#forgotten whispers (ic ; echo) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dilatorywriting · 1 year

Text

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: What do you call a deaf pirate? Not 'Siren Food' apparently, which is really sort of hilarious when you've been kidnapped by a hungry Siren. Not for the Siren though—he's definitely not having a good time.

A/N: *rushes in at the 11th hour* Happy Mer-May!! I've been back and forth with clinical rotations and also working on some commission things and Leona's Part 4, but like, it's a fanfiction holiday. I couldn't miss out. And for one of my favorite tropes nonetheless. So here we are.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3]

There was a legend that floated throughout the Sage Island Seas of the Pirate With No Ears. Which was ridiculous—half because such a tall tale managing to survive so long and so wildly really showed just how pathetic the rest of the gossip around here was, and half because you still had ears. They just didn’t work very well was all.

Some said you’d been deafened by a prowling sea sorcerer who had tricked you into trading away your once keen sense for some mortal foible or other. Others whispered about how you’d been trapped in an ice cavern, surrounded by electric eels and sharks, and that the only way you’d been able to weasel your way out was by cutting off your own ears so that you’d have enough wiggle room to escape from your bindings. Which made absolutely zero sense at all.

In reality, all you’d done was stand far too close to a canon for far too long when you were far, far too little, and ever since all you could hear was the dull ringing of post-battle silence. Sometimes it was a bit sad. When the waves crashed against the shore, or when the gulls flew overhead—you were sure all those things sounded very lovely. You remembered music and laughter and sometimes they echoed in your head at a distance—a memory not quite forgotten but certainly fading at the edges. But other times, like now, where your fellow crewmates were bawling into their ales and wailing about lord knew what… well, it was always nice to find a silver lining in these sorts of things.

One of the tipsy lads tottering around the deck of The Rose Queen tripped and landed against the wood with something that looked like it’d be a very loud smack. Your brain helpfully filled the silence with some nonsense noises and park-play-style laughter instead. You watched Cater stumble by out of the corner of your eye. He patted your head and said something that twisted his mouth into a gaping ‘uuuuu-eeeee-oooo’ before he puttered away to leech off First Mate Clover instead. Ace threw a drunken arm around your shoulder and burbled something against your cheek that popped with the scent of stale booze, and you decided to pretend that you were as alone at sea as your muted senses would like to think.

The party raged on long into the evening and you stared down at the rabble contentedly from your perch in the crow’s nest. They were a good bunch—dullards though they may be. You’d heard (hardee har har) that they were planning to raid the Port o'Bliss, and something must have gone terribly right. You only really hung around to scrub barnacles off the paneling and keep an eye on the tides well enough that Deuce wouldn’t run the lot of you ashore, so you weren’t really sure how the whole ‘pirating’ business actually went about. But clearly they were doing a pretty good job of it.

You rested your chin on your crossed arms and sighed into the salty breeze. The night was warm and pleasant, and before you knew it, you were nodding off against the rough fabric of your sleeves. You weren’t quite sure how long you spent dozing there tangled in the ropes of mast, but it was long enough that by the time you snorted back awake the festive lights had dimmed to embers and most of the crew had sidled away below deck to either keep drinking themselves blind or collapse in a pool of their own colorful vomit.

There was a lone figure swerving towards the bow—precariously close to the railing for someone so clearly unsteady on their own legs, if you did say so yourself. You squinted suspiciously at his mused lavender hair, not entirely sure you recognized the head bobbing around below you. But perhaps The Rose Queen had picked up some fresh recruits at the Port, or maybe the crew had gotten a bit too booze happy with some dye. Purple Hair leaned up against the rails and tipped forward on his toes like he was thinking about diving in, or maybe barfing. Either or, you sighed and shimmied your way down to stop him from tumbling into a watery grave.

“Oi!” you called, the shout vibrating up and out of your throat, and the kid jumped half a foot in the air. “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from there. Riddle’ll have your head if we have to send out the rescue rafts this late at—”

The kid turned to face you with wide, wide, glowing eyes. Your own went round as dinner plates as you watched his too-dark pupils pulse like drumbeat. They were so bright, practically illuminating the whole of his delicate face, but there was no light to them. Matte and sleek like a shark’s eyes.

He shouted something at you so whip fast that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and then he was glancing nervously back and forth between the roiling waves at his back and the encroaching deckhand at his front—making all sorts of nonsense gestures that had you sighing behind gritted teeth.

“Look,” you said, interrupting whatever indiscernible gibberish he was spouting, “I don’t know who you think you are. But you’ve picked the wrong ship to try and—I don’t know—seize? Pirate? You can’t pirate a pirate ship! But either way, you—”

Then the kid opened his mouth like he was screaming, and you frowned again. There was strange prickle along your arms that had goosebumps crawling up your skin and the hair raising at the back of your neck, but you shook it off and moved forward with another weary sigh. You pulled a length of rope from the belt slung around your hips and held the limp bundle of salt-soaked mesh up like a threat.

“I will throw you overboard. And hogtie you first,” you promised cheerily. “So you actually sink.”

Purple Hair just looked like he was trying to scream louder, and you were sourly tempted to stick your fucking tongue out at him and make petulant ‘nyeh nyeh nice try’ noises at him, but then there was a heaviness behind you. A creak in the wood that you could feel if not hear. You rolled out of habit—tumbling across the deck just in time to avoid a nasty swipe along your back. And oh no. The thing crawling up over the railing was worse than any lavender would-be ship thief. The black tipped claws and flared fins were telling enough, but the sharp-toothed grin was somehow more so. It tilted its unnaturally lovely head at you and spoke politely—clearly and very, painfully, slowly.

“What’s—this—perhaps—” you were able to vaguely make out. Maybe. The dark and your panic were both a terrible hindrance to putting shapes to sound. His lips curled into something wicked before parting far more smoothly than the younger man’s had. Singing. It was singing, not screaming. Hauntingly green eyes glowed bright and you felt the tunk tunk tunk beneath your feet of the rest of the crew starting to move around beneath you. Around you.

Then there were more of them—crawling up over the railings, trilling into the night air. All far too lovely and far too sharp to be anything but predators. The moonlight illuminated their fangs and scales in a ghostly white glow. There were shivers running along your spine, but otherwise nothing but silence echoed through your head. Small mercies. You watched several of your fellow crewmates rush out of the cabins only to double over with their hands clasped over their ears. Others stuttered and tumbled forward towards the railings as if they were being dragged along like puppets on a string. You cursed and ducked between them—looping your rope around their legs as you went and tugging them to their knees like a line of falling dominoes.

You let your hapless comrades collapse to the deck and curled the last throws of rope around your fists. You were decent enough with a knife when it came to dueling an unmoving, completely unaware foe—like a barnacle or some rusted over door hinges. But real people? Sirens?Fucking literal blade-tipped-merfolk straight out of every sailor’s nightmare? No thank you. So the teeny blade stayed sheathed at your hip and you dove into the fray to find something rope-wrangle-able.

At the other end of the bow, you watched Purple Boy straighten from a crouch. There were new, silvery blue scales crawling up his neck and forearms. He was still tottering around on legs that he clearly wasn’t all too used to, and you watched as the little guppy started to make a furious beeline for Captain Rosehearts. Which—no. Absolutely not. You were never one of those pirates who was like ‘oh, Captain, my Captain~’ but Riddle was good. He was tough, and taciturn, and could throw a tantrum that could bring down an entire harbor. But he’d written out all of his ridiculous six hundred rules by hand so that you could have them. And the teeny furrow in his brow as he staunchly taught himself hand sign after hand sign so that he could yell at you in earnest was so endearing that you’d protect that little firecracker for as long as you breathed.

So you went after Lavender Head, and then of course Lavender Head turned and tried to shout at you all over again. When that continued to not work at all, the Siren began to backpedal in earnest. He turned his head and squawked at whoever was around to listen, but in the chaos of the attack there didn’t seem to be many of his pod free to lend him a hand.

You descended on the little snake, rope at the ready and perfectly happy to make sushi out of the fucker, when something big overshadowed the both of you. Another Siren crested over the side of the ship, larger and clearly more impressive than the rest of its kin. Which matched your stupidly terrible luck just fine. Ah, yes, Mister Big Bad. Please. Go for the deckhand rather than the literal trained mercenaries less than ten feet away. Brilliant. The Siren bared its fangs like some great, terrible, beast and tore into the paneling with its curved claws as it attempted to drag you down to your watery grave. You cursed, and kicked, and yelped in a panic when the thing managed to get one of those cold, pale hands around your ankle.

Despite the fact that all of it surely happened in less than a few seconds, your descent seemed to progress in steps. First, the Siren tugged you over the side. Second, you smartly flipped the loops of your rope up to try and lasso yourself a handhold. Thirdly, you outright missed the ship and instead tangled the spools of thin rope all around your Murderer To Be. Said Murderer’s eyes widened in shock as your unintentional trap wrapped the both of you up like a mess of bugs in a spider web. And finally, the pair of you crashed towards the churning ocean in a knotted-up heap and slowly sank beneath the waves.

You rubbed the grit and salt from your eyes and sat up with a groan. Where were you? Not too far out at sea, hopefully. Washing up ashore had been nothing short of a miracle, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant you got to avoid becoming chum for another day. The sand beneath your fingers was soft and white, and it slipped beneath your palm like water. You moved to push yourself to your feet and froze—a blur of amethyst swiping out and knocking you back onto your ass with a splash.

You spluttered and spat, and had just barely managed to flip yourself over like a turtle who’d been upended on its back when you caught sight of the absolute last creature in the world that you’d ever wanted to see again.

The big Siren had washed up nearby.

Because of course it had.

The creature narrowed his eyes at you and immediately set about lashing his rope-twisted tail against the sand like a rattlesnake. He bared his pointed teeth in a hiss and you were dowsed in a barrage of saltwater ammunition.

“Stop! Stop!” you begged, spitting out wayward chunks of seaweed, and shells, and gods knew what else. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

The Siren curled his lips unpleasantly, putting that wonderful row of dagger-like pearly whites on display. He spat something completely indiscernible—the line of his mouth so harsh and flat that you couldn’t have even begun to pick up the shape of things if you tried—and you scooted as far back as you could without toppling yourself over again.

He dug his clawed hands into the sand and said something else, just as clipped and tight. You assumed it was an accusation. You were very used to recognizing the glare that accompanied those. When you didn’t respond, his brow tugged down low and he snapped something else—this time jabbing those pointed, black, nails in your direction. Ah, so definitely a complaint then.

You cocked your head at him out of habit and that griping turned into a snarl so ferocious that you could feel it racing up your skin like static. Which was definitely pretty trippy.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you told him honestly. Which just made the spiked fins flatten all along the side of his head and another wave of those zippy sneers dance up your arms. “Literally,” you tried. “I—”

The Siren opened his mouth and that sparky static from earlier amplified into something near painful. It was strong, and prickly, and left the imprints of invisible shackles all along your already aching joints. You could feel his voice carrying on the breeze—brushing against your cheeks and playing with hair. Thin, icy, fingers digging their way into your brain and yanking. But there was something missing from all that ethereal hypnotism. Something pleasant and sweet to complete the circle of temptation. A voice, you’d guess. There had to be a call after all, or else it hardly mattered how deep and all encompassing the need was to answer.

When you didn’t immediately, like, fall to your knees in subjugation or drown yourself in the inch and a half of tepid water pooling at your hips, the Siren’s eyes dimmed with something that almost looked like hesitance. His brow pinched tight and he parted his red lips wider. A seagull dropped from the sky. Three different crabs crawled out of the sand to bow down.

“I can’t hear you!” you tried again, loud enough to have your teeth aching. His mouth went wider, and an entire ass tuna beached itself to flop pathetically near your ankles. “It’s not a challenge!” you wailed. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

The static disappeared all at once, and the Siren’s lips slipped into a small, surprised sort of ‘o.’ He blinked his too-long lashes at you and stared you down like you were some sort of escaped alchemical experiment.

“There,” you huffed. “Finally.” And then went quiet and a bit concerned. Because apparent Song Immunity or otherwise, the thing was still hugely impressive and scary looking. His claws definitely wouldn’t have any problem picking the leftover bits of you out of his teeth, and you knew well enough that if he dragged you into the depths with that powerful tail of his, there would be no resurfacing.

The Siren too was using this time to glare at you like you were somehow a threat to be taken seriously. Which was half flattering, half pretty funny.

“Well…” you said after a long moment. “I should get going, I suppose.”

You made your way to your feet in the mucky sandbar and started heading off to see where you’d been stranded. You could feel the Siren’s heavy gaze on you the whole while, and decided he was probably trying to figure out if you’d taste better paired with seaweed or a nice jellyfish spread.

The pair of you had been stranded on a small, crescent, islet that couldn’t even rightly call itself an island. You were able to walk from its curling east to west coasts in just under fifteen minutes, and that was at a meandering pace where you stopped to peer into all kinds of little grottos and rocky formations. There was some vegetation at the heart of it—short palm trees and tufts of grassy knolls—and thankfully a few deep divots that had collected some still rainwater, but otherwise it was entirely boring and stupid. Not even any weird tortoises or anything meandering about to make friends with.

By the time you circled back around to your original stranding point, you had fully expected the Siren to have flipped you the metaphorical bird and fucked off back into the ocean, never to be seen again. Instead, he was still stretched out in the shallows of the bay, carefully fanning his long tail out in the seafoam and picking through the mess of it with his pointy claws.

