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itneverendshere · 15 hours

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ex!reader who loves the game and wants to support her team but hockey captain!rafe is on the ice. he thinks she’s there for him but when she comes in with a date? and when they get put on the kiss cam? rafe slams into the glass to scare them? hate sex????

someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!toxic!rafe x ex!reader (+18)

warnings: veryyy long and 99% smut🙂‍↕️ the things i do for you...

The cold air inside the rink always made your skin tingle. Your breath curled in front of you like smoke as you moved uncomfortably on the bleachers, pulling your jacket tighter around you. This is why you hated fall. It was too cold to be outside, too early to be winter. But tonight wasn’t about the weather—it was about hockey.

Hockey and, well, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

“Everything okay?” The voice beside you pulled you back to reality.

Elijah, the guy you’d been seeing for the past couple of weeks, smiled at you, oblivious to the bullshit taking over your mind, and you gave him your best smile back.

“Yeah, just cold,” you said, trying to focus. You weren’t here for Rafe, not anymore. You loved hockey. You loved watching the boys skate across the ice, their power and grace.

Or at least that was what you kept telling yourself.

Elijah wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and you leaned in, feeling his warmth. The game was just about to start, and the arena lights dimmed slightly, casting shadows over the rink. The roar of the crowd drowned your thoughts for a moment as the players took the ice.

And then, as if the universe was personally trying to screw with you, you saw him.

Rafe.

Of course, he looked good.

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid confident smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team. His dark blonde hair peeked out from under his helmet He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever. You couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him.

He always had to be in charge, on and off the ice.

He still had that same cocky swagger that made you wanna scream… for entirely different reasons now.

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. Probably because you’d never let him run you out of your favorite game. Not even if he was captain now. This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex. But it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized… You’d put on Rafe’s jersey.

His number. The one you’d always worn to support him when you were together. Out of all the team merch you owned, of course you had to wear his.

“You really like hockey a lot, huh?” Elijah asked, glancing down at your jersey.

“Yeah,” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’ve been following the team for a while.”

Lies. You loved hockey, sure. But you loved Rafe a little more. Or, you used to. Or, well, maybe that was still complicated.

The puck dropped, and the game started. For a while, you tried to focus on the action. Rafe was all over the ice, playing like the goddamn superstar he thought he was. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept darting up toward the stands, like he knew you were there. And maybe he did

Halfway through the second period, he slammed into an opposing player, sending him crashing into the boards. The sound echoed through the arena, and the crowd went wild, but you could feel your stomach knotting up. That had always been Rafe—intense, aggressive, unable to hold back. On the ice or off.

You tried to focus on Elijah, laughing at something he was saying, but your heart wasn’t in it. And then, just when you thought you’d survived the worst of it, the kiss cam flashed up on the big screen. Your laughter died in your throat as you realized what was happening, your face heating up instantly. You weren’t exactly embarrassed, but this was... awkward.

“Aw, how cute,” He said, grinning as he pointed to the screen.

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

You could see him coming toward you, could see his lips getting closer, but all you could think about was—

Bang!

In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass. His eyes were locked on you, jaw clenched.

He looked like he was ready to tear Elijah apart, or you, or both of you. His chest was heaving, eyes blazing, standing mere inches away from where you sat. He had skated right into the glass.

Your heart was practically in your throat, and it wasn't from Elijah being close. The look on Rafe’s face as he stood on the other side of the glass?

That was what had your pulse racing. You could barely focus on Elijah anymore. The way he laughed, oblivious, made your stomach churn because Rafe—Rafe—was staring like he owned you. He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his.

And you hated that you still kind of liked it.

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

Those stupid words. Silently mouthed, but somehow loud enough to hit you like a punch through the glass. I dare you. God, what was wrong with him? He knew exactly how to push your buttons. And of course, it was working. He wasn’t just playing hockey—he was playing with you.

You could feel Elijah shifting next to you, still oblivious to the whole freaking drama unfolding right in front of him.

He was so sweet, too sweet, and it was almost infuriating right now because Rafe was standing there, with his stupid intense eyes, all but daring you to move on. Why did he have to look at you like that—like he knew you were still his.

The breakup had been brutal, the kind of messy, loud explosion where neither of you were willing to be the first to walk away. You were both too stubborn, too prideful. And now here you were, months later, still dealing with the fallout.

Elijah finally leaned in, lips brushing yours, and you kissed him, but your heart wasn’t in it. All you could feel was Rafe’s stare burning into you. The kiss cam lingered for a few seconds, and the crowd cheered, but all you felt was... empty.

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah, but your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could practically feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

You glanced down, avoiding his gaze, and tugged at the hem of his old jersey, suddenly feeling like you didn’t belong in it anymore. You leaned into Elijah, mostly out of spite at this point. You could practically hear Rafe’s teeth grinding from across the glass. Good. If he thought he could just walk around, acting like he owned the place—and you—then he deserved to stew in it a little.

But, of course, he wasn’t the kind of guy to just let something like that go. You watched as he skated back into play, but his eyes kept flicking up to where you sat, like he couldn’t stop checking to make sure you were still there. Still with Elijah. His shoulders were tense, movements a little too aggressive, like he was about to snap.

You tried to focus on the game again, but your mind kept drifting back to him. You hated this. You hated that he could still make you feel this way, even now, after everything.

After the fights, after the breakup, after swearing you were over him. Why was it so hard to let him go?

The third period started, and Rafe was everywhere, throwing his weight around like he had something to prove. And maybe he did. Every hit was harder, every pass sharper. It was like he was playing angry. And you couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied, knowing you’d gotten under his skin.

But then, with less than five minutes left in the game, things escalated. He slammed into one of the opposing players so hard that the guy went down, and the whistle blew immediately. The crowd was roaring, but Rafe didn’t back off. He stood over the guy, glaring down at him like he was ready to throw a punch.

"Jesus," Elijah muttered beside you. "What the hell’s his problem?"

You didn’t answer. You knew exactly what his problem was.

The ref skated over, shouting something at Rafe, but his eyes weren’t on the ref. They were still on you, even as the other guy on the ice slowly got back to his feet. The arena was buzzing, the crowd getting rowdy, and for a second, you thought Rafe was going to lose it right there. His fists clenched, jaw set—he looked like he was ready to drop gloves and start swinging.

And then he smirked.

It was that same cocky smirk you knew so well, the one he always flashed right before doing something reckless. The ref sent him to the penalty box, and he skated off, still with that fucking look plastered on his face. Your heart was racing, your body tense. Elijah had leaned back in his seat, totally unaware about everything.

“Man, that guy’s intense,” Elijah said, shaking his head, eyes still on the ice.

You didn’t answer. Intense didn’t even begin to cover it.

Rafe was sitting in the penalty box now, helmet off, running a hand through his hair like he didn’t just about murder a guy on the ice. You could feel his eyes on you, even from all the way across the rink. You hated it. You hated that he could still get to you like this.

The last few minutes of the game passed in an instant. You weren’t really paying attention anymore, not to the score, not to the plays. You were too busy trying not to think about Rafe, about the way he had looked at you. About the way it had made you feel.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd erupted in cheers. Elijah stood up, stretching, turning to you with a smile.

“Ready to head out?” he asked.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you made your way toward the exit, weaving through the crowd, you could feel the tension building in your chest. It wasn’t over. It never really was with Rafe.

And you knew—somehow—you weren’t getting out of here without seeing him again.

You reached the bottom of the stands, where a crowd had gathered near the exit. Elijah was still chatting about the game, still clueless. But you were distracted, scanning the crowd without even realizing it.

And then you saw him. Of course, you did.

Rafe was leaning against the wall, still in his gear, helmet tucked under his arm. His eyes locked on yours the second you stepped into his line of sight. He didn’t even pretend to care about the people around him—his gaze was dark, intense, like a predator waiting for its moment.

You hated how your heart skipped.

Elijah noticed you freeze and followed your gaze, his smile faltering when he saw Rafe standing there.

"Isn’t that the captain guy?" he asked, glancing between you and Rafe, confused.

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to keep moving. “Yeah. That’s him.”

As you passed by, Rafe pushed off the wall, stepping right into your path. Elijah, sweet, unsuspecting Elijah, paused beside you.

"Leaving already?" Rafe’s voice was low, casual, but his eyes were locked on yours, ignoring Elijah completely. "Didn’t even stick around to congratulate the team?"

You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your cool. "It’s late, Rafe. We’re heading out."

But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. He took a step closer, his towering frame making Elijah shift uncomfortably. "You didn’t used to leave so soon," he said, voice dripping with that familiar cockiness. "Used to be the last one out."

Because you’d always let him fuck you in the locker room.

Elijah cleared his throat, trying to stand his ground. "Uh, yeah, we’ve got plans after this."

Rafe’s eyes flicked to him for the briefest second, before landing back on you.

"Plans, huh?"

Your pulse was hammering, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. Why did he always have to do this—why couldn’t he just let you go?

“Rafe, we’re done,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to the last shred of your composure. “You don’t get to pull this shit anymore.”

He glanced at Elijah briefly, his gaze cold and dismissive, then back at you. “You sure about that?” he asked, “Because it doesn’t look like it.”

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as you tried to calm yourself. You didn’t need this right now. Not with Elijah here. Not after everything.

“Let’s go Elijah,” you said, tugging at Elijah’s arm, desperate to get out of there before things escalated. But Rafe wasn’t having it.

He stepped in front of you again, blocking your path like he had some kind of claim on you. And God, the worst part was—you weren’t sure he was wrong.

You glanced at Elijah, who was staring at the two of you like he had walked into the middle of a conversation he couldn’t quite follow. “Look, dude,” he started, awkwardly laughing, “I don’t know what this is, but—”

“It’s nothing,” you cut him off quickly, your voice tight. “Let’s just go.”

But Rafe wasn’t about to let it go.

“Yeah, Elijah,” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s nothing.” His eyes flicked to you, dark and daring, and before you could stop yourself, you met his gaze with the same fire.

Elijah’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, frowning.

“Shit,” he muttered, distracted. “I’ve gotta take this call real quick. Give me a sec?” He stepped away, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the middle of the hallway, your body practically vibrating.

He was on you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the locker room door.

“Rafe, what the fuck—” you hissed, but he wasn’t letting go.

You tried to resist, but something inside you broke down—the anger, the unresolved pull between you two. And maybe it was the way he still had that stupid hold on you, the way your body responded when you shouldn’t want it to.

Or maybe it was the fact that you’d never fully closed the door on Rafe.

He shoved the door open, pulling you inside the dimly lit hallway that led to the locker room. The second the door closed, you spun around, shoving him in the chest hard.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Rafe barely flinched, his gaze smoldering as he crowded you against the wall.

“Yeah? You didn’t seem to think so when you were wearing my jersey tonight.”

“That was an accident.”

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

Your heart was pounding, and not just because Rafe had you pinned against the wall like he always fucking did— God, why did he have to be so damn close? The scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat from the game, sending your mind spiraling. He was overwhelming, and you hated it. You hated him for still making you feel like this.

“Get off me,” you snapped, but it came out weaker than you intended. The way his blue eyes were boring into yours, like he could see through all your bullshit, wasn’t helping.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.

“C’mon, baby, don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted. You show up, wearin’ my number, sitting there with some random guy like I don’t still own you.”

He stepped closer, caging you in completely. You pressed your hands against his chest, but it wasn’t like you were really pushing him away. And he knew it.

“You don’t own shit,” you spat, glaring up at him. But even as the words left your mouth, you knew you didn’t believe them. The truth was, part of you had always been his.

Rafe’s lips curved into a smug grin as if he could read every thought running through your head.

“Really? ’Cause from where I’m standin’, you’ve been thinkin’ about me all night.” His breath was hot on your skin, and you hated how much you wanted to close the distance between you.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to muster the strength to tell him to fuck off, to leave you alone, but he was right. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, he was still in your head, under your skin. The way his body hovered over yours—it was like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t spent the last few months trying to forget him.

His hand found your hip, fingers pressing into your skin through your jeans, and you felt your body betray you. You cursed yourself silently as heat pooled low in your stomach. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, didn’t want him to know how much power he still had. But damn it, he knew. He always fucking knew.

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

“Don’t—”

But he was already kissing you, hard and rough like he owned you, like you were his and his alone.

And the worst part? You kissed him back. His hands were on you, grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You wanted to shove him away, to slap that stupid look off his face—but your body had other plans.

This was so wrong, on so many levels.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Rafe didn’t back off. He was staring down at you like you were his next meal, like he’d been starving without you.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you bit out, trying to cling to some sense of control.

Rafe’s grin widened, wicked and knowing. He leaned in again, lips ghosting over yours. “We both know that's a lie.”

You clenched your fists, frustrated beyond belief. Frustrated at him, at yourself, at how easy it was for him to pull you right back in.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, but the breathless tone in your voice told a different story.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriatingly sexy way he always did.

“Oh, you will.”

And God help you—you knew he was right. That fucking arrogance. It crawled under your skin, set your blood on fire in ways it shouldn’t.

You wanted to punch him, shove him, do something to wipe that smug expression off his face. But instead, you grabbed his shirt, pulling him back toward you, kissing him with all the fury you felt.

His lips crushed against yours, and it wasn’t gentle—there was nothing soft or sweet about this. It was all heat and frustration, months of unresolved anger bursting out in one chaotic, messy kiss.

His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy. He groaned, low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you yanked him down, kissing him like you needed to get all of this out of your system. His hands roamed your body, possessive, rough, and you hated how much you craved him, like you were still his.

You weren’t his. You couldn’t be.

But every heated breath you took, every desperate movement your body made, was telling you otherwise.

When his lips moved down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, you gasped, tilting your head back as your resolve crumbled to pieces. He knew exactly what to do, how to make you fall apart, and it pissed you off that he still had that power.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with ease, pressing you harder against the wall. Your breath hitched, the cold tile behind you making you gasp. His mouth was on you, hot and demanding, and for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered.

Not Elijah, not the fact that this was so damn wrong, not the months of hurt and anger you’d been holding onto.

There was only Rafe. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you like he was trying to stake his claim all over again. Like you hadn’t been apart at all.

"Tell me you don’t want this," Rafe muttered against your lips.

You bit down on your lip, trying to stop the words from spilling out. You did want this. You hated that you did, but fuck, you couldn’t lie—not to him, not to yourself.

“I—” You choked on the words, eyes meeting his, and for a split second, you thought maybe you’d find some kind of resolve, some way to pull yourself back from him.

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy. And that was it. Your last piece of control vanished, and you were lost in him all over again.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head spinning as his hands explored your body like he had every right to. Like you hadn’t spent months trying to break free of him.

Rafe pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, breathless and flushed. “Yeah, baby. That's what I thought."

His hands gripped your ass hard enough to leave bruises, you let out a frustrated, muffled groan, your fingers still tangled in his hair. It was a lot longer than the last time you’d seen him.

You could feel every inch of his muscle through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was suffocating in the best way, and you hated yourself for how much you wanted it.

How much you wanted him.

“You’re such an ass,” you gasped between kisses, your breath hitching when his mouth moved down to your neck. You felt him grin against your skin, the bastard.

“You say that like it’s supposed to stop you.” His voice was rough, low in your ear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “But I don’t think it is.”

You were about to fire back, but his hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and whatever you were going to say was swallowed by the heat rushing through you. You hated that he still knew exactly how to get to you—how to pull you apart and leave you helpless against him.

“Rafe, this—” Your words were cut off when he bit down gently on your collarbone, sending a shockwave through your body. You clutched at his shirt.

“This what?” he taunted, pulling back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes intense. “This a mistake? Because I don’t think that’s what your body’s saying.”

You just glared up at him, trying to catch your breath. You hated that he was right. Again.

Always.

“I told you,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, “this doesn’t mean anything.”

Rafe’s grip on you tightened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your heart was racing, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. There was no denying it—you were here, and you weren’t leaving. Not yet.

Maybe not for a while.

And Rafe knew it.

His hands moved lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your jeans, and your breath hitched. This was dangerous territory. You knew that.

“Last chance,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. “You want me to stop?”

You should’ve said yes. You should’ve shoved him away and walked out of there with what little dignity you had left. But instead, you kissed him again—harder this time, angrier, like you needed to prove something to yourself. And maybe you did.

He yanked your shirt over your head in one rough motion, and you weren’t gentle either, tugging at his jersey until it was off and tossed aside. His hands were everywhere—on your back, in your hair, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down with the same reckless urgency you’d been feeling since you laid eyes on him tonight.

“I hate you,” you whispered as your nails dragged down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

Rafe just laughed, “No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

Your jeans hit the floor, and he wasted no time, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs, pressing you down on the bench, his body heavy against yours.

Everything was messy, and rushed, like neither of you could get enough. Like you were trying to erase the months of distance, of frustration, in the way you kissed him back, bit his lip, tugged at his hair.

You hated how much you needed this.

“Still think this doesn’t mean anything?” Rafe rasped, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathless and wild.

You could barely think, let alone speak, but somehow, you managed to gasp out, “Positive.”

Rafe’s mouth moved down your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks you knew would still be there tomorrow. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

It was wrong, it was toxic, but fuck—there was something about the way he touched you. And body, traitorous and weak, responded like it always had.

You were furious with yourself, with him, with everything, but the anger only made it all hotter, more intense.

His fingers brushed against the seam of your panties, teasing, barely touching you, but doing enough to have you drenched.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, almost amused, slipping one finger under the fabric to run along your folds, barely dipping inside before pulling back out, "Was this all for Elijah?"

Sonofabitch.

“Stop talking,” you spat, but your voice was shaky, showing him the way you were falling apart under his touch. Rafe chuckled low in his throat, his finger moving back, this time slipping inside you, deep and slow.

You gasped, your head falling back as he began moving his finger, curling it inside you in just the right way. Your body responded immediately, hips jerking against him, desperate for more, but he took his time. He added another finger, stretching you out as his thumb rubbed slow circles over your clit, making your legs tremble beneath him.

He sped up, his fingers thrusting deeper, faster, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go blank. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you? All those nights pretending you don’t think about me, but look at you now.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, legs shaking as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, his fingers driving you closer and closer to the orgasm you so desperately needed.

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you. “Tell me how bad you need this.”

“Rafe—” you gasped, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. The tension inside you was coiled so tightly, so close to snapping. You hated him, hated yourself, but the words slipped out anyway. “I need it.”

He groaned, pleased, and that was all it took. He thrust his fingers harder, faster, until your body gave in completely. You hadn’t had a proper orgasm in months. Nothing could get you off properly. Your walls clenched around his fingers the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your nails leaving half-moon marks in his skin as you trembled beneath him, lost in the sensation.

But he didn’t stop. He slowed down just enough to draw out every last bit of pleasure, his fingers still moving inside you as you rode out the aftershocks. When you finally caught your breath, he pulled his fingers out, his hand moving to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

He shoved his pants down, not bothering to take them off completely, just enough to free himself. Your breath hitched when you felt him against you—hard, hot, and ready—and every rational thought you had left disappeared in that moment. He lined himself up, teasing you just enough to drive you crazy.

Before you could respond, he pushed into you in one hard, deliberate thrust. Your gasp turned into a low, breathless moan as your back arched, your hands gripping his shoulders for something to hold on to. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you, was overwhelming, almost too much, but exactly what you needed.

Rafe didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a punishing rhythm that left you breathless, gasping for air.

There was nothing gentle about it, nothing tender.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he fucked you like he was trying to remind you who you belonged to.

And you hated how good it felt.

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled, his voice rough as he thrust into you, each movement deep and brutal.“Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your body was betraying you as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this every night since we ended.”

You couldn’t.

The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but instead, a moan escaped your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you. Your body arched against his, and you cursed yourself for being so weak.

“Fuck,” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built, every nerve in your body on fire.

“That’s what I thought,” Rafe growled, his pace quickening, the force of his thrusts making the bench creak beneath you.

The sound of the bench, the way his body pressed into yours so perfectly, the heat of his breath against your neck—it all made it impossible to think straight. You should have been disgusted with yourself for letting it get this far, for letting him have this kind of control over you.

“I fucking hate you,” you managed to gasp out between breaths.

Rafe chuckled, “Yeah? Then why do you sound like that, huh?” His voice was taunting, filled with the arrogance you hated, “This pussy still mine, huh?”

You loved the way he grabbed you like you were his, even though you’d sworn, sworn, you were done with him.

You were still in love, weren’t you? Even after all the shit, all the screaming matches, the nights spent crying because of him. That was the part that pissed you off the most.

Before you knew, his hands were flipping you over so fast your knees hit the bench before you could react.

“Rafe—mmh,” you gasped, but your words died in your throat when he shoved you forward, pressing your chest flat against the cold wood of the bench. You barely had a second to brace yourself before his hands were gripping your ass, spreading you open for him.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. He was already dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, teasing, knowing how much you wanted it, even if you wouldn’t say it.

You squirmed, hating how desperate you felt, hating how your body responded to him like this. “Fuck, Rafe, stop teasing—”

“You want more?” he cut you off, voice dark and dripping with arrogance. He slapped your ass, just enough to sting, and you yelped, your back arching instinctively. “You’re gonna have to beg for it.”

"Like hell," you spat back.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth right by your ear.

“You can act tough all you want, but I know how much you want this,” he gritted out, his cock sliding against your folds again, torturously slow. “I know how much you need it.”

Before you could snap back, he thrust into you hard, filling you completely in one brutal stroke. You cried out, hands gripping the edges of the bench, and Rafe didn’t even give you a second to adjust. He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, faster this time, deeper.

The angle had you seeing stars. The bench was narrow, forcing your legs closer together, making everything tighter, more intense. You couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, hips moving back to meet his thrusts even though your mind was screaming at you to get a grip.

His hands gripped the fat of your ass, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mixing with your moans and his ragged breathing.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Rafe groaned, his voice low and rough as he thrust into you, each movement hitting that perfect spot inside you, making your legs tremble. “So fucking tight for me.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that had you on the edge in seconds. You couldn’t stop the moan that ripped from your throat, your hips bucking wildly against him as the pleasure built, higher and higher until you felt like you might break apart.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust. “I can feel it. Fuck.”

You tried to hold on, tried to keep some control, but it was useless. He knew exactly how to break you.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whimper as you felt the pleasure rising fast, threatening to consume you.

“Do it,” Rafe growled, his fingers rubbing harder, faster. “Come for me, baby.”

And you did.

Your orgasm crashed over you so hard your vision blurred, your body shaking as the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your walls clenching around him, and Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he fucked you through it, relentless, brutal, until your entire body was trembling.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

He pounded into you, his grip on your ass bruising, and you clung to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he fucked you against the lockers. The sound of metal creaking under the force of his thrusts only made it hotter, more desperate. You could feel another orgasm building, and you hated him for it—hated how easily he could pull them from you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. “You’ll always be mine.”

And you hated that some twisted part of you wanted it to be true.

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him impossibly closer, deeper, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

And God, you couldn’t.

His grip on your ass was rough, bruising, but it only made you moan louder. You were on the verge again—your body still tingling from the last orgasm, but the way he moved inside you, the way his teeth grazed your neck, it had you spiraling toward another one, faster than you thought possible.

“Look at you,” Rafe groaned, lifting his head just enough to lock eyes with you. His pupils were blown wide with lust, a wild look on his face that sent a thrill down your spine. “Fuck, you love this, don’t you?”

You did. Because no matter how much you hated him, how much you wanted to hate him—there was a part of you that still belonged to him. A part of you that couldn’t walk away.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your collarbone, your jaw—and you couldn’t stop the sounds escaping your throat as he kept driving into you.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say you’re mine.”

You bit down on your lip, trying to hold it in, trying to fight back, but every nerve in your body was betraying you. The way his body fit against yours, the way he moved inside you, it was all too much. You were coming again, and you hated it.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. “Say it.”

You wanted to spit in his face. But your body was telling a different story, hips bucking against him, legs tightening around his waist again.

“R-Rafe,” you whimpered, hating how weak you sounded, how desperate.

His smirk was infuriating, but fuck, it was hot.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his pace quickening, each thrust deeper than the last. “You’re mine. Always have been.”

And then he slammed into you one last time, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and the orgasm tore through you, leaving you gasping and trembling in his arms. You cried out, head thrown back against the lockers as your body shook with the force of it, your nails raking down his back.

Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he rode out your orgasm, his movements growing sloppier, more erratic. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, his hips jerking against yours as he finally let go, his release hitting hard. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, as he held you against him, buried deep.

The second his breathing slowed and his grip on you loosened, reality came crashing back in.

What the fuck had you done?

You pushed at his chest, trying to put some space between you, but he wasn’t letting go that easily. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still had something to prove.

“Get off,” you muttered, your voice weak, but sharper than before.

He chuckled, that low, arrogant sound that drove you crazy. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”

You shot him a glare, shoving at his chest again, harder this time. “I’m serious, Rafe. Move.”

Reluctantly, he let go, stepping back just enough for you to slide off the locker and onto shaky legs. You stumbled a bit, and Rafe’s hand shot out to steady you, but you jerked away from him, pulling your jeans back up with shaky hands.

He leaned against the locker, smirking like he hadn’t just torn your world apart all over again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You wanted to scream at him, to throw something at his face. But instead, you grabbed your shirt off the floor, yanking it over your head as you tried to steady your breath.

“Good luck finding your date.”

Elijah. You’d come to the game with Elijah.

You shook your head as you zipped up your jeans and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look somewhat presentable. You avoided looking at him, knowing that if you did, you’d see the smug satisfaction on his face that would only make you feel worse.

He pushed himself off the locker and took a step closer to you. You flinched, stepping back instinctively. “This can’t happen again.”

His smirk slipped for a moment as he looked at you. H e closed the distance between you in two strides, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you toward him before you could react, “You’re choosing him?”

You yanked your wrist out of his grip, your heart racing as you forced yourself to take a step back, putting distance between the two of you, “You’re the one who chose yourself.”

His eyes darkened, searching your face, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Maybe he thought he still had you wrapped around his finger.

“You’re the one who walked away,” you added, hating how your voice trembled, “So don’t act like I owe you anything.”

Rafe’s hand hovered like he was about to reach for you again, but he didn’t. “That’s not how I remember it.”

Your stomach twisted, “I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t—” You glanced at the door, feeling the weight of Elijah waiting for you. The one person who was good for you, who actually wanted to be with you.

But the worst part? You were still thinking about Rafe. Even after everything, you were still here, breathless, a mess because of him.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, you thought he might apologize. Maybe say something real. But Rafe Cameron didn’t do apologies.

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face in a gesture that was far too intimate, given everything that had just happened. “Then why are you still standing here?”

You flinched, stepping back. Why were you still standing there? You had no good answer, at least not one you were ready to admit.

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction, not again. “You’re wrong.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think I am.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, throat tight, trying to push back the tears. This was all wrong. It was always wrong with Rafe, “Stop.”

It sounded like a plea—a plea for him to stop talking, stop looking at you like that, stop making you feel so small and yet so overwhelmed all at once.

Rafe sighed, stepping back just a fraction, and for a second, his gaze lifted. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer now, like that made a difference.

“You always do,” you shot back, finally meeting his eyes. The truth slipped out before you could stop it, and there it was.

His jaw clenched, "I don’t mean to," he muttered, his voice low. "You know that."

"Does it even matter?" You felt the bitterness rise in your throat, along with something else—something fragile and painful. "You still do it. Whether you mean to or not."

Rafe stayed quiet, and you hated that silence. He didn’t have an answer. He never did, not for this. Your fingers fumbled with the zipper of your jacket, something to keep your hands busy so you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t say something you’d regret. But regret was already everywhere, suffocating you both.

“I thought we were past this,” you said finally, barely more than a whisper. “I thought I was past this.” But clearly, you weren’t. Clearly, some part of you was still here, with him, in the wreckage you’d both created.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, torn. “It’s not that simple.”

"It should be." Your voice cracked. You hated how much this hurt. How much he could still hurt you.

It wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to still care this much. You weren’t supposed to still feel this.

