on your lips before you snuggled a bit closer.

#choi san #choi san smut #san smut #san imagine #san fluff #ateez san #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez #choi san fluff #san x reader #san fanfic

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http-angelite · 1 year

Text

♡ sitting next to him in class ♡

characters: Kenny, Kyle, Butters (all aged 16-17)

Kenny . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

he goofs off during class pretty often. he has a hard time paying attention to teachers talking monotonously about subjects he doesn't give a shit about.

he doesn't get very good sleep at home, and since he gets bored in class easily, it's not uncommon for him to fall asleep at his desk.

when he wakes up, he'll ask you about what he missed. you make sure to take more detailed notes during the lessons he sleeps through so that you can explain it to him later. he greatly appreciates this.

"you got the notes? thanks, you're the best!"

he's distracts you during class sometimes. he's gotten pretty good at it. does it intentionally sometimes so he can giggle at the cute faces you make when you're frustrated.

also tries to make you laugh if he feels like he has nothing better to do, and there is nothing better than hearing you laugh, especially when he's the reason for it.

he'll whisper jokes or funny comments to you about things going on in the classroom.

texts you during class and tells you to check your phone if you don't do so right away. most of the time, he's sending you memes.

draws little penises or boobs on sticky notes and shows them to you, giggling like a kid, laughing when you roll your eyes.

you started bringing snacks for him since you found out how little he is able to eat due to his parents being poor. now he occasionally asks you if you have food if you haven't already given him some that day.

"did you bring food today? you did? :0 my favorite!"

looks to you for help if the teacher calls on him and he doesn't know the answer.

his desk is always so messy, papers and writing tools always scattered across it. he'll sometimes put a couple things on your desk, asking you to hold them so he knows where they are, and he has little room left on his.

he'll take off his parka and hand it to you, without a word, if he notices you getting cold.

if you tell him that you're struggling with a certain subject, he'll do his best to genuinely pay attention during those lessons, sometimes even taking notes, so that he might be able to help you with it.

most of the time, however, it's you helping him with work. he finds things easier to understand when you explain them to him, mainly because he actually likes listening to you talk about anything.

sometimes asks you for help just so you'll talk to him. you're so patient when he doesn't understand something, and you smile so sweetly when he gets answers right, telling him he's doing a good job.

asks to borrow things from you everyday, things like notebook paper, but mainly pencils. it's not that he doesn't bring pencils tho, he does, they just all seem to evaporate into thin air every time he puts them down.

Kyle . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

one of the only students that actually pays attention in class.

he makes sure you pay attention to, especially if he knows you struggle with the subject being explained. he'll tap you on the arm and point to the examples and notes being written on the board.

will wake you up if you fall asleep. this slightly annoys you depending on how tired you are, but you know he means well. he just doesn't want you to fail.

because if you fail and have to retake classes next year, you won't be in the same classes as him :(

occasionally lets you sleep if he knows you aren't resting enough at home, but not without mentioning it to you the next time you ask him what you missed.

"maybe you'd know if you hadn't fallen asleep."

he may feign annoyance, but he actually likes it when you ask him for help. he thinks it's cute the way you bite your lip and push you hair behind your ears, keeping it from obscuring the view of your assignments, while trying to focus.

he doesn't like letting anyone copy off of him, but if you're having a particularly hard time understanding how to do something, he'll give you answers. however, he will make you study whatever was confusing you with him later.

"you still don't get it? :/ here, it's okay, just write this down and i'll help you understand it more later."

the only time he ever gets on his phone during class is when you get on you're phone during class. he only does so to text you to tell you to get off your phone.

sometimes you'll make funny or sarcastic comments during class and he'll stifle a laugh while jokingly telling you to shut up.

he brings extra supplies to school in case you forget anything, which you often do.

he'll sometimes glance over at you while you're working and smile, admiring you for just a moment.

likes doing group/partner projects with you. he often doesn't like doing them with other people, since others tend not to listen to him or pull their weight. gets slightly frustrated if students don't get to pick partners and he isn't paired with you.

doesn't participate in passing notes, but he loves when you hand him little sticky notes with hearts and sweet messages. they never fail to make him smile, and he keeps every single one of them.

if you do your best to be a responsible student like he does, then you guys probably won't interact much during class, except for the occasional laugh when another student says something funny.

if he sees you eating in class without permission he'll act like it personally offends him.

"are you seriously eating that in class? you know you're not allowed to have food. no i don't want any!"

if you tend more to slack off in school, then he's definitely a good influence. most teachers put your seats next to each other intentionally, hoping that he'll inspire you to work harder, which he does.

sometimes he helps you so much that you swear you'd be failing without him

Butters . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

he's a pretty good student, and does his best to pay attention in class, but he sometimes gets distracted easily.

he especially loses focus when he looks over at you. from where you sit, the light hits you at the perfect angle, making you look like you're glowing.

makes cute little drawings on sticky notes and gives them to you. sometimes he draws animals, but he mostly makes doodles of you, or the two of you together.

sometimes he'll add little hearts and loving notes. and you, of course, keep all of them.

you have one of the both of you holding hands, one of him as a knight and you as a princess, one of you with pretty flowers in your hair, and so many more.

"look! it's us :D i drew you with wings because you're an angel."

writes "my love" or "my favorite person" on them with arrows pointing to you <3

he's not quite as sharp as kyle, but he does his best to help you wherever you need it, answering any questions you have to the best of his ability.

you always make him want to do his best, so he works pretty hard to be a better student when you're around. you inspire him to be the best version of himself, because you deserve the best.

gets absolutely no work done when you miss class. he tries to listen so that he can help you catch up when he gets back, but he's too busy pouting and worrying about you.

the only time he'll get on his phone during class is to text you while you're gone to check up on you. he always wants to make sure you're okay.

only ever wants to work on group/partner projects with you. no one else is quite as kind or patient with him as you are.

wants to cry if the teacher assigns partners and doesn't put you two together. but the teachers notice how much better he does and how much happier he seems when he works with you, so it rarely happens.

the teachers think you guys are just the cutest! they appreciate how much you both try to help each other. you both help the other do their best.

he brings little candies and sweet treats to school with him and offers them to you and only you. if someone asks him for one, he has a hard time saying no, but he'll only give them one. you, on the other hand, can have as many as you want.

"y/n, i brought lollipops! would you like one? I got lots of cherry ones because i know they're your favorite."

pays extra attention and takes extra detailed notes so he can show them to you if you happen to fall asleep in class. he doesn't have the heart to wake you up when you look so peaceful.

most of his pens and pencils have cute cartoon animals, like hello kitty, on them. he'll let you borrow the cute ones if you ask, but if someone else asks, he'll give them one of his few normal, boring ones.

ty for reading! i am v new to writing and posting on tumblr so let me know if you have any tips or critiques abt my works :)

#sp x reader #south park x reader #south park x y/n #kyle broflovski x reader #sp kyle x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #sp kenny x reader #butters stotch x reader #butters x reader

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matchibee · 11 months

Text

Enchanted

i wrote this with such speed i thought i was gonna pass out. a long one, my magnum opus as far as writing for Miguel goes. semi-proof-read?

in which Miguel is in love with you but you’re in love with Spider-Man.

Spider-Man. An illusive figure who arrived with the wind, retreating upon the stars. You couldn’t help your infatuation, couldn’t stand the way he had your stomach flipping at the mere mention of his name — jumbotrons displaying his well-built definition, detailing the lengths of his most recent brush with malice.

Clawed hands running along the sides of buildings, thick crimson webs entrapping unsuspecting offenders. Everything from the seemingly mundane to the exceptionally exemplary. Not a detail scurried past you, infatuated to your core, and the moment where you finally encountered him — flesh to spandex — was a moment you’d yet to forget.

A trip to the bank gone wrong. Mismatched militia of men in crude ski masks training their guns upon the various tellers performing dreadfully dull monetary tasks. They instructed —no — demanded cash be deposited within boringly beige burlap sacks. In an effort to conceal yourself once the gunfight began, you ducked behind a trio of seats, body shaking, praying you’d be spared from the influence of evil.

You’d damn near conceded to the universe right then and there, tears streaming across your cheeks. Then, as though the world had opened up, heeding your call:

Spider-Man.

He’d arrived upon seemingly thin air, just as you fantasized, defeating with the men in a flash — the onslaught of action leaving you frozen in place. Seconds, minutes had passed following Spider-Man’s victory, yet you stayed frozen. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

“You alright?”

The voice hadn’t registered, hands still covering your ears, gunfire playing out like a demented film in your mind.

Warmth. A hand pressed against your shoulder, tears ceasing their onslaught, the stray liquid hitting the floor. Eyes slick with moisture, burning from how tightly you’d shut up them looking up to find not a face, but a mask.

“Spider-Man…?”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

It hadn’t even been something you’d considered, surveying yourself in tandem with Spider-Man, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

Besides, perhaps, your heartbeat.

“I’m… I’m fine, thank you.”

He nodded his head, holding out a hand to you, your own enveloped by his palm alone. “Let’s get you out of here. Where do you live?”

He wanted to take you — escort you — home.

In typical circumstance you would’ve scoffed at the question, removing yourself from the situation, mace coating their face as you made a daring escape.

But here, now, enveloped in everything Spider-Man, you couldn’t help your compliance, couldn’t help the way your stomach flipped at his proximity.

His touch had lingered somewhere along your frame the entire journey back to your apartment — hand, back, shoulder — he moved in an effort to extend safety, yet you couldn’t resist the blush that unfurled against your cheeks when he’d remove himself only to return.

“This is me,” You’d spoken hoarsely, praying Spider-Man believed your nerves stemmed from a place of perpetuating fear. Fiddling with your thumbs, practically unable to look him in the eyes — mask?

He seemed in tune with your movement, hand returning to encase your own, ceasing your fidget. The man hesitated, a deafening silence, “Stay safe, okay?”

That was that. You’d returned to your apartment dazed and discombobulated, calling your boss to explain what had happened — you wouldn’t be able to attend today, perhaps not tomorrow, either. There you stayed within the safety of your apartment, reflecting on the day’s events, and yet only one thing reigned consistent in your mind.

Spider-Man.

You knew him — Spider-Man, even if you hadn’t known it. Miguel despised it, despised the way you spoke of him without even realizing it. Friends from work, the best of friends. But everyday he yearned for the threshold between platonic and romantic to blur, itching to feel his skin against yours.

Miguel’s heart sank when you called out, kicking himself for not realizing how deeply this morning’s debacle might have affected you. At the first sign of mental relief, he’d taken the opportunity to call you, fiddling with the picture of you and his daughter — the day you’d taken her out for her birthday — displayed neatly on his desk for everyone to see.

Everyone except you, of course.

You hadn’t the faintest idea it was there, Miguel coincidentally moving it aside, perhaps blocking it with his bulbous stature whenever you’d enter his office.

But he knew, his daughter knew, every other co-worker that had entered inquiring upon advice knew.

How his daughter adored you, and it only made him all the more enchanted with you.

Yet those feelings he’d extended towards his daughter in the midst of exhausted delirium, admitting — yes — he like-liked you were forced to remain hidden.

Those feelings that bubbled inside his chest whenever you smiled up at him, or brushed his shoulder during your trek to the office, were forced to remain hidden

The sound of the line connecting had Miguel sitting up straighter in his swivel chair, hesitant to respond, cursing you for answering your phone while you weren’t in the best shape.

Why would you just take of yourself? Why wouldn’t you just let him take care of you?

“Miguel,” Your meager voice upon pick-up echoed as though you had been asleep, a drawl to your voice, hopelessly drowsy — confused.

Or perhaps you’d been in tears?

The thought alone left Miguel’s heart clenching for relief.

“Hey,” He picked at loose skin surrounding his nail bed, “I uh… You called out?”

You hummed in response, Miguel doing the same. In truth, he hadn’t the faintest idea how to respond. He didn’t believe he’d get this far, didn’t realize how the mere tingle of the phone against his ear — displaying your contact photo of the night out where he was seconds away from confessing his feelings — would have his stomach flipping in circles.

“You’re not feeling well? Not… What’s wrong?”

He could hear you shift on the other line, a sniffle.

You were crying.

“Just… Something happened before work and I…” He heard the way your throat clenched, fighting the urge to cry, “I didn’t think I’d be able to go, y’know, do my job — not with that on my mind.” You forced a laugh, Miguel’s chest only clenching tighter.

He loathed himself for not being there sooner, beat himself up for not delivering you from the clutches of those fucked men. If you’d been home, his home that he’d gladly make yours, this wouldn’t have happened.

He didn’t want to ever allow it to happen again.

Miguel knew he should’ve killed those pathetic excuses for men then and there, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not with you present.

Perhaps the evening called for a targeted patrolling session.

“Want me to stop by? I could…” Miguel hesitated, “I could bring something to eat if you don’t feel well enough to cook, maybe…”

“No, Mig.” He could hear your hesitance, your voice quaking, distressed. “I just wanna be alone…”

Your sobs could be heard as the line disconnected, Miguel ridden with overwhelming grief.

He didn’t want to leave you alone, leave you to suffer in the silence of your apartment. Not when he could be there to hold you close, not when his daughter could braid your hair and ramble about classroom activities and playground gossip.

He was simply meant for you, meant to adore you with everything that encompassed his being.

Why wouldn’t you just let him?

Of course, you’d returned to work eventually, life seeming to resume as intended. You hadn’t been away long, something that simultaneously relieved and upset Miguel.

Relief from seeing your personified perfection in the flesh.

Upset because you shouldn’t have to push yourself to heal before you're ready.

You fell back into your daily habits with relative ease. Returning to work, an overwhelming project at your call upon your return, which precedented a late evening — crumpled papers, glasses hanging low on the tip of your nose. You simply couldn't get this right no matter how incessantly you tried, no matter how much effort you put into it. You were out of your zone, mind plagued with images of Spider-Man and everything that encompassed him.

“You’re not going home?” Miguel’s voice was laced with concern, leaning against the doorway to your office — adjacent rooms, right beside each other whenever the other yearned for moral support; confirmation in the midst of their work.

Sometimes you caught that the mere vibration of his melodic tone filled you with a sense of enchantment, legs weak and mind fogged with his essence.