He reminded you of a beta fish—with wide, flowing, fins that looked far more like silk than skin or scales. The tips were a deep, plum purple that gently faded from near black to violet and finally a vivid sort of lilac at their junction. The bulk of his tail looked like it could be made from literal gemstones with the way it shimmered in the morning light (gems that had perhaps been a bit dinged and/or literally torn out in chunks from where he may or may not have been smashed into the rocky shore curtesy of your terrible hogtie, but who’s to say).

There were jagged cuts lining the right half of his pale torso. They oozed a strange sort of silver ichor that was probably some kind of mystical merman blood, but you absolutely refused to get close enough to try and find out. The fins framing his pelvis were tangled and thin looking, and the sweeping ones that trailed all the way down to the tip of his tail were battered and torn. Clearly pulled to bits by your handy, dandy lasso skills. Which… was still tied up at the base of them. Huh. You’d assumed he’d be able to slice through all that knotwork without issue. But maybe…

You approached the Siren cautiously. You caught the exact moment he must have realized you’d returned because the fins along the sides of his head flattened like the ears on a pissy cat and he turned on you with a very dramatic snarl that probably sounded all sorts of menacing.

“Hello,” you greeted, and the merman spat something that you assumed was probably a very polite ‘fuck right off.’

You nodded because, well, fair enough. And then pointed to his injured fins and the waterlogged ropes still twisted up around the heart of them.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

He shouted something no doubt very indignant and then was back to hissing at you. Which definitely didn’t sound like an agreement not to immediately murder you on the spot.

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Your loss, I suppose.”

Well, your loss, really. Keeping a wounded Siren around was just asking for trouble. Their pods were viciously protective for one thing, and that wasn’t even taking into account the poachers and rivals who’d be more than keen to come sniffing after the fresh trail of blood in the water. Maybe you could find a big stick or something and just, I don’t know, push him back into the ocean and be done with it.

The thought must have shown on your face, because suddenly he was smacking his tail against the sandbar and spitting something that you very much assumed was a demand along the lines of ‘you are going to take accountability for this.’

Which absolutely no way in Hell. He’d kidnapped you sort of, so that made you his problem, thank you very much.

You felt your stomach gurgle, and it must have been pretty loud going off the stink eye he sent your way. You turned your nose up at him and went about collecting the various critters that had been washed ashore in his tenor’s tantrum.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly as you worked on scaling the tuna with the knife from your belt—making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so.

The Siren sneered at you and went back to grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

The rest of the afternoon became a sort of pissing contest between the two of you to see who could earn the title of Bitchiest Beach Bitch. You thought you were definitely winning with the whole ‘eating something that could have been his long-lost cousin’ thing, but then he went and swamped the entirety of the small fire you built (and all of said ‘cousin’ being cooked over it) with one sweep of his tail, so now you were at the very least tied. You set up a nice little shaded hutch out of driftwood and ferns to escape the sun, he called down seagulls to shit all over it and pick it to pieces. He tried to roll around to reach some of the tighter fibers tangled in his pectoral fins, and you chucked rocks at him until he reared on you with a scream that had all the hairs on your arms standing on end. Y’know. Perfectly mature things like that.

That night you curled up beside a tall, jagged rock just at the outskirt of the bay—determined to get some shut eye but to also keep within range of your newest pest in case he decided to try and pull something sneaky. But every time you’d just about settled in to sleep, the shallow tide would lap against your toes in harsh shush shush shushes that had you furrowing you brow until you finally had enough and sat up to see what all the hubbub was about.

The Siren was tossing around in the shallows like a fish in a net—throwing his long body against the bindings and flailing like his life depended on it. And as much as he’d definitely deserved to get caught up in your unintentional hogtie, watching something as large and no doubt powerful as he was wriggling around like a worm on a hook was… Well. Something soured a bit in your gut as you watched him give one, final, great buck against his bindings before collapsing back into the shallows in a circle of seafoam. He panted against the surface of the water, the tips of his pale hair dripping down in a curtain around his haggard face, and you could see a fine tremor running along his shoulder blades.

You turned back to your rock and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes, fighting the absolute batshit insane urge to feel bad for a monster who had literally tried to drag you to your death less than twenty-four hours ago.

The water was calm and still for the rest of the night.

The next morning, you picked up a few of the crabs who had crawled up to shore and went about getting them clean and fit for eating. You glanced at the Siren, who was busy preening over his janky fins and fussing over his hair. It was entirely unfair that you probably looked like a half-drowned rat, and yet this creature that wasn’t even meant to exist on the surface was somehow managing to put himself together well enough to rival the courtesans you’d seen meandering around some of the wealthier coastal towns.

You stared at the crabs. There were three of them. It wasn’t really sharing if it was meant to be a bribe to keep him from eating you whole. Or at least, that’s what you reassured yourself as you cautiously tiptoed back to the water’s edge.

The Siren swiveled on you with a snap of something that looked sort of like a ‘What?!’ and you held up one of the gutted crabs in offering.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…” You waved the limp crab awkwardly.

The Siren rolled its purple eyes and said something fast and sharp that you couldn’t really parse. Something, something, not, something, something, are crust—Something, something, are you that stupid? (you recognized the impressions of those words well enough to mouth them even in your sleep).

“Look, do you want it or not?” you interrupted, and he bristled—all those delicate, violet, fins flaring up like a porcupine’s spikes.

The Siren crossed his arms stiffly and pointedly turned in the other direction with a mutter of something you had no hopes of catching.

“Whatever,” you snapped and went to bite into your meal. Only to immediately forget that these pointy little fuckers still had their shells on them. You reeled back with a yelp as you stabbed a million, tiny, carapace-shaped holes in your tongue.

The fucking Siren had the gall to turn back around so that you could see him laughing at you.

That night he was back to flipping around in the shallows like a miniature hurricane.

You counted out the waves sloshing against your heels, telling yourself you’d intervene in his self-destructive tsunami once it hit one hundred. And then it became two, then three. You shifted hesitantly to peek over the rock’s edge and watched him curl into himself like some terribly wounded creature before shaking himself out of the fog of pain that had clearly settling over his nerves, and then continued with his nonsense.

You hurled a big, pink seashell at his head and he whipped on you like a rabid dog, practically foaming at the mouth and raring for a fight. When he lunged forward with the waves—seething with hatred, and blame, and nearly crashing onto his already shredded front in the process, something angry in your snapped.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you demanded, stomping perhaps a bit closer than would be rational. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

The Siren roared something back and slapped his tail in the surf. Static zipped along your cheeks and you grit your teeth. He glared at you bitterly and then began to repeat one word over and over—slow and angry.

‘Eeeeehhh-Pppe-llllll’ said his lips. Strong and harsh with the shape of it.

And then he was back to spewing all kinds of rapid-fire vitriol that you wouldn’t have bothered to keep track of even if you could. Something in his expression shifted almost quicker than you could notice and he lifted his massive tail out of the water. He smacked the fins in your direction and pointedly jabbed a clawed finger at the creases of them—where delicate, silky, tendrils met strong, gem toned, muscle. Where the purple was light and clean. A pale, shiny, lavender. Almost just like—

“That kid?” you frowned. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

He sneered again and pointedly sent a splash of seawater into your face.

“You—” you grit your teeth. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. For all the good it would do. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

The Siren’s face twisted up like you’d force fed him soured milk, and he looped back around with a dramatic fwoosh of water to dive into the shallows. It was maybe two or three feet deep at best, and he was barely submerged. Not to mention how utterly ridiculous it looked to see a creature that was no doubt usually the peak of grace and athleticism reduced to flopping belly first into the waves with his proverbial legs tied up behind him. But you recognized a door slamming in your face when you saw it, no matter the species. Fine. Let him be a petty bastard. He could rot away in the sandbar for all you cared.

The next day you woke up with goosebumps crawling up and down your limbs.

There were all sorts of gulls crash-landed in the sand around you and more sad, little, sea creatures gasping on the beach than you dared to count. You shoved a particularly chubby octopus back into a tidepool as you passed and wondered just what sort of nonsense your co-strandee was getting up to now.

The Siren was circling the bay with his head held high above the low waves—lips parted and clearly caterwauling like a dying porpoise. The surface of the water trembled with whatever was making its way out of his mouth, and he looped and looped around the shores. It reminded you of the time you’d seen a whale calf separated from its pod. It had gotten trapped in a shallow inlet when the tides had changed, and your ship had been anchored just off the same coast. You’d watched it circle and circle, lifting its heavy snout to snort sharp jets of water into the air. Deuce had passed you a scribbled note when you’d asked him what it sounded like.

‘It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’

There was a moment where the Siren paused in his paces and tilted his head. The fins there flared out to the side, like he was listening for something. But after a long moment the spines drooped back against his damp hair and he went back to his singing an aria to no one.

‘It’s looking for its family,‘ Riddle had signed to you when you’d asked him why the calf didn’t simply leave once the tides had turned in its favor. ‘This is where they last saw it, so this is where it will stay.’

“Maybe they forgot about him already,” you mused petulantly, turning back towards the center of the islet to try and scavenge up something to eat from all the poor creatures who had collapsed beneath your nemesis’s wailing.

The bitter thought wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it ought to be.

That night, the waters were still.

You squinted suspiciously at the merman curled in the shallows of the bay. He’d pulled himself half-out of the water, resting his more human looking bulk in the soft sand as gentle waves lapped at his tail. He slept on his front with his arms crossed beneath his pointed chin—his unbound fins sticking up behind him in a way that deliriously reminded you of bedhead. You watched him carefully for nearly an hour, searching for any tightness in his muscles or change in his breathing that might indicate he was faking it. But as the evening stretched on and he never lurched awake to try and gauge your eyes out, you assumed he might actually be properly resting.

He'd been swimming in circles all day—the aborted, stuttering, beats of his bound tail looking painful even by your non-tail-having standards. Eventually the tremors along the ocean had grown stuttered and strange, like perhaps his voice was giving out on him. And once that had happened, he’d curled up exactly where he was now. And hadn’t moved since.

You stared at the Siren hesitantly. He was certainly in enough of a state that you could probably pull off that whole ‘shoving him into the depths with a stick’ thing. He’d probably just let you do it—sink to the bottom in a mess of shredded fins and tangled twine and never rise again.

You gnawed at your lip, feeling something unpleasantly hot and sticky twist up your stomach.

The knife glinted between your fingers and you thought of crying whales and of the crew that you already missed so much that it felt like a gnawing chasm had opened in your chest.

You huffed out a miserable sigh and lamented for not the first time in your life that you really were just so fucking stupid sometimes. And then you were cautiously making your way down towards the waterline and the sleeping Siren sprawled out in the sand. Slowly—so very, very slowly—you tiptoed towards the mer and tried to get a quick glance at what amounted to the worst of the damage.

The rope had been thin and long, and the more he’d struggled, the more he’d dug the twine into his fins. You reached forward at half speed and slipped the blade into one of the too-tight creases beneath the bindings. You winced a bit in sympathy at the raw, pink skin beneath. No wonder he hadn’t been able to just rip the fibers away. He’d probably just ended up tugging them over and over against the oozing wounds beneath.

The first strand broke beneath your fingers with something that almost felt like a pop. Like seams ripping on a shirt. You glanced quickly at the sleeping Siren to confirm he was still lost to the world and not gearing up to bite your fingers off at the knuckle, and then continued making your way through the worst of it. It reminded you a bit of the time Ace had accidentally snared a sea turtle in one of his fishing nets and the lot of you had spent the better part of an hour slowly working the thing free of the seemingly endless tangles. You delicately worked the tightest edges away from the harsh indentations they’d left against his scales and peeled back the muckier bits with enough gentleness to avoid mangling anymore of his already battered fins.

The last of the rope finally came away with a satisfying, wet weight and you let it fall to the sand beside you with a pleased nod. Now you could let Mister Merman swim away in the morning with no unpleasantly gross sense of moral obligation weighing down your consciousness. Maybe he’d even be thankful enough to look at you with something other than a venomous glare for once. Certainly nothing like the one leveled at you right now. And—

Oh.

You didn’t even have time to properly gasp before you were being flipped and pinned into the wet sand. The Siren loomed over you, digging his black claws into your shoulder until you could feel the first pricks of blood breaking the surface. He snarled in your face, the curtain of his pale blonde hair shadowing his eyes in something so dark it was nearly black. The brilliant purple cast off his glowing irises were like little spots of stars in an otherwise empty night sky.

He leaned forward, teeth bared, and then some sort of tight expression flickered over his face. He paused, brow tugging together steep and angry. He hunched down once more, fangs at the ready, and then ducked back out. He shook his head, like he was trying to clear fog from his brain, and then he was snapping his canines at you all over again.

The Siren reared back with a booming snarl that sent ripples through the soft tide lapping at your ankles. He turned with one, final, icy glower and dove back into the shallows, disappearing beneath the surface in a flash of amethyst scales. He flicked his tail sharply as he went, and one of the tattered fins snapped against your nose with enough of a crack to make you yelp.

You sat up in disbelief, rubbing at your aching skin and watching in outright consternation as the great predator of the oceans swam tight laps beneath the warm waters of your little lagoon—fins occasionally cresting over the surface to smack pointed fistfuls of water into your gaping face.

Deliriously, one of The Rose Queen’s hundreds of nonsensical rules bounced about your head. Happy to fill the otherwise entirely empty space behind your eyes.