Rafe sighed, taking another step back, giving you space. But it wasn’t the kind of space you wanted. It wasn’t the kind that would make things easier. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he admitted quietly, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t find.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "I don’t want anything from you."

That was the truth, or at least it was supposed to be. You didn’t want anything he had to offer, not anymore. Not when every time you reached for it, it slipped through your fingers like water, leaving you emptier than before.

But there was still that ache, that feeling between you two, the one that dragged you back here even when you knew better. You wished you could kill it, cut it out of you like some infected part, but it was tangled too deep. And maybe a small part of you didn’t want to.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, his voice almost tender, like he was seeing right through you. “But you’re still here.”

“I don’t know why,” you whispered, blinking back tears. Fuck, you hated this. Hated how vulnerable you felt, how easily he could unravel you, even now. “I shouldn’t be.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching you, like he was waiting for you to make the next move. Like he wanted you to figure it out on your own.

But you didn’t know how. You never did when it came to him.

"I’m sorry," he said, and this time, it felt real. There was no arrogance. Just Rafe, standing there, as broken as you felt. "I don’t know how to fix this."

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “There’s nothing left to fix, Rafe. We’ve already destroyed it.”

His face twisted, like he didn’t want to believe it. Like he was still holding onto some small piece of hope. "We could—"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "We can’t."

You couldn’t keep doing this. The push and pull, the endless cycle of hurt and apologies that never really fixed anything. You couldn’t keep pretending that something would change, that he would change.

Because you both knew he wouldn’t.

He took a breath, exhaling slowly, and you could see it—the realization sinking in.

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

I’ve never sent one of these before so I apologise if this is silly. But Imagine hotch is scrolling through readers instagram and derek catches him. He’s all embarrassed denying that it meant anything meanwhile derek is literally taunting him about his crush.

i used fem!reader for this just bc you didn't specify so i hope that's okay! this prompt was so good <33

The way that Hotch is bent over his knees, Derek thinks that he's crying. Which is a shocking sight for him, but not unheard of. He beelines for his boss but instead of glistening tears he finds the glow of a lit screen, stopping short before Hotch is able to see Morgan out of the corner of his eye.

Morgan thinks he's actually more surprised that Hotch is hunched over his phone than he would have been if he was crying. Crying is just something that happens when you have too much sadness welling up inside of you, and Morgan knows Hotch has a lifetime of sadness pent up and ready to blow. What's strange is that he's on Instagram, his posture is shitty and he's indulging in social media like a normal person; like someone who isn't Aaron Hotchner would.

Derek isn't about to interrupt the only time he's ever seen Hotch relax, but before he can turn away, his boss's thumb clicks on a picture in the grid he'd been scrolling through. Morgan quickly realizes that what he'd thought was the Explore page was actually someone's profile, a woman- a pretty woman, and he watches Hotch peruse the six photos you'd uploaded to the set.

Morgan's never seen you before, but he commits your username to memory, hellbent on finding your profile, then giving your name to Garcia for a full deep dive. He wants to know who you are, how Hotch knows you, if you're single and ready to mingle with his seemingly-unmingle-able boss.

Hotch lingers for just a second longer on the photo of you in a bathing suit than the ones where you're posing beside your friends in matching sundresses; really, Derek might be imaging that. But it's all he needs to finally reveal himself, clapping a firm hand down onto Hotch's shoulder.

"My man," He grins, squeezing Hotch's tense muscles when the man startles for the first time in his life. Nothing ever catches Hotch off guard, but now he's fumbling to lock his phone and struggle out of his seat so that Derek isn't looming over him.

"What do you need, Morgan?" Hotch addresses his subordinate with a tight frown on his face, swallowing so that his Adam's apple bobs.

"I need to know whether to set an extra place next to you for dinner at my place this weekend," Derek pries, "Is she coming?"

"She is not coming to dinner this weekend," Aaron snaps, frown somehow deepening, "She's none of your business."

"That's no fun," Morgan tsks, "Come on, Hotch, you can tell me! Where'd you meet her, what's her name? She's cute, I see why you like her. 'Seems fun, too, she'll fit right in."

"We're not involved with each other," Hotch insists, but Derek can see his face being slowly seized by a pink flush, "I got distracted on my phone, that's all."

"Yeah, distracted by that bikini," Derek snorts, and for a moment he genuinely thinks Hotch might lunge for him.

"That's inappropriate," Aaron glares Morgan's way, fists clenched by his side.

"Alright, alright, stand down," Morgan puts a hand up to placate his boss, "I was just trying to get a rise out of you, Hotch. Y'know, what friends do? We're friends, man, you can tell me if you're interested in someone."

"In this office I'm your boss," Hotch reminds him sternly, though his stiff posture has weakened slightly, worn down by Derek's earnest appeal, "Social matters have no place here."

"Women don't like men with sticks up their asses," Morgan drawls, mentally repeating your username so that he doesn't forget it before he can dig up information on you. He turns to the door of the conference room he'd caught Hotch lingering in, headed back to his desk, "I suggest you sort that out if you ever wanna get with her, Hotch. And if you need help doing that, you know where to find me."

He takes his leave, he knows his place, but Hotch calls for him just before he can let go of the door: "Morgan."

At Derek's curious glance back at him, "Thank you. This stays between us."

Morgan hopes Hotch takes his acknowledgement as agreement, because he's not going to make a promise to his boss that he won't keep. Derek bites back a grin as he beelines for Garcia's office, no it won't.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

998 notes · View notes

wonusite · 2 years

Text

Glacial Pace

❝ You’ve been in love with Xu Minghao from the moment he put a bandage on your cut at the age of six. When he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend to get his prying family off his back, you quickly realize that keeping your feelings hidden from him will be next to impossible. Especially since your meddling friends are determined to have you admit your feelings before the holiday season is over. ❞

pairing: xu minghao x female reader

genre: fake dating au, friends to lovers, fluff, smut

word count: 5.3k

warnings: fake dating, meddling friends (they mean well i swear), mutual pining, moms saved this fic, lots of repressed feelings, unprotected sex, soft sex, creampie, cockwarming

a/n: this is part of the snowventeen collab! so happy to have been part of it! minors dni.

“We’re friends, right?”

You try to pretend the question doesn’t send you into a vague panic. Every time this question that isn’t really a question comes out of Minghao's mouth, you know he’s setting up to ask you for a favor. Judging by his tone you can tell that what he’s going to ask probably isn’t something easy, but because you were just slightly in love with him, it was foreseeable that you were going to agree to do whatever he asked of you.

“Yes, Hao. We’re friends.”

As much as you wished there was something more, that was the extent of your relationship. But that was fine. The heartbreak had dulled with the years.

“And friends help each other, right?”

You give Minghao an exasperated look. It’s not like him to beat around the bush for long, but he seems oddly reluctant this time. Even so, he doesn’t visibly show it. He leans further into the mountain of pillows you have on your bed with a subtle pout on his lips. You shouldn’t find the old hoodie and worn jeans he’s wearing this attractive, but Minghao always has a way of looking amazing in everything he wears.

“Are you gonna tell me what you want, or are you gonna keep asking me questions you already know the answers to?” You finally say, hoping you’re able to successfully hide how attracted you are to him.

“I need your help.” Before you could ask him what he needed from you this time, Minghao is sitting up and shoving his phone into your hands. “Read that.”

His phone is unlocked and opened to a group chat with what appears to be the majority of his extended family. You skim through the messages, trying desperately to hold back the amused smile on the edge of your lips.

Minghao frowns when you don’t immediately freak out. You were the one person he could count on to be on his side, but right now you don’t seem to think what his family is demanding of him is outrageous. He keeps staring at you, still waiting for you to give him the response he was expecting.

You look up from the screen, unable to keep the laughter out of your voice. “How does your aunt know you’ve been abstinent for a year?”

Minghao’s right eye twitches slightly as he snatches his phone back from you. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What else do you want me to say? That you’re the worst liar ever?” You laugh to distract yourself from the stuffy feeling growing in your chest.

At least, you hope what Minghao said to his family is a lie. After all these years, you still hadn’t managed to completely block out the feelings that came with being in love with Xu Minghao. All you can do is hope none of the tormenting feelings consuming you show on your face.

“Unless you are dating someone.”

Somehow, you manage to pretend that the very thought doesn’t sting as much as it does.

“You know I’m not.” Minghao scowls at you. “But that’s not the point. You have to help me because now they think I’m gonna bring someone home for winter break!”

It’s embarrassing how fast the knot in your chest dissolves. You take a mental deep breath and focus on giving Minghao the help he wants. “Just say your girlfriend is gonna visit her own family, or that she’s not ready to meet them yet.”

Minghao looks like he’s two seconds away from bursting a vein, but you aren’t entirely sure why. He was capable of being a master manipulator whenever he wanted to. A lie of this magnitude was something he could easily manage. It’s not like he hadn’t done it before. Still, part of you is sympathetic since your own mother had sent you a series of similar messages.

“My mom is already getting the cabin ready. It’s too late to back out now!”

This wouldn’t seem like a big deal, but you knew Minghao’s mom. She was the sweetest lady ever except when someone made her angry or disobeyed her. That’s why whenever she decided something, no one dared to go against her wishes or question her. Whatever she said was law. At least, in the Xu household it was.

“I don’t know how you expect me to help you. Your mom loves me, but even I can’t save you if she finds out you lied to her—”

“She won’t find out.” Minghao suddenly becomes unsettlingly calm. “Not when I tell her I’m dating you.”

By some sort of divine grace, you manage to not choke on your own spit. Instead you blink slowly, trying to pretend that his words don’t awaken something into you that is definitely not platonic.

“That won’t work!” You sound borderline hysterical. “She’ll definitely know you’re lying if you say I’m the girlfriend told her about!”

Minghao’s plan isn’t actually half bad, but you’re desperate to find an excuse not to help him. There’s no way you can pretend to date the man you’ve been in love with for literal decades without unintentionally revealing your feelings.

“No she won’t! Do you know how long she’s wanted me to ask you out?” Minghao says, the desperation pushing him to accidentally reveal a detail he would’ve otherwise kept to himself.

You try not to be too happy that his mom likes the idea of you two together while also ignoring the faint blush rising to his face. Instead, you focus on trying to weasel your way out of helping him.

“My mom will find out I lied if I bring home some random who barely knows anything about me.” You’re running out of legitimate reasons to say no, and before you can think up some plausible excuse Minghao pouts at you. “Please? I can’t ask anyone else to do help me. It has to be you.”

You know he says these words in a completely platonic you’re my friend so I trust you kind of way, but your stupid idealistic heart can’t help but be moved by them. And so, you say the words you know you’ll regret, but will make your friend very happy.

“Okay. I’ll be your fake girlfriend.”

“At this point you should just confess."

Seungcheol is usually a pretty sensible guy, but this is hands down the worst advice you had ever gotten from him. And the fact that both Josh and Wonwoo are nodding their heads in agreement makes you think that they’ve all lost their minds.

“Cheol’s not wrong.” Josh says, a teasing lilt in his voice. “It’s been years, and you haven’t even fucked him yet!”

The scowl on your face deepens. “Shut up. You’re the one who said I should move on. How do you expect me to do that if I fuck him?”

“How are you going to move on if you’re spending all your entire winter break pretending to be his girlfriend and lying to both of your families?” Wonwoo wonders with an amused look on his face.

You feel your face get hot, because yeah, it wasn't your best plan, and it did seem like it was a step backward in moving on, but details. “I’m just helping him! After this I’m going to go out and get a real boyfriend.”

Your friends share an unconvinced look. Seungcheol is the first to break the silence, signature deadpan expression in place. “So, acting out your fantasy of dating Minghao is going to help you get over him? Explain to us how that works.”

Now that it’s said out loud, you realize it sounds kind of stupid. Even so, you can’t very well tell Minghao that you don’t want to help him anymore. “Okay, so maybe it’s not the best plan, but since you guys are coming you have to help me so I don’t get too sucked into my role and expose myself.”

Your friends agree, but what you don’t realize is that they have a plan of their own to help you get what you want.

If your friends thought they were being subtle, they weren’t.

You noticed right away that they were nudging you and Minghao together. This was all under the excuse of helping you two get into your little act before reaching the small town you two grew up in. At first you didn’t say anything because you more than likely would’ve ended up sitting by Minghao anyway, but it was only until they started insisting you two hold on to each other and hold hands that you had enough.

As soon as Seungcheol pulled into the gas station and Minghao went inside with Wonwoo, you smacked the back of his and Josh’s heads. “What the fuck are you guys doing!?” You hiss, digging your nails into your palm.

Seungcheol glares at you, an expression of disbelief on his face. “You asked for our help! Doing all this cringy shit will turn you off from wanting to be in a relationship with Minghao!”

“And once you see how clueless he is at being in a relationship it’ll turn you off even more!” Josh chimes in as he rubs the back of his head.

Their words sound so utterly ridiculous and like a clear form of gaslighting. You don’t get a chance to say anything else because you see Wonwoo and Minghao on their way back.

“You guys aren’t helping so stop.” You hiss before the door is pulled open.

Luckily your friends say nothing as Minghao gets back into the car. You think that’s the end of it, but you’re very very wrong.

It’s not until you’re pulling into the driveway of the large cabin with two nosy families waiting outside that you belatedly realize that you’ve made a huge mistake.

You didn’t fully think out what helping Minghao really meant. Sure, you had known that you were going to be forced to confront Minghao’s nosy family, but you forgot to add your own prying family to the mix. You only hope that they don’t mention how you’ve been in love with your (fake) boyfriend for the two last decades.

You’re met with loud greetings, and soon enough dozens of people start to crowd the car as you all get off. It’s almost like you’re in a daze when you get pulled into ten different hugs in the span of thirty seconds, but it’s oddly comforting. Despite the situation, you had missed home and were happy to be back.

Somehow you manage to get away long enough to grab your things from the trunk. You’re hoping that everything goes smoothly as you start to make your way to the Xu family’s cabin, but as always, luck isn’t on your side.

“I got it, love.” Minghao says as he forcibly takes your bags from you, but not before pressing a chaste kiss on your lips.

Vaguely, you recognize the loud shrieking of the children that saw your kiss and the cooing from the older women who loved young romance. But even through all that, you manage to see your idiot friends colluding with proud smirks on their faces.

Wonwoo is the one they send to approach you, but he expectedly doesn’t repent for what he and the two other fools clearly made happen. “If you plan on deceiving both of your families, you have to stop acting like you’ve never kissed Minghao before.”

With that, he gently pushes you to join everyone else inside. You can’t be fully angry because his words are infuriatingly true. Luckily for you, everyone seemed to be too caught up in the holiday cheer to notice your little slip up.

“Why didn’t you tell me you finally bagged my cousin!?”

You look over to see one of Minghao’s older cousins grinning at you. It’s a relief to see her because in all the madness, she was usually the voice of reason. That and she was the one who kept your hidden love a secret the longest out of everyone who knew.

“Sorry! It all happened so fast, and we didn’t want to say anything in case it didn’t work out—”

“Trust me, I get it. Remember when I had to tell everyone about Jun at my graduation?”

You both laugh as you recall the time she had dropped the atomic bomb that she was living with Minghao’s childhood best friend at her graduation party.

“How long are you going to be here until you finally say hello to your mother?”

Minghao’s cousin gives you a sympathetic wave goodbye as your mom pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. You snuggle into her familiar warmth, hoping her embrace can provide you with the comfort you’re suddenly needing.

“Why was I the last to find out you’re finally dating Minghao?” She demands straight away after you pull back.

You apologize profusely, repeating the same excuse you gave Minghao’s cousin. That seems to placate her—for now—but she does insist on hearing every last detail about how you two got together. It’s both relieving and nerve wracking.

“I’m sure you’re happy. You’ve liked him since he helped you back home when you fell on the sidewalk.” Your mom recalls with a smile. “That race car bandaid he put on the cut meant so much to you, remember? You wouldn’t let me replace it—”

“Mom.” You quietly stress, frantically looking around to see if anyone had heard her. “You better not mention any of that! I promise I’ll tell you everything later, but right now please don’t embarrass me!”

She only looks at you with an amused glint in her eye. “Fine, but you’ll have to have that conversation with him sooner or later.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was working with your no-good friends.

Your mom would’ve interrogated you further had it not been for the fact that she saw Joshua talking to Minghao’s mom. She barely told you she’d be back as she went straight for the boy who’d captured her heart back in your freshman year of college.

You slightly jump when a pair of arms gently wrap around you. Minghao’s cologne is engraved in your mind at this point, and you actually hate the fact that it comforts you.

“You have to act more natural.” His voice is teasing. “Otherwise everyone will think my love is one-sided.”

You manage to let out a weak laugh. It was clear that you were too in your head about the entire situation, and it was also clear that you were about to unintentionally reveal the feelings you’d worked so hard to hide.

“Just relax.” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “Moms are happy and busy trying to find out why sweet ol’ Shua still doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

The laugh you let out is louder and more genuine, and Minghao feels an intense warmth spread through his chest at the pretty sound. When you turn around in his arms to look straight at him, he wonders if this is all some lovely dream. If it is, he hopes he never has to wake up.

“Come on. Let’s go check out our room.”

He smiles broadly when he grabs your hand and let yourself be whisked away.

“You’re enjoying yourself a little too much.”

Minghao’s fond smile slowly slips off his face when he’s confronted by a smirking Seungcheol. He clears his throat and squints his eyes at his friend. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You hate ice skating.” Cheol points out. “But you’re having the time of your life just watching Y/N do it.”

He can’t deny this because there’s just something about the happy grin on your face as you beat Wonwoo and two of your cousins at a race around the rink for the fifth time that makes him feel an intense amount of affection and joy.

“She makes it look fun.” Minghao says honestly, not willing to reveal the other part why he feels so endeared.

Seungcheol hums, finding it extremely amusing how both you and Minghao were so unwilling to admit what was so obvious to everyone else. “I bet she’d have even more fun if you got out there with her.”

There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he hears his friend’s tone. At that moment, it becomes clear that Seungcheol is very much aware of what Minghao thought he’d been so good at hiding.

“Hao!” A comforting voice calls.

You’re gliding towards him with a bright smile on your face, and despite the nerves eating at his gut, he manages to return it.

“Come skate with me.”

It’s almost comedic how quick he is to obey your wish. He ignores the whistles and hollers from his friends as he literally clings on to you the second he’s on the ice. Your honeyed laugh is all that’s calming him at the moment since he’s feels like he might fall flat on his face on the hard ice.

“Don’t be so scared.” You say as you move at a snail's pace. “I won’t let you fall.”

Minghao’s heart starts pounding for an entirely different reason. Instead of staring down at his trembling legs, he’s focused on you and the warmth coming from your hands. Your grip tightens as you slowly increase your pace. It’s like you two are in your own little world as you laugh and glide around the ice.

You both are on a blissful high even when you return to the cabin. Surprisingly enough, it feels completely normal for you two to get into bed together, wrapped up in each other’s arms—just in case someone were to surprise you in the morning, of course.

There’s this natural domesticity between you two, but you’re just convinced that Minghao is just so desperate to get his family off his back that he’s putting his heart and soul into this act. It’s fine, well, it’s mostly fine. Even though everything up to this point has been fake, you’re still happy that you got to live out your deepest fantasy. Now you could move on, painful as it may be.

You try not to think about that as you walk into the holiday party hand in hand with Minghao.

The atmosphere is warm and welcoming like it is every year. You try to pretend that you don’t want to let go of Minghao’s hand when his mother steals you away to help her in the kitchen. This was it. You know she doesn’t really need your help when she asks you to neatly place the cookies she’s baked on a large plate. She’s called you in to question you about your relationship with her son. Honestly, you were surprised she hadn’t done it sooner.

“I’ve never seen my son so happy.” She begins, a gentle smile on her face. “I’m glad he finally made you his girlfriend. I thought he’d never confess his feelings.”

You wonder if Minghao’s mom is being serious, but then you remember who you’re talking to. She’s not the type to spare feelings, not even yours.

“Why’d you think that?”

“Honey, I love you, but you’re really oblivious sometimes.” She laughs fondly. “My son has liked you for a long time. Do you know how heartbroken he was when you started dating that Jihoon boy? I thought he’d never get over it.”

Lee Jihoon? As in the guy you dated two years ago?

“But I’m glad to see that you finally like him in the way he likes you.”

You try to keep a straight face as if your mind isn’t now overcrowded with unfiltered thoughts. The way your heart is pounding against your chest is almost dizzying. “I think I like him more than he likes me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Minghao’s mom says with a sly grin that you recognize all too well. “While we’re on the topic, let me enlighten you—”

Meanwhile, Minghao is busy with your mom. A similar conversation is taking place—so similar that anyone might’ve thought the two women had planned it.

“You don’t know how happy I am that you and Y/N are finally together.” Her warm smile makes him feel a bit guilty.

“Finally?” Minghao laughs curiously.

“Yes, finally. I was starting to think you’d never return my daughter’s feelings.”

Minghao feels his heart pounding and his head swimming almost like he’s suddenly disoriented. Surely there’s no way your mom could be implying that…?

“You didn’t?”

Oblivious to Minghao’s sudden shift in attitude, your mom keeps talking. “Y/N has always loved you. I think it started around the time you moved into the neighborhood all those years ago. She would go around saying how she wanted to marry you.”

Minghao is physically unable to say anything, but that doesn’t matter to your mom. She carries on like he’s not on the verge of imploding.

“I remember how devastated she was when you took Chaeyoung to prom instead of her. She had turned down that nice boy from her math class because she hoped you would ask her. I’ve never seen her cry so much.”

Your mom sounds like she’s fondly recalling the past, but Minghao feels like he suddenly can’t breathe. The memory is vivid in his mind now. You hadn’t gone even when he insisted that you could go with him and Chaeyoung. Back then he had believed you when you told him you didn’t feel like going.

“Anyway, I’m glad you finally returned her feelings.”

“Yeah.” Minghao says feeling completely winded. “Me too.”

There’s an unspoken tension when you and Minghao get back to the cabin. You’re sure it’s purely because of you and what his mom had said. It’s obvious that you’re too in your head because you can tell your friend feels tense.

“What did my mom tell you?”

The question startles you out of your tormenting thoughts. You awkwardly stutter, wondering if you should lie or not. “I– Well—”

Minghao is staring at you intently, and you know there’s no point in lying to him.

“She told me that she’s happy you finally confessed to me.” Your voice isn’t as strong as you wish so you cover it up with a laugh. “I guess I was worried for nothing. She thinks you actually like me.”

It’s silent for a moment before Minghao speaks, serious as ever. “I do like you.”

You wish you could play his words off like they meant nothing, but you had been waiting literal years to hear him say those three little words, and you can’t pretend to be unaffected by them.

“I’ve liked you for a long time.” Minghao says as he slowly approaches you.

He’s standing directly in front of you now, and you’re not sure how to react. His eyes are shining with unadulterated affection as he waits for your response. Your head is spinning, but you still manage to answer him.

“I’ve liked you longer.”

Your face burns with embarrassment. It’s not like you meant to say that, but your nerves got the best of you. It doesn’t matter though because Hao seems to love it. His grin is full of endearment.

“Long enough to want to marry me?” He teases lightly.

Apparently, neither of your moms had any actual intention of keeping your embarrassing secrets. You soldier on and try to pretend you’re not mortified that your mom exposed you.

“I don’t know. I can’t marry someone who doesn’t know how to please me.”

His eyes darken instantly, and you hold back a smirk at how easily that worked him up. By now, Minghao has gotten so close that you can see every last detail on his face.

You’re not sure who makes the first move, but it hardly matters because Minghao’s lips are so soft, and the way he’s kissing you makes you feel like you’re floating. The way he pulls you closer while shoving his tongue in your mouth is dizzying.

Everything happens so fast. Before you know it clothes are being ripped off in between messy, wet kisses. You two fall on the bed, naked bodies pressing against each other with a passionate need. Minghao pulls back and cups your cheek tenderly. He affectionately bumps his nose against yours before he kisses you again.

Minghao’s hands feel hot as they trail down your body. His long fingers trail over your every curve, hands pressing against your breasts, pulling lightly at your nipples until he has you moaning into his mouth. It’s his favorite sound, he decides. He can’t contain his grin as he continues kneading your tits.

“Hao.” You mewl when his lips start to wander down your neck, affectionately tracing along your jaw and the column of your throat.

His dark hooded eyes are so pretty when they look up at you. Minghao only offers you an impish grin before he wraps his lips around your hard bud and sucks hard. He licks and bites around your nipple until you’re writhing underneath him, an intense heat building between your thighs as you tug at his hair. His dark strands are even messier than usual when he pulls off your nipple, but not before leaning down to press one more kiss to the soft curve of your tit.

Minghao trails his fingers down your sides, his teasing smirk back in place. “Want me to fuck you?”

There are times you hate his teasing nature. He must know how bad you want him since you’re literally dripping all over the sheets. However, since you’re so desperate, you’re not beneath begging.

“I need you to fuck me.” You say, not the slightest bit embarrassed.

There’s a slight pause where something in the atmosphere shifts to something more heavy.

Now Minghao’s gaze is heavy with affection as his thumb caresses your cheek. “I wasn’t completely honest before. What I feel for you... it’s more than that.” Minghao swallows deeply, feeling like his heart jumped into his throat. “I love you.”

His abrupt confession warms you up from the inside out. You can literally feel your entire chest be overcome with deep, unadulterated love as he nudges the fat tip of his cock against your fluttering cunt.

You wrap your arms around his slim waist and gently pull him closer, silently urging him to shove his dick inside you. “I love you too, Hao.”

The words are whispered against his lips before you capture them in an intimate kiss. You both swallow each other’s moans as he finally eases his thick cock into your dripping pussy.

Minghao lets out a gasp as he shoves his face into the crook of your neck. He starts to press hot, open mouthed kisses against your skin, loving the little whimpers and moans you’re letting out. His cock is stretching you out, and it feels like you might fall apart as his fingers trail down your body to rub your clit. Minghao rubs you deliciously as he keeps easing into you.

Pleasure licks up Minghao’s cock when your hot cunt clamps down on him like it never wants to let him go. He hisses at your choked mewl, loving how you seem to melt into his touch.

“So tight, baby.” Minghao’s words are slightly slurred.

You moan wantonly when he finally shoves the remainder of his thick cock inside your welcoming cunt. Already, you’re gushing around him. His entire length and heavy balls are coated with your arousal as he finally settles deep inside you.

The feeling of your velvety walls sucking in his fat cock has Minghao groaning against you. His arms slide underneath you and wrap around your waist to lift your hips and pull you tighter against him. Minghao’s soft lips trail against your skin as he starts to fuck into you, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot.

You’re both entranced with each other, and at some point you two look down to watch where Minghao’s cock fucks into you. The pretty moans and whimpers spilling from your lips only spur him on, wanting to hear you as much as possible since this still feels like a beautiful dream to him.

“God,” you moan when he gives a particularly sharp thrust. “Feels so fucking good.”

Minghao’s hand grabs the underside of your knee and lifts your leg over his hip at your words. You both moan loudly because the new angle has his cock going impossibly deeper. Right then he knows that he won’t ever get sick of the feeling of your tight pussy milking him.

“Fuck, baby. I’ll never get enough of you.” Minghao moans as he leans down to kiss you again.

The feeling of his lips pressed against your as his cock drills into you makes you feel drunk. Minghao feels like he’s slowly unraveling with that way you start to fuck your hips up to meet his thrusts. Your creamy cunt clamping down on him has him fucking into you harder.

It’s safe to say Minghao is obsessed with every last bit of you. The way your body feels pressed against his, the pretty sounds you let out, the feeling of your warm wet cunt squeezing him like it wants every last drop of his cum.

You moan louder when you feel your legs being spread apart. Minghao is roughly fucking into you at a savage pace now, his weeping tip slamming against your sweet spot with every thrust. He loves how your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as your thigh tremble and shake. Your sweet cunt is spasming around his dick, and he knows it won’t be long until you’re creaming all over him.

