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zeroeightzeroone · 10 months

Text

bad days - kim seungmin

genre: hurt/comfort

pairings: seungmin x gender neutral reader

wc ~1k | moodboard

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

"hey dummy, i'm home."

he says as he's shrugging off his black windbreaker, revealing a white t-shirt underneath and hanging it on the back of the door. seungmin turns around, noticing the way the lamp is clicked on at the same time the ceiling lights are opened as well, and then his eyes move over to you lying in bed. even with a blanket draped over you, he can see that you're curled up into a ball, the bottom half of your face hidden behind the pillow you're clutching to your chest. the brunette's heart drops when his eyes meet yours, glossy and avoiding his own.

"oh bubs…" he rushes over, kneeling to be eye level with you, "what's wrong?"

his hand moves to touch you, caressing your hair gently as you sniffle, no words coming from your mouth. seungmin scans over the top half of your face that isn't covered by the pillow, looking at your hooded eyes, eyelashes clumped together from the tears and your flushed, damp cheeks.

a pout adorns seungmin's lips at the sight of you, "what's got my baby so down? hmm?"

your eyes move to look into his, the tears caught in your eyelashes sparkling from the lamp.

"is it another one of those days?" seungmin asks softly, his hand still stroking your hair.

this time you nod your head slowly. at that his lips purse in a sympathetic smile; knowing how down you'd get on those bad days. the change in your eyes apparent on a good day versus bad, the bliss one day and misery in the next.

"ahh. how about this bubs? i'll take a quick shower, rinse off all the practice sweat and i'll climb in right next to you."

you nod.

seungmin leans forward and presses a tender kiss to your forehead. naturally your eyes close and he pulls away with a smile seeing your eyes flutter open.

you watch as seungmin pushes himself up, off his knees to get ready for his shower: snatching some clothes to change into, and grabbing the towel hanging on the back of the door before he scampers out of the room and into the bathroom. you hear the water running through the faucet, a delay, then the sound of the water rushing from the shower head along with seungmin singing; during longer showers he would sing songs from beginning to end, but during quick ones he would sing random lyrics and tunes. the sound of seungmin's singing has you sighing deeply, the tone of his voice washing a wave of comfort over your body, allowing it to release some of the tension.

even when the water stops running, he continues to hum different tunes as he quickly dries himself off and dresses himself. again, you hear the sound of seungmin's feet against the floor as he rushes back into the bedroom, he's still wearing a white t-shirt but this one has a design printed on the front whilst he wears a pair of plaid pajama pants. the boy hangs his damp towel on the door before shutting off the ceiling lights and climbing under the covers with you.

the fragrant smell of seungmin's body wash and laundry detergent engulfing your senses as he pulls your body away from the edge and into his chest, his breath fanning over the back of your neck. the heat radiating off his body and onto yours has you relaxing in his arms, your back pressed up against his front as he places his right hand over one of yours clutching the pillow.

"i'm here bubs," he says softly from behind you, "whatever you need, i'm right here."

the weight on your chest, lifts at his words.

after being together for over a year, through trial and error, he learned how could be of comfort to you on your bad days. the first couple of times, seungmin tried to talk to you about it, trying to find solutions to make you feel better. while his intentions were good, it only added to the stress and negativity looming inside your head. a lot of the time, you couldn't pinpoint the cause of these feelings. the emotional burden just weighing you down with no clear explanation or reasoning. of course, there were times when the reason for your feelings were apparent but talking about your emotions had never come easy to you.

eventually he learned that the solution wasn't always something that came with long discussions, it came with him just being there. seungmin's presence brought you a sense of comfort. a feeling of relief washing over you whenever he was near, knowing that you didn't need to go through these bad days alone.

seungmin would always be there: verbally or physically, whatever you needed.

seungmin's right arm draped around your body lifts up the slightest bit when he feels you moving. you're abandoning the pillow and turning to face him, his left arm moving under your head as your left arm is now draped around his body, hands fiddling at the fabric of his shirt. seungmin takes this opportunity to cradle your head into his chest using the arm under your head to push you a bit closer, his left hand now gently grazing over your scalp in a small massaging manner. the sound of seungmin's steady heartbeat has you further nuzzling into him.

"thank you," your words are barely even a whisper but seungmin can hear you loud and clear.

he hums, "anytime bubs."

the feeling of seungmin's body pressed up against yours, the steady rhythm of his pulse has your eyes growing heavy, the tranquil atmosphere lulling you to sleep.

seungmin notices how your body fully relaxes in his arms, your fingers stopping their movement around his shirt and how your breathing has slowed down. craning his head the slightest bit, he takes a peek at your face; your eyes closed, lips slightly parted as soft breaths pass through, your cheeks still the slightest bit rosy. seungmin's lips turn up into a cheeky grin, the sight of you peacefully dozed off in his arms never failing to make his heart flip.

"goodnight bubs, sweet dreams."

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gravehags · 4 months

Text

crimson headache, aching blush

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: panty stealing, panty sniffing, pillow humping, first date, champagne consumption, dry humping, grinding, possessiveness, copia being a little sex freak as per usual, tenderness as per usual

Words: 5,758

Summary: When he asks you on your first real date with him, this is not the outcome you anticipated.

a/n: hehehehe hohohoho we're almost there folks

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

He shouldn’t have done this.