‘Never save a Sea Serpent on a Sunday,’ Riddle had demanded, hands at his hips. ‘No Serpents, or Sea Horses, or Sirens to speak of.’

‘Man,’ you thought wildly, brain high on adrenaline and static as you watched one of the aforementioned Sirens swan about like he hadn’t probably just been a half second away from gnawing on your literal bones. ‘If I get out of this alive, Captain’s definitely gonna collar me this time.’

[TAG LIST]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl,

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Mermay #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 1

2K notes · View notes

frenchkisstheabyss · 10 months

Text

♡ the patient in 206 ♡

♡ Pairing: patient!mingi x curvy!fem!reader

♡ Summary: You always keep it professional at work but, when an attractive new patient begins to push the boundaries, you find it difficult to resist his charm.

♡ Genre: fluff/suggestive

♡ Word Count: 1.8k

♡ Warnings: reader’s short so there’s references to how tiny she is, mingi puts his face in your boobs nonsexually. they're just comfy for him, mention of blood/anesthesia

♡ A/N: This is based on an idea @urlacuna threw into my asks. I hope I did a good job interpreting what you wanted into a fic!

Red licorice, if you eat enough of it, does a hell of a job mimicking internal bleeding. That’s why the patient in 202 is here today for a colonoscopy. Just to make sure. You know this because the husband of a patient is draped over the nurse’s station while you’re doing charts, huffing and puffing because he has to be here instead of presumably lounging on a couch wiping flaky orange Cheeto dust on the arm of his recliner. This is about as sexy as a job in nursing gets but it’s what pays the bills so you listen, partially anyway, fighting off the urge to throw what’s left of your watered down iced coffee onto his face.

“Sir,” your coworker interrupts, her lack of patience for his bullshit obvious from the start, “Your wife’s asking for you. If you’ll go in and see her…” Before she can finish her sentence he’s stomping off, mumbling something to himself. She’s your favorite coworker for a reason. She takes a seat on your desk like you’re not in the middle of something. “I’d rather get two colonoscopies with no anesthesia than be married to that asshole,” she says louder than she should. You bury your face in your hands, muffled laughter escaping the spaces between your fingers, “You can’t say that!”

She crosses her legs, thumbing through a patient’s file, “Like you weren’t thinking it. Anyway, I need you to take a patient for me.” “I’m already assigned room 205,” “Now you’re not” she declares, opening the folder to face you, the face sheet glowing like an ancient text in an adventure film. You see the name Song Min Gi. The picture, oh, the picture. “Remember him?” she asks. Remember? How couldn’t you? You’d been thinking of him ever since he came in last week. Not that you’d tell her that. Not that you need to. It’s painted all over your face the same way it was when you first saw him.

Mingi came in with his best friend, Yunho you’re pretty sure his name was, to drop off some paperwork for his endoscopy. The other nurses swarmed the desk like moths to a flame, a sea of fluttering eyelashes and girlish laughter. It wasn’t often…or ever…that two tall handsome men sauntered into your job. And they weren’t just gorgeous. They were complete gentlemen, taking time to ask each of you about your day and making cute little jokes that eased some of the tension of such a high stress job.

As attractive as they both were, it was Mingi who had you wrapped around his finger from the moment he walked in. “We could climb him…” your mind whispered. The smile on his face whispered back that he might let you if you asked. “The little one” Mingi had called you, a suitable nickname with you being the shortest nurse on staff.

“I like you, little one.”

“Thank you, little one.”

“See you soon, little one.”

The timbre of his voice echoed through your chest, the aftershock still felt when you returned home that night. You’d thought of him often since then, hoping that you’d see him again. You’d even peeked at when his endoscopy was scheduled for, excited to find out that you’d be on that day. Today. But you’d forgotten. Yesterday had been so chaotic that you rushed in this morning barely knowing which planet you were on, let alone the day.

Hair a mess. Makeup nowhere to be found. Mismatched socks on. At least your sneakers were on the right feet. You slam the folder closed, “I can’t. Look at me!” “Oh, stop it” your coworker shushes, brushing your hair back, “You look beautiful. Now go! 205 needs me and Mr. Song Min Gi needs you. Go, go, go!” She has you up from your chair, rushing you off with his file in your arms, quicker than you can register what’s happening. “Have fun!” she teases, shoving you into room 206 where Mingi lounges in the bed, his long legs stretched out.

He’s already loopy, you can tell by his low eyes and the blissful smile on his face. Yunho stands beside him, deep in conversation about something that becomes irrelevant when they see you. Mingi sits up, recklessly shifting his arms as if he doesn’t have an IV jabbed into one of them, “Little one!” “Oh my god, be careful” you gasp, scurrying to his side before he accidentally rips the IV from his arm. “So, are you my nurse now or did you just come to see me?” Both. The answer is ‘both’.

You dodge the question, “It looks like she got you all set up for me so let me just go check with the doctor and see if they’re ready to take you back. In the meantime, don’t injure yourself please.” Mingi winks at you, “Anything for you.” “You’re disgusting you know that?” Yunho groans, rolling his eyes, “Sorry about him. It’s the anesthesia kicking in.” You assure Yunho that it’s fine, slipping back out of the room under the watchful eye of Mingi who waves at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. When you return a few minutes later he’s already out cold.

“Be careful with him” Yunho warns, “He might try to, uh, force himself to wake up.” You aren’t worried. You’ve dealt with it before. Patients try to fight it off all the time. Eventually, they all succumb to it though. Even on the off chance that they do wake up the anesthesiologist has them drifting back off to dreamland in a millisecond. It’s almost annoying how cute Mingi manages to be, worthy of a full page spread in a magazine even in those dreadful blue tissue paper clothes they make patients wear.

Rolling him to a room not too far down the hall, you hand him over to the doctor and get back to your other duties. Checking on other patients, making sure they have their discharge papers, and shoveling some lunch into your mouth in between. You’re hiding in the office kitchen, cheeks packed with food and another fork full coming your way, when another nurse rushes in to grab you. “Y/N, room 206! He’s out of his mind!” You check your watch. Mingi? He should be out but he shouldn’t be awake yet.

No questions asked you race behind her to find his room full of nurses. Mingi’s up bouncing on the balls of his bare feet and…rapping? Your closest friend there, the matchmaker herself, scurries over to you, ushering you closer to Mingi. “We’ve been trying to get him to lay down but he won’t do it because he wants, uh, well…” “My wife!” Mingi shouts gleefully, long arms embracing you. His chin rests on the top of your head as the two of you sway back and forth. “Isn’t she cute?” he coos, petting your hair, “Mmm and she smells nice.” You pat him on the back, a mother soothing her agitated baby,

“You guys can head out. I’ve got him.” The room empties out except for Yunho who helps you seat Mingi safely on the edge of the bed, his arms still around you. Mingi sighs, resting his head on your chest, “Soft. Mmm. So soft.” He nuzzles his cheeks against your breasts and Yunho nearly chokes on air. “I’m so sorry. Mingi, stop it!” Mingi groans, shooing his best friend away, “We’re married. I can do what I want. Right, baby?” He looks up at you, his brown eyes are angelic under the fluorescent light, and you can’t bring yourself to disrupt his delusion.

“Right, you can do what you want but can you do something for me?” “Anything” he sighs, his nose buried in your cleavage as his hands traverse your curves. “Let’s lay down, okay? I’m a little tired.” You fake a yawn and he nods, easing you onto the bed with him. His face still in your chest, Mingi goes on telling you how much he loves you. He smiles at memories of how nice your honeymoon was. “It was nice, wasn’t it?” “The best.” This was far from what you expected coming in to work today but, in the back of your mind, you’re enjoying the affection, even if it is medically induced.

After a few minutes, Mingi drifts back off to sleep, giving you the chance to sneak away. The rest of the day goes on as normally as it can after something like that has happened. It’s not like you can tell anyone. You should just forget it. Maybe Mingi will. Yunho better let him. When you get the news that Mingi’s awake for a second time you beg another nurse to take him. You don’t even want to think about what might happen if he does remember and you’d rather not find out.

Thankfully she takes over, allowing you to finish out your shift uneventfully. “See you tomorrow!” you shout over your shoulder, waving to your coworkers as they filter out behind you. You turn to check that the coast is clear before crossing the parking lot only to slam face first into a brick wall. You stumble backward, and strong hands grip your arms keeping you on your feet. A brick wall? Not a brick wall. Mingi’s chest. It’s your turn to look up at him now, his cheeks are tinted a strawberry red.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry…”

“No, I’m sorry…for a lot of things apparently.”

You glance behind him and see Yunho leaning against a car nearby. You wave to each other, the context of Mingi’s apology clear. “Look, I…” “Don’t worry about it. It happens.” Mingi narrows his eyes at you, skeptical of how often this actually happens. “Okay, it doesn’t happen” you relent, “But it’s really okay. I swear.” “I’m still sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m such an idiot. Clearly, that date I was gonna ask you on is out of the window.” “Date?” you shriek, clearing your throat to regain your composure, “I mean, date? You were gonna ask me on a date?” Mingi hangs his head, hands in his pockets, unable to meet your gaze. “I was but it’d be kinda weird now, wouldn’t it?” You stand up straight, arms folded across your chest, “Well you’ve gotta ask to know, don’t you?” “Oh, uh, does that mean that you’d…would you…date…with me?” “When?” “Now?” “Now?” “No?” “Fine. Let’s go. My car” you demand, strutting to your car with some newfound boldness overtaking you.

You aren’t sure if he’s even following you until you spot him out of the corner of your eye. Clutching your purse close to your chest you try to suppress how giddy you are then the panic sets in. A date? Looking like this? Unlocking the door, you throw your purse into the backseat, “I should probably go home and change into something cuter.” “Cuter?” Mingi asks, holding the door open for you, “You’re cute enough. Plus, you don’t have to impress me anymore. We’re married, remember?”

#mingi x y/n #mingi x you #mingi x reader #mingi fluff #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #curvy reader #plus size reader

506 notes · View notes

tainsan · 10 months

Text

misfits VI

⇥ pairing: ot8 ateez x fem! reader

⇥ warnings: nightmares, mentions of suicide, death, anxiety attacks, and violent language.

⇥ word count: 7.4k

⇥ a/n: I got back from vacation so I am very excited to release this chapter! thank you to all of you who have waited patiently for this one <3 I must say that in this chapter there are some very triggering moments, so please read at your own risk. your mental health is more important, please stay safe.

⇢ masterlist ⇠

previous chapter ⇠ ⇢ next chapter...

for my love @l0vetiny

--- THIS IS AN 18+ FANFICTION MINORS DO NOT INTERACT---

Wandering through the dimly lit and eerily quiet hallway, a shiver runs down your spine, goosebumps prickling on your skin. The air feels heavy with memories, and the flickering lights cast eerie shadows on the walls, heightening the sense of unease that settles deep within you.

Continuing forward, the surroundings seem to shift and morph before your eyes. The hallway transforms, becoming all too familiar. The walls close in, and the once-empty space becomes filled with echoes of laughter, tears, and whispers from the past. It's as if the memories have taken on a tangible form, enveloping you in their grip.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you struggle to make sense of the chaotic rush of emotions flooding your mind. The fragments of memories flash before your eyes, disjointed and broken, yet each one carries a weight that tugs at your soul. Images and sensations from the past come rushing back, haunting you with their vividness and intensity. You need to get out of here, now.

The hallway itself becomes a portal to the past, transporting you back to the house that holds both cherished moments and haunting secrets. The familiar decor, the creaking floorboards, the scent of recognizable perfume lingering in the air; all of it contributes to the overwhelming flood of emotions that threaten to destroy you.

Fear grips you, urging you to flee, to escape the clutches of this haunting place. Every fibre of your being screams at you to turn back, to run as fast as you can, and leave this darkness behind. But despite your desperate attempts to resist, your body seems to move of its own accord, almost as if it's being drawn deeper into the depths of the memories that refuse to be forgotten. The journey through this haunting corridor forces you to confront the ghosts of your past, to face the demons that have haunted you for years.

‘Stop, what are you doing’ Your protests fade away as you persist to walk more into the house, you recognise your steps and when you reach a certain door, your heart stops, your entire body going ice cold as you realise, you’re not here, you’re just reliving a memory. A memory you’ve been desperately running from for years.

Every nerve in your being ignites with fear, your body on fire as you desperately try to turn away. The overwhelming surge of emotions becomes unbearable, your eyes stinging and your heart racing. Trembling and filled with panic, you long to escape the haunting corridor that threatens to eat you alive. The weight of the moment hangs heavy, as you gather your strength and resolve to confront the darkness.

Watching as your hand reaches for the handle to the wooden door, you feel your entire body shaking as you still shriek in your mind to take you out of this nightmare. You pray, to anyone and anything that you will be torn away from this horrific place.

As the door creaks open, a suffocating wave of devastation washes over you, threatening to shatter the fragile pieces of your already broken soul. The sight that greets your eyes is agonizing. The lifeless body, once vibrant and full of life, now splayed across the cold, unforgiving floor. The weight of grief settles heavily upon your chest, constricting your breath and causing your heart to ache with searing pain. The scene is scattered by empty medicine capsules spread across the dark wood surface, silent witnesses to the desperation that consumed your mother's final moments. Every inch of your being yearns to rush towards her, to reach out and somehow reverse the irreversible, but an invisible force keeps you rooted in place, a helpless spectator to this heart-wrenching tragedy.