A sense of urgency suddenly overcomes Minghao. To see you falling apart under him would be a dream come true, and he’s just that much more motivated to make it a reality. His next touches are sensual and tender, fingers caressing your clit over and over as his cock fucks into you and works you open.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to gush all over him. The sight of your head thrown back with your mouth dropped open to let out a blissful moan of his name is addicting. Minghao wants your fucked out expression imprinted in his mind. He doesn’t stop his motions because the feeling of you coming on his dick is absolute heaven.

Your mind is still fuzzy from your orgasm, but you’re lucid enough to see the purest form of love in his honeyed eyes. “Fuck. I love you so much.”

Your words have him stilling his hips, head falling to the crook of your neck as he comes hard. Minghao cries out your name, voice thick with affection. You smooth over your hair as you whisper gentle praises in his ear. He ruts inside you in pleasure as his hot cum fills you to the brim, showing you exactly just how much love he has for you.

After a moment, Minghao pulls his face out of your neck to look down at you. Unadulterated joy and ecstasy covers his face as he takes you in as if for the first time all over again. Your expression is no different, all the repressed emotions you held for him on full display now.

Minghao grinds into you one more times, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of his cum being fucked back inside of you. He leans forward, lips brushing against the soft flesh of your cheek. “I love you more than anything.”

He collapses by your side, cock still nestled inside you. The words make your heart flutter as you tug him impossibly closer and nuzzle against him.

“I love you too, Hao. Forever and always.”

Your sleepy smile makes him press a kiss to your forehead. Minghao watches as your eyes slowly close before tightening his hold on you. He can’t believe this is all real and not just a figment of his deepest desires, but as you unconsciously snuggle deeper into him, he knows that he’ll never be happier than he is now, with you.

It’s his last peaceful thought as he falls asleep with you in his arms.

“This is your fault.” Josh glares at Seungcheol who is trying but failing to eat his cereal in peace.

“You’re the one who went along with the plan which clearly worked.”

The loud moans filling the cabin are sickening, and they wonder if they’ve played themselves by helping you and Minghao confess to each other.

“Wonwoo isn’t bothered.” Seungcheol says as he nods his head to the catlike guy who’s sitting on the couch, staring at his phone.

“You know he’s wearing noise canceling earphones, right?” Josh scoffs.

Now Seungcheol feels really stupid because it was clear that they really had played themselves. And all because you and Minghao had to take your relationship at a glacial pace.

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mysticworks · 6 months

Text

Late Night Walk ~ LN4 x Reader

Prologue can be read -> here

Part i to the "Your eyes" series

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: Reader is feisty and Lando is whipped

It's late at night. Lando insists to walk you home. Deciding this is his perfect time to get to know you

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

C H A P T E R O N E:

Today had been exhausting.

You were drained - it had been another day of back to back meetings as the team reflected on the seasons’ analytics.

Data had been scrutinised, reports written and discussions made; intense decisions being the result of it all.

Not that you wanted to recall any of it.

The clocks had moved past 10 at night and with no dinner, just mugs and mugs of coffee, it was time for you to call it a day; the hunger had begun threatening to let your more ‘primitive’ nature loose.

As you left the building, the warm spring air from this morning seemed to be replaced with an unwelcoming chilly breeze, remnants of the winter still lingering in the air as the seasons transitioned.

This phase of weather was always one you expressed distaste towards, never quite knowing the best way to dress for the ever changing temperature.

You tugged on the sleeves of your hoodie, letting the fabric wrap around your fingers in a mild attempt to retain that fraction of warmth.

To top it all off, your late leave from work meant that the last bus of the day had long since left.

The prospect of an hour long walk back home haunted your mind - yet you trudged on anyway, eager to be home and in bed.

You sensed the presence of a figure come up, beside you, falling into step as you continued down the cobble path.

With no intention to engage in conversation - your patience having been worn thin at this point - you continued on, sparing not a glance to the uninvited company.

“You were really cool in the meeting today, challenging Zak head on like that.”

The voice made you halt mid step. It was one you knew, all too well - from replays of interviews, to PR content displayed on the company screens, Lando Norris’ voice was more than familiar, and not in a good way.

He was the absolute last person you expected to approach you, the daggers you’d sent him in passive criticism earlier that night being something you assumed would deter him from ever consulting you.

And somehow you were wrong.

Here he was, walking besides you, praising you for the storm you’d sent his way.

Raising a brow, you spared Norris a narrow look, wary of his intent, adamant not to entertain conversation.

He continued alongside you anyway, ignoring your glare completely and instead outstretching his hand in offering, “Ice cream?”

“No thanks.”

You looked pointedly straight ahead, refusing to make the acknowledgement.

He gave a shrug of his shoulder, biting into his own cone; exaggerated humming to signal how great it tasted.

Something about the racer was really, really setting you off - maybe it was how mirthful he always was - too immaturely peppy and buoyant - even way past 10pm in the night, after a horrendous working day.

You’d caught his expression in the meeting earlier - the same smirk on his face sending a hangry rage coursing through you.

You had the urge to speed walk away - when a huge rumble erupted from your stomach.

The chortle from Lando was enough indication that he’d heard your body's plea for food, and he shoved the ice cream cone into your hand once more, “I think you need that, actually.”

Embarrassed wasn’t a strong enough word.

You felt the heat in your cheeks swallow you whole, as you pried the cone from his grasp, taking a sheepish bite in.

You mumbled a thanks. Despite the cold night air, the ice cream was savoured - some food after hours of none, a much needed relief.

Not that you’d admit that to Lando anytime soon.

A silence fell between you, and you almost forgot Lando was walking beside you - the pair of you busy in tucking into your cold treats. Your steps had synchronised, a slow walk through the company complex.

By now, you’d walked well past the car park, exiting the compound from the main gate and onto the main road.

Lando peered at you, raising his brow, “Waiting for a ride?”

A click of the tongue conveyed your refusal, “not everyone has a personal chauffeur Norris.”

He stopped his pace and you continued on, leaving him behind in what seemed bewilderment.

“Most of the population uses public transport, or walks.” Your unnecessary dig at his wealth was ignored completely - he seemed entirely unbothered, jogging to catch up with you instead.

“Would you like a ride then?” His expression was soft - something you hadn’t expected, and he seemed genuine in his offering.

Your answer was curt, “No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not getting into a stranger's car.”

The driver feigned mock hurt, placing a hand on his chest as he gave a dramatic gasp, “I’m no stranger.”

“No, no, of course not. We’re childhood best friends.”

You rolled your eyes, the sarcasm oozing from every word and Lando replied with a huge grin, his eyes sparkling as he resumed his simultaneous steps beside you.

“I guess I’ll just have to walk you home then.”

“I’ll pass - I'd prefer some peace thanks.”

“Please, allow me, I take pride in being quite the gentleman.” He threw a wink your way, and you had to swallow the urge to swat at him - to which he only giggled himself silly.

You offered him a scoff in reply. “It’s quite a walk - I don’t think the celebrity in you will make it.”

“Oh please, I’m a high performance athlete. I’m sure I’ll survive.”

With a dramatic flex of his biceps, Lando wiggled his brows, and you found yourself chortling.

You had to admit, although irritating at times, there was a charismatic nature to Norris.

Something light hearted that made him just that slight bit more bearable.

“So why are you so adamant to give me a walk home anyway?” The question had been lingering on your mind, and at some point you couldn't hold it back anymore.

It didn’t make sense to you.

Why would The Lando Norris - famous racing driver and McLaren’s star - come and walk with you in the first place?

Especially after you’d pointed multiple fingers his way, in the meeting, merely hours ago.

Lando sent a look your way, pondering for a second, as if coming up with a suitable reply, before pointing ahead, “because of things like that.”

You followed Lando's gaze.

On the opposite side of the road, a brawl seemed to be conjuring; a group of intoxicated people scrambling out of a nearby bar and spilling on the streets.

Each seemed to be shouting at the other, a few hands flying and throwing fists into the air - senseless. It was quite the barbarous scrabble; rowdy in the night's silence.

“It's not a safe time to be out alone at night.”

Lando asserting protective behaviour certainly took you by surprise, filling you with a strange feeling. One you couldn't quite describe.

With every passing moment, as you got to know him, the assumptions you'd made about him, expelled little by little - a sense of guilt beginning to gnaw at you.

Maybe he wasn't too bad after all.

Lando mumbled on, continuing, “that, and you have the most beautiful eyes.”

You blinked hard trying to digest his response.

Lando Norris flushed deep red.

He looked gobsmacked at his own words - as if they'd spilled out unintentionally and his hands flew to cover his mouth, uncomprehending.

An awkwardness filled the air, neither saying a word as you walked on.

You looked eagerly for a way to avert the conversation, to break the deadly silence you'd been submerged in - but Lando beat you to it.

“So what's your role in the team? Since you were in the meeting I'm guessing you're one of the higher ups.”

You gave him a wry smile, “Well the official title is, Senior Data Analyst, not too high up actually.”

“Senior Analyst? Do you get any cooler?” His expression was incredulous, gaping at thin air. You felt a playful thump on your forearm, “Miss y/l/n - the big shot.”

It was your turn to become a shade of pink - never really being complemented before on your position.

Although you’d been proud of moving up the ranks soon after joining McLaren, you’d never been given the opportunity to really grow, well deserved promotions turned away in ‘under the table’ favours.

“Eh, not really, I missed out on the lead position.”

Lando sent you an inquisitive look, urging you to elaborate.

The memory brought a tug at your heart- as if it was being pinched from within- a clear sign you’d never really moved on from the rejection you’d faced that day.

You shrugged your shoulders, “Let’s just say: nepotism, inequality and business politics.”

You'd realised that Lando was an attentive listener.

He'd always wait for you to finish before drawing out more with exactly the right phrases.

“That really sucks - I'm positive you would've been the better fit, with how intelligent you seem.”

He changed his tone, giving it a more hopeful, brighter edge, “I'm sure you'll bag a promotion soon. Maybe even take over. Zak was threatened, that's for sure.”

He nudged you a little with his elbow, and the pair of you found yourself breaking out into a fit of hysterics - replaying the meeting from both perspectives.

It was encouraging to hear someone say those words. Affirmation of your career being a success - someone rooting for you out of pure kindness and not some warped, twisted ill-intent.

For the first time that night, you felt grateful Lando was beside you.

His words gave you the inspiration you never knew you were missing.

Eventually your conversation drifted, moving on to how you'd never seen a formula one race - live, the fact shocking Lando - who promised he'd somehow get you the full experience.

“You have to see me racing - it'll blow you away seeing how talented I am. Maybe if you're nice I'll even invite you on the podium with me.”

He'd seemed so proud - giving himself a pat on the back.

You'd snorted at him in snide sarcasm, poking fun, “Yeah, sure. I'll have to pray for you not to crash.”

He couldn't fathom how a respected team member, had never been invited to a race, and you'd fallen into explanation of how your role meant during races you were sat in the headquarters race control room - ambushed with screens and screens of numbers.

“Maybe when you're CEO you'll help me win a championship.”

You raised your nose in the air, “Nope. I'm kicking you off the team first.”

Lando fell into a dramatic feign of tears, puffing out his chest in a show of pride, “You'll be losing such great talent.”

Somehow between the start, to now, the distance between the pair of you had closed, little by little.

As you turned the corner of your street, you felt the back of Lando’s hand brush against yours, ever so slightly.

Neither of you moved away- skin tingling with every bristle of contact. His knuckles were calloused, evident as they touched momentarily against yours.

A deep fluttering erupted in your stomach, one that forced a gush of heat to take over your body. It was remarkable how such minimal contact could cause such a torrent of butterflies.

Your apartment was fast approaching now, and you sneaked a glance his way from the corner of your eye.

Lando was biting down on his lip, blushing beetroot red.

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

L A N D O ’ S P O V:

Time had gone too quickly.

I felt as if we'd only just started talking and yet here we were, having walked an hour away from the office, outside residential apartment blocks, home to Miss Senior Analyst.

There was still so much more to say. So much more to ask.

Every exchange with her had been so interesting.

Her intelligence shone through her words - but there was something more...she was genuine.

No sugar coats, no fake laughs, no pretend kindness.

It felt like the first time I'd been seen.

Like someone had been unafraid to speak to me normally.

Mumbling a goodbye with a hand flick for a wave, I watched y/n turn her back towards me, the distance between us growing with every step she took.

I felt a pull at my chest forcing me to say something, anything, before she really left.

I had to find a way to see her again.

“Hey!” she turned her head in my direction, blinking, and I gulped involuntarily - gosh those eyes were so intense.

It was hard to get used to them, so piercing and bright, like they saw through me even though I had nothing to hide.

“Do you-”

She picked up on the slight stutter of my sentence, her brows cocking up in amusement.

I brought my hand up to my hair, raking through the tangled mess of curls with my fingers- searching for the right words.

“Would you be up for maybe…some sort of... us two...together ? We could - you said you've never -”

The words weren't coming out right and my stomach clenched, exasperated.

She waited, expectant.

I took a deep breath, swallowing. “I'd like to take you on a hot lap around the Silverstone track, if you'd be up for it?”

The pause between her reply felt like an eternity, my heart thudding louder with every passing second.

“I'll consider it. Maybe.” I could hear the smirk in her voice - playful - teasing.

She was messing with me, refusing to offer the satisfaction of a confirmed “yes” but keeping me thrilled without a flat out “no”.

It drove me insane - the constant teasing - the snide remarks - the sarcasm.

It all drove me so insane.

She turned on her heel, up the steps to her apartment, leaving me grinning like the fool I felt.

I now had a hot lap to arrange.

Time to bribe, convince my manager.

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lumosinlove · 2 months

Text

@oknutzy-week-2024 day four!!!

Write Me In

Part Two

Leo tried very hard not to be early. He really did. Then he ended up walking around Finn and Logan’s block about six times and sweating in the heat. He was stupid. He should have just worn a t-shirt. From what it sounded like, they were only just waking up. He didn’t need to be in this dark blue button down.

When it finally hit two o’clock, Leo let himself walk into the lobby. The doorman looked up and called him by his name, taking Leo by such surprise that he had to stutter through a yes, sir as if he was back home in New Orleans.

“Mr. O’Hara’s expecting you,” the man said. “You can go right up.”

The elevator was all mirrors and gold and Leo tried to make himself look slightly less sweaty and nervous than he felt as it rose—and rose. Penthouse. He should have known. He swept his blond hair back. At least in the AC he felt cooler—if not a little flushed looking. His shirt hid any sweat and he had his laptop and recorder this time. This would be a proper interview. He’d make sure of it. After all, this was his dream.

The doors dinged open. Leo had thought he’d have a few more moments. He’d get to walk down a hallway, knock on the door.

But no. One moment he was in the small elevator, and the next he was stepping directly into a massive, open living room. It was beautiful, too. The couch was a huge low-backed leather U. A coffee table that looked like it had once been a cross section of a massive tree was covered in notebooks and a laptop. A dining room table that could hold ten rested just on the other side of the room beneath a papery light that looked more like a sculpture. To its left sat an actual bar, complete with six stools, shelves of backlit bottles, and beer taps. The wall beyond was pure window and the afternoon light slanted in. Leo didn’t see a TV, but apartments like these usually had them concealed somehow. Maybe a projector screen waiting to drop down. Maybe there was a theater room. He knew a lot of artists had recording studios right at home. Who knew how big this place was.

It was also perfectly quiet. Leo didn’t hear a sound. He felt like he was an intruder as he hesitantly stepped out of the elevator and listened to it slide shut behind him. Maybe he should’ve taken his shoes off? The rug beneath the couch was pure white and plush, and the hardwood floors beyond that were honey-colored and gleaming. Four guitars sat along one wall. Beyond the huge dining table, there was a grand piano.

How many of Leo’s favorite songs had been written in this room?

“Kind of freaks me out sometimes.”

Leo jumped and turned at the voice, only to find Finn standing there in running shorts and a t-shirt that said The Strand Bookstore. He held a sleek gray ceramic mug.

“The windows, I mean,” Finn said with a smile. “I always worry about them cracking. Sometimes they rattle during storms.”

“That’s…unsettling,” Leo said.

“Yeah, Lo hates it.”

Finn looked, yes, a little sleep-rumpled. His red hair looked like it had been styled for a photoshoot to be messy though, not like it was actually slept on. Unfair, Leo thought. His hair was a wreck in the morning. He’d been right about not needing his button-down, though. He badly wished he was in a t-shirt and that he’d worn sneakers instead of these pinching dress shoes.

“What a beautiful place, though,” Leo said. “That’s quite a view.”

Finn’s eyes wandered behind him out the window. “Yeah, I like to see the city.” He held up his mug. “Well, Lo’s fucking grumpy when he wakes up, but coffee helps. Can I get you some? I was going to order some breakfast, too.”

“Oh. Sure.”

Finn smiled and jerked his head in a way that Leo guessed meant follow me.

The kitchen was no less impressive. There were huge marble counters, slightly iridescent. A complicated looking espresso machine. Massive silver appliances—fridge, wine fridge, dishwasher, three ovens. God, what Leo could do in this kitchen.

“Wow.” Leo turned in a slow circle. “Do you like to cook?”

Finn laughed. He’d gone over to the coffee pot—probably the simplest thing in here. “If I was ever home long enough to try, I might.”

All this, and no one was even home to use it.

“And Logan’s hopeless,” Finn said. “He can make tea.”

Leo laughed. “Right.”

“Do you take milk or sugar?”

“A little milk,” Leo said, and accepted the mug. “Thank you.”

Leo sipped the coffee. It was good. Strong and nutty. It calmed him a little to hold something warm. Finn had poured the perfect amount of milk in.

“He’ll be up in a second. Or I’ll go get him.” Finn looked a little bashful. “It takes us a while to—wind down after a show, we usually don’t get to sleep until around three or four.”

After a show. Leo could see them still, pressed up against the wall in Finn’s dressing room. What the hell did wind down mean in this sentence?

“No worries,” Leo said. “Where um. Where do you guys go next?”

Are you dating your drummer? Is your drummer dating you? Do you think of him as your drummer? Or Lo? Are you best friends like you make the world believe? Are you just fucking? Are you in love?

He took a sip of coffee.

“Boston,” Finn said. “We just came back from the West Coast. Then we have about a month off before we go to Paris. Then London, then Ireland—you get the idea.”

“It must be fantastic to see all those places.”

I had your poster on my wall. You got me through some of my toughest times in high school. I can’t believe I’m seeing your smile this close up.

“It is when we have days off,” Finn said. “But mostly it’s just a grind.”

“But if you had to choose a favorite city?”

“Rome,” Finn said instantly.

“You wrote your most recent album there,” Leo said.

“Yeah.” Finn smiled down at his mug. “Yeah.”

“Leo,” Finn he said suddenly before Leo could ask another question.

Leo straightened up. Finn O’Hara just said his name. “Yeah?”

“I know…” Finn smiled a little. “We both know what you saw in my dressing room last night.”

Leo had been wondering if this would come up. Or, how, really. Finn pushed his hair back and Leo watched the strands feather forward again. He had a flush to his cheeks.

“We do,” Leo said softly. “I’m so sorry about that. Your team—one second I was following someone and the next I was at your door—”

Finn nodded sharply and Leo stopped talking. He messed with his hair again. “It’s not your fault. I’m just—what I’m trying to ask—” Finn’s eyes went somewhere behind Leo and he smiled. “Finally. He lives.”

Leo turned towards a doorway he hadn’t noticed before—it must lead to the bedrooms—to find Logan shuffling into the room wearing nothing but a pair of white socks and tight, grey boxer shorts.

Leo choked on his next sip and hurried to put the mug down. God, how could Finn not be dating that? There on Logan’s hip was that tattoo. The fleur-de-lis. Right there, real, not a photograph. It was slightly lower than Leo had thought.

“Salut,” Logan said. His voice was hoarse. “Sorry. I’m not…” he looked at Finn and put on what Leo guessed was a try at Finn’s American accent. “a morning person.”

“That you aren’t,” Finn agreed. “Even if it’s nearly three in the afternoon.”

“Hi,” Leo cleared his throat. “I mean, good morning.” He looked at Finn and pointed to his mug. “Do I need a coaster?”

Finn looked back at him quietly for a moment. He had a tilt to his head and a slight smile on his face. “No.”

“Okay. It’s just that sometimes marble stains so I wanted to check. I read this article about different ways of protecting—I mean, not that I have marble counters. But I definitely would like some. They’re beautiful. This is a beautiful kitchen.”

What the hell was he talking about?

“I’m glad someone appreciates it. We certainly don’t,” Finn said. He took down another mug from a cupboard and Leo watched as he poured the coffee, lots of milk, and even more sugar into a mug before passing it to Logan, whose fingers had been drumming idly on the counter while he waited.

The lyrics to Lucky Me popped into Leo’s head.

Let me fill you up with sugar, let me drown in sweet and sweat.

He looked at Logan and found him already watching Leo over the rim of his cup.

“Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. So, maybe, um. Maybe once you’re ready we can—”

Logan cut him off. “Aren’t you supposed to follow us around twenty-four-seven for a week?”

Leo swallowed. Oh. “Oh. Yes. Yeah, no, I am. I just…I want this to be as comfortable for you as possible. I don’t want to feel like an intrusion. I’m here for whatever your normal life entails.”

“Right now…” Finn was scrolling on his phone. “That’s breakfast burritos.”

Leo quickly figured out that Logan made him nervous—more than Finn. His green eyes were intense, to say the least, where Finn’s were almost unbearably gentle. Leo had thought that was all for the cameras, a look designed to be photographed. But Finn seemed to look at everyone like that. Logan, definitely. The doorman who brought up their breakfast when it arrived. Even Leo.

Finn also responded to Logan’s movements like he was just an extension of his own body. It would be impressive if Leo didn’t think it was so sweet. He arranged the sauces Logan liked in front of him, took out the bacon from his burrito and put it on his own plate, all before Logan even had time to sit down. The smile Finn received from Logan in return felt private. Intimate, even. Logan’s entire face changed when he looked at Finn. It opened up. He looked younger.

It went right back to guarded when he looked at Leo.

“All right,” Finn said after he set down water bottles for the three of them. They were sitting at a little table in a nook off the kitchen that Leo hadn’t seen before. Finn and Logan were side by side, across from him. Leo had his burrito and coffee to one side of him, and his laptop and recorder set up on the other. Finn snapped a mocking finger gun towards him. “Shoot.”

Leo hesitated. It didn’t seem like Finn was going to finish what he had been about to say to Leo. Possibly ask Leo not to write about what he’d seen? He’d stopped hard when Logan had walked in. Leo was slowly getting the sense that what he’d seen was much more than a kiss.

Maybe that was what was behind all of the looks Logan was giving him. Fear.

“Well,” Leo said, brushing crumbs off his hands. He cleared his throat. “Okay—” They were both looking at him expectantly. Well, Finn looked expectant. Logan looked a little wary. Leo’s resolve dropped. “I just want you to know that I won’t write or publish anything that you don’t approve first.”

There. That seemed like the easiest way.

The two of them exchanged a glance.

“Isn’t that a given?” Logan said flatly.

“It is,” Leo said. “But I still want it to be said first.”

He made himself hold Logan’s gaze. His eyes looked vividly green in the kitchen light.

No, you don’t—say much—but I read—your touch. You fall—I sigh—Oh my—green eyes.

“Oh,” Leo said out loud.

“What?”

Just slowly realizing that it’s possible you two only write songs about each other?

“Nothing,” Leo said. “Why don’t we begin with how you two found yourselves in a band together?”

“People already know this,” Logan said.

Leo smiled. “Yes, people do know this, but I’m not going to use someone else’s quotes in my story.”

Finn stretched his arm out across the back of the breakfast nook’s bench, behind Logan’s back. Would that have been around his shoulders if Leo hadn’t been here?

“We met in high school, started the band there. Then we had a falling out but we both got into Harvard,” Finn said. “We were matched randomly as roommates.”

It was a smooth, well-practiced answer to the absolutely wild story that Leo had heard before. It left no room for further questions.

“Must have been a shock.” Leo wanted to ask what the fight in high school had been about, but he didn’t think the room was nearly warm enough for that yet. “Or fate?”

“I like fate,” Finn said. Logan kept his eyes down. “I mean, look at us now.”

Leo kept the easier career and life questions going for the next couple hours, then they took a break. It was getting closer to five o’clock and Logan went to take a shower. Leo was preparing to go back out into the summer heat, just to give them some breathing room, when Finn picked up his guitar and began asking him questions.

“So, do you even like our music?”

Leo gasped. “Oh my God.”

Only at the surprised, maybe delighted, look on Finn’s face did he realized he’d completely dropped any professionalism right there. It was all Leo could do not to slap a hand over his mouth. Besides, Finn O’Hara was sitting in front of him, plucking some gorgeous little melody out on a guitar Leo happened to know he’d had since he was sixteen, and smiling—he could probably afford to let his guard down a little.

“I’ve loved your music since your first album,” Leo said. “And Rooftop is my favorite song in the world.”

“Rooftop,” Finn repeated softly. His fingers were still moving on the strings and Leo was trying not to stare. They were strong and quick. Subtly, the unfamiliar melody shifted into Rooftop.

“Oh,” Leo said, not bothering to pretend not to watch anymore. “I’ve never heard it on the guitar.”

“Why is that song your favorite?” Finn asked. He didn’t sound hurt exactly, but something like it. Brittle, maybe. “Just… Most people like the upbeat stuff more. At least that’s what I’m always being told.”

“Well…” Leo cleared his throat. “The way you talk about how sometimes it feels like you’re just barely holding on by your fingertips to something you want. That’s true for a lot of people I think. Waiting for someone who isn’t waiting for you back.” He thought of Logan’s eyes on him in Finn’s dressing room last night, Finn’s mouth on his neck. “Or maybe they are and just didn’t know it yet, I don’t know. But I listen to it all the time.”

Finn was leaning forward a little in his seat, listening.

Leo smiled and looked down. “I mean, I like the upbeat stuff, too. But yeah.”

“We’re around the same age, aren’t we?”

“I’m a few years younger than both of you.”

“Back then, I always thought it was just, like, twelve year old girls listening. Not that anything is wrong with twelve year old girls, but when you’re seventeen you don’t exactly want…” Finn winced. “Please don’t quote me on any of this.”

Leo laughed. “No, I understand. But also, no, it wasn’t just twelve year old girls. And it certainly isn’t now. At yesterday’s show—it’s incredible the range of people you captivate.”

Finn shrugged a little and switched back to the melody he was playing earlier.

“Can I ask what that is?” Leo nodded to the guitar.

“You can.” Finn huffed out a laugh. “But I’m not sure yet.”

“Ah. So, I’m watching the secret process right now.”

“You are. Gotta warn you, though, sometimes it’s like watching paint dry.”

“What’s the fastest time you’ve ever written a song in?”

Finn’s fingers fumbled, just for a moment. He looked out towards the windows, the city and sun. It was beginning to lower in the sky now.

“Oh,” he said softly. “About twenty minutes, I guess.”

Leo opened his mouth to ask what song it was, but stopped. Now Finn looked hurt. Sad. The guitar seemed to drink the feeling in. Leo heard him slip new minor chords into the notes, a tumbling, beautiful sound. Then he was suddenly playing Rooftop again.

“Would you like a cocktail?” Finn asked suddenly.

Leo looked over at the beautiful bar. “I think anyone would want a cocktail at that counter.”

Finn smiled. He settled the guitar on the couch and stood. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? I had it custom made for the space. Usually I wouldn’t give a shit, I’m never home, but I’ve always wanted to do it.” He went behind the bar. “Also. You can help with something. Lo and I are always at a bit of a impasse.” Finn put a hand to his own chest. “I like to taste the alcohol. Logan won’t touch anything that doesn’t taste like someone dumped a load of frosting into it.”

“So, he’s a sweet tooth.”

“Oh-ho yeah. Understatement. You know that edible cookie dough? Take a look in our fridge.”

I watch you fill your cup with sugar.

Finn read that thought clear as day. He bit his lip, elbows on the bar. “You’re putting us together a little bit, huh?”

“I won’t put anything together you don’t want me to.”

Finn glanced in the direction Logan had disappeared to.

“You’re under no obligation to explain it to me. I should have knocked loud and clear.”