That’s the thought running rampant on repeat in his mind as he lays in his bed, staring at the illicit goods in his hand. He’s filled with shame at committing such a violation of your privacy and yet…he turns the piece of black mesh over in his grip, relishing the way the fabric feels sliding against his bare knuckles. He heaves a sigh - he’s dragging this out because he’s scared what will come to pass once he does what he’s longed to do all afternoon. It’s been balled up in his pocket all day, you completely unaware beside him on the couch and in the dining hall as he surreptitiously fingered it.

It was an impulse theft from when you were in the bathroom post-nap fixing your hair and he was left to his own devices in your bedroom. He saw the hamper tucked away in a corner and he swore that in that moment his heart stopped. He could hear you humming something familiar as he skittered over to the basket, reaching a hand in to flick through your dirty laundry. Under a t-shirt he found it. His prize. His breath caught in his throat and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized you were softly singing “He Is” in the other room. He snatched it up in a moment of impulse and almost doubled over in shame but before he allowed himself to fully process the feeling and put your underwear back, he shoved it deep into his pocket. You emerged a moment later, smiling and ignorant of his crime, and grabbed him by the hand to tug him towards the couch. There you spent the rest of the afternoon curled into his side watching paranormal shows while his eyes stared forward but his mind was chaotic. He’s more ashamed of the way he ignored you for the rest of the evening, even as the two of you sat across from one another at your table in the dining hall. You had finally stopped trying to engage with him but by then the damage was done. He could practically feel the anxiety radiating off of you as you kissed his cheek with a quiet “goodnight” before leaving him standing there with only the static of his busy mind for company. By the time he called out your name in the empty cloister you were long gone and guilt sat heavy in his stomach. He shuffled back to his rooms and disrobed mechanically. When he saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror he jumped - he was so distracted by his little secret he didn’t even bother to reapply his paints before he went to dinner with you. He turned off the faucet with a sigh and slumped out of the bathroom to plug his phone in. Climbed into bed and now here he is.

He wants to text you, to apologize for his horrible, neglectful behavior but it feels even more shameful when he’s holding a very private part of you captive without your knowledge. He takes a deep breath - in, out, in, out, in - then raises his fist to his face. He feels like he’s been punched in the gut as he curls onto his side, the tantalizing scrap of fabric with your scent pressed against his nose. You smell…cazzo, he doesn’t know how to properly describe it in this state…earthy and feminine and hypnotic. Dirty. His cock throbs against his sleep pants, aching for contact. Normally he’d take himself in hand and get the job done but he knows it’s not going to be enough. Sitting up he reaches behind himself to grab a pillow and swings his leg over to straddle it. It’s too late to strip himself fully so instead he yanks down his sleep pants until his cock springs forward, bobbing in front of him with pre smeared down the shaft.

“Amata mia,” he groans as he spreads his thighs and lowers himself. He brings your smell back to his nose and his hips jolt forward, sliding across the cushion and leaving a damp drag mark on the red pillowcase. As he begins to rut against it he falls forward and plants a fist into the mattress to steady himself. He imagines it’s you beneath him, your pliant flesh and your tight wetness he’s fucking into. The thought makes his mouth hang open, drool pooling in his jaw and threatening to spill over onto his bed.

“Nnngh bellezza mia,” he grunts, hips picking up a frantic pace as he humps desperately into the pillow, “So soft a-and willing for me. How you t-tease your Cardinal. Soon I’ll h-have you. I’ll–ah–ruin you, amore mio. P-piccola vergine mia.”

The bed creaks beneath him from the force of his thrusts, his fist flying from the mattress to grip the headboard. He’s close and his rhythm is becoming sloppy as the strings of his self control are slowly cut away. He can almost hear your voice speaking to him so sweetly - yes Copia, please, fuck, don’t stop - and for a final time he raises the gusset of your underwear to his nose as he hears you say it–

I love you.

He cums with a hoarse moan, painting the pillowcase and mattress with ropes of his seed, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. His hips don’t still afterwards, continuing to rock against the cushion desperate to wring out the last dregs of his orgasm. By the time he forces himself to stop, tears are dropping onto the pillow to mix with his mess and he sniffles miserably in the silent room. You fool, his brain hisses, risking everything to get yourself off. She must hate you now - must be sitting in her room wondering why she ever wasted a moment of her time and energy on you. The last part makes him sob aloud, doubling over on himself before angrily tearing the pillow out from under him and flinging it to the rug. He doesn’t bother to clean up his mess, instead choosing to curl into a fetal position. His hand twitches with the desire to grab his phone and call you, text you, anything to explain himself but instead he heaves a shuddering sigh.

Why bother, he thinks to himself, messily wiping his snot with the back of his hand, you deserve better anyway.

—

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed in your pajamas with your phone in your hand, cursor in the text box flashing up at you tauntingly. You could settle this in a matter of seconds if you really wanted to. But do you want to? Do you really want to know about how he’s changed his mind about you, how he regrets ever bending to your annoying little advances? The thought makes your gut roil with nausea and you blindly set your phone back on your nightstand and flop backyards onto the duvet, running through everything you said to him today. He was fine up until…up until after your nap. After he had time to ruminate on your confession of love. Numbly you sit back up and finagle yourself under the covers, feeling embarrassed, hurt, and…angry? You’ve never been angry at Copia, never thought you could be but the blank look on his face as he sat in silence for the entirety of your meal that night while you chattered away makes something raw burn in your belly. Every moment between the two of you since last night has happened at your insistence. Every conversation, every confession, every action. What if this was just a game to him? What if you were just a conquest he could lord above Terzo, finally succeeding where the Papa had failed? What if Terzo–

Stop.

Fucking stop.