Time seems to warp and bend as you remain frozen, trapped in the nightmare that plays out before your eyes. The desire to touch her, to hold her once more, is an unbearable ache coursing through your veins. But before your trembling fingers can graze her lifeless form, the cruel grip of reality tears you away from the harrowing scene, your anguished scream echoing through the air, a desperate plea to escape the horrors that haunt your waking moments.

Your body jolts upright, propelled by an overwhelming surge of adrenaline. Gasping for air, each breath feels jagged and strained, a desperate attempt to fill your lungs with oxygen. The taste of salt lingers on your lips as hot tears stream down your cheeks, tracing a path of agony. Your entire being quivers with a raw intensity, as if electricity courses through your veins, setting your nerves ablaze. The need for escape overwhelms you, urging you to flee the confines of your bedroom. Hastily, you propel yourself forward, your steps hurried and unsteady, driven by a desperate desire for fresh air. The world blurs around you as your feet propel you towards the door, craving the relief that lies beyond it.

Disregarding your appearance, clothed in nothing but your sleeping shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you stumble through the house in a frantic haze. The urgency to escape grips you aggressively, destroying any concern for disturbing your roommates in your wake. Each footstep is irregular, pushed by an overwhelming need to escape from the suffocating hold of your mind.

The memory hooks into your brain, a relentless torment that attempts to consume you once more. Despite your relentless efforts to suppress it, the nightmare persists, resurfacing with a haunting insistence. Weeks, months, and years of painstakingly building a fortress of forgetfulness crumble before your eyes. The memory's grip tightens, triggering a heavy downpour of emotions, drowning your fragile stability.

Your legs tremble beneath you, weakened by the weight of the anguish you bear. Progress towards the door is a gruelling endeavour, each step a battle against the trembling weakness that permeates your being. But before you can reach the refuge of the exit, your body resists, collapsing onto the floor of the hallway. Your tears constantly flow, soaking your trembling hands as your shattered being struggles to comprehend the crushing wave of emotions that consume you. Time becomes distorted, seconds stretching into agonizing hours as you surrender to the merciless grip of your despair.

In a state of panic, your senses spin and blur, disorienting your vision as you struggle to fixate on the door just a few meters away. Yet, the world seems to be against you, distorting and contorting, morphing the once familiar threshold into an obscure target that mocks your desperate reach. The room, once spacious, now closes in around you, suffocating you in its overwhelming grip.

Desperation grips your throat, and you gather every ounce of strength to scream for help, to summon anyone who might ease your torment. But the sound that emerges is weak, a mere particle of a whisper lost in the turbulent commotion of your mind.

As the world blurs and fades, your senses dulled by the overwhelming surge of anxiety, you remain oblivious to the sudden presence at your side. It is only when strong arms envelop your trembling frame, engulfing you in a secure embrace, that you become aware of another person by your side.

The comforting presence guides you gently, repositioning your body between their legs, offering a supportive cradle. Your cheek finds solace against their chest, feeling the steady rhythm of their heartbeat against your skin. They begin to rub your back in soothing motions, tracing slow circles that provide a sense of grounding and reassurance. The legs of the protective figure form a defensive barrier around you, providing a sense of safety amid the mayhem. It is here when you can smell a vaguely familiar scent, and you cannot quite discern where you have smelt it before. It is when the figure's voice reaches your ears, and at that moment, the familiarity of the scent that fills the air clicks into place. It is the same scent that lingers on your sheets, the scent that belongs to their owner. The realization floods your senses, connecting the dots between the fragrance and the person residing near you.

“___? It’s Mingi,” the man speaks, with genuine concern etched across his face. Mingi, who is holding you tight desperately tries to redirect your focus, his intent gaze fixated on your trembling form. Mingi tries to grasp your attention, hoping to draw you away from the whirlwind of thoughts that torment your mind. In a voice laced with both urgency and tenderness, he calls out to you once more, his words filled with a mix of anxiety and aching compassion. The sound of his voice cuts through the haze that clouds your senses, breaking through the chaos and reaching for the fragile connection within you. Yet, your breaths remain erratic and unsteady, leaving their heartfelt call unanswered.

“___, listen to me, you’re okay. You are safe, come back to me. You’re safe.”

He notices your shaking slows down and he realises he’s found a small part of you holding on. Gently placing a hand on your cheek that isn’t facing him, he pulls you further into his chest, resting your ear over his heart.

“Listen to my heart, just focus on the sound, okay? You’re doing so well.” The beat of his steady heart reaches your ears and your entire being grasps the sound, the calming rhythm helping still the rising storm swirling inside of you.

Mingi's arms envelop your trembling frame, providing a secure embrace that anchors you during the cyclone of emotions. He holds you tenderly, swaying gently back and forth as if trying to lull away the distress that weighs heavily on you. Amidst the madness of your inner instability, you suddenly become aware of a soft melody coming from Mingi's lips. The song is unfamiliar, yet its delicate notes and the resonance of his baritone voice manage to soothe your soul. The vibrations of his singing gently slice through the tight knots of anxiety constricting your throat, gradually easing their grip on you. Time seems to blur as the minutes tick by, the sound of his voice providing a lifeline of stability. As the minutes stretch into what feels like hours, you gradually regain control of your breath, your inhales and exhales finding a steadier rhythm.

Though your tears still prick at your eyes, slipping down your cheeks occasionally, the storm within you begins to subside, leaving behind a lingering sense of vulnerability. Mingi remains devoted to your side, his comforting presence offering a glimmer of hope in the aftermath of the emotional tempest.

As the weight of your sorrow begins to ease, you can physically feel Mingi's body relaxing against yours, his tense muscles gradually unwinding like a tightly coiled spring. It's as if his form moulds effortlessly to fit against your side, providing a comforting embrace that shields you from your feelings raging within.

The warmth of Mingi's breath, steady and soothing, gently caresses the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in its wake. Each deliberate inhale and exhale serves as a grounding rhythm, anchoring him in the present moment.

As you begin to stir, indicating your readiness to move, a subtle shift in Mingi's demeanour becomes evident. His heightened awareness brings him to become conscious of the intimate position the two of you find yourselves in. With utmost caution and respect, he lifts his head ever so slowly, ensuring no sudden movements that could potentially trigger any lingering distress within you. While he subtly withdraws from the immediate proximity, his arm remains lightly draped around your waist, offering a gentle source of reassurance and support.

Turning your head at a slow pace, your gaze aligns with Mingi's, and in that fleeting moment, a pang of guilt tugs at your heart. The weight of your emotions mingles with the realization that he has been a steadfast presence throughout, a pillar of strength and compassion, offering unwavering support and comfort in your most vulnerable moments. The gratitude you feel is profound, yet so too is the underlying concern that you may be burdening him with your troubles.

“I’m so sorry Mingi, did I wake you up?” You look away from him, your body starting to shake with faint embarrassment. Noticing how fragile your emotions are right now, he is quick to comfort you and put your mind at ease.

“You didn’t don’t worry; I was in the living room when I thought I heard a scream,” Mingi responds, his hand unconsciously moving up and down your back again.

“What are you doing up so late?” You ask, confused as to why any of the boys would be awake this late. It must be past three or four in the morning.

“I got a burst of creativity, it’s hard to sleep if I don’t get it all out.” Mingi looks down, looking somewhat flustered. Looking up, he sees the confusion covering your features. “I was writing some kind of song thing.”

Your eyes widen as you realise what he meant, and you become ever so curious about his creativity.

“I didn’t know you wrote songs,” your voice is soft yet the glimpse of admiration in your tone is picked up by Mingi and he can’t help but smile and feel the heat rise to his cheeks.

“It’s kind of what I’m studying, writing songs is my thing,” Mingi grins as he teases you slightly for not knowing his major.

“Really? Maybe I should actually get to know you guys better,” You mumble to yourself wiping away your stray tears, once again not knowing something that is common knowledge to everyone.

“What has you so shaken up?” Mingi’s voice is so soft you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t right next to you.

Mingi observes your reluctance to discuss the terrifying nightmare that just unfolded, and he instinctively knows that pushing you to open up would do more harm than good. Understanding the rawness of the images still haunting your mind, he respects your need for time and space. As your body continues to tremble with residual fear, Mingi quietly rises to his feet, bringing you up with him, his arm securely wrapped around your waist. He can feel your unsteady steps, and a protective instinct kicks in. Pausing for a moment, he contemplates the best course of action, realizing that ensuring your safety and comfort is his top priority.

“I am going to lift you to your room, is that okay?” Mingi questions, his eyes not leaving yours.

As the realization dawns upon you that Mingi's intention is solely to offer his support and assistance, your initial hesitation begins to dissipate. Blushing with a mix of gratitude and self-consciousness, you understand that your vulnerability at this moment demands you to accept his help. Although the idea of relying on someone else makes you slightly uncomfortable, you recognize that your current state leaves you incapable of aiding yourself.

Suppressing your embarrassment, you offer Mingi a shy nod, silently conveying your permission for him to assist you further. Mingi bends down to snake one of his arms under your legs and one around your back. Lifting your body into bridal style, Mingi holds you close to his chest, almost cradling your limp body. As Mingi supports you in his arms, a surge of emotions sweeps through him, overwhelming his senses. The weight of your body against his chest creates an intimate connection that he has longed for but never imagined would happen under these circumstances. He feels a sense of bliss as if time has momentarily paused to grant him this precious moment. The touch of your skin against his, the rise and fall of your breath against his chest, all serve as a bittersweet reminder of the vulnerability and trust you have placed in him.

His grip tightens ever so slightly, instinctively wanting to shield you from any harm or discomfort that may still linger within your fragile state. Mingi's heart swells with a mix of tenderness and protectiveness, a deep sense of responsibility to provide comfort and reassurance.

Resting your head against Mingi’s broad shoulder, you close your eyes, recognising the route of the man heading towards your room. Luckily, during your expedition to leave the house, you left the door of your bedroom open slightly, allowing Mingi to easily push it open with his back and walk towards your dishevelled bed. It is here where Mingi realises you must have had a nightmare; a soft concern lingers in his eyes. He knows that words alone may not be enough to ease the lingering distress from your nightmare. Although he knows not to pry, he wishes you would tell him the details of your bad dream, so he can offer support in the knowledge that you are safe in his presence and that of his brothers.

With a soft smile, Mingi pauses in his steps, his hand resting on the doorknob. He turns around, his eyes meeting yours, and he immediately understands your silent plea.

“Don’t worry, love, I’ll be right back. Give me a second.” Mingi reassures you before leaving out the door at a fast pace. If you weren’t so shaken up and exhausted the nickname would have processed in your mind completely differently to how it does at this moment.

It takes about twenty seconds for Mingi to return to your bedroom, this time in his hand he has his phone and a pair of wired headphones. You aren’t able to do anything but lay tucked in your sheets, you result to just watching him as he comes closer to the edge of your bed.

Without hesitation, he moves back towards your bed, taking a seat on the floor, in front of you. He reaches out and gently brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender and comforting. Mingi's presence alone brings a sense of security, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. You're grateful for his understanding and willingness to provide the comfort you so desperately need at this moment.

Mingi looks up at you and smiles warmly, causing the sharp edge of your nerves to soften. With his face only a few inches away from yours, your heartbeat increases but this time it’s not due to a damaging emotion. Resting his hand on your head, he tenderly strokes your unkempt hair from your face before retracting and placing it back on his lap, much to your dismay.

“Would you like to hear one of my projects?” Mingi’s voice is barely above a whisper.

Exhausted and unable to muster coherent words, you offer a nod, signalling your readiness to delve into the unknown world of Mingi's music. A smile dances across his face as he places one headphone in your ear and the other in his, creating a shared soundscape that bridges the gap between you. With anticipation, you watch as Mingi skilfully navigates his playlist, his fingers gliding over the screen in search of the perfect track.

Untitled songs and cryptic titles catch your eye, piquing your curiosity about the untold stories behind them. As he presses play, a gentle beat emanates from the earphone, gradually filling the space around you. The strumming of a guitar resonates through the air, accompanied by an evolving symphony of instruments, and sounds that seamlessly intertwine. Mingi's deep voice emerges, rapping softly with a tone and tempo that seems tailor-made for your ears. It's a mesmerizing blend that tickles a part of your brain. The lyrics, though tinged with sorrow, embrace your spirit, offering a comforting hold that lets you know you are heard and seen.

As the music envelopes you, the weight of exhaustion appears, causing your eyelids to grow heavy. Your body surrenders to the soothing soundscape, and relaxation invades every inch of your being. Drifting into a peaceful slumber, you feel a sense of serenity wash over you. Just as you slip into the realm of dreams, a familiar resonance catches your ear, triggering goosebumps that ripple across your skin.

A particular lyric rises from the music, echoing deeply within you. Its significance is palpable, evoking emotions that are difficult to put into words. In this ethereal moment, the power of music intertwines with your being, leaving an indelible mark on your soul.

‘Passion, young, fever.’

There’s no way you heard that right. Right?

---

Excitement bubbles within you as you make your way towards the kitchen, fully expecting to find Hongjoong waiting for you there. Several days ago, he had kindly offered to accompany you to the bustling department store in the city, assisting you in finding new items to decorate your room with. It is a leisurely Saturday, devoid of any pressing lessons or assignments, you relish in the prospect of a full day dedicated to exploring and shopping. Your intentions extend beyond room decor, as you've also set your sights on replenishing your wardrobe. The few outfits you currently possess, remnants of what survived the fire, have become repetitive and mundane. You feel it's time for a refreshing upgrade. Originally, you had planned to limit your purchases to decorative items and undergarments, the latter of which you're determined to buy discreetly, without Hongjoong's presence. If necessary, you'll insist that he waits outside the store, ensuring your privacy.