The two of you couldn't afford to travel down that rabbit-hole, not again. Lingering touches, lovesick stares. Your lives were far too hectic, too different to allow yourselves such vulnerability.

You couldn't do that to him, to his daughter.

“Huh?” You snapped out of your academic stupor upon realizing you had, in fact, registered his voice amongst your onslaught of thoughts. “Oh, no. I already ate.”

Miguel laughed at you then. Relishing in your inattentiveness, the way your mind wandered to the simplest trivialities, the way you became entrapped within your work, forfeiting your very existence in favor of a breakthrough. Ripping the paper from your hands, your pout making Miguel see stars. “Miguel, I need that.”

Yet he couldn't help the way he felt wondering if it wasn't thoughts of frustration that plagued your mind, but thoughts of him.

“No,” The man tucked the paper neatly into one of the drawers attached to your desk, holding it closed with his calf, “You need to go home.”

“I’m not playing around, this is important.”

“Neither am I.”

You were stubborn, Miguel knew that, despised it. That didn’t deter him from extending a hand, working to convince you. Back and forth you shot excuses upon excuses, explanations piling upon others.

However, in the end, he had a daughter he adored to return home to. If you didn’t want to listen to a friend’s concerns…

Friend.

The word alone left a fowl taste in his mouth.

He couldn’t do anything to deter you from your decision.

His journey home was one he’d taken in complete silence, Nueva York’s hustle and bustle nothing more than insignificant background noise. His daughter was home waiting, one of his neighbors whose child attended the same school gracious enough to walk her home when he was unable to. The two had dinner, watched sparkly cartoons, and retired for an evening’s rest — all while you hunched over your desk, pencils coming and going, frustrations taken out on countless crumpled papers desecrating your office floor.

When you’d finally emerged, dazed and exhausted, a voice called out to you above, rain pouring against the sidewalk, and of course you’d neglected to check the weather — not an umbrella in sight.

Just your luck.

“Late evening?” Spider-Man was crouched on the lamppost above you, soaking wet, looking down with an unreadable expression due to the mask obscuring his face.

Just your luck.

“You don’t have any idea.” You responded, holding your face, fighting the blush that pushed forward. His voice was like honey, smooth as he spoke every word. “Shit.”

“No umbrella?”

You nodded your head with hesitance, embarrassed. Spider-Man hopped down from his height ways above you, standing before you in all his glory. Proximity practically nonexistent, and you wouldn’t have it any other way, soothed by the prospect of his presence alone. “I don’t really have anywhere to keep one with the suit but…” He contemplated what he’d say next very carefully, “Want a ride?”

“You have a spider-car?”

“Well, no.” Spider-Man gestured to his wrists with a silent laugh, web-shooters fashioned there, encasing his wrists beautifully. “But if you close your eyes, it’s kinda the same.”

“Oh.” You were hesitant, unsure if it would be a wise idea. Yet, in the end, you’d opted to accept. It would be much quicker, you convinced yourself, and that was definitely the only reason you’d taken the extended invitation.

No other reason.

Nueva York was beautiful this time of night, windows from above glittering like flecks of gold, quaint as silence began to make its home. The cars speckled the asphalt like stars against the inky darkness of an evening sky. The sight unparalleled by anything that encompassed the human experience.

Of course, you’d been unable to witness everything, eyes shut as you held onto Spider-Man’s neck like your life was dependent on it.

It very well might’ve been, but you knew he wouldn’t allow you to fall.

And if by some off-chance you had, he would surely be there to catch you.

“We really need to stop meeting like this, unfavorable situations.” You joked as he produced you at the window to your apartment, the two of you standing on the fire escape, rain still fluttering around you. By now, you were soaked, looking up at Spider-Man through a hand held high-above your eyes, shielding your gaze from the rain.

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

You hadn’t an idea what he could’ve meant, but that didn’t deter your mind from coming to unreasonable conclusions. Was he flirting? Did he mean his words in a romantic sense? Certainly not. People like Spider-Man didn’t have time for relationships, not trivial ones, anyways. And if he did, you convinced yourself he certainly wouldn’t extended his affections towards someone as seemingly insignificant as yourself.

Spider-Man took hold of your face, your body tensing, a million thoughts running rampant in your mind. “You should get inside,” He finally spoke, “Wouldn’t wanna catch a cold, miss another day of work.”

Just like that, he was gone, off into the evening. The rain had ceased, your body soaked, hopping into your apartment through your window. Your nightly routined had gone as typical, but when it came to rest...

You simply couldn’t sleep that evening, thoughts overrun with thoughts of your arachnid savior.

And somewhere down the way, Miguel was just the same.

“I was wondering if you’d wanna go out tonight? I got uh… Well my neighbor is…”

You weren’t paying attention, head in your hand, picking at your lunch with the other.

No, your mind was entirely absorbed by thoughts of Spider-Man, your meeting him once again all you’d been able to conjure to your mind. For once, work went undone without apprehension, and you allowed it. You were one of the best Geneticists alongside Miguel, they wouldn’t dream of replacing you, not for something as trivial as today’s agenda.

Miguel was still rambling beside you, “But yeah, so if you want, we should definitely—“

“Huh?” Miguel’s heart seemed to deflate. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

“No, yeah.” He pushed the tickets back into his pants pocket, clenching them in frustration, “I gathered that.”

“Did you… Were you asking me something?”

“No, no. Nothing important, just a theory I came across while working earlier.”

“Oh,” You mumbled an apology, “You can discuss it, if you want.”

He shook his head, rising from your shared table in the cafeteria, retreating to who-knows-where. Guilt plagued you, chest tightening, Miguel seeming particularly perturbed by your lack of attention.

You decided you would try to make it up to him, take him out somewhere, perhaps the three of you — himself, his daughter, you — could hang out like you’d done previously. Time dwindling as work piled higher. as thoughts of another took you away from where Miguel had once remained, nestled in your heart.

You couldn’t wait for him forever, realizing he hadn’t any feelings for you all those months ago.

Right?

Miguel felt nothing but pain.

An overwhelming clench of his chest as he was forced to watch you fall for someone else.

Granted, it was still him. He could still have you, if he wanted to, under the guise of Spider-Man.

But Miguel didn’t want that. He wanted you all to himself, everything that encompassed you. Fleeting glances, late nights, domesticity. All Miguel yearned for in this world was the prospect of your love, everything to himself.

Miguel wanted to worship you, wanted you to adore him, just as he did you. He didn’t want you to love Spider-Man, didn’t want this persona of himself to be the one you fell for.

And yet you had.

He fucking loathed it.

It pained him to think he was losing you to none other than himself. Pained him to think the only way he’d ever be able to love you was from behind a mask.

So when you approached him, heart on your sleeve, bright smile on your face as you inquired about an evening together, he hadn’t the faintest idea why he’d responded in the fashion he had.

“It’s a beautiful place,” You fawned, walking beside Miguel to your adjacent offices. A habit you’d built together, breakfast in each other’s company, “I heard Spider-Man dined there once. Or, rescued someone who was dining there? I really can’t remember.”

Miguel was thoroughly frustrated, fists balled at his sides. The entire journey you'd found someway to bring Spider-Man into the conversation. He didn't want that. He yearned for his name to fall from your lips as easily as his title. “Is that all you know how to talk about?”

“Excuse me?” You were unsure whether he meant his words with malice.

“I mean,” Miguel scoffed. Why was he doing this? He was losing all sense of reason the further you fell for Spider-Man, the further you strayed from his open arms. “It seems like lately all you want to discuss is Spider-Man! His suit, the way he speaks, the way he holds you.”

Maybe you'd gotten far too caught up in everything, more than you'd realized. In truth, you didn't believe the extent of your fawning had sauntered on insufferable, but perhaps it had been a flaw in your lapse of judgement.

Miguel made it seem as much.

“Does that… Does that bother you, Miguel?”

“Y-“ He paused, taking a deep breath, confused as to what his answer truly was. “Not at all. It’s an observation.”

You nodded in understanding, thumbs twidling in front of you, Miguel ceasing the movement with a squeeze of his hand, absentminded. He didn’t look to you, gaze still trained to the pavement before you.

So familiar, yet.

"Are you jealous?" You'd blurted the question without thinking, without considering what effect your — ill-thought — words would have on the man. His posture grew rigid, pupils dilated, scowl forming upon his angular features.

You didn't believe there to be a day in your life where Miguel scowled, extending an expression of such unadulterated malice. It was your own, you reasoned. His expression, this change seeming to occur before your eyes was nothing more than the consequences of your own actions.

But as his silence festered, continued, you found yourself growing increasingly insecure. After all, what had you anticipated his answer to be? Did you have a hope for how he would respond?

Did you yearn for Miguel to express the innermost working of his mind, the truth?

“We’re just work friends,” He spoke coldly, your heart clenching, burning. "Why on Earth would I have any reason to be jealous of what you do outside office hours?"

Work friends. A distinction between reality and augmentation. Perhaps, this entire time, you’d truly been imagining the magnetism that existed between the both of you — lingering hands, soft smiles, whispered affirmations — nothing more than figment.

A laugh fell from your lips — dry, overrun with regret. There was a point in time you wouldn't have believed him. Then, you would've bumped his shoulder, looking up at him with an expression of unfiltered joy, entirely joyous with your banter. He would be joking, a jester in his own right, and you’d be conscious of it.

Now…

Now you weren’t sure where you stood, and Miguel had made it his mission to make it abundantly clear, drawing that line you’d believed a blur.

Another byproduct of imagination, you supposed.

“Of course,” You conceded in an instant, the energy to refute his words, beg him for clarity long gone in a matter of seconds. “I shouldn’t have… I wasn’t thinking.”

“I can tell.”

Why had Miguel spoke to you like that?

Pain? Jealously? All that stemmed from his own actions?

You hadn’t visited him during your conveniently joint break, Miguel eating a lunch packed by his darling daughter in the dim lighting of his office — your voice echoing from down the hall, engaged in conversation with one of your coworkers, and while he hadn’t made it a habit to extend his Spider-abilities outside of his costume, he simply couldn’t resist.

An invitation for drinks, to spend time outside of work.

Work relationship transitioning from professional to platonic. Just as yours had months prior, perhaps a little too well.

Fuck.

Miguel returned home to his daughter that evening in shambles, doing his best to put on a smile for the young girl, repeating their nightly activities effortlessly — Friday evening, no need to worry about work or school the next morning.

Unless, of course, they called him in for some ridiculous reason, but it seemed unlikely given the trajectory of their progress.

He’d have his world — vida — entirely to himself. Nothing could take that right away from him, not this universe nor the one that followed. If he couldn’t have you, at least his daughter would be there to pick up the pieces of her father’s broken heart. Mending a man shattered without even realizing it.

But, in this life you were always the singular constant he could never take into proper consideration, entropic in nature.

When life threw a curveball, it was always you extending your arm in offense.

Miguel hadn't the faintest idea how to go about what had transpired between the two of you, helpless to your influence, hopeless in facing his feeling. A pile of putty between your fingers.

But as his darling child had him watching a sappy sparkly-princess movie, the two love interests defying the prospects of space and time in their journey towards true love — their love story rewritten in their favor, Miguel couldn't help the tears he shed. Couldn’t help the way his oblivious daughter teased her father, running tiny thumbs across his cheeks to wipe away his tears.

Couldn’t help the way his thoughts drifted to you.

Missed call following missed call. Miguel had been attempting to contact you since early evening yesterday, continuing into this morning. By now, Saturday, the sun had begun its descent from the sky, disappearing along the horizon.

You'd yet to return his call, didn't know if you ever intended on doing so.

Surely he'd be seen bright and early Monday morning, punctuality his vice and simultaneous virtue. But whether or not he'd have a bagged bagel in hand, extended for your pleasure, was unclear.

Either way, you wouldn't blame him, you supposed.

Another call, his contact on display — an image of him you'd taken at the perfect opportunity, a breakthrough stemming from his work — and you couldn't help but clench your eyes in refusal.

It took a lot of convincing, far too much convincing for you to produce yourself from your bedsheets, having been invited out for a round of drinks by your co-workers. Initially, you'd refused, but their incessant attempt at convincing you had finally broke through.

So there you stood in the mirror, dressed to the nines in the best outfits you could've produced from your closet.

It wasn't particularly enchanting by any means, something you'd thrown together in the spur of the moment, simultaneously texting your coworker to inform them you'd be attending while dressing yourself, their excitement shimmering through text bubbles.

It had been a beautiful evening, the location a tavern-like establishment embellished with plants that rained down from the ceiling as though extending themselves to you, whispering your name and enveloping you in their embrace.

Jokes were exchanged, far too many beverages tossed about, but you maintained a decent level of sobriety despite everything. But even as you enjoyed your time, you couldn't help the thought that plagued your mind. Singular, the possibility of anything else replacing the thought inconceivable.

Miguel would adore it here.

He's a simple man, always was and always would be. He indulged in what was required, everything else simply a bonus stemming from his diligent educational prowess. An intelligent man, and he knew that in his entirety, never doubting himself.

Yet you made him feel so dumb, lost. Not a single textbook, equation or lecture could bring him any further into the depths of your mind than he'd began.

Did he like it that way?

Perhaps.

You bid your goodbyes as the evening hours fell into morning, the hustle and bustle of the city still at ease. But that didn't mean crime wasn't lurking at every corner, keen on corrupting the innocent, extending insecurities and fear upon the most unsuspecting of victims.

And that's exactly what occurred.

Hands enveloped you, not the welcomed kind like Spider-Man's or Miguel's, but ones that were laced with genuine discontent. Someone was making an attempt at your head. But for what?

"You seem well-off," The raspy voice was laced in alcohol, the corner of your eyes revealing a man with a stature that was nearly rat-like in nature. "Have anyone at home? A husband? Wife?"

You didn't know how to respond, didn't know if you should. The feeling of a chilled blade changed your confusion, morphing it into compliance.

You shook your head, nobody was waiting for you at home. Not that you wouldn’t like to change that, it simply wasn’t in the cards, divined by the universe.

"Good, good." His head peered around the corner, not a soul in sight, and suddenly you realized how dangerous it was to be here entirely on your lonesome. "You're gonna take me to your house, I'm gonna take whatever I want, and when I'm done you're not gonna tell a soul — not unless you intend on keeping this pretty little neck intact."

He slid the blade along your throat, your body physically rejecting it, bile seeping up your esophagus.