“No, we…We’ve talked.” Finn fixed him with intent brown eyes. “We’ve talked. We love each other and…”

So they are in love, Leo thought triumphantly.

“It’s just that we don’t know what comes next.”

“I understand,” Leo said. “Really. Just…” Leo set his hands in front of him, trying to pour truth into his words. “I’m not here to, like, drag anything out of you. I’m here about your music, that’s my job, that’s what I love to write about. If what you two feel for each other is something that is not only important to that but that you’d like to tell me about, that’s wonderful. If not, that’s wonderful. And we also don’t have to decide now. Okay? Please don’t feel like you have to tip toe around me or my pen.”

Finn was looking at him with a slight smile on his face. He gave a small nod.

“And please tell Logan that, as well,” Leo said. Leo wasn’t sure he’d get those sentences out as smoothly under Logan’s gaze.

“Okay.” Finn swept his hand out towards the shelves behind him. “Gin? Whiskey? Tequila? Rum?”

“Rum,” Logan’s voice said from behind Leo. He appeared a moment later. His wet hair was combed back and out of his face, his skin flushed from the shower’s heat. He wore a dark green t-shirt, stretched across his strong chest and gray sweatpants. In his hand was a pair of drumsticks.

“Well, I wasn’t asking you,” Finn said. “Leo, please. I can make anything.”

Logan slid onto the stool beside him. “It’s true, he’s very good.”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Leo said.

Finn gave his head a hard shake and hit his hands down on the bar. “Nope. I want to know what you want.”

Finn ended up fixing the two of them gin martinis. He gave Logan his rum and coke with, to Leo’s surprise, a kiss to Logan’s hand. Logan blushed, glanced at Leo, but didn’t pull away. He took his drink and his drumsticks over to a stool where a muted, practice kit was set up and began tapping out rhythms. This was not what Leo had been expecting when he took this job. He expected it to be wilder, like some of the pure and chaotic party scenes he’d been apart of when following musicians around before.

Night Swimming was soft. Domestic, even. Finn and Logan’s wildness on stage melted away into something tender. Finn brought out cheese and crackers and sliced apple and, as Leo sank into the massive comfy couch, he found that as the sun set, he wasn’t asking questions anymore. They were, the three of them, simply talking.

“So, so, so,” Cassie’s voice said in Leo’s AirPods. “How’s it going, you’re four shows in now you lucky duck.”

“That I am,” Leo said, looking around his Boston hotel room. Tonight was Finn and Logan’s third and final Boston show and Leo was basically in seventh heaven. Maybe they were all in hotel rooms now and he missed their cozy apartment a bit, but he couldn’t complain. He got to write about his favorite band and watch them perform every night?

And hear about their love. More and more. During their time after the show, at dinners, in dressing rooms, in Finn or Logan’s suites—and there was a suite for each of them even if it seemed like they only used one. During those times, they told Leo things. Little details about them, not as singer and drummer or best friends, but as a couple. Leo could feel the difference. He didn’t know why exactly he was being allowed to know these things when no one else did, but he let them give what they wanted to give.

“It’s good,” he told Cassie, but his mind filtered through what good was. Good was knowing how far Finn’s voice stretched as he warmed up in his dressing room. It was alone and strong. They were just scales and the occasional lyrics, but Leo could have listened all day. He also dropped to the ground and did rounds of push-ups which, while unexpected, wasn’t horrible to watch.

“I have to say though, I’m not entirely sure what happens next.”

“What do you mean?” Cassie asked.

Leo popped another salt and vinegar chip into his mouth. “Well, they’re going on vacation. Somewhere. They’ve got a month off before they’re back on tour, so I’m not sure why the magazine scheduled me for now. It’s not a full week before they leave.”

“Well, your week will be basically up. I’m sure you’re not expected to go on vacation with them.”

“No, no, I know that,” Leo said. Damn, he thought. “I’ll just—I have closing things I need. Want. Hope to ask.”

Cassie was quiet for a long minute. “Well. Better hop to it, I guess.”

“Will you hold this? Finn’s busy.”

Leo looked up from his notebook to see Logan holding out one end of what looked like an exercise band. He was dressed for the stage already. Black jeans, black tank top tonight. His hat had a Bruins logo on it—sometimes he did that. Matched his hat to the city. In New York, he’d been wearing Finn’s Rangers hat a lot and Finn had expressed his disgust at the switch many times. Leo had put it in the story.

“Sure.” Leo set his pen down. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just hold this steady.” Logan put one end of the band into Leo’s hand. “I like to warm up.”

Leo still didn’t quite know what that meant, but he did what he was told.

Turned out it meant getting a front row seat to the flex of Logan’s arms and wrists as he pulled the band in different directions and angles.

Suddenly, two hands appeared on his shoulders. “Hi. Would you like some tea?”

Leo held the band tighter while craning his head back to look behind him. Finn appeared to him, half upside down at this angle. “I—Yes. Sure, thank you.”

Finn smiled, squeezed once, then let go. “How’s the writing going?”

“Good.” That was half true. Sometimes, he was on. There were whole chunks that were solid and good. Then there were parts of Leo’s notebooks that were a mess of phrases which sounded far too mushy to be a proper article. “Really good.”

The music…God, Leo could have written about their songs for hours and hours—he just had to be careful not to cross any lines into what he was quickly suspecting was the true territory of the songs. Love songs. In Leo’s opinion, the best kind of love song—when the two people they were about were right there, in the same room as each other.

Logan had switched to the other arm, opening himself up to being taken by the hips by Finn and sweetly kissed.

After, Logan smiled a little at Leo when he took the stretching band back. Still guarded, but it was improvement. “Merci.”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “Or, you’re welcome.”

He winced at himself as Logan went over to drum a bit on one of his practice pads. Leo tried to pick up the song, but it was hard without the melody until Finn, waiting for water to boil, started singing.

Oh, I wish that I was someone else so I could watch us being.

Go and love a stranger so I can see how you hard you love me.

In his notebook, Leo wrote, In the middle of warming up—which involves more push-ups and stretching than I would have thought—O’Hara stops to make me a cup of tea.

Fuck. It sounded like a diary entry.

Warming up is taken as seriously as it would be by any sports team. Tremblay prepares his body as thoroughly as his instruments.

Was that too…? Leo set his pen down and stared at the page.

Tremblay stretches in front of me and I swear to God I can see every muscle in his back.

O’Hara just squeezed my shoulders. I heard Rooftop on the guitar for the first time and it wasn’t at a show, it was in his living room and he looked so sad. He looked so sad.

When they kiss, I want to watch the gentleness between them on loop until the end of time.

And an even quieter, even more secret thought: I want to be kissed like that.

“Here we go.”

Leo looked up. Finn carefully set down a steaming paper cup. “I put a little honey in it like mine. That’s what I have before we go on.”

“That’s perfect.” Leo smiled and held the cup up to his nose. It smelled sweet and a little like licorice. “I’ll consider it research.”

Finn smiled back for a moment and Leo was reminded of the first time he’d met Alex. They both had that soft stare. It was aimed right at Leo.

“Your hair’s the color of honey,” Finn said. Then he picked up Leo’s pen and wrote down, honey!!! then winked at Leo and walked away.

The show was wild and fantastic, as usual—and it rained. Rained. Hard. The screens showed Finn, red hair dark and dripping against his forehead, his face raised to the sky. Water flew up in droplets from Logan’s drums, backlit and mesmerizing. Leo was soaked despite the VIP tent by the time it was over and shivering a little in his t-shirt as the night cooled down.

He made his way backstage, trying not to drip on everything as he knocked on Finn’s dressing room door.

A grinning Finn with Logan under his arm swung it open for him. He was soaked through, they both were, but he didn’t seem to feel the cold. Adrenaline, probably. Finn held so much of it after shows he practically shook.

“We’re going out to celebrate and you’re coming with us.”

“Great,” Leo said. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to fight the chattering of his teeth. “Where?” He was taking in Logan now. He looked—well, soaked and kissed. Maybe Finn was just extra affectionate after shows.

“Just a bar. My brother, some friends. And you because you’re coming.”

“And my sister will be there,” Logan said.

“Which one?” Leo asked—which maybe was weird that he knew there was more than one? But they had to be used to being Googled. Right?

“Noelle,” Logan said. “And her boyfriend, Thomas.”

“I won’t kill your vibe?” Leo asked.

“Everyone knows we’re doing your interview,” Finn said. “I think we should give you more than just, like, us fucking around backstage and, you know, working.”

“You guys are pretty serious,” Leo said. Which wasn’t very true. Finn was always putting Logan in headlocks, Logan constantly hid Finn’s things from him. “But thanks. I’d love to come.”

“Good,” Finn said.

When they began peeling off their sweaty and wet stage clothes, Leo kept his eyes respectfully down, mostly, and wished he had something to change into, too. He could try to run back to his hotel, but he didn’t feel like having to chase their party down. He resigned himself to being damp and hoped a drink or two would warm him up.

“Here,” Logan said, and something soft and warm was being pushed into Leo’s chest.

It was a sweatshirt—Finn’s sweatshirt, probably, by The Strand Bookstore logo on it. Though maybe it was Logan’s, bought in New York or maybe stolen from Finn.

“Oh…” Leo looked at Logan. Those green eyes really did deserve songs to be written about them. “Thank you.” Leo said.

He pulled the sweatshirt over his head and was sure it was Logan’s. It smelled like the cologne he wore—nothing too strong and intense. It really was just like he’d bottled something piney and sweet.

When he was sure no one was looking, Leo ducked his nose a little into the collar.

Somehow, suddenly, it was four-thirty in the morning. Leo was pleasantly buzzed, a little exhausted, and squeezed up against strangers in a booth. He wasn’t so pleased about the squeezed part, but it was a good vantage point. As it turned out, Finn was a dancer—even when not many others were dancing. He was just as good as he was on stage. All hips and smiles.

Logan was not a dancer—but he watched. Leo watched him watch Finn. There was a quiet sort of intensity to it. He chewed on the straw of his rum and coke, crunched on ice cubes. An hour later he was all but shredding a beer label, and had his eyes on Finn and he’d lost his hat somewhere—oh, Finn’s head. It was getting warm in the bar. The place kept the doors open and Leo was sweating in Logan’s sweatshirt, but he didn’t take it off. He could see Logan’s sweat, dark on his temples. Finn had to be sweating, too, but he didn’t look it. He just looked happy.

Finn wandered over to Logan and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. He didn’t kiss him, but he got nice and close like he might, singing words to a song Leo didn’t know and grinning.

How had the world not figured it out yet? They might not be so obvious as kissing, but Finn and Logan certainly weren’t subtle. Was a narrative of that’s how they are, that’s their friendship really so strong?

With a smile, Logan shoved Finn back out onto the floor where someone joined him—two someones. Alex and a dark-haired girl Leo had seen around. For a brief moment, across the room, Logan’s eyes met Leo’s. Then he ducked out onto the balcony. Leo wasn’t positive it was an invitation, but he wouldn’t miss it if it was.

“Excuse me, sorry,” Leo mumbled to the guy next to him. It was a bit of a mess, making these people get up. He wasn’t sure why they were all sitting there. It wasn’t like it was easy to hear each other over the music anyway. Leo was happy to rise.

Remarkably, the night air felt cool. The balcony was higher up than Leo had expected, looking down at the city below. Logan had his back to Leo, elbows on the railing. He glanced behind him when he heard Leo approaching, and the red and blue city lined his profile. He looked just like he did on stage, only calmer. Quiet. Truer to how he actually was. Leo couldn’t image putting on a show like that every single night.

“I need a break from people sometimes,” Logan said, as if answering a question Leo had asked.

“Oh. I can go—”

“No,” Logan said. “I just mean crowds.”

“I bet,” Leo said. He went to the railing and mirrored Logan’s position. That was actually an old trick he’d been taught. Apparently it made interview subjects feel at ease. Really, he’d just wanted to see the city and feel the cold metal of the railing on his skin.

“It’s hot in there.”

“Ouais.”

“Finn really loves dancing.”

Logan cracked a smile and took a drink from his beer bottle. “You’d think he’d run out of energy.”

Leo laughed. “I’m out of it just looking at him.”

“That’s Finn for you…Realest thing in the world.”

Realest thing in the world. What a quote. Leo knew he wouldn’t have to write that down to remember it.

“Who is he dancing with?”

Logan swallowed. “Hannah. She was at Harvard with us.”

“Hm.”

“They dated. In college.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Logan said, then glanced Leo’s way. “Before I took what was mine.”

Okay, hot. Leo had to smother a pretty pathetic sounding breath.

“Hm,” Leo said again. “Can I…Can I ask something?”

“That’s your job.”

“It’s pretty personal. And you don’t have to answer.”

“I know that.” Logan said, and then just waited, looking back out at the streets.

“What happened after high school and before Harvard?”

More waiting. More of that intense, Logan-silence. Part of Leo was pleased that he had such a thing to associate with Logan, that he’d spent enough time with him for that. Leo didn’t push him. He stirred the ice cubes in his drink and took in the rest of the balcony. A few chairs. Ash trays.

“We used this bookshop’s basement to practice at night,” Logan said suddenly. “All the other stores were closed, it was below ground, we weren’t going to annoy anyone.”

Leo could picture that. Guitar and drums, maybe one of their ever rotating bass players—it must get hard, trying to bud in on two as tight as Finn and Logan were. Writing and playing late into the night.

“But one night when it was just us there was this…” Logan shook his head. “Merde, I’d say snowstorm but it was more like… Just it was like the world blinked out.” Logan scratched wet-paper trails in his beer bottle’s label. “It felt like it was just the two of us left in the world.”

“You got snowed in?”

Logan nodded. His eyes were far, far away. Green, deep forest.

“We slept together,” Logan said quietly.

Alarm bells that every good reporter should have went off. Logan had been drinking. Leo had asked the question but it was still his duty to make sure it was truly okay to get the answer. “Does Finn know you’re telling me this?”

“Ouais. We talked about you.”

Okayokayokay. Leo felt like his entire body was trying to keep his heart from pounding at that sentence. Oh, to be a fly on that wall…

“Okay,” Leo said carefully. “Still, if you want to have this conversation another time—”

“I’m not drunk,” Logan said. He looked down at his beer. “I had one drink two hours ago and this tastes like shit, I’ve been holding it for a fucking hour.”

Leo couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Not sweet?”

“Non, not at all.”

Well, Leo was glad he knew. Sometimes with the stars, it was a problem. They spilled out gorgeous sentences and feelings no matter how Leo tried to stop them when they were loose-tongued and then wouldn’t let Leo use a word of it the next morning.

“And like I said,” Logan said. “We…I wouldn’t just be telling you this if Finn didn’t…You know.”

Leo thought of all the details he’d been picking up, and then even more unspoken ones. He could see that they wanted him to know. He just wasn’t sure why.

“It was the best night of my life.” Logan leaned on the railing, his hand coming up to touch his mouth. “It was… We wrote Only Two that night.” Logan smiled at the memory and closed his eyes. “Like, in twenty minutes, it was insane. Right after we…well.”

Leo loved that song. Back in high school, he hadn’t thought of it as being about making love, but being older now, he could tell.

There are only two

Things I want

For only the two

Of us

Two more turns on this dark road

Two more inches of skin exposed

Two more minutes of this bliss

Two more hours not to miss

Two more decades of your light

Two more centuries of this night

Only two (two) two (two)

Want me, too (too) too (too)

After this conversation, he’d never listen to it the same. He’d picture some grimy basement, and snow—and he’d picture Logan and Finn…

Two more inches of skin exposed.

No. No, Leo thought to himself. You’re professional. So very professional.

“And then I pretended like nothing happened.” Logan straightened. He turned his face away a little.

He could be professional and still let his heart ache at that. A memory surged at him without warning. A voice that he tried his best not to remember. Get the lights, will you?

“Why?” Leo tried to keep the word gentle. Logan seemed like he wanted to get this out, and Leo wanted to keep it at his pace.

“I don’t know. I got scared. I thought we’d never—I don’t know. We wanted this massive thing, to play our music, that almost no one gets and I didn’t want anything to mess it up. We fought. Finn wanted to be together. And then I said…I said things I didn’t really mean, but I said them. And he was crying.” Far away eyes again. “He was crying.”

Finn, crying. Leo couldn’t put it together with the grinning boy inside. When Logan turned to look, so did Leo. Finn was facing them, half obscured by a wall of people he was chatting to. It was hard to tell through the glass and with all the reflections from outside, but Finn might have looked at them.

“And…and we stopped talking.” Logan turned away. “We didn’t talk all of Senior year, or the summer before college.”

“But you got into the same school and showed up to the same dorm room.”

Logan snorted out a laugh, rubbing a palm over his face. “Merde. Oh my God, Leo, you have no idea. Our faces, seeing each other? Our parents’ faces? I thought I was going to die that first night, I walked in on Finn playing the guitar, and I thought I was going to die.”

“Wow,” Leo said faintly.

Logan let out a delighted laugh. Leo blinked, surprised, but couldn’t help but smile. That was a contagious sound. A rare one?

“Sorry, I mean—at least we can laugh about it now,” Logan laughed through the words. “I was going to lose my mind. I can’t tell you how much I missed him. I remember missing him now and I miss him when he’s, like, asleep next to me. That’s how bad I…” He broke off suddenly. Leo watched his throat move around a swallow. “That’s how bad I fucked up.”

Leo knew he wasn’t supposed to give his opinion to the subject of his pieces. As the writer, he was supposed to listen and organize. But his mind was telling him to comfort Logan. He wanted to do what he’d seen Finn do earlier, he wanted to know how warm Logan’s waist was through his t-shirt.

“On the topic of the songs you write together…” Leo took a breath. “Can I ask about Rooftop? You always leave the stage when Finn plays it. Is that—I mean, it’s a solo for him, I know that, but…”

Logan frowned and didn’t answer for a long time. Leo let him sit. It was a fine line, seeing that a subject had opened up, but then pushing too hard. Leo was beginning to worry he’d crossed that line when Logan spoke.

“I can’t listen to it. That’s why I leave.” Logan rubbed at his jaw and went to mess with his hat before remembering Finn had it. “Really, I can’t watch him sing it. I can’t watch what was my fault.”

Leo had had his suspicions since he’d walked into the dressing room, but this confirmed it. “It’s about you.”

Logan’s mouth was tight when he gave a small nod.

“I refused us for a long time.” Half a smile crossed his face and he sang the brief melody. “Long, long time.”

Leo smiled, too. It felt like it was okay to do. They were together now, weren’t they?

“It’s my favorite song,” Leo admitted.

Logan looked surprised. “It’s so sad. You don’t seem like a sad song person.”

“I don’t?” Leo laughed. “What kind of person do I seem like?”

Logan looked at him for a moment, then back at the city, shrugging with an almost bashful look on his face.

“And…” Leo felt a little giddy, like a sleuth figuring out a mystery. “Green Eyes.”

Logan laughed. “Ouais.” He took a sip of his beer and grimaced at the taste. “Fuck this shit about some French girl. Quote me on that.”

“Seriously?”

Logan sent him a look. “Maybe. Ask me later.”

Leo nodded. “Promise.”

Logan’s smile was gentler this time.

“When did you get together for good?” Leo asked, then realized what he said. “I mean—I mean, you look pretty solid, I didn’t mean to assume.”

Logan smiled. “Oh, he’s never getting rid of me now. I’ll never forget it. It was…maybe a year ago, I guess? No, a little more. While we were writing our most recent album. In Rome, actually, we rented this place and after those months, I didn’t think I’d be able to be far away from him again. And I mean, like, other side of the room. That felt far away.” Logan looked up, remembering. “We were pretty off-and-on until then, making out, fucking, not talking about it.”

Leo blushed. “Mhm.” Making out fucking not talking about it.

Logan sent him a sideways glance. “What?”

“Nothing, I’m listening.”

Logan narrowed his eyes playfully and turned his body towards Leo. God, his shoulders.

“Non, you’re a baby tomato. Tell me.”

“Oh God,” Leo laughed, putting a hand to his cheek. “Shit, I am, aren’t I? Well—No. Okay. All right, confession.”

Logan smiled and leaned forward. “Ouais?”

Leo pressed a palm to his own chest. “I am a fan. Quite a big fan of you both. I’m also. Well, I’m gay. I’m having a bit of a moment realizing two of the people around my age that I’ve always admired,”—You’re also unbearably hot, both of you—“shared more with me than I ever thought they did. Especially because—your music really helped me through some bad times.” It was Leo’s turn to look down. “Some bad guys.”

Now all that intense Logan-silence was trained directly on him.

“Bad guys,” Logan repeated softly. “Bad to you?”

He said it like it was madness, like he couldn’t believe it.

“It was a long time ago,” Leo said.

“What’s that mean?” Logan shrugged. “They were bad to you?”

“He,” Leo said. “Really just…he was.”

“Bad…Bad how?” Logan asked in a hushed whisper. He took a step forward, nearly right into Leo’s space.

“Nothing like—just…” Leo sighed as he stumbled over his words. “He wasn’t happy with how he wanted me. He probably wished he didn’t want me at all.”

More of those uncomprehending narrowed eyes, as if Jack, whose name Logan didn’t even know, had offended Logan by offending Leo.

“What a shit,” Logan said—and there was a snarl to it. Logan Tremblay, who had known Leo for all of a week, had just snarled about Leo’s shitty ex-boyfriend.

Leo laughed. “Yes. Understatement. Very.”

They were close now. Close enough that Logan could reach out and untuck where the collar of Leo’s sweatshirt had folded wrong.

“Oh,” Leo said. Logan’s fingers had brushed his neck and Leo fought that shiver hard. “Yeah, thank you for this. That rain got cold.”

Logan stayed quiet. He withdrew his hand, but he didn’t step back. When he looked up at Leo, he had that open look that Leo had only seen him give Finn.

“You know we chose you,” Logan said. “Right?”

Leo only had time to half let that sink in and half wonder what the hell it meant before a knocking came from behind them. “Hey-hey.”

They both turned to see a dark haired girl—this was Logan’s sister, Noelle. She smiled at Leo and held out her arms to Logan.

“Wanted to say bye, I’m taking off, Lo-bear.”

Lo-bear. Leo hid his smile in his glass but Logan caught it anyway as he hugged his sister tightly.

“Have a good vacation,” Noelle said and squeezed him tighter for a moment. She planted a kiss on his cheek and whispered. “You deserve it.”

“Merci.”

“Don’t wreck mom and dad’s house.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “When have I ever done that?”

Noelle pulled back and patted his cheeks. “Love you.”

Leo looked between them. Logan was different like this. He wasn’t a pop star. He wasn’t considered on of the best drummers in the current music scene—maybe the world. He was a baby brother.

“Je t’aime,” he said softly.

A version of the voice he saved for Finn, maybe. Leo wondered what it was like to hear them say it to each other. I love you.

People began spilling out on the balcony after that. Maybe noting that Logan Tremblay was out there. Leo and Logan got tumbled apart, but Logan caught his eye across the crowd. Between them lingered unfinished words. Leo shrugged one shoulder and gave him a smile. You chose me? What does that mean? What in the world does that mean?

Logan frowned. He set his beer bottle down, still full, and began to try and push through the crowd to Leo. It was hard. People kept wanting to speak to him. Logan looked like he was trying hard not to snap at them.

“Hey.”

Leo turned and found Finn there. Sweaty, tall, love-eyed Finn. He was definitely tipsy. No Logan-conversations for them tonight.

“Hi,” Leo said. He glanced back for Logan, but he’d lost him.

“We’re going to Logan’s family’s house in Nice tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” Leo tried, he tried to keep his heart afloat. That felt—he didn’t feel ready. He didn’t want the week to end. Maybe it was hero-worship. Maybe he was starstruck. Maybe his heart didn’t know what to do with the proximity. Was Finn telling him that they were finished, that they were going on vacation—

Finn reached for Leo’s hand and tucked something into his palm, closing Leo’s fingers around it and covering it with his own. “I’ll send the car for you.”

The crowd whisked him away, too, leaving Leo standing in the summer night to uncurl his fingers.

It was a guitar pic, and scrawled across both sides in tiny writing, were two phone numbers.

#o'knutzy week 2024 #o'knutzy #Logan tremblay #Leo knut #finn o'hara #finnlo #lelo #sunfish #band au #popstar au

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phyrestartr · 1 year

Text

Simple Things [3] - Miguel O'hara x Male!Reader

# Mild NSFW, fluff, comfort, flirting, light angst, male!reader, dad!reader, spider!reader, implied depression, mentions of trauma, mentions of past relationships, mentions of manipulation, old men just doing their best, miguel is a sweetheart and a nerd, multi-part drabble collection

[ 1 ] Smoke Break | [ 2 ] We Change Like the Seasons | [ 3 ] Meet the Kids

Notes: Covid is still kicking my ass but I wanted to finish this part off so I can make the reader and Miguel fuck in the next part wahoo \o/

-- Meet The Kids --

A girl walked into the lab. Miguel thought maybe Gwen or another spider had come to ask something of him or to steal one of the cookies from his desk console (wouldn't be the first time), but the lazy scuff of shoes on polished floors sounded too clumsy to be one of his agents. She wasn't wearing a suit either, Miguel realized after sparing a glance over his shoulder; she did, however, sport a day pass on a small wrist.

"And you are?" Miguel asked before turning back to his screens. He wasn't really in the mood for conversation while he tracked the next anomaly, but he couldn't say he wanted some random kid to be touching his stuff in his lab.

"I dunno. Who're you?" Ugh.

The clattering of something hitting the floor made Miguel's eye twitch. He took a breath. "I'm the guy running the show here." He closed screens with gruesome scenes of destruction, hiding them from the prying eyes of the innocent in the room with him. "And I'm the one who's about to call your guardian."

She scoffed. "My guardian?"

"Whichever spider dragged you into HQ and let you off your leash with a day pass." Miguel spied her out of the corner of his eye, but didn't have the decency to face her. "Lyla. Scan her."

"You got it, buddy."

"Woah, wait–!" The girl gasped as a warm orange light washed over her, flickering across her entirety before vanishing. "Dude." Despite the attitude, her voice trembled faintly. Miguel almost felt bad. But she touched his stuff. Not his fault.

Lyla whistled and adjusted her sunnies as she leaned into a tiny screen of her own. "Oooh, you're gonna love this, Miguel–"

"Miguel?" The girl repeated. "Like…the guy Dad talks about?"

A clairvoyant feeling overwhelmed the spider, probably the same way spidey senses hit the normal spider-people around him. Somehow, he knew who she was, who her dad was before Lyla even said it.

"Yep, that's (Name)'s kiddo," Lyla chirped.

Miguel looked at the girl. He really looked at her this time, feeling some sort of stupid with how much she looked like you; her hair was fluffy and unkempt in the same shade yours was, the shape of her nose was like a smaller, cuter version of yours, too. Then there were her eyes. That same hazy hue of uncut gems, a colour of protective dullness that hid something brilliant and effervescent from the outside world.

"(Name)'s kid," Miguel repeated. Your name felt comfortable on his tongue these days. "Kid, I–what're you doing here? Where's your dad, huh?"

The girl, very clearly looking around the room to try and spot the elusive Lyla, shrugged. "I 'unno."

Colour Miguel unimpressed. "Oh, you don't know. Good. Great." He tutted before running a hand through his hair. "Lyla, call the kid's dad–"

"He's sleeping!" She blurted. "You can't just, like, wake him up; Dad never gets to sleep." Her arms crossed tightly over her chest as her cheeks puffed. "And my name's Isabella, y'know."

Miguel's dark brow raised in question. "Isabella." Said with a Latin accent. Interesting. Miguel's chest felt tighter. "If your dad's asleep then he probably left you with someone." He looked at her expectantly.

Isa shrugged again and scuffed her worn soles against the floor. "Mr.Parker didn't notice. He's watching Natalie and Nico and May 'n whatever. So. Yeah."

Mr.Parker? Oh. "Hm. He babysit you a lot?" God, Miguel should stop asking questions, but curiosity and that damn attention deficit had him by the throat. He turned around and folded his arms over one another, too, before leaning back against the stage console to speak with Isabella properly.