The unexpected windfall of funds, received as compensation from your previous landlords for the damages incurred during the fire, has granted you a sense of financial freedom. The amount exceeded your initial expectations, as you had prepared yourself for the daunting task of covering expenses such as finding a new place to live, purchasing furniture, and replacing schoolbooks. Fortunately, the boys had already taken care of these necessities, ensuring a smooth transition when you moved in with them.

As you enter the kitchen, you find Hongjoong seated at the table, engaged in conversation with Jongho and Mingi, the latter with his back turned towards you. Instantly, memories from the previous week flood your mind, causing a sudden wave of flustered emotions. You feel unsure about how to approach and express gratitude to Mingi for his assistance during your anxiety attack. Ignoring the situation is not an option, as it would be unfair to dismiss his support. However, you hesitate, dreading the possibility of him inquiring about the cause of your distress, as it would require delving into your deep history of trauma.

Upon waking up that morning, you noticed Mingi's absence, briefly wondering if the entire incident had been a vivid dream. The sight of a slightly dishevelled pillow on the floor, evidence of someone's presence, reassures you that it did happen. You hope Mingi didn't spend too much time awake, as you also wished for him to get some rest. Another lingering thought occupying your mind is the song Mingi played for you a few days ago. Although it sounded unfamiliar, there was an uncanny familiarity in the lyrics that troubled you. You briefly entertained a theory of where you might have heard it before, but the thought swiftly slipped away, dismissed as a mere coincidence that didn't quite add up, it could not be them.

Since then, you've intentionally started leaving the house earlier, trying to avoid Mingi's presence, only interacting with him during dinner time. He is well aware of your embarrassment, yet it doesn't diminish his disappointment at the fact that you've been actively avoiding him.

As you draw nearer to the kitchen, you realize that the conversation among the three men is unusually deep, and intense. Hongjoong's furrowed brow and hushed tone suggest a level of seriousness they wish to keep private. Not wanting to interrupt their discussion, you take a step back, planning to return in a few minutes. Despite their efforts to keep their voices low, you manage to catch snippets of their conversation, and the few words you hear leave you slightly alarmed.

“I don’t think she needs to know so soon,” Jongho says.

You halt in your tracks, confused. Are they talking about you?

“I think she does, I can’t hide it from her much longer.” Mingi’s deep voice is recognisable.

“When should we ask her…”

“It just depends on the timing okay; we will let her know the proposition when necessary.”

Reluctant to continue eavesdropping, you scold yourself for unintentionally intruding on their private conversation. A wave of guilt washes over you, as you recognize that listening in on their discussion is unfair to their trust. However, curiosity chews at you, urging you to find out what they could be talking about. If the conversation revolves around you, what proposition or topic could they be considering? Should you step out from behind the corner and confront them? You know it would be the right thing to do, respecting their privacy, but an inexplicable force seems to hold you back, trapping you in your position. The desire to satisfy your curiosity becomes overwhelming, rendering you unable to move or tear yourself away from their secretive conversation.

“Why are you standing here?” A voice sounds from behind you, startling you immensely. Letting out a sound of surprise, you quickly cover your mouth in hopes that the three men at the kitchen island didn’t hear you.

As you turn around, your eyes lock on Seonghwa, leaning casually against the doorframe of his bedroom. A mischievous grin adorns his face, and you can't help but be captivated by his presence. Dressed in simple, yet stylish, black jeans and an oversized grey sweater, he exudes an effortless charm that makes it difficult to divert your gaze. Your eyes wander up and down his figure, unable to resist the appeal he radiates. A surge of pride fills Seonghwa's chest as he observes your admiration. He takes confident strides towards you, closing the distance until he stands a mere foot away. Bending down to meet your eye level, his face hovers just inches from yours. Your mind races, urging your body to create some distance, but you find yourself rooted in place, unable to budge as his magnetic presence envelops you.

“Like what you see?” He questions, your heart almost jumping out of your chest.

You are surprised at his flirtatious behaviour, not quite used to it coming from Seonghwa. Only having seen him as a gentle sweetheart, seeing him act so flirty makes your heart pound dreadfully fast.

Finally, you can convince your body to move away from Seonghwa’s hard stare and into the kitchen where you almost forget the three other men. You expected to see Jongho after seeing him every morning on the island, munching on the same food as usual.

“Hey, ___, You’re up early. Are you okay?” Jongho questions, wondering why you seem so shaken up and flustered. Hoping it wasn’t due to you potentially listening into the conversation between him and his friends. When he sees Seonghwa trailing behind your tense body, a smug grin covering his face, he thinks he understands why it is you’re so frazzled.

You manage to nod at him slightly, throwing a nervous smile in his direction before heading to the fridge to grab something small to eat before your day starts.

Behind you, Jongho sends a confused look in Seonghwa’s direction, causing the older man to just shrug amusedly as he makes his way to the coffee machine at the counter.

Balancing your bowl of leftover fruit salad in one hand, you make your way towards the spacious kitchen island. The morning light spills in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room. As you approach, you grab a fork from a nearby drawer, your familiarity with the kitchen growing with each passing day. Though you've become well-acquainted with the location of most utensils, there are still a few items that escape your memory, like the damn blender. You can't help but recall the comical scene from yesterday when you frantically searched through every cupboard in a desperate quest to find the blender. Jongho, finding amusement in your difficulty, watched with an entertained grin as you scoured the kitchen. Finally locating the appliance, you playfully shot him a glare, feigning annoyance at his refusal to help in your blender-seeking escapade.

Settling into the seat next to Mingi, you steal a glance at him, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt wash over you. His broad figure turns towards you, his lips curving into a genuine, warm smile. The sight tugs at your heartstrings. You can't help but feel apologetic for avoiding him in the past few days, but seeing his forgiving expression reassures you that he doesn't harbour any ill feelings towards you.

“How did you sleep?” Mingi asks, his voice soft and tender, his smile contagious.

“I slept pretty well,” you process the next words in your head, not sure how to say them, “Thank you Mingi.” You reply, your voice full of gratitude, the smile on Mingi’s face turns thankful as he understands the undertone of your words, knowing you weren’t just thanking him for asking how you slept, but for the help, he gave you not too long ago. Heart filling with happiness, he decides to just smile warmly at you, hoping his unsaid words speak from his expression.

Hongjoong's perceptive gaze shifts back and forth between the two of you, and he can sense the unspoken connection woven within the shared silence. A knowing smile graces his lips, recognizing the softness and affection in your eyes as they rest upon Mingi. At that moment, he envisions a future where you would gaze at him with the same tender expression, his heart warming at the mere possibility.

“What are your plans today?” Jongho’s voice breaks apart the silence, his question not specifically pointed towards anyone, yet wanting your answer the most.

“Hongjoong and I are going to the furniture store and then the shopping mall, right?” You look towards Hongjoong, silently asking him to confirm your statement.

Hongjoong nods gently at you, before taking a sip of the coffee in front of him. Smiling, you look back at Jongho and reciprocate the question, curious as to what the notorious members of Ateez get up to during the weekend.

“I’ve got some errands to run, then San and I are going to this cat café in the city,” Jongho replies, his answer shocking you. Definitely not expecting such activity from such tough presenting guys.

Seonghwa sees the shocked look on your face and lets out a small laugh before speaking, “They’ve been wanting a pet cat for ages, but Hongjoong’s mom just won’t allow it, so this is the closest they can get to having one.”

Amidst the shared laughter, you find yourself joining in as Jongho pulls off the most adorable pouty expression. The infectious joy fills the room, and even Hongjoong and Mingi can't help but chuckle at the sight. Jongho playfully directs a mocking glare towards Hongjoong, as if blaming him for the fact that he can't have a pet cat, adding a touch of playful banter to the light-hearted moment.

“Hey, don’t blame me, blame yourselves. My mom hasn’t been able to take you guys seriously after Wooyoung and San brought a raccoon home and said it was the new housemate.” Hongjoong states as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Your mind races with a mix of shock and amusement as you try to wrap your head around the idea of them abducting a raccoon. It's a scenario that never even crossed your wildest imagination. It sparks a flow of thoughts, making you wonder about all the bizarre and hilarious situations that may have unfolded within the walls of this house. The thought of their antics and misadventures brings a smile to your face, imagining the unconventional and unpredictable moments that have likely taken place in this house.

“It was one time.” San appears from the entrance nearest to the staircase, a pout on his face.

“One time too many, I found the damn raccoon under my bed one time, I thought it was a fucking monster coming to get me,” Seonghwa adds to the conversation, causing laughter to erupt around the room.

“We are not getting a cat, San, I’m sorry,” Hongjoong states, sending an apologetic look in his direction. San crosses his arms, a pout still on his face, causing him to look awfully like a toddler being told they can’t have more candy.

“It’s okay, we have a cute kitty right here,” Jongho says smirking slightly, looking in your direction. The meaning behind his words causes a violent blush to creep up your neck, your entire body heating up.

Mingi's deep chuckle resonates in the air as he playfully pats your head, his gentle touch providing reassurance that the comment was simply a tease. However, a lingering feeling remains, suggesting that Mingi might be in on the playful banter as well. It's a strange but intriguing sensation to be flirted with by someone other than Wooyoung, and you can't help but feel a slight flutter in your heart. At the same time, the thought of all eight of them showering you with attention feels overwhelming. Your heart ponders how it would handle such affection from each of them, unsure if it could bear the weight of their collective charm.

“Okay guys, chill out,” Seonghwa speaks out laughing gently, noticing the flustered look on your features, realising the attention is making you feel slightly anxious. Nodding gently at Seonghwa as a means to thank him, he smiles lightly at you.

A symphony of hurried footsteps echoes through the house, originating from the upper floor and cascading down the staircase. As you turn your gaze towards the source of the commotion, you're met with a heartwarming sight. The three missing individuals, who had been absent from the kitchen until now, have finally made their appearance. It dawns on you that this is a rare occurrence, as it has been quite some time since everyone has been gathered in the kitchen at such an early hour.

“Joong, what did you want to talk about?” Yeosang asks as he walks into the room, not noticing you sitting at the island.

“Oh, it was nothing, forget it,” Hongjoong says, desperately attempting to keep the suspicion low, knowing Yeosang doesn’t see you sitting next to Mingi.

“It sounded pretty urgent,” Wooyoung states, following after Yeosang, yet he suddenly understands the situation when he sees you sitting watching the event unfold, with a clear confused look covering your features. The gravity of the moment becomes apparent as you realise the rarity of such a complete gathering. There must be something important unfolding, something that has brought them all together at this early hour. As Yeosang makes it to the counter, he realises you are sitting there, and his face contorts into an expression of realisation and humiliation.

“Hey, muffin.” Wooyoung manages to get out, before cursing at himself for somewhat revealing the meeting the eight were supposed to discreetly have before you awaken.

Yeosang and Yunho come into your line of sight, and you offer them a warm smile, taking a moment to observe Yunho's behaviour. Surprisingly, he returns your smile with one of his own, genuine, and soft. The exchange doesn't go unnoticed by the other members gathered around the island, and you can feel a slight commotion in your stomach as your body warms up. It's a pleasant surprise to witness Yunho's genuine smile, something you haven't seen before.

However, you soon realize that they want to discuss something in private, perhaps a topic that is better suited for their long-standing friendship. Although a bit disappointed, you understand the need for them to have their own space and conversation, possibly involving "boy stuff." Respecting their privacy, you decide to step back and give them the confidentiality they require.

“Uh…I better go brush my teeth,” you exclaim, standing up from your seat and straightening your pant legs with your hands, making up an excuse to leave.

Making your way to your bedroom, you stop when you hear Hongjoong speak to you. “Just find me when you’re ready, we can leave whenever.” Nodding your head, you smile at all of the men in the kitchen, before heading into your room to stall for as long as you need.

As the door to your room closes, an expectant silence settles among the eight of them. They exchange glances, giving each other a nod, and then the conversation begins to flow.

“You guys need to read the room better, holy shit,” Jongho says when he is sure you’re out of earshot. He doesn’t believe you would be one to eavesdrop knowing it’s an important meeting between him and his friends.

“Okay, how were we supposed to see Tiny when she was hidden behind Mingi’s big ass?” Wooyoung says rolling his eyes as he takes a seat next to where San is standing. San rests an arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders looking down at the shorter male.

“You could’ve at least waited until we were sure she wasn’t here,” San suggests softly, not wanting to annoy the man further. Wooyoung grumbles a ‘whatever’, before paying attention to what Seonghwa is saying.

“Finally decided to open up that ice-cold heart, Yuyu?” Seonghwa questions the black-haired male sitting next to him, a knowing grin plastered on his features.

“I’ll kill you, shut up.” Yunho deadpans, not even looking in his direction, wanting to ignore his friends’ questions, knowing they are curious as to why he is so tame towards you all of a sudden.

“I’m older than you, watch it,” Seonghwa states, pointing a finger in Yunho’s direction, in which Yunho makes a mocking face, sticking his tongue out at Seonghwa.

“We can talk about it another time, okay? I need you guys to focus for a second.” Hongjoong speaks up, causing the seven around him to immediately listen to his words with full concentration. “I have some bad news, but I need you guys to stay calm for me, can you do that?”