Suppose if you just complied, perhaps stalled for time, maybe he...

You couldn't rely on Spider-Man.

After all, he was a person too, someone with his own life and own aspirations. It was entirely possible he was well beyond asleep at this time, curled up in his bedsheets, unaware of the silent altercation occurring in some insignificant alley. While he was the city’s protector, that didn’t mean he had the divine ability to zero-in on the ins and outs of crime’s occurrences.

Spider-Man can’t save everyone.

You were entirely alone.

The man's grip was unrelenting as he led you down the sidewalk, head buzzing from the evening that'd just concluded, simultaneously palpitating at the prospect of your demise. He dug his unkempt nails into your biceps, forearms, anywhere you could sink himself into — a groan ripping from your clothed mouth with every unwelcome extension of discomfort — hadn't a single soul been out? This was such an active city at all times of day, only a few moments of leeway at any given time.

Suppose you were grossly unlucky.

The stroll hadn't taken much time, finding yourself a few feet away from your apartment building, the man's grip tightening, drawing blood every time you approached somewhere remotely populated. "Not a sound, not if you wanna make it to see the sunrise."

How tempted you were to call fate out on its bullshit, wanting to scream, bite down on his hand and sprint away. But there was so much unfinished business, so much you'd yet to live through. If you simply cooperated, did as you were told, perhaps you'd find the fruits of your suffering weren't as sour as they seemed.

Just as you'd conceded, leading him towards the fire escape that would produce you outside your window — convincing yourself there was nothing left except compliance, a weight was lifted from your shoulders.

Some shuffles, groans and noises of struggle. But when all was said and done, Spider-Man stepped into the light of a flickering streetlight. He appeared distressed, frantic as he approached you with hesitant movements. His hands hovered your shoulders, looking you over, wordless in his late-night examination.

And then you cried.

You cried because you were alone. Cried because you’d nearly died, and what would you have had to show for it? You’ve been so enthralled by a man bathed in red and blue hues that you’d neglected the happenings of life you’d worked so tirelessly to achieve — your career, friendships, relationships — all because you were scared, all because you couldn’t get some fantasy off your mind.

You’d been rescued by the very man you prayed would come to your aid, looking to the heavens as you begged the universe to send him to you.

But that wasn’t who your mind wandered to when you thought of Spider-Man, was it?

No. When you rationalized your death, convinced yourself Spider-Man wouldn’t be there for your rescue, you weren’t truly thinking of the midnight crusader.

Your mind had wandered to Miguel.

“Let’s get you home,” Spider-Man spoke as though his throat were clenched, merely holding out a hand, unable to take you into his embrace. “You shouldn’t be out at this time, not alone.”

And all you could think of was Miguel, how he wouldn’t have hesitated to envelop you then and there, previous quarrel be damned.

Miguel who always seemed acutely in-tune with your emotions, who would bend the heavens and the earth to ensure your happiness. Your lives previous had been hopefully, expectant. Friends and families wondering when things would become official, when your ever-obvious feelings would be unveiled to one another — relief falling upon all those who stood by helplessly, watching with indignant compliance.

But that never happened.

“I don’t… Please don’t take me home.” You were practically begging, holding onto yourself with an unrelenting grip, imagining another in its place. You couldn’t go home, not after everything you’d experienced, not with the thoughts that plagued your mind. You feared if you were to return home, the man would be there awaiting your arrival, even as his body lay numb in the alleyway opposite yourself.

Spider-Man didn’t hesitate, hadn’t argued. “Where can I take you?”

Then you pondered, truly pondered his inquiry. Where could he take you? Certainly your co-workers would have long-since fallen asleep following their intoxicated stupors. Not that it would be particularly professional of you to appear at the doorstep of newly-formed acquaintances. Family? You had none, all having fled Nueva York in the midst of the crime that plagued the city, the dangers that lurked prior to Spider-Man’s self-anointed inauguration — protector of the city, defender of the innocent.

“Miguel.” His name fell from your lips like second-nature, muscle memory. You hadn’t even been aware you’d spoken such until the deed was done, Spider-Man’s clothed eyes widening beside you.

The Spider was hesitant. “Do you trust him?” And you found it endearing how he was concerned with your decision-making skills.

Anyone would be, considering you’d been able to convince yourself a midnight stroll was wise.

“With my entire life,” And if it weren’t for your shivering frame still overtaken with the memory of near-death, you would’ve smiled, warmth seeping into your chest. Because in your heart, unconsciously, you knew your words were as factual as the nucleic acids that made up your genetic code.

“I’ll take you to him.” He spoke it like a final decision, the defining factor.

And so he had. This journey was entirely different than ones taken previously. Your head didn’t hammer with the prospect of sharing secrets, didn’t yearn to discover who lurked behind the mask. Your mind entirely belonged to Miguel, that darling man, and how he might react to your presence.

Perhaps this was a mistake.

You’d arrived at the man’s windowsill, Spider-Man insisting it was a better alternative, easy-access to ensure safety. You crept through the window, turning to thank your savior, only to find Spider-Man long gone — nothing to indicate he’d ever been there, an anomaly in his own right.

Furniture stirred somewhere in the other room as you crouch to enter Miguel’s home, a curse under someone’s breath — someone you couldn’t see. “Miguel…?” There was no response, your hands moving to shut the window, transitioning to wrap around your center.

No, you shouldn’t be here.

Miguel had a daughter, he had priorities apart from you. You couldn’t just barge into his home because you had a fucked evening, tears in your eyes and bruises littering your body. He didn’t deserve this, not after the fight you’d had just hours prior to this moment.

Miguel didn’t see you like that, he’d never seen you like that, never could — and even if he was the person your mind wandered to, glued to, in your most vulnerable moments, that didn’t mean he felt the same of you.

You were just friends from work, right?

You turned on your heels, retreating quickly to his window from whence you came, wondering why it was unlocked in the first place if Miguel and his daughter were sound asleep. Surely he wasn’t that careless, not the Miguel you knew.

Then you wondered if it was safe for you to be out right now.

Granted, it seemed it wasn’t safe anywhere, but tonight in particular seemed foreboding, a call to which you didn’t know the answer.

The call of your name from behind you, Miguel standing in his pajamas, chest heaving as though he’d just ran a marathon. He was frazzled, hair unkempt, eyes filled with something — exhaustion, perhaps — but you couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

He called your name again upon your silence, unsure whether he was hallucinating in the midst of exhaustion, and you swear you saw stars.

“Miguel… Miguel I’m…”

He approached you slowly, your frame illuminated by the moonlight, appearing ethereal. You were everything he’d ever dreamed of, what his heart yearned for. Here you were, standing in his apartment, and he couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe out of everyone you’d gone to him for consolation, whispering his name into his suit-clad arms. “You’re hurt…” He spoke in a whisper — as though he hadn’t noticed prior, and while he hadn’t been oblivious to your injuries, he'd only come to realize the extent in this very moment.

“Who did this, Amor? What happened”

“I dont…” You were choking on your words, looking away from him. But upon his approach to close the burning distance between you, he tilted you to face him ever-so delicately. “I don’t know, but Spider-Man...”

Miguel was frantic in his speaking, “Was he there?”

You could only respond through a sob, better than nothing. “Of course he was, Miguel.” Another hitch of your breath, "He brought me here... To you."

He thanked Spider-Man, thanked himself. If he hadn’t shouldered the burden, taken this god-forsaken job, he would’ve been unable to save you.

Who knows what would’ve happened then.

"Didn't know the Spider-Man knew where I lived." A joke to himself, knowing you hadn't the faintest idea it was a joke to begin with. How he adored the expression that fanned across your puffed eyes, looking up to him as though he'd hung the moon and the stars before you. Enchanted by his presence.

"I'm the one that—"

He shushed you quietly, enveloping you in his warm embrace, the smell of his cologne wafting around you, grounding you.

It'd been forever since you'd been in such close proximity to Miguel, felt as though you hadn't experienced his warmth in centuries. There was a point in time where moments like this, extended vulnerabilty, were entirely common. Of course, they were quiet moments exclusively between the two of you, instances where you were certain nobody would be there to witness them — reserved only for the both of you, your own memories, untainted by the outside world.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to dwell on the past, and yet you couldn't help yourself, insecurity taking shape.

“I should go, I…” You turned to his door, foregoing any attempts at clambering out the window, Miguel’s firm grip faltering from around your shoulders, sliding around your wrist as he simultaneously pulled you into his chest, fighting tears as he listened to sobs muffled by his cotton white tee.

“Don’t go,” He was crying now, one hand playing with the ends of your hair while the other rubbed circles against your back. “Don’t leave, not tonight.”

“I can’t, your daughter—“

“Will understand that the person I love is in distress. She’s a smart kid, reminds me of you.”

“Miguel?”

He loved how his name fell from your lips. Through giggles, through spouts of frustration, even through tears. “Mi Vida?”

“Did you just say… Did you say you…”

Miguel laughed at your hesitance, palm caressing your cheek, “Take your time, I’m listening.”

“Did you just say you love me?”

“Did I?” Miguel chuckled, a kiss feathering the top of your head, “I can’t seem to remember.”

#across the spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderverse x reader #miguel o’hara

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kentopedia · 8 months

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starry silence

dazai x reader my lil contribution to the chaos that was today's episode <3 not quite a reunion, but the aftermath of one ෆ. i'm happy he's safe & sound, but he must be so tired. :( sfw !! kind of sad bc i’m also dealing w jjk leaks i love being in pain (i don’t)

as dazai slept, moonlight cut across his face, highlighting the contours of his skin, the dark maroon cuts and bruises that had been littered across his face. though he seemed the image of a soldier home from war, his freshly washed hair and soft breaths turned him into something much more gentle. dark strands fell in soft waves over his head, shifting as he stirred, his inhale just a skip before his breathing evened out once more.

you traced his jaw, watching the steady streams of air flow through his chest, out his nose. he looked so angelic, so tender in that waxy moonlight, comprised of something otherworldly and earthly all at once.

a soft sigh left his lips as you traced his chin, and something about that sound of relief, of him relaxing completely under your palm, had you choking up. tears pricked at the edge of your waterline like sharp needles, each one filled with something poisonous.

dazai didn’t move, but you curled into a ball, squeezing your legs to your chest as he slept on.

he’d been out for hours, ever since he’d gotten out of the shower, collapsing in a pile of long limbs stretched toward every corner of the room.

the blankets were much kinder to him than the steel bed he’d slept on at meursault, where he’d always kept one eye open. now, though, even his own clothes fit him poorly, like the white prison pants that had hung so loosely off his waist.

under his t-shirt, the angles of his collarbone had become sharper, the planes of his stomach much flatter than you remembered. though his features had never been soft, even the skin of his cheeks had thinned, stress taking more of a toll on him than he'd admitted.

it was peaceful night outside, no sounds of screams to be heard in yokohama. you were certain that you’d absorbed every ounce of turmoil that had lingered in the city beyond your doorstep, and it gathered up in your chest like a bundle of fiery energy. something that you weren’t sure how to get rid of without bending over the porcelain toilet.

everything had resolved itself, hadn’t it? yet, you couldn’t shake the twisted anxiety that lingered in your chest, even when dazai was right beside you, sleeping soundly with no lasting injuries.

you rested your chin on your knees, letting that emptiness swallow you whole, disappearing somewhere that wasn’t entirely there. the steady rise and fall of dazai’s chest was the only thing that kept you grounded, kept you from drifting away, lost in a spiral of every possibility that hadn’t come to be.

a small sound of misery left your lips, and you bit down hard, tasting blood as two salty drops rolled down your cheeks. though the cry had been nearly inaudible, dazai heard it nonetheless, alway attuned to you, even the simple fluctuation of your heartbeat a beacon for him across the universe.

“what’s wrong, darling?” his words were quiet, like he was hesitant to break the atmosphere, in fear that he might startle you.

you blinked, not sure when your vision had become so blurry, and twisted your neck, letting your jaw rest against your shoulder. “nothing,” you said, but your smile was weak, and the word was hardly a sound at all.

dazai had tucked his cheek under his hands, blinking up at you with sleepy brown eyes that so resembled a child's. it hurt you all over again, that this aching soul who had never seen the beauty in himself had almost been taken away from you.

your lips parted, but the words halted at your tongue as you pinched your eyebrows together, trying to explain what exactly was within you. it wasn't quite sadness, but it wasn’t relief either, a cumulation of everything you’d ever felt, and something entirely new.

though, as always, dazai seemed to understand. he reached a hand out, fingers slender and delicate, placing them on your wrist. “it's not good to hold back your tears, my love.”

as if you’d just been waiting for dazai’s permission, you shook once more, silently, the tears rolling down your cheeks faster, harder. he sat up, bringing you closer with every moment, until you were wrapped in his warm arms. ones that were battered and bruised, but still the safest place in the world.

he smelled clean, more like himself than he had when you had reunited with him, and that fact alone sent another nauseating wave of emotion over you. you gripped his shoulders, his chest, unable to get any closer, even as you tried to fuse yourself into his being, turn yourselves into one whole that could never again be separated.

dazai kissed your temple, holding you as you cried, saying nothing until you could form the words to explain the ache that in the deepest part of your stomach, stretching to the back of your throat.

“i was so close to losing you, osamu,” you said, and even if dazai denied it, even if he said he’d always had it under control, you knew that wasn’t true. one slip up, one miscalculation, and you never would’ve seen him again. a single error by chuuya, by ango, by yourself…

dazai’s fingers twitched against your spine, and he, for once, was faced with uncertainty. like he hadn’t considered what would’ve been ahead of you when he was gone for good, even if his death would always be a possibility. even if you'd always known that if the world wouldn’t kill him, maybe he’d do it himself.

“i’m here,” dazai said, and it wasn’t a promise, but it wasn’t a lie, and you'd accept it for what it was woth. “I’ll be here.”

there was no way to predict how long that would hold true, but you’d grasp that last spark of hope tightly nevertheless. you'd shelter it away in your loving embrace until the universe clawed it from your bloody palms, stealing the very last light that it had dropped down from heaven into your life.

and that would have to be enough.