"Ugh, why are old people so–so freaking annoying? I'm not a baby, I don't need anyone to watch me." Ah. Of course.

"Oh, wow, ah-huh, yeah. Sure. I'm sure your dad agrees." Her amateur glare wrought a smirk out of him. Would he have argued with Gabi like this?

Miguel cleared his throat and turned back to the console, reaching for another cookie absent-mindedly. "Look, you can stay here until your father comes to get you, but you have to stop touching things. Got it?" But Isa only grumbled and scuffed her feet again. "Isabella."

"Uuugh. Fiiine." The girl plopped down into an old rolling chair. Miguel tried not to twitch. He would not snap at a child for breaking his chair, he would not do that. Absolutely not.

Not even one minute of silence passed before the kid rolled closer to the centre stage Miguel stood at. "Sooo you're, like, my dad's boss or something?"

"Guess that's the easiest way to put it." Miguel peered at the girl from the corner of his eye.

"Okay, but what's the hardest way to put it?" Isabella wiggled and sat backwards on the chair, hugging the backrest as she scooted around the lab. "Are yooou…friends?"

Miguel shrugged. "I'd say so."

"Hmmmm. Are you more than friends?"

His eye twitched again. "Do you interrogate every adult like this?"

Isabella huffed. "Uh, he made you cookies. It's sooo not weird to ask if you're, like, a thing."

"A thing."

"Like boyfriends–"

"Santa Muerte, I know what you mean, kid."

"Okay." Silence fell for all of ten seconds. "I'm just saying–"

Miguel groaned. "Can you stop talking for five minutes–"

"--you'd be waaay cooler to have for a step dad than all the people Dad's been dating."

"Yeah, well, I'm hard to beat." Oh, wow, did he just say that about himself? Christ. Miguel took a deep breath and tried to relax his shoulders with all his might. "That came out wrong. I–look, you need to just–he's dating?" Miguel cringed. It's not that he was interested in you like that, just…he was nosy, that's all. But he was incredibly aware of how that must have sounded to an equally nosy tween.

Isabella perked up. "Uh, yeah. But everyone he dates ends up being suuuper crazy and weird. Like, it's reaaally bad."

He shouldn't pry. He really shouldn't. "...Bad how?" Ay, Miguel.

"Like, they're always super clingy or don't like kids or something. And, like, Nico and Nat had moms who had dads who super hated dad, so they gave him money to make him go away." Isabella nodded matter of factly. "That's what Dad said. He's super sure he's cursed or something. Granny was a bruja y'know."

Miguel shouldn't be listening to this. He shouldn't be prying into your life through the conduit of a chatty kid. Asking you would be the better option, but this way was so much easier. It felt like he could finally get a grasp of what you'd been through, and maybe catch a glimpse of who you were behind the scenes.

"Then what about your mom?" Miguel asked, crossing his arms and flicking his gaze back to the monitors. "That didn't happen with her?"

An offended gasp burst from the young lady. "No! My mom was so not like that. She was Dad's girl!"

"No kidding." Miguel hummed. He wasn't about to ask what happened to her. Spiderman never had an easy romance, never had an easy life.

"Yeah! They fought in the war together, and her name's–"

"Isabella." Your voice cut through the air like winter rain. Miguel almost got chills, and Isa squeaked before hopping off her chair and scrambling on the stage to hide behind Miguel.

"Oh, look at that. Someone's in trouble," Miguel mumbled, mean smirk quirking the corner of his mouth.

Isa glared up at Miguel. "Jerk."

"Isabella, quit bothering the boss," You groaned tiredly. Miguel's ears perked as the coo of a little one fluttered through the air. He turned and found you holding the littlest baby in one arm, and a toddler in the other, both incredibly K.Oed.

"M'not bothering him!" She protested. "I'm just hanging out!"

"Cut the crap, you're probably complaining about school or about my love life or how I wouldn't get you a new phone or some shit." Miguel had to fight back a laugh. He'd never heard you so exasperated nor animated before. "And why the hell did you run off, huh? You had Pete freaking the fuck out."

"I got bored! I just wanted to go look around!" Isabella pleaded with a puppy-level whine.

"Isa, this place, it's–it's not meant for people without powers. You could get hurt, alright?" You adjusted your grip on the two little ones in your arms. "And the lab is a whole 'nother story, Christ–"

"It's fine, (Name)," Miguel cut in, turning to you. "She was fine."

But the worry lines creasing your forehead didn't smooth quite as much as he wanted. "'Ppreciate it, Boss. But, I…" you trailed off, sighing softly. "Yeah. Just. Thanks. I'll, ah, get her out of your hair. Bet you've got work to do."

Mija, let's go is what Miguel swore he heard come out of your mouth before Isa pouted and ran after you.

Mija. That word brought a world of hurt and comfort to his chest–the coincidence of Spanish on your tongue felt too…perfect, like you'd learned it just to shove it in his face. But Miguel knew better.

Isabella.

Mija.

Your girl, Isa's mother, must have taught you. He liked that, for some reason. The idea of learning something new for a partner. What would you teach him if you were–

Woah, woah, stop, Miguel. Stop. His ears turned hot. He worried at his bottom lip with fidgety hands before shaking his head free from such dangerous thoughts.

Focus, he chanted to himself, you've got work to do.

You decided you were sick that day. No, you weren’t really, but the headache chipping away at your skull suggested that, hey, maybe staying home for a day wouldn’t be a bad thing. You could use a break from dragging yourself around New York, searching for the next big scoop, the next tragedy to document and earn a living off of, too.

So, there you were, in bed, with the tv in the front room playing some sort of movie that you’d heard a thousand times but never learned the name of, while your littlest, newest addition to the family starfished in a laze, his tiny tummy pressed to your broad chest. Your fingers lazily rubbed circles against his little back as he snoozed and drooled on your shirt. Somehow, the giggling and chattering of his sisters didn’t wake him up. Maybe the drumming of your heart, or the safety of a warmth he hadn’t known until now, drowned all of it out.

He didn’t even stir when his sisters screeched.

You closed your eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. God, please just let it be a spider, please just let it be a spider. You sat up, holding your baby to your chest as you plucked a gun from the side table. You carefully set Nico down into the warmth of where you were laying before stalking to the door and whipping it open, gun poised and ready for–oh. A big spider.

“What the fuck, Miguel,” you hissed, beyond exasperated as you lowered the gun. “Why the–what–I could’ve shot you.”

Miguel looked beyond bewildered, though some would say entirely bamboozled. He had his hands up like the police had them in his sights, his face was a combination of embarrassed, shocked and annoyed, and his claws had popped out in his flustered panic. His spiderman suit was still on, but he had that white hoodie thrown on top like it’d hide the fact he was spiderman. Hopefully it did.

“I–” Miguel started.

“Ah-ah.” You cut him off like a dog misbehaving. “Girls?” Their heads popped up from behind the couch and you sighed in relief. “It’s alright, he’s a friend. From work.”

One of your daughters gasped. “It’s the weirdo that’s suuuper into dad!” Isabella cried, jumping out from behind the couch and pointing an accusatory finger at a very unamused-looking Miguel.

“For the last time, I’m not–”

“You so are!”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Yeah!” Natalie joined in, hopping up and down by her sister excitedly and pointing at the man they deemed guilty. “You are, you are!”

Miguel, probably halfway to an early grave, looked to you for help. But you flashed him a tight-lipped smile that said more than words could offer: perish.

You let the girls hound him while you turned on your heel, heading back into the bedroom to sooth your stirring little boy. The gun found itself back in the drawer, safety on, magazine removed, before you scooped the tiny being into your arms and smooshed up against your chest. Your son quieted and clung to you. You left a kiss on the top of his head to welcome him.

"So," you started as you came back to the scene of the crime, "the hell're you here for, Boss?" You asked, completely unfazed by how the girls had corralled him onto the couch and had his hands in their own, their curious fingers pushing on his tendons and making his claws pop in and out. Honestly, you were pretty tempted to do the same.

Miguel pursed his lips and ignored the gremlins on him as he looked at you again, something distant softening his features.

"I, uh. I heard you were sick," he confessed with a small shrug. "Just thought…y’know."

You hummed as you rubbed your son's back. "Huh. How'd you find that out?"

"Peter mentioned it."

"Pete doesn't know I'm sick."

"Must've been Jess, then."

"Jessie doesn't know either."

Miguel was caught. His ears grew red before his cheeks did, and you smirked. Cute. Way too cute.

"Lyla told me," Miguel grumbled, finally.

"Ah. There it is. Not so hard to tell the truth now is it, Miggs?" You said with a Cheshire smile and a wink. "Good to know you've got your confidant spying on me."

Miguel freed himself from the children and stood up quickly. "It's not--I'm not spying on you, I–you–" Miguel pursed his lips. "I don't need to explain myself."

That made you laugh. "Relax, tough guy. I don't mind ya swinging by. Or, hm, guess I don't mind ya portal-ing in." Miguel didn't seem to think you were that funny, but thankfully Nico, in his haze of dreams, giggled at the right moment. "Nicky thinks I'm funny. You should take notes."

It didn't take much convincing to get Miguel to stay for dinner. You made him take a shower, though, and leant him some clothes to lounge in while you cooked everything from scratch. From scratch. Miguel couldn't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal.

"Yeah? That's sad as shit," you remarked nonchalantly as you diced vegetables. "Tell ya what, you make it a habit of coming around, and I'll make sure I make extra for you, yeah? It's important to have that home cooked goodness for your soul 'n what not."

Miguel felt his chest fill with something fluffy and warm. "Good point." But it wasn't, really. "Guess I'll have to make it a habit." He leaned back against the counter as he watched you prep everything. "Wouldn't want you putting in all that extra effort for nothing."

You twitched a bit of a smile and nodded. "My thoughts exactly."

You spared a glance at Miguel. He looked calm, at ease, like the threat of the dimensions collapsing wasn't at the forefront of his mind for once. You thought, maybe, this might be the first time in a long time that he had his mind off work. Maybe he was doing that whole human thing and enjoying the present for a change. Jumping to conclusions wasn't really your style, though.

Crimson eyes flickered, then, gazing towards the crib settled in your bedroom. He must've heard your little man stir. He must've wanted to do something about it, if his sudden shiftiness told you anything.

"You mind checking on him?" You asked softly, knowing that, maybe, this was a big ask for a man who only had a phantom to tuck in at night. "He's fussy. Likes to be held."

"You're sure?" The other man asked, brows furrowed in concern.

"You kidding? If there's any guy I'd trust with my kid, it's you." You fiddled with the wrapper of the packaged chicken meat before ultimately stabbing it with a knife. "Go on. Before he starts crying."

And Miguel wandered off to the little one. His voice had that sound to it when he spotted him, that kind of gentleness a man unlocked when he felt what it meant to be a father, a protector of a smaller soul. You listened hard for Miguel's smile, and felt your heart throb when you heard, "Hey, mijo. ¿Estas bien?" leave his lips. Your little boy cooed, and Miguel made a noise that sounded so frightfully domestic and dad-like, you thought you might perish on the spot, or fall in love in a second.

Get it together, get it together. A deep breath steadied your blitzing nerves when Miguel came back to the kitchen, Nico in his arms, smooshed up against his chest. You stole a glance, smiling to yourself when you caught Miguel mooning over the lazy bundle of joy.

You worked fast, feeling a weird, undeniable desire to talk after you had your army of children fed and sent to bed. Miguel didn’t leave your side, nor did he deign to put Nico down, not through soup and sandwiches, not through 20 questions hosted by Isabella and Natalie, and not through the moments alone where you herded the young ladies off to wash up before getting them to bed for the night.

“Y’know, you’re gonna spoil that kid,” you said with a smile when you came back to find Miguel on the couch with your son. You sat down by him with a dad-like sigh and peered at the little one snoozing away. “He’s gonna demand you hold him every time you come around.”

Miguel huffed a laugh. “You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

“Hey, with arms ‘n pecs like that?” You pat one of Miguel’s impressive biceps to prove a point. “I get where he’s coming from. Lots of free real estate with good foundations.”

“Oh? You want me to hold you too?” Miguel offered, some sort of impish lilt lifting his voice as he looked over at you.

You fought back the urge to swallow. “Sure. If you’re offering.” But Miguel looked a little caught again, a little unsure of how much to tease and how hard to press, so you let him off the hook with a laugh.

“Man, you really remind me of her.” You rested your head against the couch, maybe a little bit on Miguel’s shoulder, as you watched your boy sleep. “Liliana,” you amended, “Isabella’s mom.”

Scarlet eyes flickered to you. Seems you caught his attention. “Liliana,” Miguel tested the name on his tongue slowly, thoughtfully. “Isabella’s mom.” And after another pause, he asked, “I guess she’s gone?”

“Gone. Yeah.” You blinked slowly, and let the words rotting in your lungs breach the surface: “I killed her.” Ah, maybe you said that with too much nonchalance, you worried, but Miguel’s low hum seemed to suggest otherwise.

It felt good. You couldn't stop yourself from talking. “It was an accident, I guess. She was a scientist. Geneticist, I think. Made me into, well, whatever I am now.” You flexed your hand and looked it over, like the blueprints of your design were still hidden under tired skin. “‘Cause, y’know, I was a soldier, she said I was gonna be the next Captain America, but… that doesn’t matter. Anyway, side effects were bad, really bad. I freaked out, then--then, y'know.” You took a breath. “Killed my little girl’s mom.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you stared at nothing, sucked back into a daze and a trance you’d long forgotten about. But you remembered the blood, the screaming, the way you and those webs ignited and how the white lab coats all howled and screamed and popped. The scent of roasted flesh should have disgusted you, it should have knocked some sense into you and dragged you out of whatever episode you were having, but instead–

Your stomach growled, and you cleared your throat.

“Yeah. That was a bad day.”

“I get it,” Miguel said, and sounded like he meant it. “Guess something like that happened to me.”

You peered up at him, glimpsing his conflicted, troubled look.

“Yeah?” Thought Spiderman had a boring, normal story. Because, in totality, you were something more demented than just Spiderman, so your story was more fucked up than the rest. Maybe you were wrong.

“Yeah. I was–my research killed someone when I was trying to make them into, well, Spiderman.” Miguel sighed and shook his head, admonishing himself from the past. “I didn’t want to. I got pressured into it. Drugged when I wanted to quit. It was a mess.

“Tried to rewrite my DNA, and then a colleague shocked that up for me, and I ended up with the claws, the fangs, the–the everything. Slashed his throat by accident, got some other people killed when they tried to help me, killed some baddies when I didn’t mean to.”

Miguel’s gaze turned to you. “So don’t think you’re alone.”

“Huh,” you said astutely. “Guess you really meant it when you called us ‘miserable bastards.’”

“Takes one to know one, I guess.” Miguel’s shoulder shifted slightly, easing down so your head could rest more comfortably against him. Your chest swirled with errant embers, but you tried not to think too hard about it.

“You said I reminded you of her. Of Liliana?” Miguel asked, quiet and tentative.

You hummed. “Yeah. The good parts.” You smiled (when had that gotten so easy?) and reached over to brush some dark hair from Nico’s tiny forehead. “She was smokin’ hot.”

“...Huh.”

“Way too smart for her own good,” you continued. “It's always the smart ones that get me, y'know? Anyway, she was sly 'n funny in a mean way, but hey, I like that shit. Maybe I'm a masochist."

"So," Miguel started, shifting slightly to face you more, "let me get this straight. You think I'm 'smoking hot,' 'too smart for my own good,' and 'funny in a mean way'?" The grin on his face was too much for you to handle. Why did you feel so hot suddenly? Why was he so close suddenly?

"I think that sums it up."

"Huh. Anyone ever tell you you're an asshole?"

"Ouch. Okay, what if I throw in 'she was born to be a bangin' mom','' you offered, feeling a long-forgotten rush of excitement as you sat up and leaned in close, so close, your hand coming up to cup the side of his strong neck as you kept talking, "and that she made me feel somethin' for the first time in a long time?"

You could feel Miguel's breath hitch in his throat as he measured the gap between you two, his eyes flicking down to your lips and back to your eyes in debate. You wanted to close it. With every inch of your being you wanted to take the plunge and crash your lips against his.

But, with every fibre of your soul, you didn't want to fuck this up. You didn't have words for what this even was, but you cherished it. Sauntering down this line of friendship, of companionship, was better than taking the dive back into that world of icy yearning and wilting roses–this type of love, the platonic sort shared between brothers and men, was meaningful in and of itself. It was good enough.

Wasn't it?

You looked over his face, in disbelief with yourself. "Who am I kidding?" You whispered, letting your hand fall from his neck like a glacier shearing away from its home.

A small, tired laugh crawled from your chest, and you rubbed your face. "I, uh, think I oughta call it a night. I'm gonna–I gotta tuck Nicky into his crib." And carefully, gently, you scooped up your monkey and whispered quiet thanks into his hair–your little man was the perfect scapegoat.

What're you thinking? Careful hands pulled up the banana-patterned blanket over Nico's tiny form after you'd set him down in the cozy crib that he loathed so much. You thought it was nice and comfy. Hell, if you could fit, you'd probably snooze in there all day.

"Good work today, Nicky. I think you made the big guy relax a little, y'know?" Your son cooed sweetly in his sleep, and your spirit lifted just slightly. It almost gave you the strength to go face Miguel after coming onto him so hard.

Finding the last bit of courage yourself, you gave your boy one last kiss on the noggin and quietly snuck out, closing the door with utmost caution behind you, only to be pressed up against it a moment later, and smothered with a kiss.

A bolt of lightning kicked your pulse into triple time as you kissed Miguel back. His hands caught you by your hips, and your arms hooked around his shoulders and pulled him in closer. The simple thing was exhilarating. He was exhilarating. The embodiment of strength and resilience, of power and intelligence, was crushing you up against a door and taking the air from your lungs with such ease.

"Fuck," you gasped when you parted with a wet noise that sounded far too Hollywood. "You're not half bad."

"You've got a talent for ruining the mood." Miguel scoffed and tilted your chin up. His half-lidded eyes drank you in as soft breaths left his parted lips. You wanted nothing more than to be eaten whole by him (was that weird?).

"I got a few other talents, too," you purred, voice swirling with velvety dark chocolate. "But that might be too much for an old man like–"

Your squawked indignantly when he scooped you up and hoisted you over his shoulder like you were nothing but a petulant child. Your hands scrabbled against his back, and a shocked bout of laughter bubbled up from your core as he slapped you on the ass hard. Was this real? Were you seriously getting manhandled and spanked by Miguel O'hara?

Miguel almost threw you onto the couch, but you guessed the children snoozing in the next room over hampered that decision.

"If there's one thing I'm never too old for," Miguel murmured lightly, almost condescendingly as he set you down on the couch and got on top of you, "it's sex."

Your eager hands flitted across his taut muscles, too excited and undecided as to where to land first. "Thought you were too old to sleep around?"

"I don't sleep around," Miguel corrected, letting you fill in the blanks.

That helped you relax a little. "Yeah?"

He looked so conflicted, a little embarrassed, too. But that was becoming more and more common these days, thanks to you. "Yeah."

You nodded and reached a hand up to his cheek, and he leaned in graciously as a needy cat might. "Okay. Then I don't either."

Miguel hummed, and turned to mark your palm with a little kiss. "Alright."

"And maybe…we don't fuck tonight." His sleepy gaze found you again with one dark brow raised, surprised. "I'm, uh, I think I'm down pretty bad for you, Boss. I don't wanna fuck this up."

And, truth be told, you wanted to give him some respite. Maybe you wanted to give some to yourself, too; Liliana and Dahlia danced through your mind so much these days, no thanks to the burgeoning fondness growing for Miguel. He reminded you of both of them, of Winter and Summer, of snow and flowers. But it wasn't fair, not to you or him, to compare him to the epitome of cold and the apex of warmth. You needed time, too. Time to learn how to compare him to no one.

Miguel smiled, small and sincere. You admired the fine lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. He looked so handsome when he smiled. You wanted him to do it more. Were you enough to make him smile more?

"Yeah. I don't want you to shock this up either," he said, and your brows raised, incredulous.

"This is what I get for trying to be mature ‘n romantic, huh?” Your fingers drummed against the arms caging you in. You thought about chancing a finger-taser to his ribs, but with those damn claws of his, you were a little too worried about your couch cushions getting demolished.

His handsome smile turned into a punchable smirk. “What? I’m agreeing with you.”

“Ah-huh, ah-huh, that’s all, hey?” You leaned up and kissed Miguel again, slower and tamer this time, but still burning with want. Ugh. Why did you have to try to be all mature and romantic? “You’re just being a good boy?”

Miguel’s hips twitched at that, and it was your turn to smirk. Oh, how the tables turn.

“Lay down,” you ordered, sitting up to get out from under him. “Come on.”

“I–what?” He grumbled, looking a little befuddled and frustrated. Cute, cute cute. “Thought we agreed on–”

“Heavy petting’s not off the table, right?” You cut him off. Miguel perked a little bit at the suggestion and did as he was ordered, his hands finding your hips again as you took your turn straddling him. “Luckily for you, I’m an expert at the clothes-on experience.” You winked and Miguel sucked in a breath.

“Show me.” He ordered, voice deep and gravelly.

And you did.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #phyrestartr

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worldcatlas · 22 days

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Star Trek: The Motion Picture (part 2)

We’re back to the big screen to finish up Star Trek: The Motion Picture, and discover even more exciting shades of beige.

In part one, I skipped over a brief appearance by the Klingons because you can barely see them, but with a bit of photo editing, we can take a closer look.

Why are their bridges so dark? Do targs have sensitive eyes?

Interestingly, they wear a style of uniform we would later see in TNG and beyond – all grey leather and metal studs – rather than the “sparkly sweater vest” uniforms Klingons usually wore in the original series. Although it’s a significant and unexplained departure from their small-screen appearance, I have to say, it’s a lot easier to take these Klingons seriously.

Remember these guys? Star Trek wants you to forget.

I also skipped over a brief appearance by a lil’ guy in a space suit, but we’ll get back to this costume later.

You just float there for now.

Picking up where we left off, Kirk steps off a shuttle sporting a handsome new uniform in slimming charcoal grey and white. It maintains the gold rank braids on the cuffs from the original series uniforms, but adds a futuristic belt, military-style shoulder marks, and a solid metal Starfleet badge. A stiff, quilted collar adds a touch of “space suit,” as well. All in all, a very sleek space-age outfit that feels like a solid upgrade to the brightly-coloured sweaters of TOS.

I can’t wait to see how everyone else looks in this cool new uniform!

We also get a momentary, blurry glimpse of some excellent-looking Vulcan robes in black and gold, but once again, this beautiful costume barely gets a moment of screentime before being whisked away.

He had to hurry off to fix his eyebrows, I get it.

So… as it turns out, only admirals get the cool new penguin uniform, and everyone else is stuck with space scrubs. They don’t even get a metal badge (not even hard-working Scotty!), just an embroidered patch with a silver Starfleet delta against a coloured circle indicating the wearer’s department.

At least he gets the cool belt.

Up on the bridge of the Enterprise, It’s a full-on Situation Beige. Crewmen buzz around the bridge in every imaginable shade of white, off-white, tan, taupe, and ecru, blending in nicely with the bulkheads.

Fashion crimes notwithstanding, I think there’s also an OSHA violation or two going on here…

Not even Uhura is immune to unflattering shades of khaki, although she does give us a quick glimpse at the Apple Watch-like wrist communicator worn throughout the film. It’s a great accessory that would unfortunately be rendered obsolete by the comm badge as the franchise moved on.

This woman deserves fashion, dammit!

Chekov, Sulu, and other crewmen model a few interesting variations on the theme, including a tight-fitting polo, a standard crew neck, and an awkwardly-tailored sport coat that can’t possibly be regulation.

You know, for uniforms, they’re not very… uniform.

While others, like Commander Decker, enjoy tight-fitting jumpsuits in the beige-est possible shade of blue. Somehow, I just don’t get a sense of authority from a man who looks like he’s been vacuum-sealed inside his footie pajamas.

Oh boy, you can see Commander Decker’s whole entire Commander Decker.

Next, we are treated to a great crowd shot that really shows off the scope of the costume department’s efforts, with dozens of varied uniforms packed into the scene. It makes me feel a little bad for going after the colour palette so hard, considering the difficulty of coordinating so many pieces.

Then again, it really is giving “thermal underwear in space.”

There are a few noteworthy variations in the crowd, including the guy with an uncovered electrical socket in the front row, but my favourite is probably this Native American officer with cool beaded accessories.

Chakotay could learn a thing or two.

The next character to make their big screen debut is the ship’s doctor, Leisure Suit Larry Dr. McCoy, in a fly as hell, disco-ready outfit, complete with gold chain, oversized belt buckle, and a frankly criminal amount of chest hair. And let’s not even talk about the beard. Thankfully, the good doctor soon cleans up and changes into uniform.

Still too much chest hair.

Next, we pay a visit to engineering to see Scotty, who has gotten a significant costume upgrade. Along with his fellow warp core enthusiasts, Mr. Scott sports a heavy-duty, protective-looking white suit with a strange socket (or antennae?) on the chest, surrounded by concentric circles of padded fabric that really make you wanna plug something in there. Oddly, the costumes also feature black rubber collars that presumably attach to their matching helmets, but do not appear at all sealed to the body of the suit.

They’re air-tight…ish.

Fortunately, the suits also include a handy, built-in to-do list.

Memory aids can be helpful for a… mature crew.

Last but not least, the old gang is finally back together as Spock joins the crew, feeling absolutely no emotion about how slick he looks in these long-sleeved Vulcan robes. I love the matching grey tones between the high-collared shirt underneath and the embroidered Vulcan script on the outer garment (though I’m sure this was a purely logical choice).

It says “zip up here.”

Sadly, Spock is quick to follow protocol and changes into a Starfleet uniform as well. However, he does keep the collared undershirt, creating an ensemble that – in a nice nod to TOS – closely resembles his old uniform.

Spock appreciates consistency.

Uhura has also gotten a costume change, and although they still won’t let her out of Beige Hell, she has at least gotten a smart two-piece pant suit that looks a little more comfortable. In addition to being more flattering, this uniform also includes the gold rank braids at the wrists.

Maybe the replicators in the 2270s only have one colour of ink.

Some plot happens, and the ship’s navigator, Ilia, gets hijacked by an alien entity. After briefly experimenting with no costume, she manifests this wild sci-fi bath robe with a huge Dracula collar. The asymmetrical hemline is super cute, but the belt at the waist could be a bit higher and more fitted. I do like how the pink lining inside the collar complements the robo-transmitter implanted in her collarbone.

The bad news: an alien has taken over your body. The good news: they put on a cute fit~

The back of the collar is a nice touch as well, tapering into a heart shape that flatters the actress’ perfectly-shaped head.

So smooth.

On the other hand, I cannot agree with V’ger’s choice of psychically-manifested footwear for this outfit. Clear plastic high heels might look futuristic, but they’re completely impractical for walking through a ship with perforated deck plating, running through sandy-floored caves, or standing near a warp core without melting.

At the other end of practicality, we are introduced to some members of the ship’s security team, who are inexplicably dressed like old-timey football players. They sport shiny helmets, phaser holsters, and crotch-protecting armour in a lovely chocolate brown. While it does break up the beige, it feels a bit silly to see combat guys ready to rumble on a Starfleet vessel.

I think they saw what the Klingons were wearing and got jealous.

Deciding to accessorize, V’ger tries on a headband belonging to her host. It’s a lovely beaded and sequined piece, with a gold charm dangling at one side, and very nearly reminds the navigator who she used to be.

Does this accessory clash with my parasitic control of another sentient being?

Things are getting intense story-wise, and Spock suits up in a shiny red “thruster suit” to take care of business – that is, an EV suit painted safety orange and strapped onto a rocket that looks like it was built with spare kitchen utensils. The whole ensemble is incredibly bulky, but believably looks like a rocket-belt-type contraption that might’ve existed in the 1970s.

Do what you have to do, Spock, but I’ll need my colander back before dinner.