Confused looks are shared from around the room, wondering what is so serious that Hongjoong had to warn them to control their emotions. Their captain continues speaking, “I heard from Bumjoong that Ryu may be here, visiting.”

The room grows heavy with tension as the atmosphere becomes charged with anger. Harsh intakes of breath echo through the space, a collective reaction to the weight of the situation at hand.

All eyes are directed towards Yunho and Yeosang, knowing the emotional chaos they have experienced due to Ryu was severe, and understanding the deep wounds may still linger within them. The intensity of their past struggles hangs in the air, casting a shadow over the room and amplifying the gravity of the moment. The others hold their breath, silently pleading for restraint and understanding, hoping that the conversation can navigate the difficult territory without causing further pain. The shared glances exchanged among them serve as a silent reminder of the delicate balance they must maintain.

“I already knew, it’s okay,” Yunho admits, anger evident in his body yet not as bad as it would be if he had just found out. He just hopes that Yeosang will take the news well.

“How come I didn’t know about this?” Yeosang’s voice has traces of anger and sadness and Hongjoong feels bad for not telling his younger friend sooner.

“We just found out, we immediately wanted to make a meeting so you can all hear it at the same time.”

Yeosang's heart sinks as he realizes the reason he was kept in the dark about the situation, knowing he was never as close to Bumjoong as the three others. Though the knowledge stings, he finds peace in the understanding that they wanted to share the news with everyone together. The initial anger he felt towards his friends starts to fade, replaced by a subtle realization and a growing empathy. He comprehends the complexity of their decision, recognizing the intention behind it and the desire to ensure that no one was left out or burdened with the weight of the information alone.

“We don’t know if it is her, or what her intentions could be, but we don’t want to take any chances or risks.” Hongjoong pauses to take a breath, “We have to stay distant from ___, just until we know that Ryu is no longer here.”

“Distant? Why would we stay distant? We have to protect her from Ryu.” San exclaims his voice getting louder, worried at what might happen if Ryu finds out about you.

“If Ryu doesn’t know who ___ is, then there is no chance of her getting hurt,” Hongjoong states, his voice staying the same level, recognition goes around the room as they realise, he has a point.

“But what if she finds out? What happens to ___ if Ryu finds out about her?” Yeosang asks, his voice venomous, causing shivers to go down Mingi and Jongho’s spines, still not used to the harsh tone of their friend.

“Then we have to hope that she doesn’t destroy her like she did us.” Hongjoong exhales, knowing the gravity of the situation.

“Come on, Joong. The second Ryu finds out about ___, it would be over for her, the least we can do is plan for if it happens.” Mingi says, anxiety bubbling in his throat, concerned immensely for you.

“I haven’t thought of one yet, but I will, okay?” Hongjoong replies, trying his hardest to calm the men in front of him whilst also fighting his own worries deep in his mind.

“Have you even started thinking a plan through? What is she going to think when we all of a sudden start ignoring and distancing from her?” Jongho inquires, his voice almost reaching booming, his fears starting to affect him deeply.

“We don’t have to ignore her in the house. Just when outside and at school, avoid her at all costs.” Hongjoong answers, sorrowful about what has to be done. “We do that partially already. Just Mingi, you can’t walk with her to classes.”

Grumbles and complaints are through across the room in a rowdy, loud way, causing Hongjoong to again silence them.

“This is to protect her. This is not for any other reason, boys.”

“Then why are you going out with her today? You’re going against your own words, Captain.” Mingi exclaims, his anger raising slightly at the hypocrisy of his older friend.

“We made these plans before we knew Ryu was here. As much as I want to cancel and reschedule, it would make ___ question, and I want to keep her in the dark here.”

There are a few disbelieved groans and sighs thrown around as enraged stares are directed at Hongjoong.

Hongjoong’s voice booms through the kitchen, the words echoing off the wall, “Don’t you dare look at me like that. I am not using this as an excuse to ‘steal’ ___ from you. If anyone should be out with ___ when Ryu is here it should be me and you all know that damn well. Don’t turn this on me when you know it’s out of my fucking control.” Hongjoong’s voice is strong and sturdy as he speaks his part.

Murmurs of regret and remorse permeate the room, each man expressing their apologies in soft tones. Hongjoong, visibly weighed down by the news, sinks back into his chair, his frustration evident in the furrowed lines on his forehead. He wearily runs his hand through his dishevelled, dirty blonde hair, releasing a deep sigh of exasperation. The weight of the situation hangs heavily on his shoulders, causing his posture to slump. Sensing his distress, Seonghwa offers a comforting gesture, placing a reassuring hand on Hongjoong's shoulder.

“Yunho should go with you,” Yeosang says, his voice soft, quieter than it had been just a few moments ago, this statement causing confused stares to be pointed at him and the taller man.

“What, why?” Seonghwa questions, looking from Hongjoong to the platinum blonde.

“Hongjoong doesn’t know Ryu as well as Yunho and me. I have things I need to do; Yunho can go and make sure that you don’t run into her.” Yeosang explains, his voice back to a normal tone, hints of irritation still evident.

“How is he going to ensure that then?” Wooyoung's question echoes in the room, causing Yeosang to stay silent for a while.

“I will know. She hurt all of us, but I know her better than you all, there’s no chance she’s going to go to a furniture store here anyways, she always hated them.” Yunho answers for Yeosang, who gives his friend a thankful look. Yunho nods in the direction of his friend, before looking back to the six pairs of eyes scanning his every move.

“What? I’m not going to do anything to ___.” Yunho says, ignoring the way his friends send him doubtful looks, rolling his eyes, he admits, “She’s growing on me.”

---------

⇢ taglist: @lilactangerine @plutoneu @abby-grace @sunkissed725 @lixiel0ver @acciocriativity @hyukssunflower @sunukissed @khjcoo @stopeatread @meginthebuilding27 @mychickentendou @sunnyhokyu @rxnexxi @croa-yevon @arabelleum @randomness7198 @dysftopia @lucymultistan @sookacc @starillusion13 @daceydeath @theamazinggrace-000 @smilingtokki @hasgalore @pytssamworld @just-a-really-bored-kpop-fan @satsuri3su @theonesoldtoonedirection @wooya1224 @deadpoetsandhoney @skztrophy @kunhengie @tinyelfperson @l0vetiny @simplyalfie @doggopepper @seungily @dino-teezerr @silentcry329 @formulateez @senpai-of-doom @aaaaajonghooooo @ijwsbdinp @liniiiaa @channiespup @heyitstacy @eightmakesonebraincell @araknoid @0325tiny

{if you asked to be in the taglist and don't see your name, i am incredibly sorry but your account cannot be tagged.}

550 notes · View notes

readychilledwine · 4 months

Text

Temperature Play

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

This kink is a little self-explanatory. Temperature play uses warm or cold objects to add another level of sensory play into intimacy. From ice cubes to wax to a heated massage or a cold glass toy, there's a lot of possibilities for this.

Temperature play is another form of play that can be done with or without a partner and may be something you don't realize you're doing already if you own a heated sex toy. This is a good one to try alone first. That way, you know what your body likes and can let your partner know as well.

Temperature play is a relatively safe form of play and an easy way to add to your sex life. It can help intensify orgasms and stimulate the body more, and honestly, it is just a fun form of play with someone you trust.

💕Peep the Valentines Day List Here💕

As always, NSFW below the cut.

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

Warnings - not my usual rough smut, ice use, fingering, unprotected sex, restraints, mentions of safe words

“What are you doing?” You stared at Lucien as he leaned against the door. He was studying you like a hawk, bare chest on full display as he ate an apple.

“Deciding what to do with you, my lady.” He didn't move, but the smirk on his face told you he wasn't up to anything good as he continued to look you over. “I've decided.”

You couldn't help but laugh, brows raising as he pushed off the frame. “And?” He shrugged, biting into that apple, and then walked away. “Lucien!”

He yelled over his shoulder, tone echoing amusement. “You'll find out later!”

You should have been more prepared. You were currently tied to a bed, clothing long forgotten, and Lucien was above you. He was laying soft kisses along your throat, your collarbone, teeth nipping along the way.

It all sounded fantastic. Your devastatingly beautiful mate worshiping every square inch of you. And it was, any moment spent with the two of you naked and lost to the world was amazing. You wouldn't have changed a thing.

Except the ice he was currently using on your left nipple. You whimpered as he ran it over to the right side, cold water tracking along your skin as he did. “Lu, too cold.”

He hummed against your skin, mouth moving to your peaked left nipple and taking it in your mouth. Your back arched as you moaned. The contrast had you lost, body confused as to which sensation to focus on. He switched as he lowered his hand and that damned ice again, warming your right nipple back up with a moan of his own. “So beautiful, kitten.”

Your legs jerked as that first touch of cold dripped onto your soaked core. “Lucien-”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Don't you fucking dare.”

He took your lips in his, kissing you so deeply that you almost forgot what you were protesting. “If you don't want me to do something,” he had pulled away just barely, lips still brushing yours with every syllable. “What are you supposed to do?”

“Use my safe word,” you tried leaning up, needing to kiss him again.

“Then use it,” he challenged you. You two maintained eye contact as the first kiss of that rapidly melting ice touched your clit.

It was shock, pleasure, mind numbing. You whispered his name, eyes rolling back as he circled those nerves over and over until the ice melted to nothing. “That's my girl.” His chilled fingers took its place, circling with enough pressure to have you moaning loudly from increased sensitivity. “Relax and let me take care of you.”

His hand became warm, erasing the bite of the cold and relaxing inch by inch of muscle until you were completely soft and soaking below him.

The fingers on your clit moved to your entrance, pushing in and stretching you, prepping you for him. The warmth of his body wrapping you, fighting the chill he had set in, made you almost feel like you had been put into a sleepy haze.

His fingers began moving Inside of you, searching until they found that perfect spot. You seemed to sink even further into the mattress at their heated touch on that spot, whimpering softly as he smiled above you.

Lucien leaned down to you, lips brushing the pointed tip of your ear, “Cum for me, y/n.” You body gave into him instantly, arching back off the bed as you moaned his name to the Heavens. “Good girl. Such A pretty obedient thing.” He praised you through the High, kissing your cheekbones, your nose, your Temple.

When you finally came down, Lucien had settled between your thighs, wet fingers lathering his cock in your essence. He had ice in his mouth as he lined up and pushed home, head falling back as he groaned. He began kissing your neck as his hips met yours again and again. The two temperatures had your body tensing and relaxing, fighting as every nerve stood on end.

His lips came to yours again, a sigh of relief leaving you as your eyes fluttered shut. He was taking his time, waking up your inner walls inch by inch and enjoying every noise falling from your mouth. His cold tongue tasted you, battled your own for dominance.

You wailed, having been distracted by him as cold hit your bundle of nerves again. “No,” it was a half protest, moans now leaving your mouth almost consistently.

“Use your safe word, My lady, and I stop.” You shook your head, moaning his name and praying to the Cauldron. His breathy moans began hitting your ears, telling you he was getting as close as you were.

Your walls were squeezing him, confused on the cold beginning to drip down to your core. Confused by the heat of his cock making love to you. “Lucien-”

“Me too, y/n.” His voice was deep, eyes screwing shut. “Right there, kitten.”

“Lucien-” You moaned again, letting it become a soft cry. “Lucien!”

You came screaming his name, ripping him over the edge behind you as it all became too much. His strong arms wrapped around your hips, allowing him to keep you close as he filled you with sloppy thrusts. He was grunting your name, moaning it like a prayer, eyes shut, and mouth open in bliss.

You two laid there, panting in time with each other. His hands lazily reached up, undoing the restraints and forcing your hands to his hair. You chuckled softly, beginning to massage his scalp. “Idea as good as you hoped, Lu?”

He grunted, snuggling into your breasts. “Mhm. Love loving you. Love being yours.”

You kissed his head. “And I love being yours.”

General taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr

Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish @novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer @thisblogisaboutabook @amygdtjhddzvb

@justasillylittlegoofyguy @avajustreads

@littlestw01f @azriels-shadowsinger @acourtofladydeath

#acotar #acotar x reader #lucien x reader #lucien x y/n #lucien x you #lucien acotar #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra x you #lucien vanserra x y/n #lucien vanserra acotar #lucien vandaddy

144 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years

Note

hi! I saw your post about soft/fluff things and I was wondering what you would think about steve with a girl who is accidentally touched starved so Steve, could be bestfriend!steve who has feelings or boyfriend!steve, always makes it a point to hold her face when he's talking to her because she just melts? I just love your Steve (and your remus and peter)

this is the cutest! tysm for ur req i hope it's okay ♡

You're holding a small glass under the faucet. The water quickly overflows. Steve's in the middle of a train of thought babble and doesn't notice at first, his back to the sink basin, aimless chatter echoing through his empty kitchen.

"So, I try to tell the guy. It's an adult section. I can see that you're an adult but the system needs to know that I saw an ID or I could lose my job, and I'm not gonna risk that so you can watch Redhead Babes Gone Wild in secrecy, and he…Y/N?"

"I'm listening," you say.

Steve pulls your hand from under the flow. The water is freezing cold, your fingers like ice cubes. He sets the glass aside and dries your hands off, trying to keep the small line of concern from his brows as he does.

You're perturbingly quiet. A knot works its way into Steve's chest as he massages your cold hands in his, attempting to start his story from where he left off but drawing blanks, worried by your distracted state.

"You wouldn't lose your job for him, so he…?" you work out like the words are hard to say.