"i probably won't write anything abt the episode, i really need to work on—" … rylie is such a silly liar (´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡

#sorry this was done in like 30 mins #pls forgive any errors :(#osamu dazai x you #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai x you #dazai angst #bsd x reader #bsd angst #dazai x fem reader #dazai x y/n #osamu dazai imagines #dazai imagines #dazai osamu x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆#dazai x gn!reader #dazai osamu x y/n #osamu x you

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flamingpudding · 10 months

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Part 9 of Ghost Kid in Gotham

>>Masterpost

<<1 Previous Next

Pit Demons aren't pets, now stop biting!

Jason sighed as he pulled into the bat cave with his bike. This was the third day in a row now that he was coming back into the Manor now and most likely stayed over again. Steph and Cass were due back from her mission today and Jason knew Alfred was preparing for the Family dinner that was going to happen either today or tomorrow.

Depending if Dick could finally gets Bruce out of his office.

It didn't really matter to Jason though. He was just here to… well he didn't know either but he knew that he was trying to keep an eye out for the little biter. Even if he had to deal with Timber being frustratingly annoying with the whole ghost cult thing.

So what if he could read what they claim to be squiggles. Not that he could prove otherwise, because all he saw was perfectly readable letters. Thankfully he had gotten Tim off his back for some time as he went to deal with something in Crime Alley.

He checked the group chat and scowled.

Apparently the entire Manor was in a state of chaos and Demon Brat was dragging Duke around the entire manor to have him use ghost vision to find the little shit. Not that it was helping since the last update was from 15 minutes ago and apparently the light path Duke had followed ran into a wall.

He looked over to the Batcomputer to find Tim going through the security footage. The other hadn't even so much spared Jason a glance so far too focused on trying to find how the kid could have disappeared from Damian's room without any of them noticing. Alfred and Demon Brat had put down the kid for a nap in Damian's room despite having a room prepared for the little biter and when Damian checked on the kid after doing his school work he found the kid gone.

"Still nothing on the kid?"

"Nothing, it's like the kid vanished into thin air. Not even the sensors in Damian's room picked anything strange up that could hint at his disappearance."

"I still have bite marks, so he definitely was not a mass hallucination."

Tim glared at Jason and the elder only shrugged. It was probably a bit to soon for that kind of joke. But his brothers weren't the only ones worried.

He wasn't even sure if Bruce knew, considering the last he heard was Dick and the old man having a 'talk' again. Dick was probably leaving the search to them for the moment to deal with whatever problem B was having right now.

"Think someone kidnapped the kid?"

"No. Aside from us, and probably the LoA, no one should know about Danny. The League taking him back wouldn't make sense. Besides why would anyone attempt to kidnap him from the Wayne Manor of all places? Gotham's Kidnappers might be dumb but not that dumb."

Jason sagely nodded in agreement. There was something tugging at the back of his mind but he couldn't explain what. It was like on the first day he had brought the little biter to the batcave. Over his shoulder he glanced into the direction his mind -no, the pit was urging him to go.

The pit had been strangely quiet and subdued ever since he met the kid. Protective of the biter at times but he despite the way Timber had annoyed and pestered him previously, he had not felt his own annoyance swing over into that uncontrollable rage.

There was a suspicion, a working theory. Something he wasn't yet willing to share with the rest of the family, despite the fact that he was sure that they had also noticed. It was a glaring fact that he was staying with them in the Manor despite Bruce being there too.

But until there was more confirmation Jason wasn't going to mention any of his suspicions, not if they could possibly endanger a little kid.

Because if he was right then the little biter was brought back way different than him and could also have some Pit controlling powers. The way his own mental Pit reacted to the boy was most likely proof but also what the other had found out so far. Lazarus water was fucking affecting the kids DNA.

It didn't help that Replacement had mentioned a suspicion that the League had most likely experimented with the kid and the Lazarus water judging by the scars they had discovered.

Someone might have deemed the kid a failure at first or the kid had escaped and somehow found his way to Jason's apartment with him probably being the closest thing to what the kid was.

Maybe the kid could sense him the way he could with his Pit. Shaking his head out of these thoughts Jason focused back at the problem at hand.

"I will check with Alfie, see if he knows any more hiding spaces kids would love to use." He patted his younger brother's shoulder only getting a grumble as answer before turning and going towards the elevators.

But before he could enter he once more glanced at the direction the pit was urging him to go. Hesitating, he looked back towards Timber and then the elevator.

"Fuck it." He muttered and decided to trust that stupid pit instinct or whatever that was, though with a threat in his stomach that once more just like the first time when they had searched through the cave to find the kid, the pit was leading him towards the Lazarus Pit.

Once he realized where he was going he stopped. "I should just fucking get Replacement or Demon Brat to check there." Muttering to himself he stared at the direction he was heading towards. When he found the little shit there before the kid had jumped him, chomping down on his arms.

The kid had only led go of him after he spat out green fucking Lazarus Water. Like what the actual fuck? Jason had pushed that experience as far out of his mind as he could but he was remembering it now again. It had been worrisome but they had chalked that up to the kids' contamination.

But now? Now that the pit in his mind was urging him to go there again? He couldn't help but think that there was more to it. Maybe his own dip in the pit had something to do with the little shits obsession with him?

Letting out a sigh he was ready to turn on his heel and get one of the others to check this area when he suddenly heard childlike laughter. "You are shitting me…"

With a scowl he marched towards the Lazarus Pit only to stop in his tracks the moment it came into view.

The little biter was sitting on the ground by the Pit as green glowing blobby orbs floated around the boy. The boy was poking them saying something, he couldn't really hear from this distance and then laughed. There was a light in his blue eyes that Jason hadn't seen before, a happiness even. It would be a really cute image of the kid playing with some green blobby orbs, if these things weren't probably some sort of dangerous Pit Demons.

Fuck what was he going to do now? If they were dangerous and he startled them the little shit could end up in real danger. So far they hadn't noticed him.

Grumbling while keeping an eye on the laughing boy, he sent a quick message into the chat telling the others little biter was in the batcave by the Lazarus pit. He knew the moment Tim saw the message he would come running, same with Demon Brat.

Despite knowing that was not a cute moment but dangerous, he snapped a picture anyway. Just for the record and to make sure he wasn't hallucinating or something. Because the kid was actually laughing, not hissing, not blankly staring, glaring or watching one of them but actually laughing like a kid his age with a shine in his eyes he hadn't seen before.

Demon Brat can thank him later for that picture, if Jason decides to share it with the others that was.

Echoing steps could be heard behind him and just like he predicted his brothers came running. The kid's laughter instantly stopped when he heard it too and his head snapped towards Jason, eyeing him warily. One of his hands was still stretched out towards one of the blobs, probably to pet it, but had stopped midway.

It was weird how the blobs were also now turning towards him and sort of looked displeased? Were these demons upset that they made the kid stop showering them in affection?

"Danyal!" Damn were they fast if they wanted to. Rushing past him their formerly youngest kneeled by his younger twins side patting the kid down and checking them over. Jason narrowed his eyes. Did Damian not notice the green glowing orbs that were all around the kid?

"So he was here the entire time?!" Timber asked the moment he coughed up, baffled. "How did we miss that?"

"Hey Replacement?" He had to ask, like come on, he couldn't be the only one seeing these green blobby orbs floating around the little biter and now the Demon Brat.

"Do you see-"

"What are these green blobs?"

Duke appeared next to them, clearly worried. Well that at least spared him having to ask that himself. From the corner of his eyes he watched how Tim blinked confused then rubbed his eyes like he was noticing them for the first time.

"Are those?"

"Small Pit Demons." Demon Brat answered them casually, waving one of them away when it got too close to his face. "They used to be around Grandfather's Lazarus Pit all the time. They seem to appear where Pits are and are harmless if you leave them be."

"Wait, you know about them?"

"Of course. They usually stay out of sight but it was not unusual to get a glimpse of them every now and then. Danyal used to point them out when we were younger. I am surprised that none of you ever noticed them before."

"Demon Brat, are you fucking kidding me? We got literally Pid Demons in the Batcave?!" They had fucking Pit Demons in the Batcave because of the Lazarus Pit and the damned brat didn't bother to tell them? What the fuck?

"Blob Ghosts! Not Demons!" The little biter piped up and Jason turned to stare at the kid not quite in disbelief but really? That was what the kid cared about, what they called these things?

"I don't fucking care what they are called. They still come for the fucking pit"

"Uhm…" Oh right all they hear from the kid is chirping or thrilling noises.

"What did Danyal call them?"

"Blob Ghosts."

"Blob Ghosts…" Before he knew it Tim was gone, nose deep in the weird ghost cult book muttering something about a connection between the Pits and that cult. Was he seriously carrying that book around everywhere now?

"Dami, can we keep-"

"No." Where were Dick and Bruce or maybe even Alfred? He did not want to act as the responsible eldest here. Helping Demon Brat sneaking various animals into the Manor to annoy Bruce was one thing but keeping fucking Pit Demons? Hell normally he would be all for it but fuck did he not want to deal with anything that came for the fucking Pits. Nope, this was not his kind of deal.

Apparently the kid didn't like his instant refusal as all he heard was a hiss in warning, followed by the simple command of "Smother him!"

His vision was swarmed with green and not the kind of green that happens when Pit Rage took over. No it was the kind where a lot of green glowing blobby orbs decide to swarm you. He swatted at them like they were flies, sometimes it worked, sometimes he noticed how his hand would go right through them without effect.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

"Danyal!" He could hear Demon Brats scowling tone but he didn't know what it was about until a second later he felt a weight hitting his chest knocking him over.

"WHAT THE FUCK?! GET FUCKING OFF ME!"

There was another hiss and a pain, he was getting familiar with, bloosemed in his right forearm and in between the green blobs he got a glimps of the little shit biting down on is arm a-fucking-gain. Though the kids eyes were blue he could still see a green flickering in them.

"Oh for the love of… Danyal! I told you to stop biting them!"

"Shouldn't we be more concerned about the Pit Demons attacking Jason?"

"Todd will be fine as I said they are harmless. Danyal, I said get off him this instant or I will tell Pennyworth to withhold your snacks."

"I feel like priorities aren't set right here…"

Despite his doubts… Duke still took a picture of the chaos to share with the others later. Dick surely would get a good laugh out of whatever this was.

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iamtired10 · 4 months

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『𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘』

𝖪𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝖧𝖺𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝔻𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧.

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑒𝑟! 𝐻𝑎𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟.

Pham Hanni, your close friend, or rather, your undercover girlfriend. It's a clandestine affair as no one is aware of your romantic connection.

To the world, you two are just good friends, nothing more.

You both decided to keep your relationship hush-hush, mainly because Hanni prefers it that way.

Letting out a sigh, you glanced at your notebook during class, realizing the room wasn't exactly vacant; someone else was present.

Meet Kang Haerin—the enigmatic girl in your class, perpetually choosing silence and solitude. Rumors have circulated that she and Hanni share a friendship, or perhaps an even deeper connection. Honestly, you're not overly invested in the details.

Resuming your focus on your notebook, you couldn't ignore the sense of being observed. A subtle shift in your peripheral vision confirmed that Haerin's gaze was fixated on you.

Recalling what Hanni once shared—that Haerin stares at things she likes—you pondered if that included you. "Is she into me or something?" you mused, shaking off the notion and deciding to concentrate on your work.

"Quit being delu!" you chided yourself internally, shaking your head and returning to your tasks.

You sighed, eagerly awaiting someone's arrival. Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed through the air—Hanni, the person you had been yearning for all day.

Your eyes sparkled as you spotted your girlfriend approaching. "Hey!" you exclaimed, walking briskly towards her, ready to embrace her with a warm hug.

However, your attempt to hug her was met with a gentle push, and your smile waned. "No touching in public, remember," she reminded you, her tone tinged with irritation.

Sighing, you nodded, recalling the unspoken rules that shrouded your relationship in secrecy.

"Uh... let's go home then..." you suggested, offering a small, hopeful smile.

"Well, Y/n... sorry, I can't. I'm heading to Minji's house for a sleepover. I came to let you know. Now, you can go home; you don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine with Minji. I'll drop you a message later, okay?" she explained, her eyes gleaming with a reassuring smile.

As you sighed inwardly, the thought of Minji again crossed your mind. Your patience wore thin; Hanni consistently found time for Minji and other friends, leaving little for you. The pang of jealousy surged within you, and it was hard not to feel neglected.

"Y/n?" Hanni called, pulling you from your contemplation.

"So, you're not joining me today either? Han, it's been a week since we last hung out. I'm growing impatient; you always manage to find time for Minji and others, but making time for us seems to slip your mind!" you expressed, looking at her. Hanni sighed and rolled her eyes, visibly annoyed.

"Y/n, isn't this a bit much? Acting all clingy now! I do want to spend time with you, but I can't risk people thinking we're dating," she explained, and you clenched your jaw.

"Why? Why can't our relationship be public? Look, Han, I'm tired of your excuses. You claim I'm acting clingy? No, I just want to spend time with the person I love! And you call it clingy. Fine, enjoy your excuses!" you retorted, walking away.

Despite her repeated calls, you didn't turn back. Your frustration with Hanni and the situation had reached its peak.

As you walked towards your house, a heavy sigh escaped you, replaying the recent events with Hanni in your mind like a broken record.

"Damn this..." you muttered under your breath, feeling the vibrations from your pocket as Hanni continued to message you.

Sighing again, you approached your front door and noticed a small box placed deliberately in front of it. "This again..." you thought, recognizing this familiar type of box that had been arriving consistently for the past month from an unknown admirer.

Being quite popular for your good looks, having admirers was nothing new. However, this particular admirer was peculiar, especially considering the mysterious notes accompanying the gifts.

You sighed once more, grabbing the box and unlocking the door to enter your house. Placing the box on the table, you slumped onto the couch, letting out a deep sigh as thoughts of Hanni occupied your mind once again.

Your phone rang, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Who is that?" you mumbled as you pulled out your phone, half-expecting it to be Hanni. To your surprise, it was an unknown number.

"What?" you grumbled, a tinge of annoyance in your voice.

"Open the box," the person on the other end calmly instructed before ending the call. The feminine and icy voice was strangely attractive, but the instruction to open the box from your admirer added an unsettling undertone.

You gazed at the box on the table, hesitating for a moment before opening it. Inside, you found a frog plushie.

"Damn..." you mumbled, spotting a note beside it.