You reach behind you and bend the edges of your pillow up against your ears in an attempt to muffle the din in your brain. Copia would never. He would never purposely hurt you. You think of the raw expression on his bare face as you told him of your love, the tenderness in his voice when he spoke of his. Shame floods you, sick to your stomach that you could ever think such a thing of your beloved. That’s not the man you’ve gotten to know over almost an entire year. Something might have been bothering him tonight but it wasn’t you. You turn over and grab your phone, opening your texts.

Hey - you seemed distant tonight, is everything okay? Love you

You set the phone down and hesitate before reaching for the prescription bottle. Might as well, not going to fall asleep like this. Swallowing the pill with the room temperature water on your nightstand you look hopefully at your phone, willing it to light up. When it stays dark, you inhale a deep sigh before falling back into your pillows. There’s a smoky smell lingering on them, warm and animalic, and you realize it’s him. You drag the pillow he slept on today towards you and breathe in, relishing the scent of his cologne and his hair pomade. It makes your heart so full and you can’t bring yourself to pull away so you curl yourself into it, letting the rise and fall of your chest lull you to sleep.

You have strange dreams where you’re dancing with a black goat with mismatched eyes.

You do not remember them upon waking.

—

When Copia wakes up at a miserable hour he feels like absolute dogshit. He abandoned his remaining pillow some time in the night and now finds himself curled on his side on the mattress, dick out with a pounding headache. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but judging from the lingering damp stains on his sheets he most certainly cried until he passed out.

“Cazzo,” he groans, putting his palms to his face and rubbing it roughly. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, angling his hips to finally tuck himself away and restore even a small bit of his dignity. He looks at the stained pillow on the floor and his headache worsens.

“Fottuto idiota,” he growls, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s about to get up and throw his exhausted body into the shower when he spies his phone out of the corner of his eye. He hesitates for a moment before reaching for it. When he sees a notification on his lockscreen - from you - his heart rockets into his throat. Hands shaking he opens his messages, nauseous at what he might see.

Hey - you seemed distant tonight, is everything okay? Love you

Love you. Love you. She still loves you.

He hops out of bed, overjoyed and types out, then deletes at least a dozen different messages to you. When none of them prove satisfactory he throws his phone down on the bed and stumbles over to his closet. He said he was going to woo you, damn it all, and he intends to follow through. He selects a freshly laundered cassock - red, he knows it’s your favorite - and tosses it on the bed. His mind is abuzz with all the tasks he needs to accomplish but first - a nice long, scalding hot shower.

—

You’re tucked away in your bed - your warm, soft, wonderful bed - when you hear a noise somewhere in the back of your consciousness. One of your eyes cracks open, views the blurry surroundings, and immediately slides closed again.

Then you hear it again. It’s louder. More insistent.

You groan and roll onto your back, opening both eyes against your will to stare at the beams above you. You’re about to roll back over when you hear it again and realize it’s knocking. At your door. With furrowed brows you turn over to squint at your bedside clock - now who the fuck–

You shoot up so fast it makes you dizzy and fling the covers back, your heart pounding. It has to be him right? You’re making your way to the door, bedhead be damned, and you swear if you open it and Terzo’s idiotic face is on the other side you’re going to deck him. By the time you make it to your destination, the person on the other side begins knocking sharply again but you swing the door open midway through their progress.

It’s him, like you knew it would be.

And he looks magnificent.

He’s in his red cassock, matching biretta perched neatly on his still damp hair and holding one hand behind his back. When he sees you, his shoulders straighten and he bows.

“Amata mia, please, please forgive me for my behavior last night. I–”

You don’t even give him a chance to finish his explanation, throwing your arms around him and pulling him close.

“It’s okay,” you say, voice muffled by the wool of his pellegrina.

“Amore, no it’s not. I was so caught up in my own head that I-I didn’t treat you like you deserve. I am a poor excuse for a paramour, eh? Not even the first full day and I’ve already fucked it up.”

“I can’t lie, I was a wreck last night,” you confess as you pull away, rubbing your eyes, “your brain isn’t the only one too full. I had almost convinced myself of some really horrible shit.”

His smile drops and his brows knit together as he cups your cheek gently.

“I’m so sorry, dolcezza. Next time I’ll tell you when I’m preoccupied, but know that my love for you will never be the source of my grief.”

You lean up and peck him on the lips before gesturing behind him.

“What’s this?”

“Ah,” Copia brings his arm forward and produces a bouquet of beautifully vivid orange roses tied up with twine, “for my amore.”

“Copia!” you gasp, accepting the blooms from him, “these are my favorite how did you…?”

“Primo told me,” he says with a smile, following you into your apartment as you pad over to the kitchen, “said he’d been growing them in his greenhouse ‘just in case’ we uh…” He trails off, blushing as you pull a vase out of a cabinet.

“I think the Papas might have been looking forward to us getting together more than we did at this point,” you laugh, filling the glass with water and placing the roses inside. The fragrance coming off them is heady and lovely. You put your hands on your hips and give Copia a wide smile.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Or was this gorgeous display,” you gesture at his neatly pressed cassock and the flowers, “just your way of saying sorry? Wouldn’t mind you slipping up a little more often if these are the rewards I receive.”

His brows furrow and he glances at the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you say, moving over to him and placing your hands on his biceps, “I’m sorry, you know me and my stupid jokes. You’re good. We’re good.”

He raises his downcast eyes to look at you and you want to melt into a puddle at the pure adoration you see there. Like a Satanic puppy dog with heterochromia, a slight build and a nice ass. His little smile when he finally speaks makes you smile.