He smiles gratefully, bringing his hand to your face as he talks to give you that little bit of grounding you need.

"He gets furious, starts shouting at me, and tries to drag Robs into the whole thing. Keith comes out of the office-"

"He was actually there?" you ask, voice weak.

Steve grins brilliantly.

"He was actually there. He comes out and point blank calls this guy a pervert, which makes him even more mad." He strokes the length of your cheek mindlessly, eyes on yours as they start to shutter. "Keith says he'll call the police and the guy runs off."

"Anti-climatic," you murmur.

Steve squeezes your cheek gently. "Not quite. He runs off, but what does he take with him?"

"What?" you ask, smiling like you know.

"Redhead Babes Gone Wild."

You're relaxing under his hand. He likes this part, reassured in knowing he can give you some relief and settle your agitation, your despondency with a loving touch. He brings the other hand up and cradles your face, taking advantage of your closed eyes to ogle the lines of your face, your small wrinkles, your fine hairs, your dots and your skin and your lashes where they kiss your under eye delicately.

"You didn't get it back?" you murmur.

"No. Worse, some guy comes in the next day requesting it. We had to tell him to come back next week."

Your head drops slowly until his hand is sandwiched between your shoulder and your soft cheek.

He rubs a sweeping line over your other cheek, too affectionate, not that you'd ever deny it.

"The redheads are gone," you mumble. "Not sure about wild."

"Gone hostage," he furthers. It's an awful attempt at a joke and still you laugh, hands twitching at your sides. "You… do you want a hug?"

"Please," you whisper.

He pushes his hand from where it's been leveraged to cup the back of your neck and the other joins it, wrists crossing, the heat of your chest flush with his. You wrap your arms around his back and sigh so quietly he almost misses it.

"Babes gone forever," he says as he pushes his chin over your head. "Gone fishing. Gone camping. Babes gone kidnapping? Kidnapped. The babes are gone, whatever way you look at it."

He laughs so loudly his throat burns, pulling back to pat your face. "Rest in peace, redhead babes."

Your laughter plants a seed of heat in his chest, and your attempt to get closer waters it. He's a vestibule of blossoming fondness as you needle your arms around him tight enough to make him ache and say, "Babes gone but not forgotten."

"Rest in peace," you agree. Steve doesn't mean to brag, but the affection definitely makes a difference, your smile a deitific sight.

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington drabble #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things

4K notes · View notes

rcarrionplacev2 · 6 months

Text

READ WARRIORS BOOKS ONLINE 2

The Prophecies Begin

Into the Wild

Fire and Ice

Forest of Secrets

Rising Storm

A Dangerous Path

The Darkest Hour

The New Prophecy

Midnight

Moonrise

Dawn

Starlight

Twilight

Sunset

Power of Three

The Sight

Dark River

Outcast

Eclipse

Long Shadows

Sunrise.txt

Omen of the Stars

The Fourth Apprentice

Fading Echoes

Night Whispers

Sign of the Moon

The Forgotten Warrior

The Last Hope

Dawn of the Clans

The Sun Trail

Thunder Rising

The First Battle

The Blazing Star

A Forest Divided

Path of Stars

Super Editions

Firestar's Quest

Bluestar's Prophecy

SkyClan's Destiny

Crookedstar's Promise

Yellowfang's Secret

Tallstar's Revenge

Bramblestar's Storm

Moth Flight's Vision

Novellas

Hollyleaf's Story

Mistystar's Omen

Cloudstar's Journey

Tigerclaw's Fury

Leafpool's Wish

Dovewing's Silence

Mapleshade's Vengeance

Goosefeather's Curse

Ravenpaw's Farewell

Manga

Graystripe's Adventure 1: The Lost Warrior

Graystripe's Adventure 2: Warrior's Refuge

Graystripe's Adventure 3: Warrior's Return

Ravenpaw's Path 1: Shattered Peace

Ravenpaw's Path 2: A Clan in Need

Ravenpaw's Path 3: The Heart of a Warrior

SkyClan and the Stranger 1: The Rescue

SkyClan and the Stranger 2: Beyond the Code

SkyClan and the Stranger 3: After the Flood

The Rise of Scourge

Tigerstar and Sasha 1: Into the Woods

Tigerstar and Sasha 2: Escape from the Forest

Tigerstar and Sasha 3: Return to the Clans

Guides

Secrets of the Clans

Cats of the Clans

Code of the Clans

Battles of the Clans

The Ultimate Guide

#warrior cats #warriors #erin hunter #the prophecies begin #the new prophecy #power of three #omen of the stars #dawn of the clans #ebooks #warriors pdf #warrior cats pdf

235 notes · View notes

ikeuverse · 7 months

Text

ICED CARAMEL — p.jongseong

PAIRING: jay x fem!reader GENRES: fluff, slight angst WC: 3.7k+

WARNINGS: light swearing, a bit of a stalker and inconvenient guy with jay (y/n put that guy in his place). and that's it, let me know if i've forgotten anything.

NOTES: i've had this plot in mind for a while, but i didn't know which member of enhypen it could fit in with. thinking that it's been a while since i last wrote for jay, i decided to do this story, his. so enjoy, i hope you like it!

masterlist

An iced caramel almost every day of the week, except Friday, when it was an iced vanilla latte accompanied by a slice of cranberry cake.

Jay didn't know why he had decorated your order so meticulously. Maybe he knew, he just didn't want to admit it to himself. Even more so when his cousin – and also a cafeteria employee – was a pain in the ass every time you came in to spend the afternoon working.

"Your girlfriend's here" Sunghoon whispered as he closed the cash register, turning his body towards Jay and smiling broadly when he noticed his cousin's cheeks starting to take on a reddish tinge.

"She's not my girlfriend, asshole" Jay growled lowly and almost picked up the dishcloth to hit Sunghoon if it hadn't been for your presence near the counter.

"Hi."

Jay froze for a few seconds. The angelic voice and contagious smile you gave every afternoon you came in made the boy sigh just by existing in front of him.

"Hi, y/n" Sunghoon greeted you first, while the other still stared at you without saying anything "Same as always?"

"Yes, please" you said.

"Jay will take you to your desk in a moment" Sunghoon smiled back and let you walk away to your usual desk to sit down, picking up your work materials and focusing on your notebook.

Those few minutes of interaction felt like hours, because Jay only realized it when he felt Sunghoon's push against his body, bringing him out of the little trance he had entered without even realizing it.

"Stop acting like an idiot or she'll notice" he whispered.

"Realize what?" Jay whispered back.

It was then that Sunghoon let out a soft sigh, not wanting to attract the attention of the few customers in the café.

"That you're into her, Jongseong" he then rolled his eyes, preparing the iced caramel you always ordered since it was Wednesday.

You're into her. Sunghoon's words have echoed fervently in Jay's head countless times since he caught himself thinking about you.

It's not like it was your fault or his fault in the first place. Ever since Jay and Sunghoon decided to take over their grandfather's coffee shop, they've gotten to know the place's loyal customers. You arrived a few months after they took over, asking for Mr. Park, the nice little man who always served you the best-iced caramel in the area.

You had also recently moved into the building at the end of the street. The huge commercial building that Jay had seen you enter a few times after you left the coffee shop. You also chatted with him a lot of the time, since Sunghoon took care of the cashier and often cleaned up his cousin's mess in the kitchen. This gave Jay time to check out the customers – there were rarely more than three people there at the end of the day – so it was just you and one other woman there until closing time.

It was a rather pleasant routine, and it made Jay start fantasizing about your beauty and how your friendliness made him feel. Even Sunghoon wanted to admit that one day he heard his cousin whining because you'd gone to get coffee and hadn't stayed to talk.

"Maybe she's busy with work" Sunghoon tried to calm him down since he'd gotten the amount of sugar in the brownie wrong for the third time. Jay didn't want to lose another pastry because of a silly distraction.

Or not so silly when he started to notice how the conversations were getting longer. Sometimes both he and you forgot that you were working. You wouldn't respond properly to emails, while Jay would let Sunghoon take over the running of the establishment just to sit in front of you and talk for a long time.

You shouldn't treat a customer so intimately, Jongseong. He could hear his grandfather's voice very well if you were there. Surely Grandpa Park would take him out of the coffee shop and leave only Sunghoon there, as a form of punishment for making his cousin deal with everything while he sighed unconsciously at the figure of the wonderful woman in front of him.

"Take it to her and, please, act naturally" Sunghoon finished his coffee and closed the cup, handing it to Jay "Unless you're brave enough to propose…"

"That's not going to happen" Jay was quick to say.

"Then watch the coffee, or I'll take it out of your paycheck."

He wanted so badly to curse his cousin right then but settled for a small grimace as he watched Sunghoon serve two other customers.

Jay slowly walked up to the second floor of the café. It was more secluded and quieter than the entrance hall, which many people liked because of the view. You, in particular, preferred to stay in the corner of the small months of that place because it was more private and quiet. That way your work could be completed and, as a bonus, you'd get to spend a few minutes chatting with Jay.

That wasn't in your plans. Smiling like an idiot at one of the owners of the coffee shop you went to every day. It was unethical with his work and, above all, you could have been taking advantage of him as a customer since Jay was only being nice to you.

He could be like that with all his clients, you thought. You really wanted to sabotage yourself so you tried not to think about the guy so much. Big mistake. Because every time he came to deliver your coffee, staying for a chat, you found yourself deeper and deeper in the pit of desire. The wish that you could ask him out or simply tell him how beautiful he was.

Would that be so bad?

"Your iced caramel right here" Jay's voice made your thoughts fly away. A quick smile adorned his lips as he approached and, as soon as he placed the glass on the table, he pulled out a chair in front of you to sit down.

You took the drink quickly to feel the cold, caramelized taste go down your throat. It was as addictive as looking at Jay and that smile he was wearing.

"Busy day?" the boy asked after a few seconds in silence, just watching you sip your drink.

"And tiring" you put the glass down again "Not to mention it's stressing me out a bit."

"Do you want to share?"

You wanted so much to tell Jay what was bothering you. To tell him how you felt and why you were so stressed about everything that was happening, but fate had something else in store for you.

"Y/n" that voice gave you the creeps, that's for sure. You closed your eyes for a few seconds as you heard footsteps approaching.

"Terry" you tried to smile at the man as soon as you opened your eyes and saw his figure standing right behind Jay.

Terry looked at the boy sitting in front of him with apparent disgust as he looked back at you.

"Am I in the way of something?" Terry asked.

"Yes" you whispered.

"No" Jay said loudly, getting up from his chair and straightening his cafeteria apron "I was already leaving anyway."

"No, Jay…" your weak voice didn't give him a chance to hear you as you packed up your chair to leave.

"Bye y/n, enjoy your coffee."

He left so quickly that you didn't even manage to call him by his surname, let alone shout any syllables to make him understand that he could stay. So, now looking at Terry right in front of you, the man had a serious countenance that made you nauseous.

"Are you seeing that barista?" he sounded disgusted as he spoke.

"What if I am?" you retorted.

"Then it would be very decadent of you to deny me dinner, instead of agreeing to go out with this…"

"Look, Terry" you cut him off gently, even though he didn't deserve anything coming from you "If you've come here to say something about it, please, it's the place I like to work. I don't like being interrupted."

The man just nodded in agreement, waving a briefcase in his hands that you hadn't realized he was carrying until just then.

"I've come to give you this, the boss asked for it" Terry left it on the table where you were sitting "And maybe you and I…"

"Terry, please" you sighed loudly this time "No."

He shook his head once more, turning his lips into a thin line as he took a few steps back. Slowly walking away before saying goodbye to you and walking down the stairs of the café.

Terry stared angrily across the room at Jay as if he had done the most horrible thing in the world, before opening the door and leaving almost immediately.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, realized this and looked at his cousin, who had a serious look on his face. His eyebrows were knitted together in a scowl that he had seen only a few times on Jay.

"May I ask what happened upstairs?" he asked.

Jay just sighed, trying to ignore the fact that his heart was still racing and he had no idea what had happened upstairs since he had left. But something inside him was bothering him, Jay wanted not to feel that kind of thing.

"Just… Please…" he finished arranging the sweets in the display case, closing the glass and raising his body after he'd finished his work "From today onwards, it's up to you to bring the coffee to y/n's table, okay?"

Torturous weeks in which Jay didn't show up to deliver your coffee in person. You knew very well that it was because of Terry's appearance that day and how extremely unnecessary he was with Jay.

You wanted to ask if the man had said anything after he left, but he never even came to your table. Always ordered Sunghoon to hand over his things with the excuse that the movement was driving him crazy. Or that there were some sweets left to prepare, so he couldn't leave at the moment. Your mind was screaming at you to ask what was going on or if it was all in your head because it was affecting you much more than you wanted it to.

Friday, the day you ordered a slice of cranberry cake and Jay always made a joke that it was the cake that came out the least. That he, in particular, had never eaten a necessary and worthy piece except for tastings when he made the pastry. With Sunghoon's help, because he did like it, Jay wasn't a big fan of that cake.

And you were beginning not to want to ask if the result was that he didn't bring it. Not that you hated Sunghoon… Not at all! He was nice, and funny. It ran in the family, that's for sure. But there was something about Jay that you couldn't explain. Something that had ripped every fiber out of your body simply because you couldn't stop thinking about him, and that was only making it harder as he became more and more distant.

"I'll kill you, Terry" you said to yourself when, once again, you saw Sunghoon approaching with your request.