𝐌𝐲 𝐘/𝐧,

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚒 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚜𝚘 𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚙. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕; 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙰 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚒. 𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝, 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑.

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬,

Ｋ.Ｈ<3

Your breath caught as the words sank in.

"What? No, it can't be true. But how do they know about Hanni and Minji? And... Hanni cheating on me with Minji...?" Your mind went blank as you took another breath, and you reached for your phone to call Hanni, all while the doorbell at your house rang.

As you stood up and walked towards the door to open it, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions – frustration, confusion, and a tinge of hurt.

Hanni was waiting outside, and as you opened the door, her concerned expression met yours.

"You..." you mumbled, trying to find the right words.

"Y/n/n-" she began, but you cut her off, not ready to hear her explanation just yet.

"Shut it, Hanni. I don't want to hear any excuses," you said, your tone firm. She nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"Okay, but hey Y/n/n, look, don't be mad at me..." she started, meeting your gaze with sincerity.

You closed your eyes, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. The note about Hanni cheating on you with Minji echoed in your mind, creating a cloud of doubt.

"Han, can I ask you something?" you finally spoke up, reopening your eyes. "What is it, Y/n/n?" she responded, her eyes reflecting a hint of nervousness.

"Are you... cheating on me?" you asked, watching her reaction closely.

"What!? What the hell are you saying!?" she exclaimed, genuine surprise in her voice.

"Answer my damn question," you demanded, needing clarity in that moment.

"No! How could I? And how can you ever think about that!?" she sighed, her voice carrying a mix of hurt and disbelief.

You took a deep breath, thinking, "The admirer was lying."

"Uh, just asking," you said, deciding not to press further. Hanni rolled her eyes, sensing your skepticism.

"Y/n, is that even a question!? How can I cheat on you!?" she protested, crossing her arms with a pout.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, contemplating the situation.

"Hm hm, I'm not forgiving you... you have to make it up," she declared, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"How?" you asked, genuinely curious about her proposed solution.

"By lots of cuddles!" she replied, her tone lightening up as she grabbed your hand, guiding you inside your house.

The next day, as you leisurely made your way through the bustling hallway to your class, a familiar voice rang out, catching your attention. "Hey there, L/n Y/n!" It was Hong Eunchae.

"Hey, Eunchae," you responded with a warm smile.

She hesitated for a moment before finally asking, "I was thinking... um, would you mind hanging out with me today?"

"Sure, as friends, right?" you clarified, and Eunchae's face lit up.

"Exactly! No problem at all!" she exclaimed, and the two of you continued walking together. Little did you know, someone was discreetly observing this interaction.

"Ugh, this is fucking frustrating..." Haerin grumbled under her breath, her fists clenching. "My plan didn't work again... but I need to take action. L/n Y/n, just you wait. You'll be mine and mine alone. No one else, not Pham Hanni or anyone."

The room was filled with moans as Hanni claimed the dominant position, pinning you down on the couch.

"It's my turn now!" Hanni declared with a smirk, leaning in to mark your neck. You bit your lip to suppress the escaping moans.

Pulling her closer by her head, you intensified the moment, your weak spot succumbing to her actions. "Han..." you whispered, caught up in the pleasure.

She pulled away, a sultry smile on her lips. "Let's make up for lost time... I missed you all day – your touch, your voice, everything," she expressed, discarding your already loosened tie.

"Now, it's time for some fun," she continued, looking deeply into your eyes. Her hand gracefully trailed down your chest, undoing the buttons of your shirt.

A playful smile crossed your lips. "Are you ready for it?" She teased.

Just as you were about to respond, a sudden thud echoed in the room, drawing both of your attention.

"What the heck..." you pondered, eyes widening.

"K-kang Hae-erin!?" Hanni stuttered, locking eyes with the girl standing in front of both of you. She gawked as though witnessing an unexpected spectacle.

Caught red-handed by Hanni's friend, you couldn't help but wonder about the repercussions of this unexpected encounter. Hanni promptly adjusted her appearance, buttoning up her shirt.

"W-what are you doing here!?" Hanni inquired, a mix of surprise and nervousness in her voice. You sat up, equally puzzled.

"Unnie, what are you doing here... and didn't you say you like Minji unnie..." the cat-eyed girl questioned, widening your eyes.

"WHAT!?" you exclaimed, startled.

"What are you saying, Haerin!? And how are you here!?" Hanni asked, visibly flustered.

"Well... Y/n and I were paired up for Mr. Kim's project, so I came for that. I rang the bell, but no one answered, so I decided to check inside, and well, here we are," Haerin explained innocently.

"But unnie... didn't you confess to Minji unnie a few days ago... like you like her or something. And I saw you guys kissing too... What are you doing here with Y/n?" she added, dropping a bombshell.

Your mind went blank as you processed this revelation. So, the admirer was speaking the truth – Hanni is cheating on you with Minji.

"Hanni-" you started, but she interrupted, "Y/n, I can explain-"

"Leave my house now," you coldly stated.

"Y/n/n..."

"I SAID LEAVE MY DAMN HOUSE NOW!"

You sighed, the weight of the recent events evident in your expression as your eyes remained fixed on the notebook. "This is just... frustrating," you mumbled, releasing your pent-up frustration under your breath.

In the aftermath of the encounter that led to your decision, you found yourself parting ways with Hanni the following day.

"Are you holding up, Y/n?" Haerin's voice broke through your contemplation, her presence in your house signaling the collaboration on the group project you both had undertaken.

You nodded, acknowledging, "I'm okay... just grappling with thoughts about the breakup..." Your teeth caught your lower lip, a telltale sign of the inner turmoil.

A warm touch on your hand drew your attention, and you looked up to see Haerin's palm resting reassuringly on yours.

"It's okay, Y/n. She cheated on you... not worth your thoughts. Stop dwelling on her and let's focus on us," Haerin suggested, her gaze expressing empathy.

"But I can't seem to shake it off..." you sighed, expressing the difficulty in moving on. Haerin rose from her seat, approaching you with a comforting presence.

"Look, Y/n," Haerin murmured, cupping your cheek gently. Her touch carried an unexpected sense of solace.

"Stop dwelling on her," Haerin advised softly. "You deserve someone better—someone who loves you unconditionally, who's there for you, who makes time for you, who shows their love. Someone who claims you as theirs. Just mine. And if you want, I can be that person for you... as a good friend or something more," she offered, her sincerity shining through.

"Uh... I understand. Thanks, Haerin," you responded, a small smile of gratitude forming on your lips.

"Well... Do you like that frog plushie I sent you?" Haerin's sudden inquiry caught you off guard, shifting the conversation unexpectedly.

"W-what?" you Stuttered.

"The plushie," she pointed to the frog toy, a mysterious gift from your admirer.

"Uh... yeah," you mumbled, still grappling with the unfolding revelations.

"I knew you'd love my favorite plushie!" Haerin exclaimed, grabbing the frog toy.

"My favorite plushie..." Her words lingered in your mind, leaving you contemplative. So, it turns out she is the admirer who sent you the plushie.

Or is it just a delusion?

The mystery deepens, especially considering she referred to it as her favorite plushie. The unfolding events raise more questions than answers.

𝐈𝐬 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫?

#new jeans x reader #newjeans #haerin x reader #oneshot #hanni x reader #hanni #kang haerin x reader #kang haerin

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astudyincontrasts · 7 months

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Penance IX (redux)

Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)

A/N: Its my birthday! Last year everyone in this fandom and all the friends I have made because of it made today one of the most special birthdays I have had in a long time. I felt more loved and surrounded in celebration with sweet friends then I had in years, and the cup of that happiness has not stopped running over. There are not enough ways to express my love and gratitude for everyone I've had the joy of meeting here.

So this year, I wanted to offer a gift to all of you. Everyone has been exceedingly patient about my writing struggles to continue Penance, so I'd like to give you the alternate Penance XI chapter- blood I have managed to wring from that stone of writers block. The fate of the continuation of this story may still be up in the air until inspiration comes knocking again, but at least I can share this with you today.

To all my fandom friends, and everyone who has been so supportive of this silly little smutty story. You have my heart.

This picks up after Chapter VIII

“Girl, are you listening?”

Sister Marta’s sharply scolding voice brought you back down to earth with a little jerk, blinking as you turned attention back to the tall, thin, sallow faced nun to meet the exasperated gaze of her cataract-hazed grey eyes.

“Sorry Sister.” You mumbled, casting about for a context clue of whatever it was she might have been speaking about while you’d been off daydreaming about the priest of her parish. Nothing jumped out at you in the dusty old store room of the basement where you both stood in the dim light of one naked and straining lightbulb still swinging gently upon its cord from the nun’s yank of its chain a moment before.

You hadn’t meant to drift off, but it had been four days since you’d seen Father Silco last and that painful, sweet contrition you’d done across the desk of his office was still fresh in your mind as if it had just happened. You ought to have been angry at the fact he’d left you such an unsatisfied mess, and the fact he’d spanked you like a wicked child, in spite of his promise he’d never hurt you as they had back in school.

Truly, he had not. Those sharp little slaps of his open hand were nothing compared to the cruelty of a sharp ruler across knuckles or the backs of thighs delivered by an angry, bitter nun. You smiled faintly at Sister Marta’s increasingly irritated, withered old face and privately thought perhaps she could teach the Father a few things about corporal punishment.

“The candles, girl!” Sister Marta exhorted at last, the thin limit of her patience snapping.

Unlike the ‘my child’ diminutive that the other nuns like Sister Eleanor or Sister Angelica were so fond of using with you and other parishioners, Sister Marta had no use for any such hollow faithful endearments. You hadn’t yet made up your mind if it was an honest gruffness about her you liked, or an insulting mein you did not. You had the notion it would have hardly mattered to the old woman either way.

She nudged one of the pair of low boxes with the toe of her sensible black shoe from under her long, dark habit.

“Take them to the Father to be blessed and then kindly refill the votive stands. You can remove the spent ones and toss them.” She explained, slower this time as if she was speaking to a simpleton.

You bore it with a tight little smile and bent to lift the box on top, surprised by the weight of it, staggering a bit upon rising only to catch a smugly satisfied look on the wrinkled old pucker of a face before Sister Marta reached up to pull the chain of the light and leave you to struggle out the door of the closet and back up the rickety old stairs of the basement in the dark, save for the light from the open door at the top of the steps.

Quietly you wondered if you accidentally fell and broke your neck, if the church would have their endowment free of the burden of your presence that came with it.

Cold comfort, knowing you’d crush the brittle bird-boned old woman climbing up, wheezing softly behind you, and take her with you if you did pitch backward down the steps.

The real trial wasn’t making it to the top of the stairs with the heavy box full of candles, though. No, that one still lay ahead once you’d reached the top without incident. The real trial lay in taking that armload into the rectory to face Father Silco once more and ask his blessing.

You’d thought you’d be safe if you came on a Thursday. You’d avoided the parish planning committee on Monday, as well as your usual Wednesday session with the Father. You’d hardly doubted you’d be missed at the planning meeting, and Wednesday, well. You’d chosen to skip it half in a little act of spite, half just to see what might happen. When no scolding phone call or visit had been forthcoming after shirking both of those commitments the victory felt hollow.

Turning up to make yourself useful to the nuns on Thursday seemed like a good way to cover for your failed gambit and to keep from looking as if you were avoiding the church. Foolishly, you’d thought perhaps you’d manage to skim by with just catching a glimpse of Father Silco in passing.

Unsure if it was because you wanted to see him, or wanted him to see you.

You’d been on rocky footing ever since your little transgression in the confessional, and you knew it.

The door to the rectory lay open just across from the basement door in the open nave of the large narthex, and you waited until Sister Marta crested the steps behind you and shut the basement door to hobble off heavily upon her cane, before you started the slow walk toward his office. You didn’t let yourself hesitate in the doorway, and didn’t have a free hand to knock on the open door with anyway. Instead, summoning all the calm composure you could muster, you simply walked in and paused before his desk.

He sat there, scribbling away in an open book, papers and letters and other books opened in a slightly scattered mess about his work, dark head bent and eyepatch on. He left you standing there until he’d finished what he was writing. Until your elbows and wrists had begun to ache a little from the weight of the box you held. Only then he sat back, letting his pen drop upon the desk as elbows found the armrests of his tall-backed chair and he turned the cool glint of that duplicitously calm ocean colored eye upward.

The thin, scarred cut of his mouth tugged a hint of a smile at one corner.

“Lamb.” He stated mildly, as if unsurprised in the least to see you there and only half interested as to what you might want with him.

Infuriating, how badly you liked hearing that little endearment again. How flustered it made you feel to get hooked on the edge of that smile.

The box shifted heavily in your hands as you juggled its weight and stepped forward to set it upon his desk. Damn his paperwork.

“Sister Marta asked if you’d bless these candles so I could put them in the votive holders.” Your attempt to keep your voice as even and disaffected as possible only resulted in it coming out far softer than you’d meant for it to be.

Leaning forward a touch, Silco flipped one of the flaps of the cardboard lid back to glance at the candles inside with a little hum. One by one he folded each of the other three flaps back and rose to his feet. Elegant fingers stroked absently along the edge of one packaging dividers hashed between the votives within before he plucked a single candle out and set it aside.

Letting that cool eye of his drift shut he made the sign of the cross over the open box of remaining candles before opening both hands before himself, palms cupped upward.

“Lord Jesus Christ, true light that enlightens every man who comes into this world, bestow thy blessing upon these candles, and sanctify them with the light of thy grace. As these tapers burn with visible fire and dispel the darkness of night, so may our hearts with the help of thy grace be enlightened by the invisible fire of the splendor of the Holy Ghost, and may be free from all blindness of sin.”

His eye opened and fell upon you, and suddenly you were profoundly aware of how you just stood there, staring at the tall, lean lines of him in that dark cassock, soaking in the sound of his voice and very obviously not with your hands folded in reverent prayer or eyes downcast as they ought to have been. Something entirely ungodly flickered at the edge of Father Silco’s mouth as he continued on, holding your immobilized gaze.

“Clarify the eyes of our minds that we may see what is pleasing to thee and conducive to our salvation. After the dark perils of this life let us be worthy to reach the eternal light.” His eye closed once more and again he made the sign of the cross over the box as he finished, “Through thee, Jesus Christ, Savior of the world, who in perfect Trinity livest and reignest, God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

His hands lowered, one coming to settle over the glass edge of the candle he’d set to one side, and he considered you as you crossed yourself hastily and reached forward to gather the box back up again. He stopped you lifting it with a touch of the fingertips to its lid.