“I, eh, did have another reason to see you so early in the morning, cara,” he reaches up with a gloved hand and gently tames your flyaways, “I wanted to ask you on a…a date.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and lean forward, placing your chin on his chest.

“Mmm what did you have in mind, Cardinal?”

Not missing a beat his crows feet scrunch and he cradles your head in his hands, using his thumbs to brush at your temples.

“Dinner - in the village? I know a place.”

“Oooh…a night out on the town…”

He snorts, “I don’t think that sleepy little hamlet even counts as a town but it’s the closest we’ve got.”

“Hmm…an excuse to get dressed up and show you off? How could I refuse?”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs at your statement while you grin up at him.

“What time do you want me?”

The phrase comes out of your mouth so casually, you forget its double meaning until you see him swallow thickly and flush.

“H-how about 7? On Friday?”

“On New Years’ Eve?” you shrug, “Sure, and maybe you can come over afterwards to watch the ball drop or whatever. I’ve got another bottle of that chianti you like. Or maybe I’ll hunt down a bottle of champagne. I’ve never had anyone to kiss at midnight before.”

His eyes go a bit glassy and he looks over your shoulder as if considering something. Finally he nods to himself and meets your gaze once more.

“Sì, sì, that would be lovely.”

“It’s a date,” you say, unwinding your arms from around his body and scrunching your nose at him.

“I, uh…have some things to attend to today. I’ll text you later, sì?”

You shrug, secretly appreciative of the fact that he’s letting you return to your (now undoubtedly cold) bed.

“Mmhmm. Thank you for the flowers, my love. They’re perfect. And…if you want to talk about what was bothering you, you know I’m always here.”

He blanches and you look at him curiously before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“G-grazie, amata. I will, eh, keep that in mind.”

Turning on his heel he strides to the door and you follow him, watching as he departs. A few steps down the hall, he turns and gives you a weird little wave before pausing and continuing back down his path. You snort and shut the door with a sigh, looking over at the flowers he brought you. And to think last night you were convinced he hated you. Making a noise of contentment and yawning wide, you shuffle back to bed.

—

Standing in the entry hall, he fusses with his cuffs and straightens his suit jacket. It’s…tighter than what he’s accustomed to. Particularly in the lower half. He growls as he reaches down to adjust himself, cursing Terzo and Terzo’s tailor. You look good, fratello! It really highlights your attributes, huh? Idiota. He cuts a svelte figure in the snug black fabric, true, but all he really cares about is that you will like it. Every once in a while a sibling passes by and stares at him. You’re not late by any means but still he taps his foot impatiently against the marble, filled with nervous energy. When he reaches up to smooth his mustache he hears it - a thump and a soft “fuck!” coming from nearby. He would know that foul mouth anywhere and he straightens his posture and places his hands behind his back.

He’s not ready for what he sees when you round the corner.

You’re swathed in rich, burgundy velvet, the fabric clinging to your every dip and curve. The straps are thin and the hemline is short - tantalizingly short, he can see quite a good amount of your thigh tattoo. Gold stilettos are on your feet - he suspects the cause of the swearing earlier - and your hair is soft and loose. He knows he looks like a fucking fool, mouth hanging open as you approach but how could he look any other way when you stand before him looking like that. He doesn’t notice the way your eyes widen at his outfit, gaze lingering on his thighs and between his legs. As you step closer he sees the light glinting off his Yule gift, resting prettily on your clavicle. The sight makes him hungry.

“Copia, wow,” you breathe, giving him another slow once-over, “damn you look good.”

He’s jolted from the string of filth running through his mind by your assessment.

“Me? Dolcezza, you. You look…”

He knows the word he wants to use as his hands rest on your hips and before he can think better of it, it comes out.

“Delicious.”

The look on your face is well worth the bold step. Your painted lips part, eyes flicking over his features as he rubs circles with his gloved thumbs into your sides. You let out a breathy little laugh, placing your palms flat on his pectorals.

“Take me to dinner?” you ask, the lights in the hall glinting off your lip gloss. He nods.

“Eh…yes. Gladly. Shall we?”

He relinquishes his grip on you and steps back, offering you an arm which you take with a smile.

“Won’t you be cold, amore?” he asks, stopping mid stride. You grin and grab his arm, wrapping it around your waist nice and snug.

“When I’ve got you to keep me warm? Perish the thought.”

How he longs to feel the softness of your dress under his bare fingertips, and the pliant flesh underneath. For now he settles for holding you fast against him as the two of you exit the front doors and head to his ride. He rarely takes her out these days - too many responsibilities at the abbey - but he always has a ghoul make sure she’s in pristine condition when he can’t get to her. She’s in one of the garages and he motions for you to wait at the steps so you don’t have to make the treacherous walk in heels through gravel.

“Eh, I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he says before jogging off, fishing the keys out of the clever little pocket Terzo’s tailor sewed into the jacket. Unlocking the driver side door he slides in, praying to Satan she starts. She does, and she still purrs like a dream much to his satisfaction. Carefully, he pulls out and around to the driveway where you are waiting with a grin on your face. When he reaches your spot he puts the car in park and hustles out of his side over to the passenger door.

“Copia,” you say, giving both him and the car the once-over, “you continue to surprise me every day. A classic car?”

He shrugs, blushing as he opens the door for you and places his hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. When you’re seated and buckled he returns to the driver side and slides in next to you.

“Tell me about her,” you murmur, running your hands over the upholstery as he pulls out of the front gates.

“She’s eh, a 1968 Buick LeSabre,” he begins, heading down the dark road. It’s starting to drizzle.