We’re treated to a close-up on the suit’s gloves as Spock pilots the contraption, revealing plenty of details, including more structural quilting. I like the raised details along each finger on the gloves, implying some kind of built-in system, perhaps heating or robotic assistance. The frame of the thruster suit (painted beige) contains a control panel, with buttons on every surface. This segment detaches from the suit itself, so there are also buttons built into the left sleeve.

One for lemonade, one for ice, and one for diet Romulan ale.

We also get a good look at the back of the suit without the rocket attachment when Spock mind melds with V’ger, revealing more quilted details, including some hilarious concentric squares on the butt. From this angle, the suit is mostly the work of the prop department, who have done an excellent job making the hardware look both hi-tech and capable of playing Betamax tapes.

I think my Grandma had one of those on top the TV.

Kirk comes thrusting to the rescue in his own suit, and soon Spock is whisked away to Sick Bay for another costume change. I think this is meant to be a futuristic hospital gown, but it really looks like they’ve just wrapped the sheets around his legs and pinned them in place with binder clips.

In case the doctors need quick access to his thighs.

On the other hand, the sleeveless top is a whole look, and I love the hood with contrasting orange lining.

Not gonna lie, I’d wear it.

As a bonus, Doctors McCoy and Chapel have evolved into their final form: an all-white medical uniform with an oddly rounded collar, shoulder marks, and – notably – a rod of Asclepius embroidered on the left breast, in lieu of a Starfleet delta.

Missing a couple buttons there, Doc?

In the climactic finale, our brave crew suits up for one last away mission in suede jackets, taking advantage of the material’s natural beige hue. Unusual for Trek, they appear to have several large, prominent pockets – but any unease is quickly dispelled by the reassuring presence of decorative quilting along the arms. Speaking of which, the left arm of each jacket bears a reflective stripe that, curiously, does not seem to indicate rank or department, as Spock alone has a red armband.

Fascinating.

With little to differentiate their outfits, Decker decides to accessorize with dramatic lighting and sparkles. Lots of sparkles. Met-Gala-rolled-in-a-Michaels level of sparkles, a.k.a. the correct amount for any outfit. And with that, the Earth is saved.

What was the point of the film again?

#star trek #st tos #fashion #klingon #the motion picture

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spatialwave · 11 months

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limoreau watching horror movies!

they're in like a semi-established relationship. they know they like each other and they cuddle, but god forbid they make it official! word count: 928

jordan li was the happiest when they could take time off from school and t.a. work. enjoying those rare moments of solitude when they were able to relax in a mess of blankets, throw on a movie, and smoke a fuck ton of weed before they inevitably crashed for the night.

the only thing that made it better? when marie was there.

she would lay right next to them on the bed, sometimes she would throw one leg over them and rest her head on their chest as her reddened eyes watched the television screen. jordan's fingers would lazily graze along her back, her sides and her arm underneath the blankets, unable to keep their hands to themselves.

the movies they watched were usually stupid, raunchy comedies made by vought, so they could spend their time making fun of them.

this particular night, however, marie had suggested something new. emma was going on about how she and sam had watched some creepy horror movie that had left them feeling freaked out for days.

"a horror movie?" jordan questioned, smoke coming out of their mouth as they set their green glass bong onto their coffee table, holding a hand over their mouth as they coughed a few times, "you sure?"

marie was lying back on jordan's bed and amongst the pillows, her hands clasped over her stomach after smoking only enough to let her body relax. she nodded, "why not? i haven't watched a lot of them, i bet it would be fun."

jordan thought about it seriously for a moment, then shrugged, "fuck it. sure. you wanna' pick?" they asked as they looked around their surroundings with a hand out until they spotted their remote, grabbing it and tossing it to marie, "i'll watch whatever you want."

marie caught the remote and began flipping through the streaming service, watching jordan every so often as they smoked a tiny bit more before finally crawling back into bed with her, sitting up against the headboard.

"you won't get scared, right?" jordan hummed out the question as they watched her flip through the horror category, only slightly judging as she passed over a few of their favourite titles.

she scoffed, "i've seen worse, jordan." she said matter of fact, though, she wasn't completely sold, but it was just a movie. so what if she'd tried watching the exorcist when she was eleven and cried - this was different. she wasn't eleven anymore.

jordan stayed silent, watching as she paused over a movie, hovering over te play button - the conjuring. it was a classic. some girls at red river had watched it on the computer once, but she didn't join.

"you really want to watch that?" jordan asked, looking over at marie, "why don't we watch, like, scream, or something?"

marie perked up slightly, turning her shoulders to look at jordan better, "why not this one?"

"don't get me wrong, it's one of my favourites," they smirked, "but it's freaky, you know."

"oh, come on. it can't be that bad." marie rolled her eyes, turning back to the television and pressing play. she wasn't going to let jordan decide what she could watch.

it was, in fact, a bit bad. it was fine for a while, the intro storyline about that annabelle doll was more unsettling than anything else. yet, as the storyline continued, the more marie began to feel her palms get clammy. her high had completely worn off and she was holding the blankets tight against her chest.

jordan looked at her through the corner of their eyes, turning their head only slightly. it was so cute. the way her eyes were slightly squinted as if somehow that would make the jumpscares any less scary.

anytime a scare happened, she'd twitch in place and throw her hands over her eyes. it was cute. just as jordan turned back to the screen, they were met with a jumpscare that caused them to flinch back against the headboard, hard, and let out a yelp. marie was scared, too, but from behind her hand-covered face, she let out an abrupt laugh, "jordan!" she cackled, "are you okay? you hit the headboard hard," she had to talk through laughs, slowly dropping her hands to look over at them.

"i'm fine," jordan answered, looking to marie as she laughed. their own lips curved into a smile and they couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled up to match hers, "i told you, it's fucking freaky!" they explained through their laughs.

the laughter between the two of them was contagious, one of those laughs that made you laugh harder when you'd try to talk about it. the ones that would make your stomach cramp and cheeks grow sore. the kind you don't forget.

jordan eventually fell against marie's side and eventually moved so their head was situated neatly on her lap, clutching their stomach as tears reached their eyes. marie tried so hard to stifle her laughter as she looked down at them.

it felt like hours later when they were able to calm down, having not paid attention to much of the climax of the movie because of it.

"horrors aren't that scary," marie finally managed to speak through her final bouts of laughter, gentle and tired, as they absentmindedly raked her fingers through their hair.

"did you see the way that got me? of course, they're scary!" jordan grinned. then they were laughing again, teasing each other about their reactions to the scares.

jordan swore they'd never be able to watch another movie without marie.

#limoreau #jordan li x marie moreau #jordan li #marie moreau #gen v #in this ask... sam is just a regular student and emmas lil bf!!#also casual weed smoking limoreau is my favourite limoreau #wordsbyspatial #spatialanswers

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716chr · 4 months

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Chihiro Natsuyaki Novel - “Choose Me!”

Track 2 - 2nd Round

Sunlight filters through the window of the small apartment.

The shadows of the window’s lattice frame cast striped patterns across the room.

Toys for girls, all of them old and worn, some cheap makeup kits, hand-me-downs from my older sister and two younger sisters, along with my mother’s flashy dresses.

I rummage through them for something I can wear and practice my dance moves on the tatami mat.

Humming along to the idol song playing on TV, I try to mimic the dance moves shown on the screen.

I love dancing.

Because when I dance, I can make people smile.

—— Chii-chan, you dance just like a pro.

That’s what big sis said.

—— Chii-nii, can you do the dance from that one MK55 song? We wanna see it!

That’s what my little sister would request.

I’ll do whatever it takes if it means everyone can clap and be happy.

When I dance, even this small, cramped, shabby apartment becomes my stage.

Sometimes even Mom smiles when she sees me dance.

—— I bet your dancing could make us some money.

When I told her that I got a solo dance part in my elementary school play, she laughed in response.

Right. If I could make money, would that make Mom happy….?

Would she be proud of me?

I wonder if she will finally love me this time…..

—— Wipe that smile off your face right now!

Shortly after graduating from middle school, these words were suddenly thrown at my face.

While I was juggling multiple part-time jobs to help make ends meet, my mother came home furious one day and started yelling at me. Each of her words hit me like a slap in the face.

—— You’re just like your father, nothing more than a lowest-of-the-low scumbag. If you keep this up, you’ll surely become just like that man.

….I was aware that I’m becoming more and more like my father.

Because I didn’t bear any resemblance to my sisters at all.

My dad walked out of our lives when I was too young to remember, and my Mom has always described him as a scumbag.

If I were to dance, my Mom might see me as an even bigger burden. She might not want to come home ever again.

With my mom’s frequent absences and my sisters constantly on edge, I can no longer dance within these walls.

I’ve been sneaking off between work shifts to dance in the alleyways more often. But I can’t change my face, and I can’t stop my body from growing.

….I really don’t want to keep growing.

If I become an adult, I might end up looking even more like my dad than I do now.

——Hey, big sis, how can I change my face…..?

Plastic surgery? But we don’t have that kind of money.

When I couldn’t take it anymore and finally asked my sister, who was living in the same apartment with me at the time, she looked at me with a momentary sadness.

She then said, “I’ll teach Chii-chan about makeup”.

It was able to change my face a little bit.

Cosmetic tools felt like magic wands.

Since Mom has those slanted, cat-like eyes, I tried lifting the corners of my eyes to accentuate them more…..

See? I look a bit more like Mom, right?

As I danced in the corner of the street, my face reflected on the edge of a shop window, I finally felt like I looked the part with my makeup on.

——Becoming a different person like this is fine.

Suddenly, in that moment, I had a realization.

It’s okay for me to not be the real Chihiro.

It’s fine if this Chihiro is made of lies. It’s fine as long as this “me” I’ve created is loved.

I want to be someone who is loved.

Deep inside my heart, where I always felt like there was a cold, gaping hole. If I’m loved, then I’m sure even that place will become warm.

That’s what I thought.

The voices of 133 people can be heard.

Today, the contestants were asked to put up childhood photos on the walls of this lavish TV show set.

We were also asked to write our aspirations by hand and put them next to the photos, so they could be introduced during the program breaks.

There were hardly any photos of me at home.

My big sister, who now lives separately from us, somehow managed to find one and brought it to me, so I made it work.

“Chii, is this your photo!? So cute! Look at you dancing~”

Komu-kun sticks close to my side and leans in to take a closer look.

In the photo, I was dancing with an innocent smile.

I wonder who took this photo.

Maybe it was the father I’d never seen before? Was my mother by his side?

Was she smiling at me in this moment?

“What about your photo, Komu-pi?”

“Yeah, this! ……And this, and this, and this….. Which one do you think is best?”

Komu-kun pulled out a dozen photos. The other contestants around us praised them, saying, “They’re all great!”

In every photo, little Komu-kun was undoubtedly very cute. He was smiling happily in all of them; many were taken of him sitting on his parents’ laps.

“Komu, you sure got a lot of photos.” Another contestant, who was putting up his own picture, chuckles.

“I really tried to pick out the best ones…. But there are still hundreds of photos from when I was little. Pretty crazy, right?” Komu-kun says with a laugh.

Someone else jokes, “Is your house a photo studio or what?”, and everyone started laughing.

But all I felt was a coldness settling in my heart.

……Kids who are loved have it different, even in things like this. For me, it was hard finding even a single photo.

“Chihiro, your smile hasn’t changed at all.”

“You look so happy.”

The people who were teasing Komu-kun also commented on my photo.

I made a dumb joke in return, “Yeah, I’ve got that manly charm now, right?”, but deep inside, my heart hurt.

……I haven’t changed at all, huh.

It’s true that I looked happy in this photo.

Because I didn’t know this happiness I had would soon crumble away.

——But at this moment, maybe I was truly happy.

“This happiness didn’t really last for long, y’know” I swallowed down the words that threatened to escape me.

Tomorrow is selection day. After the mission song evaluation, the show was aired.

Many viewers are deciding who to vote for, sorting us out. The number of contestants will be reduced from 133 to just 66.

“Let’s definitely make it through tomorrow.”

Komu-kun said, pressing his shoulder against mine.

Seeing his worried face made me want to comfort him.

So I took his hand, and squeezed it tightly.

“Yeah, both me and Komu-pi will surely make it. Let’s become idols together.”

For that, I was even willing to cut down on my own practice and sleep time in order to teach Komu-kun how to dance.

Komu-kun is an honest person, and he keeps improving steadily, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.

As for me…… As for me?

Can I still make it?

I really want to.

For just a moment, I closed my eyes tightly and prayed.

Track 1 | Track 2 | Track 3 | Track 4 | Track 5

#18trip #18trip translation #chihiro natsuyaki

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theroseiswithoutawherefor · 9 months

Text

Well, first of all, I have to thank @yridenergyridenergy for selling me the ticket! It was literally the best experience I had throughout the year; I really, really, sincerely appreciate it.

As promised, this is my repo of the gig in Wakayama. To be honest, I’m really a bad recorder as I can only recall the sensation or vibe in general and forget the details every time. Am I the only one?? Anyway, I guess my drawings may not be precise at all and it would be more like a summary of the year.

And this repo will be focusing on Kaoru, Toshiya and Kyo. I’m sorry but I stood on the left in both times.

Kaoru

It’s so strange that I can easily feel my love for him grows with time and what a coincidence! I visited them twice this year and I was right in front of him every time. I always assumed that I would be in front of Toshiya when I checked the hall map in December, but no! It was Kaoru again! It kinda shocked me the time I located my seat and noticed his microphone stand was there, just about 2 meters away.

I think probably it has been known by all of you, the show started with a semi-transparent screen showing some AI-generated footage(sorry, I hate this part). It covered most of the setting but just revealed some shadows. I could only see Kaoru, his side profile, priest-alike gown and silver hair. He looked so focused and indifferent and so good-looking…my hands are still sweating as I recall it now.

That was my first time listening to Rinkaku on-site. I got caught up in emotion when you could easily compare themselves in reality and their sketches in the video. You could see how much they have changed and it also just reminded me a lot of moments, staying at home and staring them on the screen. The real vs the virtual.

Also, at the beginning from the distance, I could only see some sort of marks on his chin that looked pretty much like piercings? It turned out to be his makeup; so brilliant.

Kyo

I didn’t see Kyo that much this time, but I feel he is that kind of vocal that you would fall in love with once you’ve actually seen him in the venue. He looked so nostalgic to me this time, maybe bc of the ghost face makeup or the fact that I have seen him too much this year. I also went to HK for sukekiyo this year.

The gig of sukekiyo was more emotional, floating and spacey (and less aggressive, obviously). Kyo’s dedication was so contagious. Although he looked a little bit nervous at the beginning of the Day1, forgetting the lyrics now and then lol.

It is interesting to see the similarities and differences between Diru and Sukekiyo, like looking at different reflections of the same mirror.

Btw probably he is the most inspiring Diru member to me I guess. Idk why drawing kyo always begins with a pretty satisfying draft then it becomes a big challenge to my expertise and patience ahhhh. But yeah, I can improve a lot after finishing it. So, kyo, thx? lol

Toshiya

I’m not quite a fan of his white outfit that day(the one worn in the pic of their tweet on 16th Dec). Actually I even failed to recognize him the first, waistcoat and palazzo trouser are ok but definitely not the most stunning look of him. It seems that his style is becoming more gender-neutral this year, with hair dyed brown, pearl jewelries and feminine makeup.

But I still quite enjoyed his performance, his body language was so beautiful (ugh! It’s such a shame that I can’t recreate it)and he was the first one going to the left terrace and saying hi to everyone. Toshiya is always the sweetest person in Diru to me.

I prefer his encore look more and he took off the shirt and threw it to the gift right in front of him

（and a random sketch）

That’s it! I could have drawn more but, sorry I’m a perfectionist, these pics really took me some time, but I may keep going if I have spare time.

And I’m not used to talking so much on the Internet, it is embarrassing somehow.

The year of 2023 has treated me rly good, I hope it would be the same for all of you and Diru members, see you next year.

#dir en grey #sukekiyo #kaoru #kyo #toshiya #A repo? maybe?

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deseraethesimp · 1 year

Text

Professor & His assistant

Prof!Simon Riley & Afab!reader

Wanings: A little age gap, oral (fem reciving), pure nsfw

This was kinda short, and I might’ve not spell checked it...

꧁•⊹٭!!Minors DNI!!٭⊹•꧂

You were always somehow the teachers pet, no matter how much trouble you have gotten into. You decided to be a teacher...Assistant, but it wasn’t to bad, Mr.Riley was very funny once you had gotten close.

You were in your little business casual outfit, and he loved the way it lightly hugged your curves and every imperfection that he needed to touch. Today he was letting you teach a topic you really liked and always talked about, while you were standing at the lecture stand and he was staring where ever he could. you knew it to, the way he secretly drooled over those tits, ass, thighs, face, hair, eyes, ANYWHERE. You were finished, Class was over you were worn out mentally. You put in your air-pods and began listening to music, you bent over to grab your bag and Simon saw a peak of your panties. He knew it was perverted but something about that made him painfully hard, you grabbed your stuff and walked to him. “Mr. Riley?” he looked at you “Yes Y/n?” “today was really fun but I’m worn out” your laugh made him blush a bit. You and him made conversation when he asked “Do you wanna come to my place” you were so confused but you perked up and smiled “Ofc!” you nudged him a bit “are we gonna talk about boys and do each others hair~?” He smiled a bit ~LATER~

You were on your phone listening to music off one airpod, wearing some pj pants and a tight shirt. He was just watching TV, texting someone..You got up and hopped on him “SOoooOO who ya texting that’s gotta be sooo secretive sir?” he heard the music from your airpod and you smiled “Is it a girl” you gasped “IS SHE PRETTY??” you continued questioning him before he finally answered “Its one of my friends from the military before I had to leave” your eyes widened “You were in the military? Is that why your strong, or you have that tattoo? Or your so muscular, o-” he put his hand over your mouth “Never knew you were so curious” he sighed “Yes to all your silly questions” His thick accent..how big he was compared to you, the way he looked at you, how small you were on one thigh. All of this hit you in one wave of arousal and you moved your hips back and fourth one time. Maybe he didn’t notice luckily? You wrapped your hands around his wrist and pulled his hand off your mouth. “Their not silly!” you rolled your eyes “I think as a little teachers pet I could be curious?” he smiled a little bit “Yeah a little too curious luvie” his hands slowly trecked down to your hips.

You began moving back and fourth slowly, whining softly, his hands moving all around you. Their was a cum stain in your panties now after getting off, Simon pushed you down on the couch. Your back hitting the cushions, he slowly slid off your pants and panties. Your inner thighs and cunt covered in slick and your own cum now, he licked a small stripe up. You clasped your thighs together, ringing his head like a bell hips bucking up “S-sorry I’m super sensi-” He had no time to talk or no way to talk being muffled. He was eating you out like a starved man, Overstimulating you to the brink of seeing outer space. He lifted up cover in every liquid he made come out, he quickly grabbed his phone taking a picture of you. Bottom half exposed in a bra, he had the flash on you covered your face and turned to the side.

He took very good care of you and made you his Home screen but only the face part. With your sweaty hands and messed up hair...He smiled everytime he saw it. He fed you some very good food, you didn’t know what it is but you listened to music and fell alseep after being worn out

BONUS: The next day, even though he didn’t pound your guts like you hoped your legs were still jello. Due to it being your first time being touched by someone who wasn’t your hands. You still think about it in class, though it hurts to walk you still made it. He practically laughed in your face when he looked at you with a shit eating grin.

YALL IM SO FUCKIN PROUD OF MYSELF THIS IS MY LONGEST PEICE OF WRITING TAKING ME 2 FULL HOURS YAYYY!!! - Xoxo Desi Boo

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley smut #ghost smut #cod x reader #cod smut

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owletstarlet · 1 month

Text

patron saint of the lost causes (2/2)

“You can stop looking at him like that.” Taki’s voice is frank, but not unkind. Katsumi could not be less in the mood for whatever the hell kind of conversation this is about to be. “Like what,” he replies anyhow. “Like you broke his best friend."

ao3 link | part 1

Given every piece of information Katsumi knows or can infer about Tanuma Kaname, it is the most on-brand thing in the world right now for him to be looking both embarrassed and apologetic while also lying in a goddamned hospital bed. Still very much connected, he might add, to all the equipment necessary to prevent his own body from cooking up his brain and all his organs. Doesn’t mean it isn’t weird. And bad. Very weird and very bad.

They’re allowed in to see him in groups of no more than three at a time, and for no more than ten minutes each. He’d been awake and asking about them, but his fever’s still high if no longer imminently lethal, and he’s apparently still groggy from coming off the tail end of some sedative they’d pumped into him hours ago to keep him from shivering while they’d worked to combat said fever. He’s with Natsume, and they’re the first ones in, and that really, truly and honestly blows. Because Natsume’s silent and tense beside him, because Tanuma’s somehow managing to both look like a ghost and also like he really wouldn’t mind ghosthood all that much, eyes that he can’t even keep open all the way fixed on his lap. At least if Nishimura had come in before him, he’d have had a handful of stupid jokes up his sleeve.

Doesn’t help, obviously, that they’ve seemingly got him hooked up to the complete goddamn works here: the IV drip, the cords of the vitals monitors snaking out from the rumpled neck of the yukata-type gown they’ve got him in. The low beeping from the absolute behemoth of the monitor itself beside the bed that’s got to be 15 years old at least, blocky numbers and jagged lines, hills and valleys in neon colors scrolling the tiny black screen. The chunky wired clip on his finger that Katsumi vaguely recognizes from TV but cannot for the life of him remember its purpose. And to cap it all off, the oxygen tube thing—cannula?—under his nose (which, what the hell, can he not even breathe properly right now). Like it’s all been pulled from some film set for dramatic flair. Maybe less sleek, with more underfunded-isekai-emergency-room vibes, but if anything that just piles on the nightmare fuel.

And he looks embarrassed about it. The fuck.

For few vastly uncomfortable seconds, nobody says anything at all. He’d thought Natsume would take the reins on this, but he doesn’t even look to see what the holdup is, because Katsumi himself is still mucking through what there even is to say. No matter that he’s had hours to prepare, even practiced it once or twice in the bathroom mirror like an absolute lunatic, but he’s also been roundly warned by the others that any variation of why the fuck didn’t you say anything was off limits.

It’s Tanuma who eventually speaks first. “I—“

“Save it,” is the first thing out of Katsumi’s mouth, because of course it is. Tanuma winces, and Natsume promptly elbows Katsumi in the ribs. Off to a great start. “We already know,” he amends. “Your dad told us you probably didn’t realize.”

Tanuma looks up, then. And yes, his gaze is maybe still little drug-hazed, but Katsumi’s still not sure how to feel about the look on his face, like Katsumi’s a math problem he can’t quite work out. He nods, slowly. “I’m sorry.”

The room isn’t even a room, really, just one cramped, curtained-off corner of a space containing three other beds. There’s a single, worn chair wedged in beside the bed, and Natsume drops into it now, now at Tanuma’s eye level. He reaches out, and Katsumi doesn’t miss the split half-second where his hand falters midair before coming to rest carefully on Tanuma’s forearm, fingertips just skimming the IV tube taped there.

“Sensei checked around,” Natsume tells him, tone gentle but serious. Huh. Little abrupt, not the first thing Katsumi would’ve expected out of his mouth here. “He said there wasn’t anything he could find, but. You weren’t attacked, were you?”

Tanuma frowns, like he wasn’t immediately expecting the question either, but then something seems to click behind his eyes. “I don’t think so?” he starts, and purses his lips like he’s thinking. His words are lower and slower than normal, but otherwise he doesn’t actually seem all that out of it, just exhausted. “I don’t remember that much. But I think it’d feel…different, than this.”

Something in the set of Natsume’s shoulders loosens, just barely. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he says, after a moment of consideration. And Katsumi doesn’t mean to snort, it just sort of comes out, but he immediately feels like a dick when Tanuma’s mouth twists and he drops his gaze again. But before he can backpedal on that, Natsume shoots him a look that could strip paint right off a wall, and he figures that shutting the fuck up is the best course of action.

But to be perfectly fair to himself, the guy can’t even sit up on his own without the raised end of the bed, and his face is the same eggshell color as the cheap sheets tucked around him, wherever it isn’t blotched up from his fever of fucking 39.

“…I mean,” Tanuma starts again, “not great or anything, but. Headache’s mostly gone, and,” he turns his head a little to indicate the blue pillow-like object under his head that Katsumi is only just realizing is an extra large jelly ice pack thing. “These are really cold but they’re helping a lot. There’s some more under my arms and legs.” He raises his shoulder a bit, and Katsumi notices the slight lumpiness of the yukata on the sides of his chest that must be more ice packs tucked under his armpits.

Natsume lets out a breath. “That’s good,” he says, and his smile seems much less forced now, softer. “Before you’re discharged, we’ll make sure nothing was out there, so. Don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” Tanuma says, and he’s clearly picked up on the undercurrent of fear in Natsume’s questions. “Thank you.”

It’s not like it’s a bad thing to see Natsume willing to actually feel his goddamn feelings in front of other people, it’s a definite improvement over the vapid not-quite-smiles and the empty eyes he and his classmates called creepy when they were kids. But this, he can definitively say, also sucks. Nishimura had briefly mentioned something about Natsume having been pretty shaken up when Kitamoto had been hospitalized for some minor accident a few months back, but it seems to go deeper than that, here. As if he’d implicitly blame himself for any and all nasty youkai shit in this apparently nasty-youkai-shit-infested-town. When he wasn’t even there. And, granted, Natsume might not respond well to it coming from Katsumi, but it is dumb, and Natsume should know that he is in fact being dumb.

The thought of said nasty youkai shit makes Katsumi remember to fish the little wood talisman out of his pocket. Maybe it’s not the time to bring it up, when Natsume’s freaked out enough as it is, but they’re going to be kicked out of here in about seven minutes. Some ENT had pried it out of Tanuma’s fingers in the back of the ambulance when they were trying to get an IV into his arm, and had passed it over to Katsumi. He found out soon enough that Taki had made the thing, using some obscure old exorcism texts from her grandfather’s library, which he’d honestly found pretty impressive until Sensei had had to ruin it by noting that the flimsy thing would have about the same repellent power against an average youkai that a squirt gun might have on a bear. Which, at least, made it seem it less likely that he’d been clinging to it because he really thought something was going to attack them. But when Katsumi had tried to return it to Taki, she’d given him a maddeningly incomprehensible look and just said, “Give it to him yourself.”

So he is. Hope she’s happy, because he for one feels some heavy sort of way about it that he does not have the energy to parse out right now.

“You dropped something,” he says, because that’s simpler than the truth. There’s not really room to squeeze himself in near Natsume at the bedside, and the other side’s got that mammoth monitor machine taking up most of the narrow space, so he just sort of hovers behind Natsume somewhere beside Tanuma’s legs. He reaches over, drops the talisman lightly on his knee.

Tanuma blinks down at it, slowly raises his hand to place overtop of it. The movement is awkward and slow, between the clip on the finger of this hand and the gel pack wedged under his arm, but his remaining fingers close around it. He looks up at Katsumi, eyes wide. “You—“

“It’s whatever,” he says with a shrug, before Tanuma can even get the words out. He’s not in the mood to be thanked right now. “It, uh. Looked pretty important, though. You were squeezing it damn tight enough.”

That earns him a sharp over-the-shoulder look from Natsume, a don’t-you-fucking-tease-him-or-so-help-me-god face if ever Katsumi saw it.

Katsumi ignores him. That wasn’t the point. Because despite the fact that Sensei had patrolled the area, and that it made the most sense that he’d been clinging to the talisman out of some delirious attempt at self-soothing, if there was any chance he’d been desperate to grab for it because it was better than nothing at all if something was hanging around, that’d be pretty damn good information to have before any of them have to walk that road again. Maybe seeing it would jog his memory.

Apparently not, though. He manages, awkwardly, to flip the thing over so it rests in his palm, even though it jostles the clip just enough to elicit a few abrupt pi-pi-pis from the machine beside him. “All I really remember,” he says, at length, “is leaving home, then Lawson, kind of, and then, ah.” His eyes flick upwards, for the barest second, not even making it up to Katsumi’s eyes before his gaze drops right back down like a stone.