“When you are through with these, perhaps you’d come back here?” Couched so carefully as a question, yet all you could hear was the quiet order in it. Come back here. Your head was nodding before he even finished speaking and the thin, dark brow not covered by his eyepatch quirked slightly.

“Yes, Father.” Your correction of yourself came nearly automatically.

Another little humming assent and with a slow blink he removed the touch that had stopped you lifting the box, resuming his seat. You hoped he’d resume his work as well, but instead he sat there, watching you go, fingertips drumming thoughtfully upon the little glass votive.

You took your time with the candles, mostly because your hands were shaking and the very last thing you wanted to do was drop one of the blessed things and have it shatter across the church floor. But also, to give you time to scrape yourself together, collect calm and poise. It was no good, heart hammering anticipation equal parts nervousness and excitement. The part of yourself that had wanted so badly to keep up this little charade of wishing to avoid him had succumbed without so much as a whimper.

Again thoughts drifted back to Sunday. To the stinging warmth of skin under his hand, to how he’d teased you to a sodden mess without once slipping fingers beneath the barrier of cotton that had separated you. To how he’d left you wanting and writhing and nearly in tears. A perfect act of contrition, indeed.

It was a struggle not to let yourself wonder what next punishment he could possibly have in store for you.

Spent votives replaced with fresh ones, and the box filled with the clatter of the empty candleholders, you made your way back to his office. Dropping the detritus of other people’s prayers off in the dumpster out back could wait. You had your own worship to attend to.

Father Silco’s desk was far less littered with papers when you returned, open books stacked neatly to one side now and everything else put away save for the book he was still writing in. And that little candle he’d taken. His dark head didn’t even lift as you set the softly clattering box down upon the settee against the wall.

“Office hours are over.” He intoned flatly as you wiped palms nervously over the skirt of the dress covering your thighs.

It froze you, cold like ice water suddenly filling the pit of your belly. Had he just dismissed you after ordering you to return?

“...Father?” It came out a strangled little question and you almost hated how needy the note of your voice made that singular word.

He glanced up and you realized with a start that he’d removed that eyepatch, the hellish orange-red fire of his darkened eye a constant little shock every single time. Ruined eye and teal flicked from you to the door and back again as if in blatant explanation.

“Lock the door.” He elaborated.

It should not have been a matter of pride that you managed to turn and do his bidding without falling all over yourself or scrambling in an embarrassing rush of eagerness, and yet. Far more collected than you felt within, you managed to push the door shut soundlessly and throw the latch, pausing for a moment with your back to him, safely sheltered in the little alcove of the doorway, to breathe through the easing of that sudden cold panic that had surfaced at your earlier misunderstanding.

When you returned to him he’d shut his notebook and set it aside atop the others, and reached to slide that pilfered votive candle before himself as he watched you sidle up to his desk. Watched you stop, smooth the skirt of your dress only to fist it again in fitful hands, watched the tight little press of thighs as he drew out the silence.

“Do you know what these are called?” He asked, nudging the little candle forward with the press of one elegant fingertip before rising from his seat.

“Devotionaries.” You answered, and watched him cross to the wall to the right of you, to a tall coat stand that stood near the door to his quarters.

“Very good.”

A child could have answered that question, but it did not stop the little smile of pleasure that tugged at the corners of your mouth. His praise as euphoric as a drug and twice as addictive, even for the smallest of successes.

Your mouth went dry however, as he turned profile to you, tugged a button or two open upon the throat of his cassock, and then turned his back to undo the rest before shrugging out of the long, dark cloth to hang it upon the coat stand. The black fabric fell in a long and shapeless mass without him, hem puddling ever so slightly on the floor.

It put you in mind of Peter Pan hanging up his shadow, or it would have done, had you not been so preoccupied with the shape of him divested of the dark habit. Of that petulant posture and taut lovely lines, proud set of shoulders and careless, dangerous beauty in how he moved. It was patently unfair that a man sporting licks of sliver at his temples and etched crows feet at the outset edges of his eye should have the lithe shape of youth the way he did.

Devoid of the cassock, he was left instead in the black roman-collared linen shirt and dark, sharply pleated trousers he wore beneath.

He turned back to you and came wandering back toward the desk, unbuttoning the cuffs at his wrists.

“Do you have a lighter?” The question was so casual it caught you off guard and you had to shake your head, tugging at the pocketless skirt of your dress on either side of thighs by way of explanation.

His mouth twisted the merest fraction of a smile as he tucked the cuff of one of his sleeves back, began rolling it neatly toward his elbow. Lean hips turned a fraction as he stepped closer.

“Left pocket.” He instructed, helpfully.

Hesitation grasped you but a moment before you inched forward, stepped into his space and paused. Glancing upward, you found his attention fixed upon meticulously still folding his sleeves back, crisp turn by turn. The focus of those mismatched eyes not even flickering to you, to how every fine hair upon your bare arms stood on end like they were aching toward him, toward that magnetic draw of snapping static thrumming in the air between you both.

Easing half behind him, you reached for the little gap of the pocket and slowly slid fingers into the warmth of its silken confines. Over the bone of his hip and down, wrist deep until you hit the bottom of the pocket and touched the smooth, rectangular shape of the lighter within. Metal heated to body temperature from where it nestled.

Fingers curled around it before you stopped. Let it go, and moved just a little closer, pressed fingers flat to that join between hip and thigh his pocket lay against. Pushed the delve of that pocket just a little deeper and felt his stomach tense beneath your fingertips as your cheek brushed the outside of his upper arm.

“The lighter, lamb. If you please.” His tone was darkly amused at least, though if you kept pushing your luck it would be at your own cost. That much was clear.

You scooped up the lighter once more, but withdrew your hand slow, knuckles grazing softly along the cut of muscle you could feel running from his hip inward and down. Air felt unwelcomely cold against your skin once you pulled your hand free, and before you could step back, he moved away for you. Walked away to resume his seat behind the desk as he finished doing up his other cuff to just below his right elbow.

A small push of his foot made space between the seat and the desk, and you only needed the flick of his eyes from you to the room he’d made to set you in motion to come and stand before him, his lighter clenched tight in your closed fist, unwilling to relinquish the little bit of his heat you held in your palm.

Gazing up at you, his attention licked over the details of your dress, your posture, your hesitant composure, as he tugged at the give of trousers a little at the bend of thigh and hip and settled himself more comfortably.

“You weren’t here yesterday.” He observed as he relaxed back against the tall chair, a flicker of a blink over that oceanic eye. You held your tongue and his gaze fell to the candle upon the desk just beside where you stood, and you wondered if your absence had made him angry, filled him with regret, or perhaps just left him lonesome. You wished there was a way to tell, any little crack in that stoic mask of scarred features and sharpness to let the truth of what he was thinking seep out. Nothing there though but that calculating, penetrating gaze and a subtle shrug of broad, lean shoulders, “I suppose we might make up for lost time, then. Contrition may be an important facet of faith, but so is devotion.”

He reached forward to scoop into fingers the loose end of the bow that tied the wrap of your dress shut beside your waist. His good eye narrowed, the fine lines of crowsfoot deepening. He’d seen that dress before, yes– the same one you’d worn to catch him by surprise in the confessional.

You allowed yourself the most innocent little smile you could manage when those mismatched eyes flicked sharply to your face, and willed breath to stay even, slow, no matter how skin had begun to sing his name in soft coursing waves of prickling goosebumps.

“I don’t suppose you have your rosary?” He asked archly, letting the ribbon of the bow drop from his open hand as he sat back once more.

He’d every right to ask it of you so dryly, given your lack of pockets. And you had every right to feel as smug as you did when you lifted a hand, reached into the low, criss-crossed neckline of your dress and drew out the strand of little purple beads from the nestle of your bra.

The war between shock, dark delight, the struggle to keep his poker face, and perhaps even a hint of righteous outrage that overtook the sharply handsome ruin of his features was nothing short of spectacular. You’d replay it, over and over again at night. Reveling in how well you toppled the high and mighty cold ivory pillar he so often perched upon.

Out and out you drew the beads until the little cross popped free and the rosary hung, swinging, upon your forefinger.

His hand, resting upon his knee, tightened, fingers twitching slightly, before it stilled, then lifted, palm open in demand.

You dropped that little holy object into his hand and watched his fist close around it, knowing full well he now held a little piece of your heat as surely as you held his within your other hand. There was a slight softening to the creases where thin brows met over that sharp nose that told you he felt it, too.

“Good girl.” He murmured, and the flush that crept up to warm your ears was nearly as delicious as the thrill that both chased up your spine and tugged at the backs of your knees to fold, to kneel. You rested the heel of your palm upon the desk behind you and let it take your weight so that you did not cave.

By the time he turned his face back up to you he’d mastered his expression once more, beatific calm singed at its hard edges.

“Turn around,” He instructed, making the simple order sound heavy, dangerous. Bringing thighs together from their slight sprawl, he patted the top of one, “Have a seat.”

Heart thudded hard in your ears as you did as you were bade, turning to sink onto his lap carefully, perched upon his knees. He sucked chipped teeth softly at it.

“Have a seat,” That grit velvet voice scolded gently from behind you as both his hands curled about your waist and urged you backward, until you sat comfortably fully upon him, back fitted to his front.

A hand upon your hip skimmed over stomach and waist, back to the bow of your dress.

“Why do we say devotions?” He asked, and you could feel the question purring through his chest against your back as he claimed the thick ribbon of the bow and tugged. The knot gave with no resistance, and the part of it he held served nicely to pull the cross of your dress open, just enough to part the skirt of it and leave you bare from stomach to thighs.

The shudder that overtook you was sweet and slow, wringing from core to limbs, leaving a little shivering tingle rising over scalp and curling toes, that familiar little throbbing ache back with a hot and hungry vengeance. Hips shifted in your seat as his fingertips ghosted skin to part fabric and push it aside, leaving your lower half bare save for the dark, smooth satin of underwear in the same shade of inky black as his habit.

“To remember the dead?” You chanced, feeling halfway there yourself, pulse racing erratically.

“Sometimes,” He agreed, and you swore you felt the whisper of scarred lips at your neck. Certainly felt the wash of warm breath plume over skin, “More generally devotions are an act of prayer or private worship. Remembrance is one act, as are service, reflection, beseeching, prostration… your rosary, for example, is considered a devotion.”

His hands slid along your arms, touch warm, bringing your hands together to press in prayer before he began to wind the beaded strings around your wrists again to bind them together.

“I thought that was a penance.” You exhaled in a shuddering little rasp.

“It can be, but not today.” The tip of his sharp nose drew a long, slow line against the rise of your spine, above the neckline of your dress between shoulder blades and to the base of your skull, “although that can be a devotion too.”

The heel of his foot caught the floor and pulled the seat with you both in it forward towards his desk, so that he could reach around you and lift the candle from where it sat before pushing you both back again. He held the votive before you.

“Light it,” he asked, free arm curling about you, fingers trailing the soft of your stomach from navel on down, “I owe you a devotion, lamb.”

Fingers bound in prayer fumbled with the thick golden rectangle of the lighter as you struggled not to simply sink back against him with a little shiver and beg that he stroke that little path across vulnerable skin once more. A flick of your thumb sent the hinged lid open and the circular little flint struck on the second attempt, hot flame bursting to life. Silco turned the candle so that you could light it and then pulled it away as you flicked the lighter shut and slipped it back between folded hands.

“Do you know the devotional prayer?” He asked, hand holding the candle coming to settle upon an armrest as his lap shifted beneath you, lean legs pressing together beneath your own and lifting before spreading wide, the hook of his knees beneath your thighs opening them in an indecent slow splay.

It set you writhing; the kissing chill of the air of the room contrasting sharply with the heat of him beneath you, so very bare, bound in his lap, spread open like an invitation. The door was locked, yes, you’d made sure of it but what if you were wrong? What if someone had a key? There’d be no explanation for the position you found yourself in, no way to hide.

The thrill of that little licking fear warred with the light caress of his free hand as it curled over the top of one thigh and smoothed toward your knee, only to hook it better in its drape over his own before it began the slow teasing, lazy circles that drew it back toward the little throbbing want hidden beneath the black satin gusset of thin panties.

“Bare legs.” He murmured, and you gave another little squirm, folded hands pressing together tighter. You’d not worn what you were coming to suspect was his favorite item of your clothing because you’d not expected to see him, and also to spite him if you did. The move seemed to have backfired spectacularly. When you had no excuse or answer, Father Silco simply carried on, a note of pleased amusement in his tone, “The prayer?”

“N-no. That is, no I don’t know it.”

“Hmn.” His little hum of disapproval at the gaps still existing in your liturgical knowledge colored your cheeks, and you could only hope that from his position he could not see the frustration that joined the embarrassment upon your face.

You watched him lift the candle slowly from where he’d held it at your side, bring it to hover over your open lap. His hand upon your thigh stilled its toying little strokes and instead closed in a taut grip of your leg, soft skin denting tenderly beneath his fingers.

“That’s alright,” he reassured you quietly, and you could hear the dark little smile in it, “This is my devotion anyhow.”

The flickering little candle he held hovering before you began to tilt, turn, and the inward gasp of breath caught in your throat as the clear melted wax welled at the lip of the red glass before spilling over, heat spattering in a little drip against the sensitive skin of your knee.

He paused, and you could feel him shift under your restless hips, feel the little roll of his own and the way his breath strained ever so slightly for just a moment.

“Does that hurt?” Low and velvet that voice mumbled up against the skin behind the fold of your ear and again he tipped a little burning drop of wax onto waiting skin.

Your knee jumped the barest fraction, reflexive little jerk at the soft scalding that faded quickly into gentle warmth, and you nodded, folded hands pressing the knuckles of forefingers tight to your lips.

“A little.” You breathed, raggedly.

“Enough to stop?” He pressed, and the soft moan of a sigh that broke from you when the warmth of his mouth touched to the hard thrum of your pulse answered well enough for you before your shattered little ‘no’ eked out.