“I don’t know shit about cars,” you say, smiling sheepishly at him, “but I love a good classic car. They have so much more character. Way sexier. I mean, who is imagining getting railed in the back of a Corolla?”

That makes him almost swerve off the road.

“You…you think about…”

“Well I do now,” there’s a slyness in your voice that makes his pants tighten and he’s thankful for the darkness masking him. You’ve got your arm resting on the back of the seat, fluttering your eyelashes at him. Oh, how he’d love to pull off the road and have you in the backseat. Make a mess of the leather and fog up the windows, your legs on his shoulders. His window starts to become cloudy and he realizes he’s mouthbreathing and you’re watching him very carefully. He needs to change the subject fast, or this date is going to be over before it even officially starts.

“H-have you been into the village much?”

You’ve stopped looking at him and turn your body to stare out the windshield, but a smile still lingers on your lips.

“Honestly? Only once and that was just to wander around. It’s so easy to rely on the abbey to provide everything, you kind of forget the outside world exists at all. Going home to see my parents was such a culture shock after being here so long. Does the outside feel…y’know…weird for you?”

He’s immensely glad you’ve diverted the conversation to something less stressful and he makes a little thoughtful noise.

“It did when I was younger, especially before I left Roma. As I traveled more, I got used to the stares my vestments would get. Most people just assumed I was Catholic. But…I never really fit in at the abbeys I was at, either. Too odd to really fit in in either world.”

He chides himself at the sadness in his voice - he would never regret being vulnerable with you but he would be lying if he said the thought of his life still didn’t leave a bitter taste in his mouth. You stay quiet, pensive, as the car enters the main street and pulls into a spot outside the restaurant. He shuts off the engine with a sigh, slapping his thighs. You’re looking at him with an expression he can’t quite read, and you nod minutely to yourself before unbuckling and getting out. He follows suit, jogging around the car to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders before opening the restaurant door.

–

Your date goes wonderfully: the food, delicious and the company even moreso. Copia’s friendliness with the owner, a woman in her seventies with a dyed bouffant, ensures that neither of you go hungry nor thirsty that night. By the time you finish your bruschetta, your risotto, your tiramisu, and several glasses of wine not only are you content, you’re practically buzzing. You’re not drunk - nowhere near it - simply just happy to be in this moment with the man you adore. Your boyfriend. Is he your boyfriend? It somehow feels too juvenile a term for the two of you. Eh, whatever. You’ll take it. You’re torn from your thoughts by a chuckling Copia, sipping at the dregs of his affogato.

“What? What?”

He shakes his head with a smile.

“Nothing, cara, nothing. You, eh, ready to go?”

You nod and slide your chair back, stretching, deeply looking forward to getting back to your quarters and taking these damn heels off. Lucia comes by for one last hug before the two of you walk out the door and Copia ushers you to the car. Fat drops begin to splatter on the windshield as you wait for your love to take you home. When he gets into the car you slide to the center seat to nestle into him as he pulls away and down the long road to the abbey. The two of you are quiet during the drive back, his arm wrapped around you as your heavy eyelids droop and the rain hammers steadily on the roof. He pulls around and stops at the front steps.

“Your…your heels?”

You smile and place a swift kiss on his cheek before exiting the vehicle and rushing to the dry entryway. He’s not terribly long behind you and the two of you hurry into the warmth. He holds your hand as you make the journey up to your rooms and when you open the door you sigh dramatically.

“Make yourself at home,” you murmur to him as he shuts the door. You’re currently preoccupied with removing your shoes and tossing them in a corner, to be dealt with tomorrow. He settles on the couch as you remove your earrings.

“You can put on Dick Clark, or whatever,” you throw over your shoulder as you pad over to the fridge and pull a bottle out, “I got champagne - well Terzo got us champagne technically - you interested?”

“Sì, sì,” he says with an enthusiastic nod, flipping through channels, “you say…Terzo gave it to you?”

“Yeah,” you reach in the cabinet for your flutes, “came by the other day with it, apparently it’s good stuff. I’ll drink the swill you get at the corner liquor store but I thought it was nice of him.”

“Hmm, yes. Nice.” Copia says, eyebrows pulled together. You step over to the couch and hand him his glass, clinking it with yours before settling in next to him with your legs tucked to the side.

If the wine at dinner didn’t go to your head, the champagne certainly does. The two of you have polished off the bottle - and just opened another, of the swill variety - and are laughing into one another on the couch.

“You did not do that to Nihil when you were a kid,” you gasp. Copia grins wide at you and nods, making you laugh all over again.

“It’s what the old man deserved,” he says simply, polishing off his glass.

“Listen, I don’t disagree with you but taking safety scissors to his hair…Christ, no wonder he’s always bitching at you.”

Your laughter slowly dies as you nuzzle into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne making you even more tipsy. He’s got his nose brushing against your hair and you wonder if he likes what he smells too.

“This is nice,” you murmur, as you lean up to place a slow kiss to his jaw. Your hand is resting on his chest and you feel his noise of agreement rumble through him. His hand comes up to cradle your head as you kiss your way to his lips. When you reach your destination he groans as you slip your tongue against his. You want this man so very badly, more than you ever have before. When you pull away briefly he looks befuddled as you stand up and look down at him. The way he gazes up at you as your fingers dance along his freckled cheekbone makes you feel far more tipsy than the champagne ever could. Without a word you kneel on one side of his leg and pull your other leg over to straddle him. His breathing is fast and rough as you scoot your hips so the two of you are flush.

“Dolcezza,” he finally breathes, “you…we shouldn’t…”

“But I want to,” you murmur against his lips, “I’ll wait. But let me have this. Please, Copia.”