“What?”

Tanuma’s fingers close tight as they’re able around the talisman, and he looks so thoroughly miserable that Katsumi’s starting to be sorry he asked.

“I remember throwing up on you,” he mutters.

And that startles a chuckle out of Katsumi. It’s a sharp, awkward sound in the hush of the room. But it feels good, like a crack forming some gigantic dam that barely fits in his chest anymore. Another follows.

Natsume glares.

And okay, yes, it’s got to be a dick move to be laughing right now. The splotchy bits of Tanuma’s face have grown even splotchier as he stares down at his talisman, and the heart monitor’s tempo has kicked up a bit.

“Seriously?” Katsumi manages, catching his breath, before Natsume gets the chance to declare war here. “That’s the part you remember.” The guy’s subconscious must really have it out for him, because Tanuma legitimately looks like he’s about to faint.

And that’s no good, either.

“Look,” he starts, and drops down to perch awkwardly on the bedside edge somewhere near Tanuma’s shin, opposite Natsume. At least like this he’s not looming like a creep over the foot of the bed anymore. “For life-threatening situations? Free pass. And I got some new threads out of it anyways,” he says, plucking at the sleeve of his borrowed shirt. “Timeless classics.”

They actually look fine, some nondescript green button down and dark chinos belonging to Shigeru-san, though when he’d thrown them on this morning he’d barely even registered what he was wearing anyhow. Nishimura, Kitamoto and Taki are all wearing the same clothes they’d worn yesterday, still a little damp from being hastily laundered and hung to dry indoors overnight, but Katsumi’s things are currently still soaking in a bucket of oxygen cleaner on the Fujiwaras’ veranda, and Natsume’s clothes are all a size too small for him.

“It’s not your fault for getting sick,” Natsume tells him, gentle but direct, when Tanuma doesn’t immediately respond. Which is exactly what Katsumi just said. But whatever. Tanuma huffs out through his nose, a soft halting sound that makes an odd little whistle over the top of the cannula, and finally looks up at Katsumi. There’s something taut behind his eyes, but least he looks marginally less like wants to evaporate into the goddamn ether anymore.

“I, just.” He shifts in his seat a little, swallows, but keeps talking. “This all must’ve been…a lot, for you, so. I’m sorry. Thanks for getting help.”

“‘Course.” Katsumi shrugs, still not really sold on the idea of being thanked right now. “I’m not a total monster.”

That, at least, elicits some sorry little suggestion of a smile from him. He’ll take it.

“But, with your dad saying you didn’t realize, though,” he starts, before he can think better of the question. “Has this happened before?”

Natsume looks a little wary, as though he’s ready to shut this conversation right down if need be—which, fair enough—but is also watching Tanuma like he isn’t exactly not curious, either.

But Tanuma says, “Sort of?” and cocks his head like he’s trying to remember. “In third or fourth grade, maybe. There was this school clean-up event just before the summer break, and…I don’t exactly remember what happened, but I guess the teachers realized when they did a head count at lunch.” He shakes his head a little. “Anyways. That town was…we didn’t live there long.”

Katsumi’s not at all sure what to make of that last bit, though Natsume looks perturbed by it. But something’s not quite adding up regardless. “Wait,” he says, frowning, “if this was a school clean-up, wouldn’t you all have been working in pairs or groups or something?”

Tanuma shrugs. “I guess?”

“You got ditched,” Katsumi concludes, flatly. “That’s fucked up.”

“…I mean…” He’s starting to look uncomfortable again, his fingers picking at the edges of the talisman. “I couldn’t actually attend school there all that often, so. I didn’t really know many people’s names, or anything. It’s okay, really.”

No, it’s fucked up, he wants to say, only to remember the other person in the room right now. Natsume doesn’t look particularly happy to hear this story, but he doesn’t look surprised, either. Like he very much gets it. And Katsumi’s acutely aware that he himself the last person who should have anything to say about any of this at all.

And the kicker is, yeah, he knows how cruel and ugly kids can be to each other, because god knows Katsumi was, but this doesn’t even sound like that. Tanuma had recounted it as though he were as good as a stranger to his classmates, and vice versa.

Katsumi glances at the talisman again, at the marker ink that’s gone splotchy in the corners visible under pale fingertips. And, unwillingly, he thinks of some sickly nine-year-old, lying lost behind some tree or tool shed, nobody looking for him at all.

A long buzz from his pocket punctuates the silence. Then another. Katsumi doesn’t need to fish his phone out to know it’s Mom. Again.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, when two pairs of eyes flick towards him. “I’ll get it later.”

He’s been putting off actually speaking to her; he knows Touko-san called her sometime yesterday and since then he’s mostly just been sending her messages to check in and vaguely reassure her. He’ll have to talk to her soon, but he likes to think he’s got enough dignity left in him to not want that to happen anywhere remotely near any of these guys. The thought makes something itch in his throat.

“You know,” Tanuma starts, after a moment, voice quiet but clear. “It really is okay for you to go.”

“Nah.” Katsumi shrugs. “Like I said. Nothing better to do back home either. Except get nagged about holiday homework.”

Tanuma nods, once. He doesn’t necessarily look unhappy, but there’s a thread of unease in his voice. “You’re welcome to stay,” he says, “but…you’re here for, what, five more days? Six? And, ah.” He casts a glance at that giant beeping machine beside him, then around the cramped room that doesn’t even have a window or real walls. And he looks so tired. “I’ll be here. And then on bedrest when I’m out, they said, so…”

Katsumi frowns. “…so?” he echoes. “Is this about the cleaning? ‘Cause fuck the cleaning.”

Tanuma just blinks, nonplussed, and Natsume sighs and rubs vaguely at his temple like he’s got a headache coming on. “Shibata,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it.

Katsumi rolls his eyes. “I meant, it’s not your problem right now.”

“But it shouldn’t just be yours, either,” Tanuma says, gaze drifting back to that damned machine again. “You’re here because I asked, and now there’ll be even more, with less time.”

This is starting to feel like a stupid conversation to Katsumi, because he has the suspicion that even Tanuma’s dad wouldn’t be all that bothered right now about offending someone’s dead great-great-aunt on Obon with a dusty altar or two. So it’s probably for the best that Natsume speaks up before Katsumi has the chance to.

“He is right that you don’t need to worry about it right now,” Natsume tells him. “But, there’s still plenty of time, too. And Sensei and I can try and find some extra hands, too.”

“Extra…” Tanuma frowns. “Would that work, though?”

Katsumi’s not a hundred percent on the specifics here, but he’d heard in passing from Sensei that most of the local youkai population weren’t too keen on hanging out around Yatsuhara Temple. Natsume’s finger drums lightly on the bedrail, like he’s considering, and then there’s a flash of…something…in his eyes, something steely enough to maybe just unnerve your run-of-the-mill forest-dwelling flesh-eating folkloric monster.

It’ll be fine.

“Either way, it’s just an extra day or so, right? We’ll get it done,” Natsume says, decisively.

“Yeah, we spent a lot of the first couple days just kind of fucking around, anyhow,” Katsumi adds. It’s not all that true—there had been a little downtime in the evenings, some idle rounds of shogi on the veranda, placing bets against each other on pocket change and cheap snacks, but they’d all more or less collapsed into the lumpy borrowed futons by 10PM each night. It still sounds like a helpful thing to say. Maybe. “We’ll just hustle a bit. It’s all good.”

Tanuma looks torn. “I…thank you. Really. But, I’m the one that actually lives there.” His expression settles on a rueful smile. “And I couldn’t even walk to the store, so. I’m sorry.”

Okay, yeah, no, this is stupid, actually.

Katsumi huffs. “Yeah, all according to your big evil master plan, huh. Luring us all here just to do all the heavy lifting.”

Natsume’s head snaps up sharply at that, and Tanuma just stares, but Katsumi plows on.

“Because that’s how chronic illness works, right? If you can’t just guess and pinpoint all its exact fucking whims day to day, which, by the way, are caused by invisible invisible monsters half the time anyways, then you’re just a super inconsiderate guy, huh. Oh, and dramatic. ‘Cause that’s totally what we’ve all been sitting out there thinking.”

He’s met with silence, from both of them. Which is, basically, the worst possible reaction to receive when you’ve just been on the verge of shouting at someone stuck in a hospital bed. Natsume had looked, at first, reflexively ready to bite right back, but instead he’s watching Tanuma, like he’s holding his breath. They both are.

It’s not a term he’s given much thought to before. Ever, really. Until earlier, hearing Tanuma’s father’s half of a hushed, somber call with some relative or another from the lobby (“…symptoms of heatstroke, but the chronic illness had exacerbated the situation, so at the moment, he’s…”).

Katsumi wonders, vaguely, how they’ve must’ve had him classified in his charts over the years. Generalized Youkai Shenanigan Disorder must be a real head-scratcher to the medical community at large.

But he looks normal, is the thing. A bit underslept, sure. And lugging heavy boxes around all day gets him winded a little faster than the others. And he takes more care than the rest of them to stop for water, but that’s just being responsible. It wasn’t like he hadn’t kept up, hadn’t been fine.

Katsumi had only got the most cursory of explanations, back when they’d first met. That he’d been sick as a kid a lot, moved around often because of it, that it had gotten a lot better when he’d moved here, met Natsume. And he looks so shockingly ordinary that Katsumi would’ve never known.

And Katsumi doesn’t know if anything really was out there in that dusty field with them. Doesn’t think it matters, ultimately.

Maybe it is better these days. And maybe it’s pointless to even speculate, if he hasn’t lived it. But it sure as hell sounds to Katsumi like living with a landmine buried in your skin. Doesn’t matter how deep down it’s sunk, how quiet it seems. Not like it’s not there.

Nobody’s said anything, still. Natsume’s watching Tanuma. Tanuma’s watching his own lap.

“Am I kicked out?” Katsumi asks, arms folding.

“No.”

Katsumi barely hears him; his voice sounds half-stuck and dried-up. But then Tanuma looks up, fully, and his eyes are wet.

Shit.

“I mean.” He clears his throat. It doesn’t do much. “Soon? But. Not by me.” He seems to realize about the tears, then, and absently reaches up to scrub at his eyes.

Which, naturally, knocks the mysterious beeping finger clip right off, sending it flying right over the side of the bed.

The behemoth next to the bed immediately starts pi-pi-pi-ing, urgent and shrill, and Katsumi swears, swooping down to snag the little clip by the wire now dangling over the bedrail, and slides it back onto Tanuma’s finger. He doesn’t have a clue if it’s on backwards or not, and is only pretty sure that it had been on his index finger before, but at the very least the noise dies down. And he can’t hear anybody rushing in to check if they’ve killed someone, for the moment.

“Sorry,” Tanuma murmurs, while Natsume readjusts the cannula thing he’d knocked a little crooked. The tube’s kind of misty now, just under his nose, and Katsumi briefly wonders what happens if that thing gets too clogged up with snot to work properly.

Because Katsumi had to go and run his mouth.

Natsume fishes out the talisman from where it’s fallen into the sheets, and presses it back into Tanuma’s palm. “We came to help,” he tells him, snatching a corner of the bedsheet to help mop up his cheeks before he can forget again about the clip, or jostle the IV port or gel packs. “So let us. And rest, okay?”

“Yeah,” Katsumi mutters. “That.” He feels like he’s hovering, blunt and mean and too big for his own skin for this tiny-ass non-room. Glances at his watch, scuffs his heel on the floor. “It’s almost time. You know Nishimura’s probably gonna deck me for making you cry.”

Katsumi can’t immediately clock the sharp little hiccup as laughter. Sounds a little more like an injured corgi to him, but when he looks at Tanuma, there’s a little waver in the set of his mouth, and his shoulders have relaxed, just a bit.

Natsume’s expression is dry—you’d have brought it on yourself if he does—but he seems mollified, his hand having found its careful way back onto Tanuma’s arm like it was coming back home.

Tanuma looks up. His eyes are still red-rimmed, but that desolate look has receded somewhat. “You didn’t—“ he starts.

“I mean, I did,” Katsumi counters.

Tanuma smushes his lips together, tries again. “I’m okay.”

Katsumi raises an eyebrow, makes a vague sweep of the arm around the terrible little space, all the equipment crammed around and connected to him. “Yup. Clearly.”

Tanuma sighs, just looks at him for a moment. And maybe it’s not an improvement, Katsumi thinks, if Tanuma’s circling back to just finding him exhausting to talk to, but then that’s no worse than yesterday before all this shit began.

“Thank you,” Tanuma tells him, finally. His voice is soft but sure.

Katsumi shrugs. Always down to bully a hospital patient. I’m your guy.

But the words dig in, stick in place like nettles. And it hurts, kind of, a nagging sort of prickle embedded in Katsumi’s chest.

It’s not so bad, though.

“Sure,” he offers. “Now rest up, or else. This place is the worst.”

***

#natsume yuujinchou #natsume's book of friends #natsume yuujinchou fanfic #natsume yuujinchou fanfiction #tanuma kaname #shibata katsumi #natsume takashi #nishimura satoru #kitamoto atsushi #taki tooru #goodlucktai #owlet's fanfic #finished just in time for obon #thanks for the kind tags on the last chapter guys #it's been a hot minute and I struggled to get this done so it made me really happy to see #posted at 4:30AM because time is a mere human construct

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soulwrit3s · 10 months

Text

Chapter 4: Worth it

Summary: You and Shuri finally begin to intensify your situationship. But all good things must come to an end. A pause? You still can’t figure out which one.

@xchoxix @6-noir @goldqueen12 @likemick @pocketsizedpanther @h34rtsformilli @jordisblogg @imnotb @desswright29 @thtgirlllmona @euph0ricx0

6:00 AM

You’ve never been a texter. Never been a fan and to this day you wouldn’t consider yourself one but you’ve made an exception. You’ve been trying to convince yourself that Shuri has been trying to be friendly. But after having Riri evaluate your texts, She told you she would never text a friend the way Shuri texts you. It’s filled with gentle reminders of things she’s lectured about, and tips about how to become a better surgeon but your favorite texts are the ones where she’s asking you questions about yourself. She somehow eases it into conversation and for once you can teach her something.

“Get any closer you gon’ crack the phone screen.” Riri kids as she slides a bowl of soup your way. You look up from my series of texts with Shuri and find Riri ladling some soup into her bowl.

“She really got you bad, huh?” Riri chuckles. She’s not wrong, the mere sound of Shuri’s name makes you smile and you don’t even try to stop it. You take a sip of the hot soup and the vibrating of Riri’s phone has you looking at the counter. She swipes it quickly before you can see the caller and presses it to her ear.

“Hello.” She says, her voice quieter than usual. She eventually walks out the door. She’s never done that before, walking out when she’s on the phone. Granted, she’s quiet but she’s never that private. You don’t question it though, not once your phone buzzes with a text.

‘Call me later.’

- Shuri

You’ve been receiving texts for weeks. Five to be exact. She’s doing much more than texting. She calls you into her office to go over cases instead of doing so in a conference room. She stands behind you, so close you can smell the body wash she's worn that morning. Or she brushes a hand up your thigh while you speak, forcing your sentences to come out fragmented.

You’ve been on an all-time high, to say the least.

…

11: 25 AM

“I love my job.” You grin from ear to ear. You’ve seen Shuri maybe once today and she was speaking to a patient with her lab coat rolled up to reveal her tatted forearms. She wasn’t smiling at first but she looked up to see your face and smirked before putting her eyes back on her patient.

“I fuckin’ bet.” Riri murmurs. She’s in a good mood as she settles next to you. She’s normally over work by the fifth hour of your shift but it seems that today is different.

“How’s the trauma department?” You question. She’s already one bite into her sandwich and you wait for her to chew before she answers.

“Fine. Why?” She asks, swallowing louder than necessary.

“Just askin’.” You shrug and for someone who’s usually so calm and collected, she seems like she’s almost hiding something from you. Maybe it’s something going on with her mom or sister.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” You ask, watching her lean back in her seat.

“Nah, I’m cool.” She shrugs, looking down to avoid looking at you. You scan the room and figure that her pager will go off any second now. There’s no resting in the trauma center and everyone in the hospital knows it. Before her pager can beep for a second time she’s already up and gone.

You quietly scroll through your phone, anticipating some sort of text from Shuri. You smell vanilla and sandalwood before a hand softly presses against your free one on the table.

“You’re distracted.” Shuri’s accented voice speaks from behind you. You look up to find her gazing lowly at you. She’s dressed in her navy scrubs and this time with her lab coat that you always see her in.

“I have a good reason to be.” You reply, trying to stop yourself from smiling. Your faces are so close and it’s just like that elevator. Her eyes scan the people around you so you don’t have to. She inches closer, too close for a colleague. You nearly let out a sound when you feel her hand on your knee.

“We’re-“

“There’s no one in this cafeteria but people outside of our departments and I guarantee you that no one is looking underneath this table.” She says, chuckling a little once the tips of her fingers graze your thigh. She squeezes firmly and you feel warmth where her fingers have yet to reach.

Before she can squeeze the rest of you, her pager goes off suddenly and the smirk wipes off her face. She returns to her Doctor-self and rushes away like she was never touching you in the first place.

You have no idea what to do with yourself.

6:39 PM

You wait outside for Riri, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your skinny jeans. You’ve been waiting for nearly twenty minutes now and you watch her finally step out of the hospital but she’s not in her streetwear. She’s still in her scrubs, her edges sweated out, and out of breath.

“Y/N, I can’t go for another hour, I’ll explain later but listen the trauma department is backed up. I can give you my keys, you can drive home-“ She begins to explain, the words coming out so fast you can barely process them. But you can’t be angry. This is what she wanted, she’s worked towards being a surgeon just like everyone, and in the future, she’ll have more moments like these.

So all you do is smile at her.

“It’s cool, Ri, text me when you're done, and I’ll call an Uber.” You assure her. She says nothing but you know she appreciates it. You get it. While scrolling through your phone and swiping past your messages to get to the Uber app, you receive a text.

‘I leave in five. Meet me outside.’

- Shuri

So you wait. And she’s punctual, walking out exactly five minutes after that text. She dresses comfortably which you don’t expect after seeing her sport silk tops and dress pants all day. She’s wearing a thick wool sweater and sweats. Small eye bags drag her eyes and she smiles once she sees you.

“Where’s Williams?” She questions as she adjusts her leather messenger bag. The veins along her hand flex as she squeezes the strap.

“Working overtime in the Pit.” You reply, holding your hand out for her to grab. She interlocks your fingers and lets you pull her forward so she can lead you to her car.

7: 26 PM

Just like you’ve never been a texter, you’ve also never been one for one-night stands. Not since college at least. But tonight you desperately hope that one happens especially with Shuri.

She sits next to you on the couch where Riri usually sits. She was pleasantly surprised by the Dog upon her arrival. She seemed almost kid-like which was heart-warming to watch.

“Beer?” She offers after having been through your fridge. You politely grab the one in her hand, feeling your heart race once your fingers accidentally touch. She takes a sip out of her bottle and leans back with her eyes trained on the TV.

You don’t even know what’s playing right now but you do notice the single drop of beer that gracefully spills from the corner of her mouth. It trails down her jaw and her hand comes to obscure the view as she wipes it from her skin.

Her eyes trail to you. You don’t know if it’s because of the moonlight shining on her face or if it’s the warmth of the lights but her gaze is low. And darker than it’s ever been.

“You still have a staring issue.” She grins, as she leans forward to set her bottle down. She still feels your stare on her so she decides to turn her face to the side, staring right back at you.

“What’s your issue, Y/N?” She wonders. She’s not being genuine and you feel heat radiating off of your skin. You feel her hand on your thigh and you have no idea how long it’s been there but she finally moves it where she wants which happens to be your ass.

She gives it a good squeeze before leaning in and pressing a soaring kiss to your lips. It shocks you, it feels better than being in that O.R. room and it feels so much better than that fucking dream. Her hands are everywhere, fumbling with your blouse and popping the buttons off. You didn’t realize your own hands were doing the same, feeling soft skin and hard muscle beneath her sweater. Her skin is hot to the touch, just like her mouth is.

She pulls away suddenly, forcing you to feel the absence of her lips.

“Are you sure-“

You kiss her again as reassurance and let her hands roam anywhere on your body. She reaches behind your back with a single hand, eager to see your entire body but her phone buzzes.

“You.” “Should.” “Pick.” “Up.” You smile in between her eager kisses. She’s straddling you by now, her hair is a mess from your constant gripping of it and her sweater is stretched every which way.

She grips her phone from the back pocket of her sweatpants with a clench to her jaw.

“What!” She groans. You hear a feminine voice on the line along with laughter but for the first time since you’ve laid your eyes on her, Shuri looks absolutely petrified.

A/N: i know I’ve been gone for a minute but I have my reasons. I’m not a fan of this chapter however I don’t have it in me to rewrite it.

I toldddd YALLL shuri was gon play in Y/N’s face. Just wait for that fifth chapter. 😋

#black panther #shuri udaku #shuri x reader #shuri udaku x reader #teach me ss series #ss 🌿🌿

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demigodickrider · 10 months

Text

indefinitely, forever ☆ okkotsu yuuta! [1/3]

okkotsu yuuta (post shibuya) x fem!reader click here for: part one | part two | part three - no spoilers from the manga, dwdw ;) - alternative universe where yuuta is an SCP? - [18+] three-part series, 10k+ words in total

(note: not proofread, expect grammar mistakes) warning: contains descriptions of blood, yuuta is a bit OOC/has that gojo satoru influence, romance, happy ending but contains slight angst and comfort, 2nd person pov, reader swears like a sailor

"Slacking off already?"

You scramble into standing at the authoritative tone. You could feel the heavy rush of blood creeping up on your face, and the hammering of your heart in your ears. It pounds almost painfully against your chest, lungs contracting and expanding fast; both out of fear and embarrassment, with the latter being more prominent across your lethargic features as you stared up at your supervisor.

Nanami leers down at you. Disappointment is etched all across his face, followed by a knowing sigh. "I expected better."

"S-Sorry, sir." You apologize profusely, bowing down. The bright red nametag dangles from your neck and you can't help but notice how your leather shoes had worn out a long time ago. "I must've dozed off somehow. It will not happen again."

"Might a coffee help?"

You raise your head to see a paper coffee cup offered to you, light steam still rising from within. While Nanami had been nothing but ridiculously strict from the start, he was considerate enough to check in on you every once in a while. You accepted the coffee in his stead with a smile.

"Thanks, boss. I'll keep watch."

The blonde man simply hums in response. He leaves as quickly as he came, leaving you alone to watch the hallways. You see him walk down, turn a curve- and then he's out of your sight.

You lean back, the chair creaking as you did. Working as a security officer was more lackluster than you thought it would be; movies portrayed tales of saving and glory, but this was nothing like it. The hours were long and boring, lasting 12 in total. Every four hours you were required to fuck off your post and switch to another one down the hall. Sometimes you regretted signing the NDA that never once stated just how large the underground facility was, and just how much area coverage you'd have to keep watch single handedly.

Not to mention, the anomalies that lie within.

See, the Foundation had just three main jobs for you: Observe, Check-up and Report. The comically huge button was right next to you, shining in all of its glory and always just a stretch away in any case of a problem.

You flicked between CCTV channels. Some displayed the outer areas, hallways going beyond your line of sight and others within the confined cells of those you’re keeping watch about. Most of the anomalies here are kept in solitary confinement. You’ve had your fair share of jumpscares when an entity approached too close to the camera, slobbering all up against the lense; before your screen flickers and the anomaly returns to its restful state. Oftentimes it leaves a foggy residue and a prisoner would be assigned to clean it up.

And more than often, they die doing it.

But with a clean camera and one less burden on the face of Earth— who really gives a shit? Certainly not you. Certainly not when the pay was so damn good you spent it on a trip to Bali the first month you made bank. And certainly not for…

Is that a walking person?

You thrust forward in your seat, eyes glued onto the screen as if you could make his face out in any better resolution than the crappy screen could ever do you service. The choices linger in your head: should you approach or report? One choice would lead to the individual’s death and the other might just lead you to yours.

So you took the third option: to talk to them.

There’s a static in the speaker. You tap the mic briefly, earning the attention of the stranger. They stop mid-track, head turning up and staring almost right into your very eyes, as if they could see through you.

“Identify yourself, or you will be detained.”

Person puts both hands up. “My name’s Yuta.” The voice of a man, no doubt, but you kept your suspicions still. “I woke up in a room and the door was unlocked, so I left. Where am I?”

“What room?” Your tone sharpened in inquiry.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know how I ended up here.”

“Identify yourself.” You repeat, customary of the protocol you learned before you started the job. Half of you thought of contacting Nanami; but it would risk him encountering the mysterious man. On the other hand, you couldn’t just let an unknown person roam around the facility. Much less: what if this person was an entity?

A shapeshifter of sorts, perhaps? You wouldn’t really know considering the fact that half the anomalies here are capable of human speech.

He stays silent for a while.

You repeat, “I said, identify yourself. I will give you 10 seconds to prove your humanity before I hand you over to the authorities.”

“Fuck.” Yuta mumbles, running a hand through his hair. Prove my humanity? A million thoughts ran through his head at once. Clearly, this place he had wandered into is nothing human-like. Rather, it's designed like a prison. He rummages through his pockets— nothing. All items that he brought with him prior to being caught had been confiscated.

The countdown had started.

… “Wait,” He thought of an idea. “I can prove to you that I’m human. You can touch me. That’ll be enough, no?”

You sneer at his idea, “No physical contact.”

Yuta sighs, looking down at his uniform. At least he had his outfit intact, which means that they never intended to strip him bare at all. The man pursed his lips in a line, hands holding onto the clasp of his jacket.

… “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?!” You yell at him, dashing to the door. You were outside just in time before Yuta could fully undress himself. His hands stop fumbling with the belt of his pants. At a loss for words, you could only watch as he drops his shirt back over his body, leaving little to imagination.

He cranes his head up at you with a knowing smile, “Have I now proven my humanity, ma’am?”

“Nudity is strictly prohibited in this facility!”

His eyes fold into crescents at the revelation, “I’m sorry. That was the only solution I could think of. Can you show me the way out?”

You folded your arms, “No.”

“I thought so. May I at least use the restroom?”

“No.”

Yuta’s eyes drift upwards, deep in thought. “If so, will I ever make it out of here?”

“That depends,” You answer, crossing your arms together. The taser strapped onto your belt felt heavy and dangerous— more than usual. Something about Yuta just didn’t feel right, and your gut instincts claw at you to run. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

The man says nothing, merely watching every step you take as you head back into the control panel.

Your hand rests on the red button, eyes never wavering from the man that stood below you at a safe distance away. “Your choice, Yuta.”

“How must I prove myself then?”

“By showing me the anomaly that you are.”

His eyes visibly harden at your words, no longer having the glimmer that they once did. It was in the present that you felt it— the darkness that radiated off his very body, and the reason that this particular man had been wandering the halls of the facility unbothered.

“An anomaly?”

“You’re not human.” You simply accuse.

“You might be right about that. But I choose to be human regardless of what I am.”

You don’t care enough about his reasons. The way his dark eyes reflect absolutely nothing terrified you to the very core, more than any jumpscare you’ve encountered. The bright red button underneath you burns with such ferocity that it was only right to hit it— and send the foreign man back into the cell he once broke out of. You watch as soldiers dressed in hazmat suits flood into the hall at your call, almost always a millisecond away, their specialized guns pointed at the man.

But he did not flinch, not even once spared a gaze to look around him. He stayed his ground, only to be dragged away.

His eyes were trained on you, and only you.

“Did he hurt you?”

You’re now on break in the staffroom with Nanami and another supervisor named Maki, right after he heard of what happened. You shook your head, taking a sip of the fourth cup of coffee you had that day. The caffeine had long worn out its effects on your body that you just had to keep drinking, regardless of how detrimental it might just be to your health.

“Thankfully, no. What the fuck is a Keter class doing out there? How is he uncontained?”