His fingers had strayed far up the leg they’d been casually toying across, toward the heat that he had to feel absolutely radiating from the apex of thighs. One long forefinger drew a tracing line around the triangle of slippery black satin, up both edges and across your lower stomach slowly.

Air seized in your throat as his fingertips plucked at the smooth waistband.

“Lord, may this candle which I light illuminate all my difficulties and decisions.” Silco began, waiting to feel the tension stringing through you begin to ease before he spilled another dollop of wax, and then a second and third a bit further up each time. The soft sting of it had you writhing, the little shock of burning heat fading to a warm tickle as the wax rolled down in heavy drips, cooling against your skin.

Behind you, Silco’s breath caught in a little huff once more, a soft whistle between clenched chipped teeth on the inhale.

“May this candle be a fire,” He continued after a beat, spreading the warm little shocks and sudden pinching stings to the tender inner thigh of your other leg, “that burns away all my pride, selfishness…”

Writhing and shifting, you struggled in his lap, not wanting to escape yet fighting the way every fibre of you recoiled from the spattering searing sting of the wax in a reflexive, uncontrollable urge. Several of these squirming jerks of your hips and the hand teasing at the edge of your panties caught suddenly in a taut cup between your legs as you felt Silco’s own hips give a hard little shove upward.

Stilling breathlessly, he kept you waiting a long moment while he seemed to struggle to master himself, the fingers cupping you picking up an almost absent little up and down stroke over the satin covering the shape of your sex, unerringly finding the cleft between lips.

Cooling wax flexed and tugged at skin as you tried to spread a bit further for him, to press into his touch, scared if you were to beg for more with words that it might stop the tease entirely, as it had the last time he’d had his hand between your thighs. God, how he’d tormented you, brought you so terribly close… Hips rolled hard and slow against him in retaliation as you relived your humiliation.

As if reading your mind, his touch skimmed higher, and fingertips tucked themselves beneath the satin confines of the upper edge of panties, teasing little strokes at skin that tensed and trembled beneath his touch before they began to slip lower, “and all my other sins.”

Wax was flowing freely, dripping to punctuate each word, taking his sweet time as you wriggled and bucked in his lap, swallowing little gasps and hisses as your skin sang.

At least one shift of your hips must have caught him just right because for a moment you could hear him choke on his words, feel him tense beneath you again. Determined to give as good as you got you did it again and felt the rush of his breath fan against your neck.

His free hand tensed where it lay, fingertips so tremulously close to the cleft of lips, and delved to catch a second taut grip over the shape of your bare sex. The sudden hard grasp of naked contact had you spiraling, arching hard back against him. He was hard beneath you, you could feel it, and caught between his hand and that hint of hardness digging into the soft of your bottom you rocked slowly, only to be rewarded with a long pour of hot wax up your thigh that turned the gentle motion of hips to a wild little ride.

“May this candle be a flame,” He continued, and the broken rasp of his voice was nearly, nearly as sweet as the single slow caress of his finger that found the slick part of your folds and pressed between slippery skin to drag upward. Unerringly found the proud, eager little swell of your clit and sent your lower back into a hard strung arch with one little nudge, “that warms my heart and incites me to love.” He concluded, raggedly, and you swore you felt the graze of chipped teeth scrape over your shoulder.

Riding the light touch of his fingertip and behind you, the hard press of his cock through his pants and your open dress, you sprawled redolently back against him, let your neck find a home in a comfortable arch over his shoulder before turning your head, nestling forehead in the hollow of his throat before shifting to tuck a begging little kiss to the sharp of his jaw.

“Amen.” You finished for him, and felt the sting of wax hit your hip and then your stomach that made you hiss and buck hips once more. Your reward a groan of breath from him and another lingering stroke of his fingertips through soaked folds to flick caressingly at the sweet throbbing ache of your clit.

How long, how many bitter nights now had you wished for this, how many feverish and filthy dreams had you endured, just longing to feel his bare touch? It had become so much worse after your last meeting, all that sharp longing redoubled after his heartless punishing teasing.

No more, no more thin cotton or sheer lace or anything at all between his touch and you. The heat of his hand was nothing to the splashes of searing wax you’d endured, yet it was so much sweeter. That little flicking touch came ghosting over the sensitive little nub of your clit and you writhed unashamedly, trying every which way to force his touch more, closer, deeper.

The prayer was far too short for your liking. What good were hollow words meant to convey something as strong and fervent an ideal as devotion if they were over in mere minutes? Grumbling a little whinging protest you pushed back against him with a hard roll of hips.

“Father…” You objected, voice cracked with pleading.

“Who?” The grit dark velvet of his voice asked at your ear, delighted and tormented as the devil himself.

“Daddy.” The word was out before you could even think it, like it teetered perpetually on the edge of your teeth ever since the first time he prised it out of you, “P-please, please, daddy…”

The sharp blade of his nose shoved hard behind your ear, his ragged breathing a hushed tickling whuffle from narrow nostrils, and any further pleading you were on the verge of was stifled with a squealed little gasp as he spread the sodden petals of your pussy with the splay of three fingers, and the center one of those long, elegant digits found its way down between slicking folds, delving deep into the welcoming clenching grip of your want… only to withdraw his entire hand in a long, slow drag, tracing a line of accusatory wet all the way up to the dip of your navel.

It left you sobbing tearlessly, gasping and gulping and lifting hips in a wordless eagerness that only earned you another splattering of scalding wax across the strain of thighs.

Father Silco ignored your plight as steadfastly as any man of the cloth could ignore temptation, and began a new prayer.

“Earnestly I seek you;

I thirst for you,

my whole being longs for you,

in a dry and parched land

where there is no water.”

The psalm he recited washed over you like a slow caress while you squirmed fitfully on his lap and watched his hand lift, middle finger glossed to its base with your wet. Vanishing in your periphery, the sound of him sucking that long digit thoughtfully clean acted perfect punctuation to the sacrilege of his misappropriated prayer.

Guilt spiced the edge of half-denied pleasure and soft pain. As his hand slid back down your skin and toward the clenching, shivering yearning of your core, you’d never felt so debased, so deeply wicked and wrong. Burning wax hit your thigh once more in heavy, rolling drops and you arched, straining, hissing between clenched teeth; become more serpent in the garden of Eden than Eve.

“I have seen you in the sanctuary

and beheld your power and your glory.

Because your love is better than life,

my lips will glorify you.”

He teased the upper edge of soaked panties once more, tracing the pucker of their hem, slipping fingertips just beneath them, savoring the softness of skin and the way the taut of your stomach quivered beneath his touch. Desire welled like a dark stone filling your throat, heart coated in the sticky sap of filthy blasphemous sin as his scarred mouth tickled at the hook of your jaw and tender line of your throat. This was wrong, so wrong, so deliciously perfectly throbbingly wrong.

Heat flooded your face as you crushed the press of prayer folded hands to your forehead, eyes shut tight against the rushing high of mortifying lust. Forbidden, taboo, illicit; whatever you wanted to call that gut-deep and undisputed knowledge that this was unforgivably wrong, it excited you in a way nothing else ever had.

He could see it in you, you knew he could. He saw how horrible your deepest darkest thoughts could be and he just kept dragging them out into the light, smiling as he let you dirty yourself with the honesty of your predilections.

The line of his arm tightened against your side as he reached to slip fingers back into your heat, another lazy circling tease to against clit that left you wrung out and breathless before he delved back inside of you and let you ride the slow pumping slide of one long finger.

“I will praise you as long as I live,

and in your name I will lift up my hands.

I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;

with singing lips my mouth will praise you.”

Your head rocked as he butted his forehead gently to your temple, words a warm, seeping whisper at your cheek, that stern, gravel worn seduction of his voice undoing you, taking you apart at the seams until you felt sure you’d fall open there in his lap like a ragdoll with the sin-like sawdust spilled out.

Inside of you, he was inside of you- and just that knowledge, just the wretchedly wonderful wrongness of it made the whole of you jerk in a taut little shiver of surrender. That slender artful finger kept up its torment like he had no notion of your mortal struggle; curling, thrusting, buried deep. It had you in a tailspin, hips working devoid of conscious thought, all sensation dialed down to the hard, hot, fluttering building to a crescendo within. Greed, gluttony, lust… were they called deadly sins because you felt fit to die if you did not satisfy each one right this moment?

The stinging pain of the wax he kept dripping in erratic little patterns jerked you from the sinking, seeping pit of ecstatic bliss over and over again, a cruel and wonderful see-saw that kept you gripping white-knuckled on the sharp edge of insensible pleasure.

“On my bed I remember you;

I think of you through the watches of the night.

Because you are my help,

I sing in the shadow of your wings.

I cling to you;

your right hand upholds me.”

His right hand was all that stood between you and heaven; the grinding press of the heel of his palm to the throb of your clit, the smooth slow fucking his single finger was giving you, all of it an overwhelming agony of delight but just shy of what you needed to crest the rising wave of tense bliss he was intent on drowning you with.

Head tossed back, you groaned that little, broken, sordid version of his holy title once more, hands bound at the wrists with your rosary clenched in fervent prayer to your chest that he’d let you come, please God just let you come...

And with that one word, beneath you Father Silco went suddenly still and rigid, something like a strangled gasp caught in his throat as hips pinned under your writhing ones jerked their own stilted thrust upward… and held for a long and breathless moment before you felt him sag with a rushing, panting release. His hand cupped to you had gone quite still, and you could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Had he… had he just…? You shifted hips experimentally and heard him hiss a wordless scolding as his hand gripped the shape of your pussy hard. Stilling obediently, you had to struggle not to smile sinful bliss.

Just a little touch of you combined with the friction of your hips working in his lap and he’d cum those dark, well tailored pants of his.

In spite of being robbed of your own relief, for the moment you felt nothing but powerful, smug and heady with the evidence of how your infatuation was not one-sided, just as you had in the confessional, and it made you foolishly proud.

Proud, right up to the point when he withdrew his finger from within you and in the space of a half second, just before your mouth could open in complaint, caught a little pinch of your clit between thumb and middle finger only to assault that overstimulated cluster of slick nerves with his forefinger in such lashing that you pitched clean into the waiting arms of your release.

It was hard and fast, unmerciful, the lovely strain nearly ruined by how long he’d kept you waiting and how hard he’d teased you up to it.

“Amen.” He was purring in your ear, voice near drowned out by the hard thrumming pound of blood rushing in your brain. Thighs shivered in their hook over top of his own, gone weak as every ounce of tension bled out of you, leaving you lolling, warmly pliant and sighing devoutness far more fervent than any stale saint could have possibly understood.

There was a little click of glass as he set the remains of the candle back upon his desk and turned your face toward himself where your head lay back upon his shoulder. Fingers traced the curve of your cheek, and when he licked at the open part of your lips the faint taste of yourself mingled with him lingered. Bless me father, for I have sinned.

Profane and perfect, you felt his smile stretch against your mouth.

“Do you doubt my devotion, lamb?” He asked quietly, hands smoothing away the cooled and peeling wax in long strokes that left gently welted and red splotched skin stinging sweetly.

Your head shook infinitesimally, not wanting to break the scant contact of his mouth to your own.

“Do you pray for me, Father?” The urge to know felt crushing, the weight of guilt creeping in to gnaw at the edges of sordid bliss.

“Oh lamb. You’re the only thing I pray for anymore.”

#penance #silco #father silco #priest silco #silco au #arcane au #silco x reader #silco arcane x reader #no y/n #more penance at last! rejoice!#my birthday gift to you

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1d1195 · 1 year

Text

Neighbors I

For my 🐱 anon I hope you like it. It's gonna have to be multiple parts. I've really enjoyed writing it so far!

Warning: lots of fluff and pining. Very domestic Harry stuff.

Harry was glad she asked because he would do anything for her and he was glad she felt comfortable asking for such an intimate thing. Harry knew being a single mum was a challenge like no other. He wanted her to have the world and he would help however he could.

Harry was suffering.

It had been two weeks since he last spoke to her. At first, he thought he was imagining the lack of communication. He even convinced himself that it wasn’t anything to do with him. She was busy. Her mum came to visit. She was visiting her brother. Rory was on a play date while she was at work today. Another mum asked her to babysit, and she brought Rory to play while she did.

Harry was sitting by his front window, looking out to the street and saw her adorable little home just right there. But she wasn’t. Neither was Rory. He missed them both so much and it made him think about the day he moved in and saw the sweet girl and her little boy playing in the front yard.

Harry was on his phone video chatting with his mum and sister when he pulled into the driveway. He was showing off his little house that he had gotten all to himself, and he was so proud and happy. It was going to be his place where he could be and do whatever he wanted and not have to worry about anyone else.

Except for the most adorable neighbors he could have asked for.

“Hi!” A tiny shout came from out of thin air. Harry was mid-sentence chatting with his family when he spun to see the little boy waving enthusiastically from across the street.

“Oh, Harry he’s so cute,” Gemma cooed from his phone.

Harry was so startled by the little voice he forgot his camera was showing off the whole neighborhood. “Hi there,” Harry waved his free hand as the little boy’s mother knelt beside him and whispered something in his ear with smile and she fluttered her fingers at Harry gently. He wasn’t sure what he said, but the little boy threw his hand over his mouth and he swore he saw her mouth ‘sorry’ and she must have explained Harry was on the phone to the little one once more because he put his finger to his lips to keep quiet.

“I think I have t’meet the neighbors,” he told his mum and sister with a smirk.

“Try not to fall in love with the first girl you lay eyes on,” Gemma said knowingly but the glint in her eye was saying anything but the words that left her mouth. She knew her brother was one to fall in love quickly. Especially if he was going to be in close proximity to the sweet looking girl she could only barely make out on the grainy video call.

“Or her son,” his mum replied with the same glint in her eye as Gemma. Harry had such a soft spot for children. He was good with them and adored them immediately. Little ones liked how tall he was and marveled at it. He chuckled shyly and shook his head as he headed across the street. He hung up on the only women in his life up until that very moment where the whole trajectory of his life changed meeting his new neighbor.

“Hi,” he said with a smile so bright it warmed her thoroughly—Harry looked like pure sunshine. She was still crouched beside the little one and she was lucky she had her son to distract her a bit from the beautiful sight of him.