There’s a slight whine to your voice in your pleading and you feel his cock twitch against you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you flex your hips experimentally. The catch of your underwear on your clit with the movement pushes you to repeat it, over and over. Copia growls, low, before sliding his gloved hands up your bare thighs, rucking your dress over your hips.

“Go on, cara,” he grits out, as if possessed “use me. Soak through these–” his hands toy with the waistband of your red lace underwear, “--and get your sweet smell all over me. Please. Please.”

His words knock the breath from your lungs as you grind against him. You don’t even have your hand on him but you can feel that he’s big and the curve of him nudges your clit so beautifully. You’re biting your lip as you ride him, his large hands pulling and pushing your body.

“C-Copia,” you whimper, and he bucks up against you, “feel so good. Fuck I–”

You can’t even get the words out before one of his hands grabs the back of your head and pulls you down. You’re panting into each other’s mouths even as you lick and suck and rut your hips. When you finally have to pull away for breath, Copia keeps his hand at the back of your head, pressing your foreheads together.

“I am going to ruin you, amata,” he grunts, thrusting sharply against you in time with each roll of your hips, “you have n-no idea. I will hold you down and take and b-bring you such pleasure no one else will ever sate you. Sei il mio tutto.”

You feel a gush of slick come out of you at his words, your pace picking up.

“Please, Copia,” you whine, “please I need it, need you, I-I’ve wanted you for so long.”

He’s gripping your thighs with greater force now, hard enough you know he’s going to leave bruises and the thought makes you even wetter.

“Bellezza mia,” he moans as your hips move frantically against him, your eyes rolling back at the way his cock bumps your swollen clit, “anima mia, you have no–ah–no idea what you do to me. Ragazza perfetta–ragazza amata–”

Your head tilts back as you breathlessly chant - right there, right there, yes, yes, don’t stop - and he ruts up against you, his thrusts erratic. When you cum you moan long and loud - far more wanton than any sound you’ve ever coaxed out of yourself while on your own - and you feel the two scraps of fabric separating you become drenched. He’s not far behind and with a hoarse shout his cock kicks against you and the warmth of his seed soaks his trousers. You’re both trembling as you brush noses with him and press your forehead against his. Muffled cheering comes from the TV behind you, breaking your bubble, and you move to look but he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and softly brushes his lips against yours. It’s achingly tender and when the two of you slowly part he blinks up at you. You swear his white eye is glowing.

“Happy New Year,” you murmur, your arms still slung around his neck.

“Happy New Year, amore mio,” he breathes.

You could rest in his lap like this forever, were it not clear to you that he must be incredibly uncomfortable - both with the weight and the mess in his pants. When you scoot back and place your feet on the floor to stand, your knees nearly give out.

“I’ll um…” you begin, distracted by the way his gloved fingers toy with the hem of your dress, “d-do you want to stay? Not…not to…just to sleep.”

You expect him to recoil, to anxiously but gently reject you as he has in the past.

“Sì…yes. I would like that. I should…go shower…change…”

“Of course, me too,” you nod, giving him space to move. You’re overjoyed he’s agreed and smile at him warmly as he raises himself from the couch. He cups your cheek with his palm and drags his thumb along the skin.

“Some champagne, huh?” he says with a wry grin, making you snort.

“Powerful stuff,” you agree. Slowly, gently he closes the distance between you for another painfully tender kiss.

“I’ll be back, sì?” he tells you before placing another soft kiss on your forehead. You nod and reluctantly let him pull away, watching him walk towards the door and open it. He gives you one last smile before shutting it behind him.

This time, your knees really do give out.

#curator reader series #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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loveshotzz · 1 year

Text

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap three/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Mr. Fix It

summary: when your kitchen sink breaks, you ask your new ‘friend’ for help.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. lots of pining, and steve opens up a little about his past.

authors note: this chapter was a struggle for me, lots of overthinking and rewriting. I hope you guys like it though 💗

🌇 chapter one | chapter two -> chapter four

Series Masterlist/Playlist/The tune:

Early June - A Thursday

Your first week as a waitress at The Whale was a whirlwind, long hours on your feet leaving you exhausted every time you climbed your staircase each night. Dishes and laundry piling up around your apartment, so when you finally have a day off it is dedicated to playing catch up. The smell of coffee fills your apartment as you stretch looking out your living room window. New curtains ready to be hung leaning against the wall.

His car is gone, the normal work day in full swing for most of the city. You haven’t seen him since that night in the alley, your schedules seeming completely opposite now. Part of you hopes maybe today you’ll at least catch a glimpse of your new friend and his cute dog.

Most of the day is spent going up and down your stairs to the shared laundry room in the basement of the building. In between loads is filled with distractions of things to do in your room and whatever you left playing on your TV. Your eyes actively avoid the dishes that have piled in your sink while you actually fold your laundry. It is only when you don’t have any more excuses that you finally drag your pink fuzzy slipper covered feet over to the one chore you’ve been dreading all day.

“I gotta get better at washing as I use,” you grumble like every other time you find yourself here.

You only get two plates and a bowl deep when the sink starts to clog, groaning annoyedly you flip the switch of the disposal only to be met with the sound of metal grinding against metal. A smell resembling burning plastic hits your nose and you’re quick to flip it off, the water still refusing to drain. Slamming down on the faucet handle, you wait a couple of minutes before daring to reach in to see if a piece of silverware got stuck in there. When your fingertips meet nothing but warm water, panic starts to set in.