“He broke out.” You turn your focus onto the coffee that had run cold, wedged between your fingers. You’ve always hated how fragile these paper cups were. It reminded you of how easy it was for these entities to crush humans to brine and bone with little to no mercy. Yet at the hands of Yuta, you were miraculously spared.

He was friendly, even.

“What kind of SCP is he?”

“He’s not an SCP. He’s a human host with an SCP living in him. Sometimes it appears, sometimes it doesn’t.” Maki shrugs.

“Damn, that’s cool.”

“He tells us that it was bound to him through love.”

You choked on your drink, splattering brown everywhere on the table. Nanami sighs and pats your back. Maki looks at you in disgust, wiping the stains off her uniform with a handkerchief. You wanted to laugh. Out of all things, an SCP of love. You chuckle a little, smiling at your supervisor only to be met with a flat stare.

Oh.

“No way.”

“It’s true. The entity demands that no one lays a finger on him. Most times he can control the SCP. But when he’s hurt, it’s a different story entirely.”

“Wait, wait. So how did you guys manage to catch him?”

Maki recounts the details, “Apparently, he was a secret weapon in the military designed to decimate hundreds in one sweep. That SCP came to him naturally as a child, but it wasn’t his actions that got him caught.”

“So what did?”

“His superiors betrayed him and sent him over to us as they feared that he was getting too powerful for them to control.”

Oh. You started to feel a little bad for him now. But a memory crosses your mind and suddenly that sympathy is gone.

“He almost stripped naked in front of me.”

“Huh?” Nanami was caught off-guard for once, both eyebrows raised instead of one.

“I asked him to prove his humanity.”

“And then he started stripping?” Maki had an equally confused look on her face. She pushes up the frame on her face before leaning forward, “Don’t tell me that you liked it.”

“I mean…”

“Seriously?”

You laugh sheepishly at her words, tossing the empty cup into the bin behind them in perfect accuracy. “I’m just kidding. At least I won’t have to meet him anymore. Can’t have him strip naked around me every time we cross paths.”

Nanami frowns at your words, “Be careful.”

“Sure, sure.” You wave goodbye to them and take your leave, heading towards your last shift of the day.

You found yourself in front of his cell.

Realization only hits you once you read the tag off the door, painted red and in bold: KETER CLASS. DO NOT ENGAGE. Unlike other cells, Keter cells had no windows to peek through. You could only rely on the CCTV back in the control panel room, but you found it unreliable considering how easy it was for Keters to destroy such puny little things. You take a step back.

"I really should stop drinking coffee." You mumble to yourself and turn away.

"Did you come to visit me?"

An all-too familiar voice echoed behind you, and you jump away instantaneously from the door. It's still intact. How he managed to hear you, you don't know. What you do know now is that you're standing in front of his cell.

"No."

"Is no the only word you know?"

Witty. You cough, "I heard about you."

"What about me?"

You hesitate a little, "That you're not the anomaly."

"So now you know." There's curiosity in his tone, erasing any lethargy you had left in your body. Guilt paws at your heartstrings for doubting his reasons during the encounter earlier, but the man is still Keter class. It doesn't make him any less of a monster compared to others. The only difference between him and others is that he's placed in a jail befitting of lower ranked anomalies. "What else did you hear?"

"That you still pose as a threat to humanity."

"Am I a threat to you?"

"Yes." was your answer. You were here for money, not morality. While the notion that he would rot in his cell for the rest of his years was indeed a question of one, you weren't paid to stay idle and chitchat with an anomaly. You were expected even less: to simply cast morality aside and do as you were told by the Foundation. So you dusted yourself off and turned on your heels to move towards the next post you were supposedly assigned to.

"I see. Well it was nice to know you..."

At the sound of your name, you freeze yet again.

"How do you know my name?"

"It's on your tag."

"How can you see me?"

Goosebumps prickle your skin all over. Your legs pick up the sudden skip in your heartbeat and in a flash, you start sprinting for your life. You were just in time, out of range as the metal door breaks open with a crash, sending debris everywhere. You were far enough to get hit, but the sound had been loud enough to garner attention from creatures all over the place. Hisses and banging scratched at your ears as you continued down the hall, the opposite direction of where safety should be. But it didn't really matter; people outside would have heard of it and safety would come for you any minute now.

You force a look over your shoulder to see an enormous white creature behind him, large grey claws extended and chillingly long arms draped around his frame resembling a protective stance. Behind the cages of muscle on her head lies a single eye, glaring right into your very soul. It's mouth move in ragged breaths, teeth sharper than its claws ready to bite. If you squint hard enough- the man with his pet monster was smiling at you.

"You do know its rude to leave without saying goodbye, right?"

And like a predator, he started to chase you.

The entity lets out a bloodcurdling scream, getting on its arms and wriggling towards you. Now you're fully awake and drunk on adrenaline, sweat dripping down your body with how fast you were running.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." Curses slew out of your lips as you ran even harder knowing how quickly he was catching up. You focused ahead instead; to the left is a dead end, you know that. And to the right is an even longer hall of agitated anomalies that most likely are on his level too. With a giant monster chasing after you however, were you really on the spot to give a shit about what would happen?

No. Anyone in your spot would've done the same.

It helped that your paycheck had been deposited earlier last week. You could really give less of a fuck about damage control.

Your feet started to hurt. "Fucking leather shoes." You grumble to yourself and skid a turn towards the elongated row of Keter-class anomalies. You pass multiple warning signs, the alarms going off. Eventually you see red all around you, shadows dancing on the walls as they approached even closer, slowing down just to taunt you.

"Stop running."

"Then stop chasing me, you freak!"

"Well, the 'freak' has a name. It's Yuta." He closes the gap between the two of you, voice steady despite how fast he was chasing up.

You paid him no mind as you duck underneath a warning sign and roll on your back to avoid a reaching arm from the screeching creature. Stubborn as you are, you notice an emergency exit and made mental note to stay close to it. You unclasp the taser off your belt just in time when a hand grabs your shoulder. You fire up the taser and jab right, but miss and eventually find yourself falling to the ground.

You made romantic contact with the floor, lips on the cold hard tile. "Shit!" You hiss from the pain and roll away just in time as Yuta was about to grasp a hold on you yet again.

Blood gushes from your split lip, and it tastes disgusting knowing that you just made love with the floor. Right before you could get up, though, you found yourself encaged within the palms of the alien-like SCP. Pain bursts through your nerves everywhere, feeling like knives stabbing deep into your gut. You could've swore you heard your ribs break from the amounting pressure.

"Caught you."

"Yuuuuuuta," The creature closes its janky fingers around your body, salivating as it eyed you from head to toe. The pressure around your body tightens and you felt like you could break just from how tight it was gripping you. Hair stuck to your face like a wet rag, leaving you with limited eyesight. "What should I do with herrrrrr?"

"Let.... Go... of me!" You rasp between breaths.

"Don't kill her. She'll be our lifeline, Rika."

Rika lets out a displeased grunt and sets you down on the ground, but has its hands still wrapped around you. Not as tight, but much like a warning that it could break you anytime it needed to. You catch your breath with a chain of fitful coughs, your legs and lungs burning from the marathon. Your chest heaves heavily, sore and most probably bruised. There's splitting pain from your lips, blood dripping onto the very same tile you shared your first kiss with.

You now see him eye-to-eye, close enough to notice his parted hair and sneakers. He couldn't be any younger than 20, but the eyebags that hung below his eyes tell a different story.

"I'm sorry. I need you as a hostage."

"Fuck you." You spat at him coldly.

Yuta kneels and presses a hand to your shoulder, forcing you to stop writhing under his touch. You try shoving his hand away, but the grip stays firm. Some fuck ass glowing magic flowed through his hand and loosened the soreness in your muscles, easing your tension. From your point of view, the man radiated like a glowstick.

"Don't touch me!"

He locks his eyes with you, "I'm healing you."

"Would've been nice to not get hurt in the first place."

Yuta sucks a sharp breath in, "Look, I'm really sorry for hurting you. I just need to get out of here. You'll have to be my hostage."

You click your tongue in annoyance at his genuine apology, "You won't even make it out the front gate. They'll be all over you soon. You think the Foundation gives a shit about some security guard like me? They'll kill us both, dumbass."

"You're right." Yuta is clearly amused by your personality now that you're being treated as a partner-in-crime rather than a stranger. You stood stunned when his hand moves up and his thumb ghosts over your lips, "Don't worry, I'll get us out of here."

His thumb was cold against your lips. The action felt more intimate than you'd like, and it had you holding your breath. It needed major balls not to flutter from the contact.

The bleeding stopped, prompting him to move his hand away.

The cold lingered a little longer than you'd like for it to be.

"Us? I'm not going anywhere with you."

"You will. Now that you're with me, they'll think you're complying with me. And if you won't, they'll imprison you." The bleeding stopped, and he wipes the remaining blood off on the side of his pants.

You fall silent. What he said was roughly the truth. In reality, it would be even worse if you did get caught- not only will Nanami be under fire for the inability to protect you- but you might also be on trial under suspicion of letting Yuta escape. And such trials might just end in your death. All in all, its a lose-lose case; but you'd much rather be on the winning team.

"Damn you."

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

You raise your head to glare at the man who had just obnoxiously turned your own words against you. His eyes light up a little, seeing your reaction. "Your choice."

"Fine."

"What was that?"

"I said yes!" You retort, flipping the bird at him.

He flashes you a grin, "That might've been the first time you've said yes to me!"

Oh, how you wished for supernatural powers like his to decimate the teasing man on the spot. Your fists crumple to a close, keeping that rage preserved in the back of your head. One day you'd get your revenge on him.

"Rika. My katana please." Yuta caresses its face gently.

You could feel her giddiness from the shake of Rika's enclosed palm around you. She reaches up to her neck and pulls out a long blade from within, handing it over to him. "For youuuu, Yutaaa."

He takes it from her, swishing it in the air and stretching his limbs free. "Thanks. Lead the way, I'll keep you safe." There's shouting and stomping from a distance, the roaring of soldiers fending off escaped anomalies. Nanami and Maki are out there too, calling for you. Your heart sinks a little at the prospect of betraying them.

You huff, blowing hair out of your face.

"It's on the other side. Opposite of the way we ran in. But I need you to do me a favor and not kill everyone you see."

Yuta brightens up. The likelihood of him fighting against a large horde of people had him excited. "That's not something I can promise."

"Fine. Then at least spare Nanami and Maki."

"Who's that?"

"Uh, guy with blonde hair and a woman with green hair."

He shrugs, “I’ll try.”

Deep down inside, you felt a part of you die.

----------------------------------------------------------------------> part 2

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larosepompon · 2 months

Text

The Midnight Library

You're not quite sure who owns the Night Library in town, and you didn't think you'd ever find out... Insomnia. Hardly anyone’s favourite thing. It had been something that you had battled with since starting to work late into the night, your body not knowing what to do with itself. You knew well that copious amounts of screen-time weren’t doing you any favours (and neither were the extra shots of espresso that you used to keep you awake) but what else was there to do besides read at home or risk taking an extended walk on the city streets between one and four am. It was one of these nights after your shift had finished around twelve, that lost in your thoughts you took a different route home. Past the brightly-lit bars thriving with a hum of patrons and a few restaurants coming to their close, the busy streets gave way to a gradual influx of small boutiques and houses. In one side road however, you stumbled across a quaint little Victorian townhouse with a storefront underneath – lit up by ornate spot lamps curled over the sign. “The Midnight Library”

You read aloud, breath hanging slightly in the air with the early Autumn chill. You were so weary and it looked ever-so inviting with it’s rounded bay window, dressed with a pretty little display of select titles one could find inside. As you breached the entryway, signalled by a tinkling bell, a mop of brown hair popped up behind the counter. A young man with owlish eyes and a pair of black-rimmed glasses regarded you for a few seconds before giving a quiet Hello. He almost looked surprised that you had come in. “Sorry, we barely get anyone in on a Wednesday – welcome to the night library. I haven’t seen your face here before; did you just find us?” His voice was soft and a little worn around the edges. “Yeah, I had no idea this was here – I’m glad there’s somewhere I can go to unwind to be honest.” A gummy smile broke out on his face as you spoke. “Well please, make yourself at home. There’s plenty of comfy seating. We only ask that you handle the books with care, as many of them are quite old.” With that, you traipse down the isles of shelves and find that there were two rooms to the cosy place – the room at the back was separated by an alcove, books lining every wall save for a door in the corner. It really gave off the feel of a converted home. Your fingers traced over spines of books both fact and fiction, eventually settling on an old edition of Alice Through the Looking Glass. The brown-haired boy was writing something at the counter as you passed him, choosing to sit on the maroon Oxford sofa near the window. Getting engrossed in a quiet world of your own, you had no grasp on how quickly the time had passed, jumping slightly when he called out to you gently.

“Sorry to disturb you but we need to lock up.” He held his hands in front of him, giving you a wry smile. “Did reading help?”

“Excuse me?”

“With helping you unwind – you seemed to be in need of it?” he cocked his head, gesturing to the sheer amount of chapters you had gotten through. You nearly balked seeing that you had somehow gotten through three-quarters of the book in a few hours. “Clearly.” You paused. “What time is it?” glancing around to see if there was a clock in sight. “its just gone four. Did you want me to save you the book for next time?” Nodding wearily, you got up and smoothed down your clothes before handing the old book over to him.

“I’m Jongho by the way.”

Jongho - as it turned out - merely looked after the library most nights, giving you a sharp laugh when you asked if he owned the place. Me? The owner?! God, no. I just work here he had rebuked, stating he hadn’t the time nor money to amass a collection as grand as this one. As you lay in bed that morning, you found that sleep came a little easier.

You ended up returning there the following night and then the next, the warm and cosy atmosphere along with malty scent of yellowing pages drawing you in time and time again. Often you’d make conversation with Jongho when it was just you both, nodding and giving polite smiles whenever other readers would pop in. One night, when the quiet side street was strewn with fallen orange leaves, you peered over at the reams of paper haphazardly littering the counter (and a laptop in its midst). Jongho’s hair was a tousled mess, his glasses pushed back up onto his head while he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You ok there?” He looked up at you with dark circles under his eyes, seemingly stressed to the max.

“My dissertation is due in two days.” Jongho ground out. His shoulders visibly sagged when he sighed, opting to sit down and try to re-arrange documents. “Ouch. No wonder you seem stressed out. What do you study?” you lean on the mahogany of the counter and sip on the mug of tea he gave you, watching him get himself in order. “Medieval Literature and Languages.” There’s a faint rosiness to his cheeks as he quietly tells you about it all. “I think you’re working in a great place for it – with all these books at your disposal, I’m sure a few of them could aid your studies.” You’re smiling at him over the rim of your mug and catch a small glint in his eye. “Actually, there’s more useful resources than you might think…”

There was one chair you were always drawn to. Its back high and slotted neatly into a corner. A cosy nook surrounded by extra piles of books that had yet to be put away and a gas fireplace that gifted you its warmth and extra light. The seat plush and comfy, it softly gave under your weight as you settled into its embrace – the reupholstered olive velvet felt wonderful wherever your skin touched. Resting a moment before starting the little romance tale, you studied its faded and woven cover, art and typography very reminiscent of the 1920s in all its Art Deco beauty. Perfect.

It was nights like these where you would get lost in the worn and savoury-scented pages of the old books that the Midnight Library had to offer. It was nights like these where, as your glistening eyes pored over texts from another time, your subtle changes in expression and the occasional wistful sigh were being curiously peeked at between gaps in the long bookcases. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

You first spot his dark hair; locks of it obstructed by books on the shelves, soft waves being jostled as he moves to rearrange volumes. While you can’t quite see his face, you notice ghostly pale hands with elegant rings adorning a few fingers. Returning to your book for all but a moment, getting comfy in your favourite chair, by the time your eyes flit up to the same spot – the mystery person has vanished without a trace.

That’s...odd...

You decide not to take heed of it until it happens again a few times more in the coming week and a quiet eeriness unnerves you. With the building being so old, you don’t doubt the possibility of it having some ghostly activity however it isn’t anything that you have personally experienced before.

Should you ask Jongho? Or would he think you’re going a bit crazy?

The leather-bound novel snaps shut in your hands and you take a glance at the clock on the far wall. Quarter-past three it reads. With your concentration broken, your feet take you back on over to the front desk where a very tired and familiar boy sups on some coffee. He straightens as he sees you, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Y/n, how can I help? Need any recommendations?” he asks with his usual, friendly tone. Lacing your fingers together atop the book you lean on the counter, levelling your gaze with his. “Is this place...haunted?” Your voice tries not to waver, though it comes out not more than a whisper. Jongho’s lips quirk at the corners as he tries to bite back a laugh. He clears his throat in attempt to regain composure. “What makes you say that? Don’t tell me you saw a ghost.” His disbelief makes you start to peel away but he grabs your wrist lightly while he chuckles for you to stay. “Sorry, sorry – what did you see? I won’t laugh, I promise.” Letting you go, he settles back down as he looks to you sorting your thoughts.

“I’ve seen them a few times now – just glimpses, mind you. I think it’s the apparition of a man, with kinda-long, dark hair and they have super pale hands-.” This time Jongho does burst out laughing, cutting you off. A gummy grin on his face that’s quickly hidden by his hands. “Oh my God that’s the owner. It’s not a ghost at all, it’s my boss you’ve been seeing.” Your mouth hangs slightly open while you stand there, dumbfounded.

“He’s that much of a recluse? He hasn’t ever said hello, in fact I can’t really remember him making a sound other than organising books.” Your mind wanders back to the three or four times you’ve noticed him. The boy grimaces slightly before replying “he’s a bit eccentric, if you will, but he means no harm. His greatest treasure are his books, so he doesn’t bother many of our customers.” Nodding slowly, you take your book off the desk and hold it between both your hands. "What’s his name? In case I see him again.” Jongho is quick to reply. “Ah -he doesn’t like me giving out his name. Though I’m sure he’ll warm up to you soon enough!” At least he sounded positive about it.

It takes a further three weeks but sure enough, the mysterious library owner finally introduces himself. Unruly Autumn weather meant that you had gotten caught in a sudden downpour, rivulets of rainwater rolling off your hair and face as you stepped into the respite of The Midnight Library. Jongho looks at you with wide eyes and passes you a box of tissues to try and dry off what you can. “Jesus – forgot your umbrella?” you give him the best glare you can muster as you remove your soaked coat to pop on the rack. Mopping your strands with copious amounts of tissues, you heave a sigh.

“I’m going to sit by the fire, is anyone else in?” it was a little past 1am and with the cold rain outside you had expected the place to be busy. Jongho shook his head slowly, returning to his textbook. “Just the boss and me tonight.” Your lips parted in thought, taking the current book Jongho had saved for you, you quietly plod over to your favourite spot by the fire in attempts to dry off and warm up. You’re about 4 chapters in when a deep voice startles you out of your reverie.

“-I thought you could use some tea” you gasp and whip your head up towards the voice, not expecting anyone to be there. You end up face to face with one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen – scarily beautiful in fact. So poised and pristine, holding a bone china cup of tea in his very pale hands.

“Oh...thank you so much. That’s very kind.” He delicately hands it over to you with a small, close-lipped smile and you offer him a nod. “Are you the owner that Jongho keeps mentioning?” trying to make small talk to break the slight unease you feel, you take a sip –

Chamomile.

“Ah yes, sorry that was rude of me. I’m Yeosang, it’s lovely to meet you. Jongho tells me you’ve become somewhat of a regular?” His smile deepens and softens his statuesque beauty. You take a moment to really look at him; your eyes tracing his features from his sculpted brow, the gentle slope of his nose to his prominent yet delicate birthmark that only adds to his charm. All framed by a luscious head of hair. The one thing that you can’t get over are his dark eyes. The way his eyes seem to bore into your very soul, unblinking, like that of a marble statue.

Does this guy ever blink?

He blinks.

...It’s as though he just remembered he needs to.

“I guess I have” you answer airily. It’s difficult to break away from his eye contact. “It’s been just over two months I think, since I’ve started coming here. It’s so cosy.” Your voice gets a little quieter the more you speak and you watch Yeosang blink slowly in front of you. He looks away first, gesturing to the little room and you can’t help but feel a bit relieved. “Well, please feel free to ask for any book you like, I’ve collected them over many years. They’re my treasure.” He clasps his ring-laden hands in front of him. You can’t help but smile at that, he looks so fond of everything that he’s amassed. “I look forward to seeing more of you, Y/n. Goodnight.” After wishing him the same, you watch him elegantly glide off from whence he came.

It was only after he was gone that you realised you never gave him your name. Perhaps Jongho had told him. While Yeosang seemed kind and polite, there was this strange little warning in the back of your head, alerting him as a threat. Sure he was a little odd, and looked sickly-pale...

And didn’t really blink...

Oh.

You wondered if it’d be appropriate to ask Jongho about him. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The second time you meet, he and Jongho are in a debate over the nuances of Shakespeare’s poetry, both hunched over a very old book, which they handle with white gloves. They’re both side by side as they talk animatedly and you can’t help but notice the slight inflection in Yeosang’s voice, a little softer and higher-pitched than what you remember. He and the student look like quite the pair; his slightly oversized, ivory shirt tucked into neat tailored trousers being the picture of elegance while the uni student sported a black hoodie with ripped jeans. You cleared your throat softly behind them, holding your handbag coyly behind your back.

The moment the owner turned to face you, you felt your heart skip a beat. As he greeted you, you were graced with a smile that was breathtaking. Pearly-whites on show and cheeks lifted, his eyes had a soft twinkle in them, spirits high from parting his book knowledge to a fellow scholar. The more you found yourself the focus of his gaze, the more a strange feeling settled over you. “Welcome back, y/n. It’s good to see you.” The playful lilt in his voice present even as he spoke to you. There’s a hello from Jongho in the background yet it seemed so distant and fuzzy in the presence of the owner in a way you can’t explain.

“Yeosang” you try out the syllables on your pink tongue, slower than you’d like. “-Jongho, too. Hi” it’s like a foggy stupor has settled across your brain, thoughts a little gooey like wading through treacle. Jongho casts a look of uncertainty towards his boss, an inkling into what might be happening. Time slows for you and your mind is full of cotton, as if the odd library owner has placed wads of it there piece by piece. You're far too gone to notice the pair fretting over your state for a while, neither of them knowing the best course of action…

The moment you feel yourself blink slowly awake, you’re being read to quietly - head in Yeosang’s lap with his elegant and tepid fingers gently stroking your hair. The rows of leather and cloth-bound books returning, albeit blurrily, to greet your vision. Your lungs take a deep inhale and your heartbeat quickens in confusion. Yeosang’s hand stops for a moment to tuck a few stray strands behind your ear.

“I think I owe you an apology” he murmurs softly. “It’s why I usually make myself so scarce, it’s…not always something I can control completely.” His voice you find so soothing and melodic, merely offering a hum of acknowledgement in return. You know in the depths of your brain that his cryptic confession should be something alarming, yet you can’t find it in you to be scared. He seemed so vulnerable when he spoke, seeking trust and confidence.

Instead, you take another deep breath and smile – he smells of dried petals and old, malted pages. Comforting.

“Yeosang? May you read to me some more? I’ll gladly accept your apology then...” His hand stilled amongst your tresses; mouth slightly ajar in surprise as he heard your reply. Every now and then in his long life did he come across those who were readily accepting of his nature and did so in stride; they were few and far between, however. The librarian’s gaze focused on your relaxed profile - the way your eyelashes fluttered against the top of your cheeks with every run of his fingers through your hair. A small smile came to his lips, before continuing to read.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o The third time you met him came as a surprise. It had been a good few weeks since he had read to you on the chaise and he seemed to have gone into hiding since. It was eleven pm on a bitterly cold Thursday, Jongho and yourself sitting by the fire with takeaway cups of coffee you managed to snag from a restaurant nearby. A few nights ago you had asked if Jongho could bring in his dissertation for you to read. One very shy and pouty “yes” later – he’d agreed somewhat reluctantly. Though he was initially hesitant, as you sat beside the warm fireplace the uni student was nothing but animated as he explained certain parts of his writing with enthusiasm. You both were going back and forth between the pages together when suddenly he pulled one of the sheets from your hands a bit too quickly, slicing your finger by accident.

You gasped softly, not only from the slight sting but from the owner appearing less than a foot away from you, unblinking eyes concentrated firmly on the deep red droplet swelling atop your finger. You felt your heart quicken - his presence came in as quickly and quietly as lightening and it made your mind confused.

“... Yeosang?...” the tightness in your lungs from your anxiety made his name come out no louder than a whisper.

Gaze still focused on your injury, Yeosang tilted his head in interest, indicating he had at least heard you. Snapping out of his trance with a sharp inhale and a subtle shake of his head, the owner offered a tight-lipped smile in your direction. “Gosh…we really must treat that for you. Let me go get those little plasters from the kitchen.” Even with an audible swallow, the sudden dryness of your throat persisted. Jongho remained silent, his eyes looking everywhere but your own. Definitely, he was party to Yeosang’s odd habits. You watched as the owner slinked off through the door in the corner, trying to glimpse him raiding through the cupboards for a first aid kit. By now the small pool of blood had begun to clot at the side of your finger – the plaster merely a distraction from the elephant in the room. “I’ll go help him find one…” Jongho trailed off. You couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the student, having to deal with such an eccentric (and potentially dangerous) boss. With both men gone, you sank back in your usual armchair to collect your thoughts; none of which were coming that well together however. Yeosang had always shown you kindness, as had Jongho – and even though there may have been a moment or two which raised the hairs on the back of your neck – no harm had really come of it. Gnawing at your lip, you realised that the pair had been gone for several minutes by now and you started to worry. Mainly for Jongho’s sake but you had grown quite fond of the pair over the last few months. Your footsteps were quiet against the plush carpet in the little alcove room. Almost afraid to disturb the moment of peace when you were alone, your hand slowly found the brass doorhandle and opened it without any preamble. You had known this was bound to happen. Your eyes still widened at the scene, anyhow.

Sat on a wooden chair was Jongho, hoodie discarded and sleeve rolled up, cradling a shaky Yeosang into the crook of his arm who had all but collapsed onto the floor. You could hear the occasional whimper and slurping sound from the library owner being soothed by his student – who also showed the odd twinge of discomfort on his face. Jongho’s eyes flitted towards you and gestured for you to close the door behind you. “I told him not to leave it too long…” he nonchalantly trailed off, stroking back tendrils of Yeosang’s hair from his face while he fed on the boy. “ack…boss, Yeosang…that’s enough now, our lovely regular is here.” A guiding hand brought Yeosang’s head up and the sight pulled at your heartstrings. Tear-tracks ran down his beautiful face and a shaky pale hand moved to cover his blood-stained mouth. He was eerily beautiful but you couldn’t help but feel for him. He looked regretful before you, helpless to his own condition. Slowly, you knelt down beside him on the floor, reaching forth to cradle his ethereal face between your hands. You thumbed away the tears that were staining his cheeks, a reverent moment amidst an objectively horrific situation. “We’ve got you, Yeosang. It’s ok – we’re here.” Your words to comfort him rang true, whether man or vampire, he was a good person.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. It may not look like it but I would never hurt you” Yeosang sobbed out. You watched as he delicately licked away the last remnants of Jongho’s blood on his lips and smiled at him. “I know. I had a feeling for quite a while and I still came back, didn’t I?”

“You did” he laughed softly, looking up to Jongho with big eyes. “You both did, in fact”. The university student beamed at this, softly rubbing his shoulder as you moved to hold the vampire’s hands to draw him to his feet. “Come on you two – no-one is out front! We can’t have anybody stealing your treasure now, can we?”

“No, I suppose not.”

You didn’t think you’d ever find out who owned the Night Library, but it turned out to be someone beautiful with a wealth of knowledge that only came with time.

And his handsome assistant.

Fin

(Please also read here on my AO3 if you'd like! )

#ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #yeosang #jongho #jongsang #comfort #warm and cozy #vampires #bookshop #books & libraries #atinyblr #atiny #vampire! yeosang #ateez #set in England somewhere #x post #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

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