“Hi,” she answered and wrinkled her nose at the boy in her arms. “Are you shy suddenly?” She asked the little boy and squeezed his sides making him giggle and try to hide his face against her neck. “Go on, you wanted to introduce yourself,” she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Harry also crouched down in front of the two and he stuck his hand out to the little boy. “M’Harry, what’s your name?” He asked.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “You can do it,” she whispered in his ear loud enough for Harry to hear but still just for the little one.

“I Rory,” he said incompletely and put his hand in Harry’s (it was the wrong hand which just made Harry melt a little more).

“S’nice t’meet you, Rory. This is a nice neighborhood y’got here. M’glad I got t’meet you on m’first day here.”

“This is Mommy,” he said and gestured to the beautiful girl he was standing in front of; she was young for sure. Harry couldn’t not notice she was young. Especially for how little Rory looked. It was hard for Harry to not notice every little detail about her—she was beautiful from head to toe, and it was easily the fastest Harry had ever become smitten with a girl. “She 25,” he volunteered.

“You’re supposed to tell him your age not my age, you goose,” she rolled her eyes with a smirk and squeezed his sides again making him giggle. She kept her eyes mainly on her son, but they darted over to Harry every so often.

“I free!” he said holding up three fingers proudly. “Mommy teached me,” he said and then listed off the numbers one through ten counting the rest on his finger.

“Cool lad,” he said with a smile. “You’ll have t’teach me,” he winked at him. “M’not so good with numbers,” he explained.

“One, two three, four...” he started quickly.

“Easy baby,” she said. “Don’t want to scare him off before he’s been here a day,” she winked in Harry’s direction.

“Oh, I don’t scare easy,” Harry told her seriously. He held her gaze for the first time since he walked over without looking at the little one. Rory was contentedly staring back and forth between the two putting his thumb to his mouth. She offered her name and held her hand out to him.

Harry took hold of it and wished he could never let go. Her hand felt so perfect in his. He could have cried. He couldn’t wait to tell Gemma and his mum. “Lovely t’meet you, kitten,” he murmured.

“Mommy not a cat,” Rory giggled.

“I know lad, but she’s pretty like one,” he winked at her and watched her long enough to see her cheeks turn pink at his assessment. Feeling proud of the reaction he turned his attention back to Rory. “S’like how she called y’baby. You’re not a baby but you’re cute like one.”

“You talk funny,” Rory giggled.

“Rory James,” she scolded lightly with an eye roll. She didn’t sound mad like any mother that had scolded their son before. Harry’s own mum would say she was too gentle—even if it wasn’t needed. “That’s not polite,” she said knowingly and pursed her lips at him in disappointment. “Say sorry to Harry, please,” she nodded at him expectantly.

“Sorry, Harry,” he said softly looking remorseful. His lower lip jutted out and Harry swore he saw his eyes glisten with a set of tears.

“Oh, s’alright lad,” he smiled gently and rubbed his hand up and down his little arm. Harry didn’t want to condone his actions since she told him to apologize, but it wasn’t a big deal. Harry knew where she was coming from too. “I do talk funny, don’t I?” He winked at him and gave his arm a little squeeze. “You talk kinda funny t’me too,” he stage-whispered to him and made him giggle.

Rory yawned after a minute. “Mommy, sleepy time?” He asked rubbing his eye with a little fist. Harry was in love with this little guy as much as he was in love with his mother.

“Oh yes, definitely nap time,” she said and finally stood, scooped him into her arms and gave Harry a gentle wave. “It was nice meeting you, Harry. Thanks for saying hi,” she grinned so gently and beautifully, Harry wanted to take a picture of that smile and cherish it forever. “Can you say, ‘see you around’ to Harry, before you fall asleep?”

“See around, Harry,” he repeated sleepily from the crook of her neck.

“See y’around, lad. Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” he said softly.

“Bye Harry,” she said gently.

Harry gave a wave as she retreated inside. He returned back across the street ready to unpack as quickly as possible and find as many excuses as he could to see the pretty girl and cute lad again.

“Mommy?” Rory asked tiredly as she carried him down the hall to his room. Her head was spinning with the image of the guy across the street. Harry was undeniably attractive. His hair begged to have her fingers sink into it. His eyes were so gentle and green she was sure he could have seen her swooning over him. He was tall and physically fit. It was unbelievably unfair he lived across the street. She adored her little boy but there was no way she could ever expect Harry to want to be in a relationship with someone that had a son so young.

“Yes, my love,” she hummed softly interrupting her daydream of Harry.

“What bed bug?” He asked sleepily. She giggled.

Harry spent his days working from home as a virtual psychologist. He was very lucky to work remotely, only having to go into the main office once in a blue moon. It was nice to work from the comfort of his home office and not have to worry about traffic or things like that. The clients he worked with suffered from a range of anxieties and Harry did his best to help them cope.

But maybe the best benefit was the view. From his office he could watch the sweet girl across the street.

She ran a home daycare during the day and he watched her periodically flit about the house and yard with several little ones in tow. They followed her like little ducklings, and she was so good with children it made Harry ache for something he didn’t even know he wanted at that moment. He couldn’t even hear her sing or talk to them from her view but the way she bent to their level made eye contact with them, it was so obvious that they loved and adored her. She treated them like people.

Harry liked that a lot.

Three nights a week another car parked in her drive and she was flying out the door dressed in what had to be a waitress uniform. She returned late at night—sometimes past midnight—Harry didn’t see past midnight all that often, but he saw it once or twice, so he made the assumption. Despite the lateness of the hour, she was always up and ready the next morning bright and early; she was chipper and beautiful for the little ones that liked to watch her almost as much as Harry liked to watch her.

On Sundays she played with Rory in the front yard.

“Rory!” She shouted as Harry ran by. Harry stopped in front of their yard and crouched down to snag the boy before he accidentally ran into the road. They didn’t live on a busy street; in fact, there wasn’t a car in sight, but it was the principle of the thing. He saw the way her heart took off and she looked stressed but relieved as Harry spoke to her son.

“Y’can’t run in the road, lad,” Harry told him.

“You run,” he pouted.

“M’a little older than you, lad. And even still, m’running on the sidewalk,” he said gesturing to the space beside the road. “The road is for cars, s’not for guys like us,” he explained.

He nodded knowingly. “Mommy says I get hurt,” he contended.

“Mummy’s right,” he nodded back. “She’s very smart,” he said looking over the top of Rory’s head and smiling at the poor love that was still eyeing the road as if it betrayed her.

“Baby, we don’t want to bother Harry; he’s running,” she said moving closer to him after a moment.

“I run?” He questioned, looking up at Harry expectantly.

“No, love he—”

“That sounds like fun Rory!” He stood up grabbing hold of Rory’s hand and winked at the speechless girl as Harry stepped off the sidewalk and let Rory run a few toddled paces up the road. Following alongside Harry cheered for him. “Wow, lad! Look at y’go! Can hardly keep up!” he chuckled as he pretended to struggle to run after Rory.

Rory giggled. “I fast!” He said excitedly.

“Sure are,” she called from a few paces behind. Harry turned back and smiled at her again.

All that was two years ago, though. Back when she was still talking to him, and Harry didn’t have to wonder what was going through her head. When Harry was still part of watching Rory grow and they developed their own routines as neighbors and friends. Before she decided to cut Harry out.

Shortly after moving in, she called Harry nervously. She gave him his number in case he needed anything while he was away on business or if she had any concerns about his house. He gave her a spare key telling her he just had a couple of plants in the kitchen that needed water every day. She returned the notion saying she rarely left when she had a toddler in tow, but you never know.

He could hear the anxiety in her voice. He got the feeling she didn’t ask for help very often. It would make sense given she was a superhero mum. Harry didn’t want to let her down.

“I’m really sorry to ask you this,” she sounded pained to ask him. Like it was physically hurting her to get the words out. Harry tilted his head as he held his phone to his ear. He glanced out his office window unable to see where she was in her house. “My sitter cancelled on me suddenly. Could you watch Rory for my shift? I know it’s last minute and I promise it will only ever be this one time...I just can’t call out this close to my start time—”

“Love the whole purpose of me working from home is I have a flexible job. I can watch him—he’s just going to bed soon anyway,” he promised. “I’ll be right over.”

“Really? You will? Thank you, Harry. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll pay you,” she said with so much gratefulness and relief in her voice he could hardly stand it.

“Don’t be silly kitten, I’d be insulted,” he said hanging up and taking no time at all to hurry across the street.

Rory was delighted to hang out with Harry. He didn’t hang out with men all that much. Harry was the best in his eyes. “We’ll have a little men club night,” he winked at the little boy. “We’ll play games, drink some juice, and watch an action movie,” it was an ambitious to do list before his bedtime in two hours, but she giggled at him and that was worth all the wins in the world in Harry’s eyes.

Harry watched him regularly—every Thursday after that.

Rory’s eyes lit up like nothing he’d ever seen before every single Thursday. It was obvious he looked up to Harry. He was the only regular man in their life, and he was the perfect role model. Harry taught Rory a lot of things in those short two hours before bed each week. Harry never thought of himself a teacher, but he never thought about how he learned to do some of the things Rory asked him to show him.

“Mommy says I can learn to pee standing up,” he whispered to Harry one Thursday almost a year after he started watching him. Harry smirked. He’d grown so much in just one year it made Harry overwhelmed sometimes. He spoke better than the three-year-old he met. Harry obviously wasn’t here for Rory’s baby days, but it had to make the poor girl just as overwhelmed some days. He was growing so fast.

“That’s cool lad. Guys usually do that,” Harry nodded knowingly with a smirk.

“Harry, how is Mommy going to show me?” He asked curiously. “Mommy told me girls don’t have to stand,” his little eyebrows were pinched together. Harry chuckled lightly. It was a valid concern and he wondered what it must be like to navigate such a different part of parenthood like that for the sweet girl. Harry was lucky his mum and dad were still together when he was potty training; that would have to be difficult for her and for Rory.

“M’sure your mum knows how t’teach y’anything, Rory. But if you’re not sure after her lesson, I can answer any question y’have,” he shrugged. “S’pretty easy,” he told him. He stood up from the couch and gestured in front of him as if there was an imaginary toilet there. “You just stand there and go like this,” he said and held his hand in front of his pants like he was pretending to pee.

“Oh,” Rory said his eyebrows furrowing together once more. “That looks easy.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he chuckled sitting back down. “M’sure y’can handle it.”

“Harry?” He asked quietly. Harry was searching through movie titles on the TV to find something that he thought Rory would like before bed.

“Yeah, lad?”

“Sometimes...” he looked a little uncomfortable and stared at his little legs that barely crossed over the edge of the couch. “Sometimes I don’t want to ask Mommy things,” he told him shyly. “Could I ask you?”

Harry turned and looked at him. He frowned slightly. He didn’t want to overstep his boundary as babysitter or even neighbor, but he knew she would want to know anything going on in Rory’s life. “Rory, you can ask your mum anything,” he promised.

He nodded. “Mommy says that, too,” he affirmed. He waved his hand over to Harry asking him to come closer. “But Mommy doesn’t have a penis,” he whispered shyly—like it was a secret. “I don’t know if she knows everything about them,” he said seriously.

Harry bit back the laughter that was trying to burst its way through and he nodded seriously. “You’re right, lad. But Mummy knows how t’help you,” he reminded him. “She always helps you, yeah?”

Rory nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’ll let Mummy know that if you have questions that she can’t answer, you can ask me.”

It was jarring to have Harry in her house when she got home so late from work. Harry was reading or watching TV on her couch while the little one slept soundly in his bed. The idea of coming home to Harry made her overwhelmed even when she was so tired and longed for her own bed.

If she wasn’t so tired she probably would have thought about going to bed with Harry. Fortunately, she was tired and while she thanked Harry a million times in the span of five minutes she couldn’t think about sleeping with her gorgeous, lovely, perfect neighbor. Today she was listening to the recap of the boys’ night because Harry wanted to tell her something important.

Harry relayed the story of Rory’s line of questioning that night she smirked and rolled her eyes. “That’s very funny. I’ll be sure to talk to him. Thank you,” she said gratefully. “But...if he does...have questions that I can’t answer, could he ask you?” She wondered. Harry was glad she asked because he would do anything for her and he was glad she felt comfortable asking for such an intimate thing. Harry knew being a single mum was a challenge like no other. He wanted her to have the world and he would help however he could.

“Kitten, I’ll tell him anything he wants t’know if it’s okay with you.”

She smiled sweetly. “Thank you, I really appreciate that, Harry,” she was so tired she didn’t think anything of it and leaned in to give Harry a hug.

Harry didn’t question it because it felt so natural to wrap his arms around her and have her in his embrace. Harry wondered the last time she was held by someone outside her family. He knew from the visual he had each day that there were no men in her life besides Rory, himself, and her brother. This was too nice and too sweet. She felt so warm and perfect in his arms. He was also getting tired but he was wound up in the smell of her the feel of her so quickly it made his head spin.

All at once she must have realized her position. “Uh...sorry,” she said softly and pulled away clearing her throat. She refused to meet Harry’s eyes. “I’m very tired.”

“Oh...” he hummed. “S’okay kitten...you’re pretty warm,” he shrugged with a grin. “I like hugs too.”

She nodded and still didn’t meet his gaze. “Thank you,” she repeated. “For everything.”

He remembered that hug a lot when he held the pillow in his arms thinking about how he hadn’t seen her in over two weeks. He doesn’t even know what he did wrong, and it drove him nuts. Of course, he adored her but he didn’t want Rory to think he had abandoned him either.

Apparently, Rory had been thinking the same way.

“Mumma, does Harry not love me anymore?” He asked before bedtime one night.

She sighed heavily. “Oh...baby, no,” she shook her head. “Harry loves you,” she promised. She knew that was true. Despite all her misgivings and all the things she worried about. She knew Harry adored her little boy.

“How come he hasn’t played with me in a while?” He asked.

She couldn’t tell him that she was too attached to him and it wasn’t fair to Harry that he would be a father for someone else’s baby. She was thrust into motherhood and it was the best thing that ever happened to her, but she would never make anyone—but especially Harry—be a parent before they were ready. “Sometimes grown ups are busy,” she said. “He’s always there,” she promised. “And you’ll always have me,” she smiled, ruffling his fluffy hair.

“I know that Mumma, but I like playing with Harry too. And I think he likes playing with us too.”

Little kids were too smart for their own good sometimes.

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