You flip the switch one more time out of curiosity, and the same unbearable sound drowns out your TV. You huff turning it off, hands finding your hips as you look around for a solution you know you aren’t going to find without calling someone. Bandit’s bark catches your ears, and you hate that all your frustrations seem to disappear at the thought of seeing him.

You pad over to your window, eyes going big and head dropping at the sight that’s waiting for you.

Of fucking course.

It’s obvious he barely got home from work by the black slacks that still cover his long legs, but the dress shirt is missing. Instead the white tank top he wears underneath is all that’s there. Tucked in so it fits tight across his torso, his dark chest hair peeks out the top with a silver chain shining against his bronzed skin. His forearms flex tugging on the tennis ball trapped in Bandit’s tight grip, his sock and slide covered feet plant on the ground for added balance. The smile on his face you swear is brighter than the sun that isn’t hidden by any clouds today and you didn’t realize how much you missed it.

It’s somehow even hotter than it looked outside, and you immediately regret not changing out of your warm slippers, but he’s already spotted you with an offering of a friendly wave with his big hand. He gets the ball away from Bandit, losing his footing surprised, shock painting his features before the dog starts jumping on him. Steve raises it over his head, keeping Bandit too distracted to see you at the gate that he’s signaling for you to let yourself in from.

Your hand shakes a little when you unhook the latch, nerves from never being at his house before and not seeing him for the past week try to get the best of you. He smiles when he looks at you from over the rim of his sunglasses letting Bandit win finally but it’s too late for toys when he spots you. Bounding over with big paws, Bandit wastes no time jumping on you, making you stumble back a little before catching him in your arms.

“Bandit! Come on, don’t knock her down,” Steve scolds, but those pretty giggles that he loves so much come out when his dog starts licking your cheek and it tells him all he needs to know.

“Hi buddy, I missed you too.” You grin, your animal voice coming out only a little when you feel Steve’s stare fixated on you.

Bandit wags his tail jumping down satisfied before grabbing his ball again bringing it back to you to continue the game you interrupted.

“Hey tough girl.” Steve smirks shoving his hands in his pockets watching you accept his dog’s invitation. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

You play with Bandit’s ears to try and distract him as you do your best to get the rubber ball out of his iron tight bite, completely losing focus on why you came over here in the first place when you succeed and throw it towards their front door.

“Oh my god, my sink!” You gasp, your hand covering your embarrassed grin.

Steve’s eyes widen, his eye brows marrying together in the middle with concern.

“Is it flooding?!” He asks incredulously as Bandit trots back over carefree.

“No, not flooding.” You assure him going back in for the toy, and you can tell your nonchalance is getting to him. “My disposal is making sounds and it smells like plastic burning every time I run it, so the water won’t drain.” You get the ball away from Bandit cause he lets you, only continuing your explanation after you throw it again.

“I was hoping my good friend and neighbor could come check it out?” You try to lighten the mood with a smile but the concern never leaves his face, the pink that dusts his cheeks tells you he’s not unaffected by your ‘charms’ though.

“It’s probably something stuck in the pipes, let me get some tools and I'll come back with you.” He speaks like he’s sure he knows that’s it, snapping his fingers at Bandit to get him to wrap it up.

“Are you sure? I’m not interrupting anything tonight?” You hope he doesn’t pick up on the hidden ulterior motives in your question, but the smirk he gives you tells you he does.

“No honey, I’m all yours.”

It’s strange having him in your apartment again, and god you wish he had put on a real shirt when he got his tool box. The tops of his shoulders are covered in even more freckles, the tint of redness from the sun becoming obvious in your harsh kitchen light. The muscles in his arms twitch in the cold air of your AC that works harder with the heat of two bodies in your small space.

His gaze falls on your full sink and you immediately regret going to get his help. Silently cursing your hormones for getting the best of you.

“Sorry, obviously I was trying to do them. It’s been a long week, I started a new job serving and-“ embarrassment makes blood rush to your cheeks as you go to move past him in an attempt to clean some of it up.

“Hey, you’re fine.” He grabs your arm before you can make it, long fingers wrapping around you in a firm grip but still soft enough for you to pull away if you really wanted to. “I’m not judging you.”

His lips tug into a warm smile when you don’t try and break away, the gold specs in his eyes lighting up while his thumb brushes against your heated skin in a soothing motion. It only grows wider watching how your shoulders give in to his whims with a slump.

“Just know I was about to do them!” You argue weakly with a point of your finger and he just nods, the corners of his mouth twitching in an effort not to laugh at your distress.

“How else would you know your sink is broken?” His voice wavers when he tries to play along with a straight face, but it becomes impossible when he catches the roll of your eyes. You do that a lot to him. He likes it.

“Better watch yourself Steve,” you warn with a grin wrapped around your words that hold no real threat, but it’s hard to fight it when he still hasn’t let you go.

He’s closer now, and you notice his five o’clock shadow is as dark as it was the first day you met. Salt and pepper covering his sharp jaw. The faded fresh scent of his deodorant mixes with the spice of his cologne, and the sweat that kissed his skin outside. You want to bury your face in his shirt and inhale.

“You shouldn’t threaten the guy that’s here to fix your sink honey. That’s not very smart,” he tsks looking down the edge of his nose at you with squinted eyes, “you’re lucky I’m so nice.”

You immediately feel the loss when he drops your arm and if it wasn’t for the wink that followed, you would have missed it more.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you tease trying to play off how flustered you are but the slight shake in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed, confidence smoldering in his stare before his teeth come out in a blinding smile.

“Let me go take a look, see what I can do. Your dishes aren’t offending me, I promise.” He does his best to ease the last bit of self consciousness still hanging onto the way you look over at the small mess before walking away with tools clanking in the metal box loudly behind him.

It had been almost an hour with him like this.

He’s on his back, long legs extending over the small space of your kitchen tile. Slides kicked to the side, white sock covered feet wiggling with his movements under your sink. The top of him is hidden, the tank top that was tucked in now loose and pulling up, giving you the hint of his happy trail. You try not to stare at the way the muscles in his arm harden with each twist of his wrist, or the grunts that leave him every now and then.

You find out he works in marketing for The Cubs and used to play baseball himself in high school, laughing when you confess how much you don’t like sports. He promises to take you to a game sometime saying he knows you’ll have fun and you try not to think too much into it. He knows you're rolling your eyes again when you answer “sure” with a smile in your voice. He lets you complain about your first week as a server, surprising you when he asks questions because he’s actually listening.

Metal clanks loudly, cutting you off and drowning out the playlist you chose to fill any empty gaps in conversation that never seemed to happen. An “I’m fine” coming out from under the sink just a little too even to really sound ‘fine’.

There’s a beat before you see him reach for the pliers at his hip, readjusting like he’s set his sights on the culprit.

“Wait, I don’t think you ever told me - hmmpf - what - come on - restaurant you work at?” He readjusts again.

“The Whale,” you give him an answer, hypnotized by his ability to multitask like this.

“Oh, my wife loved that place.” He says it casually like he didn’t just drop a Hiroshima sized bomb on you, or maybe he does and that's why he chose to do it hidden from sight.

You're thankful he can’t see the way your jaw drops, or the disappointment that fills your eyes. There’s a beat of silence before you answer, trying to hide the shock in your voice.

“Wife? I didn’t know Bandit had a Mom.” You look up at the ceiling, mouthing the work ‘fuck’ into the void.

There’s another clank of metal followed by a ‘there you are.’

“Erm - I mean - umm, technically I got Bandit after - I didn’t want to use ex wife, I just don’t know the proper term to say I’ve been widowed for five years.” He grunts one more time before he starts shimming out. “I do think I found the source of your clog though.”

Your favorite stray clings to his forehead when you get to see his face again, a pleased smile pushing his cheeks up despite the new information he just told you as he holds the ring you thought you lost during the move.

“My ring!” You gasp, jumping off your couch, the opal stone catching in the setting sunlight.

“Clearly, you do, do your dishes.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you laughing when you shove his shoulder lightly snatching your jewelry back.

“You’re hilarious Steve.” The tightness that had formed in your chest relaxes, his smile becoming contagious.

He likes the way you say his name and the way your lips twist up every time you do. It’s sweet enough to ease the guilt that he’s fought with since the day he met you.

“I know,” he huffs as he pushes himself up, reminding you how broad he is when he’s back on his feet. “You should’ve seen my speech at the Legends of the Ball gala last year.”

He gets that eye roll he didn’t get to see earlier, and god he doesn’t want to leave yet but when you slip the ring onto that finger he knows it’s time to go. For now.

He clears his throat before turning around to test his work. Flipping the switch, the sound it’s supposed to make returns, the water in the sink draining quickly.

“Annnd, all back to normal.” His grin is proud when he turns it off. “‘Now, let me clean my mess up and I’ll get out of your hair.” Mirroring his own words he finally pushes his back and you see the dusty pink that covers his ears when he slips his feet back into his slides.

“I feel like I can’t let you leave without offering you a drink or something?” You know all you have in the fridge is some rosé you got on sale at Aldi, but you needed a reason for him to stay.

“How about this, you can bring me back some of those fish tacos one night this week and we’ll call it even.” He can’t look at you when he suggests it, hoping his ploy to see you again wasn’t obvious while he busies himself with putting all his tools away.

“I think that’s more than doable, I need to thank you for finding my favorite ring too, maybe you should pick a dessert while we’re at it.” You bite your bottom lip when his eyes meet yours with a lopsided grin.

“I’m a big fan of cannoli’s.” He snaps the clasps of his tool box closed before doing a once over to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind. Not that, that would be a bad thing if he did, you’d have to bring it back to him.

“Consider it done. Seriously, thank you Steve.” All your teasing from before is gone, making his face soften at your sincerity and he wants to tell you that’s enough for him.

“Anytime, that’s what neighbors are for right? It’s always just me and Bandit anyway. It’s nice to feel useful again.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, like he wouldn’t help you with anything you asked of him despite how he hardly knows you.

You walk him to your door where you both stand on either side of the threshold, toe to toe. Neither one of you is sure of the proper way to say goodbye.

“Give Bandit an extra treat from me for letting me steal his Dad for a few hours.” You break the ice leaning against the door frame, crossing your arms making the decision easy.

“I’ll be sure to tell him it’s from you.” Steve’s eyes gleam from the evident admiration you have for his dog.

“You better.” The threat is empty, the smile on your face to prove it.

“Have a good night honey. I’m always just next door if you need anything else.” He loiters a little bit unsure of himself before finally turning to make his way down the stairs.

“I’ll try not to lose any more jewelry down the drains!” You call after him, relishing in the laugh it gets you that echoes down the narrow hallway.

You wait till he’s out of your sight before you shut your front door. Your mind racing with everything you’d learned about him tonight, sleep was going to be impossible.

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beta’d by @superblysubpar & @newlips 💗

dividers by @newlips 💗

chapter four

#my writing #all i really want it you series #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington series #steve harrington fanfiction

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