He seemed to guess that some question was meant for him, so the boy always answered something different than the last time. It was as if Sunghoon wrote down every answer he gave you so as not to repeat any and try to convince you that Jay was too busy.

"The macarons are a lot of work today" he smiled, taking the plate of cake from the tray along with his iced coffee of the day "Jay is very busy and…"

"Sunghoon, can I ask you something?" if it wasn't now, it wouldn't be ever again. You had to have the courage to ask, after all, what harm would it do? He could run away from your question or simply lie and walk away as if nothing had happened.

"Of course" he continued, smiling at you after your order had been placed on the table.

"Is Jay avoiding me because that man was here the other day?"

Yes.

"Not that I know of" Sunghoon wanted to abandon the intrusive voice in his mind to answer the obvious, but decided to stick to what he had promised his cousin "He's not avoiding you, it's just that—"

"Terry is absolutely nothing to me, Sunghoon" maybe they both thought that idiot was his boyfriend because he thought he could be something other than a work colleague. And an idiot who didn't know how to take an attack.

"No?" Sunghoon seemed surprised by that confession, making you laugh.

"He's just a jerk who thinks he's something to me" you took a piece of your pie to eat "Terry asked me out a few times, but I politely declined. Now he won't stop bothering me."

"He's an idiot" Sunghoon shrugged, making you laugh again.

So things were falling into place now and he could understand why the man had left with a frown the day he entered the coffee shop. Maybe he'd met Jay upstairs, thought of something and you'd blown him off after Jay came down.

"You know what, y/n?" Sunghoon pulled out the chair in front of you, sitting down just as Jay used to do when he took your order to the table. You paid close attention to everything the boy in front of you said, afraid of missing some important part of what he had to say "Both you and Jay are wasting your time."

"Hello? What… What do you mean?" luckily you took your time drinking your iced coffee, otherwise, you would have choked on Sunghoon's sincerity.

It was the boy's turn to laugh and relax as he leaned back in his chair.

"You know very well what I'm talking about" he tried to suppress a smile as he stared at his slice of porpoise being cut by the fork and you playing with the topping "That was a misunderstanding on account of that idiot… What's his name again?"

"Terry" you said.

"Yes, Terry" Sunghoon continued "And I think both you and Jay need to talk about this."

"And how am I supposed to do that if he's avoiding me?" you sighed, eating the cake you loved so much while looking at the other Park in front of you.

"Well, I can fix that next week" Sunghoon smiled, making you smile too as you finished chewing your cake to answer him.

"How will you do that?"

"I need to think about it because Jay is very difficult when he wants to be" he prepared to get up, greeting you before leaving "But I promise to help you both. I can't stand seeing my cousin and that scowl all day."

Waving to you, Sunghoon left to continue serving the other customers. Leaving you pensive and, strangely, looking forward to next week.

Jay felt like an idiot for having that kind of resentment towards you. He hardly knew what had happened, in fact, but seeing you walk into the cafeteria only made his chest tighten.

Why feel that way about someone he barely knew? Come on, Jongseong. You were just talking! He wanted to faithfully believe that it was just that, that he couldn't be fooled by someone who was a loyal – and incredibly beautiful – customer of his workplace.

It didn't help when Sunghoon made a point of calling you to the counter, taking longer than usual to take the weekly order that everyone already knew by heart. This could only be a huge joke on his cousin's part.

"Can you prepare y/n's coffee?" Sunghoon asked in a low voice. Jay shook his head and looked ahead, noticing that you were sitting at a table further away, but now downstairs and not upstairs as you usually did.

"Why? I'm busy and—"

"I need to attend to the tables upstairs, everything's full" that part wasn't a lie. But Sunghoon didn't have to tell him that he had already waited at half the tables and only had to take a bottle of water to a girl who had ordered without any hurry.

Jay didn't have much to deny you, after all, you were a customer and he couldn't afford to miss an order like that. So, preparing your iced caramel as he always did, he felt his fingers almost crack the plastic when the door opened, revealing Terry.

That man at whom Jay felt a sudden rage just from the exchange of glances between them.

Terry didn't even bother to say hello, walking over to the table where you were and sitting down without saying a word. Now, more than quickly, Jay had to finish your order and run to the table to give it to you. At least to find out what was going on and what Terry was doing there.

The iced caramel was prepared with care, even though the boy's nerves were on edge just to run to the table. As soon as he arrived, Jay hissed softly to get his and Terry's attention.

"Your iced caramel" Jay placed the glass on the table "Sunghoon is busy with the tables upstairs…"

"Thanks, Jay" you took a long sip of the drink, the familiar taste making your whole body relax as you looked at the boy and then at Terry "Aren't you leaving?"

Jay almost froze, thinking the question had been directed at him, but no. His eyes didn't leave Terry as the question was asked.

"We need to talk, y/n."

Your gaze soon met Jay's, he looked as lost as you because this wasn't part of Sunghoon's plans. You, in fact, had no idea what the other Park had prepared. And speaking of him, the boy's orbs were almost popping out when he saw Jay standing near your desk and Terry sitting right in front of you.

Sunghoon didn't think much of it and quickly went over to all of you to see what was going on.

"Hey, is everything all right with your order around here?" he asked.

"Yes," you smiled, "Terry was just leaving."

There was a short silence before he got ready to leave. He didn't wave or look back as he left the café in heavy, hurried steps, leaving you with the two Park baristas standing next to your table.

"Y/n… Are you okay?" Sunghoon asked.

"I have to go" for the first time all week, you left without finishing your coffee. Without saying goodbye to either of you and, what's more, without smiling as you always did when you walked through the door and waved to the guys at the counter.

"Go after her" Sunghoon turned quickly to his cousin.

"What? I—"

"Jay, go after her. Now!" he ordered so desperately that it was as if Sunghoon depended on it. And, of course, he did. Because his cousin's performance had gone downhill after that weather. You also didn't seem as cheerful as you always did, even on the most troubled days at work.

So he felt he had to do something, and he knew he'd made the right request as soon as Jay quickly untied his apron and ran out of the café. Almost tripping over his own feet as he tried to catch up.

Sunghoon could handle things on his own for a few minutes, he thought. Because if his cousin had asked him to run, Jay wasn't going to disobey. He wouldn't miss his chance even if he didn't think he had one.

"Y/n!" he shouted so loudly when he saw you cross the street to enter the huge corporate building on the other side.

To Jay's surprise, you turned around so quickly that you were only able to process the boy's presence when he had already crossed and stopped right in front of you.

He was panting, his hair tousled by the wind and the light jog. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to normalize his breathing and looked at you so closely that you wondered if you had ever been in such proximity before.

"Jay? Why are you here? Why… did you come running?"

You also tried to fight the urge to scream at the sight of him standing right in front of you. The smell of cologne invading your nostrils and realizing that you were completely right when, one night, you fantasized that he was annoyingly smelly.

And even more beautiful once he was bent over far enough, leaning his forehead against yours.

"I don't know what I'm doing here, to tell you the truth" he whispered so close that you couldn't tell if that slight breath of air was Jay's breathing or the wind off the street "I just felt like I needed to come."

"I guess you did the right thing, then."

If Jay didn't know why you'd run over there – or he did – you were going to pretend you didn't either because your hands went to his face to pull him closer, before you felt Jay's lips against yours.

That had been the perfect kiss for as long as you could remember. The way he managed to hold you, tangle his tongue in yours, and press his lips to yours… It was as if Jay's mouth had been made to kiss you. As if that moment had to happen that way.

After breathing became necessary for both of you, Jay made a point of still staying close to you after the kiss stopped, just feeling your breathing normalize against his mouth before laughing softly.

"What?" you asked, laughing along with him as Jay's hand slid slowly down your cheek.

"I never thought I'd like iced caramel like that…"

For a few seconds, you didn't understand what he meant, but as soon as Jay kissed you again, holding your face firmly between his hands, you knew.

The coffee he had prepared minutes before was on your lips, now being transferred to Jay. He knew it was your favorite, he knew iced caramel was famous for a reason. He just didn't know he'd get hooked on tasting it any other way.

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #jay fluff #jay angst #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen jay #jongseong fluff #park jongseong fluff #park jongseong angst #enhypen masterlist #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #jay fanfics #jay x reader #park jay x reader #enhypen imagines

275 notes · View notes

stageplayhero · 1 year

Text

tag overhaul!

#it was always going to end in tragedy [v: prologue]#the shepherd is a wolf [v: mayor]#smile for the camera now [v: iii]#time to take the final bow [v: epilogue]#the chain i forged in life [v: c.hristmas c.arol]#a rift in reality [v: warped]#take my hand and don't let go / i'm afraid of the dark [v: manor romance]#hollow home hollow shell [v: bad end]#(i will get around to explaining the worst end au… someday pfft)#i'm here to show you the future (queue)#fan mail (asks)#it's time to wake up (musings)#all the world's a stage (aes)#my house has more than one staircase! (crack)#make something beautiful (art)#the fourth wall (ooc)#monologuing (ic ; mark)#shattered voice (ic ; rift)#forgotten whispers (ic ; echo)#puppet master's strings (ic ; entity)#improv (dash commentary)#pure as the driven snow [damien]#carve out my heart [celine]#it's not fair. is it? [the da]#every good story needs a villain [dark]#that idiot detective [abe]#the most dangerous game [william]#bubblegum gunshot [wilford]#the only me is me [rift]#let's go out and paint the town red [mark]

1 note · View note

sangoziethesimp · 2 months

Text

Shattered Devotion | ABYSS LUMINE X FEM! READER

Story requested by my wife / @gabyuu1

(She's currently simping over abyss lumine)

MEN AND MINORS DNI

Y/n falls for Lumine, unaware she's an abyss princess. Lumine manipulates Y/n's love, playing the vulnerable damsel to gain unwavering devotion. The truth shatters Y/n's world: love was a lie, a tool to make Y/n a puppet for the abyss's return. Now, Y/n, a weapon of love turned cold, serves a monster disguised as a lover.

Monstadt's winds, once playful companions, now whispered a chilling truth through the dying leaves: Lumine was a wolf in sheep's clothing. The warmth that had bloomed between them, the shared laughter and whispered secrets under starlit skies, now felt like a cruel mockery.

It wasn't a sudden change. It was a slow descent, a subtle shift in Lumine's golden eyes that mirrored the encroaching abyss. Cryptic pronouncements about destiny and forgotten power, brushed aside with playful nudges, began to grate on Y/n's soul. Lumine's touch, once a source of comfort, now sent shivers down her spine, a mix of desire and unease.

One starlit night, perched on the very edge of Windrise, Lumine confessed, her voice tinged with a melancholic allure. "The Abyss calls to me, Y/n," she murmured, tracing constellations with a finger that felt like ice. "It offers power, a chance to reclaim what was lost." A single tear escaped her eye, glistening like a fallen star.

Y/n's heart ached. Was this the Lumine she knew, the one who shared dandelion wine and whispered dreams? But the vulnerability in Lumine's eyes, a vulnerability Y/n ached to believe in, was too potent to ignore. "Together, we can find another way," Y/n pleaded, clinging to a sliver of hope.

Lumine's smile faltered, a flicker of something cold crossing her features. "Don't be naive, Y/n. You wouldn't understand the burden I carry." The words stung, laced with an accusation that chilled Y/n to the bone. Was her love not enough?

Days blurred into weeks, the tension thickening the air between them. Lumine's pronouncements became demands, pronouncements of a twisted destiny that gnawed at Y/n's sanity. Yet, with each passing day, Lumine's vulnerability seemed to deepen, a master manipulator tugging at Y/n's heartstrings.

The final blow came on a stormy night. Seeking solace within the familiar walls of the Knights of Favonius headquarters, Y/n stumbled upon a hushed conversation. It was Jean, her voice heavy with dread, speaking of an ancient prophecy – an abyssal princess destined to return and claim her birthright, bathed in blood. The name sent a jolt of terror through Y/n: Lumine.

Tears, hot and stinging, streamed down Y/n's face as she confronted Lumine. The playful facade shattered, replaced by a cold, predatory smile. Gone was the damsel in distress, the vulnerable woman Y/n had fallen for. In her place stood an abyssal queen, her eyes burning with a power both familiar and terrifying.

"So you've finally pieced it together, my darling pet," Lumine purred, her voice laced with cruel amusement. "But fear not. Your unwavering devotion has earned you a place by my side. Together, we will reshape Teyvat in our image."

The love Y/n had built, a foundation of trust and shared dreams, was a twisted cage all along. Despair threatened to consume her, but amidst the crushing weight of betrayal, a chilling realization dawned. Lumine never needed her love; she craved her devotion, her unwavering loyalty.

Y/n, a puppet on Lumine's strings, became a weapon, a harbinger of the abyss's return. The warmth in her heart, once Lumine's haven, now echoed with a hollow emptiness. The woman Y/n loved was gone, replaced by a monster who used affection as a leash, leading Y/n, not towards a future, but towards an abyss of her own making. Tears streamed down Y/n's face, not for Lumine's betrayal, but for the love that never truly existed, a love sacrificed on the altar of a dark god disguised as a lover.

#sangowrites #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact #abyss lumine #abyss lumine x reader #lumine x reader #lumine #genshin angst #angst

51 notes · View notes

fragileheartbeats · 3 months

Text

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟮: 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗮

Sixteen winters have passed since that day. In the shadowed cradle of a world untouched by the warmth of the sun, the twins roamed the icy barrens like phantoms of the frost. Born of blood and ice, their lives had unfolded beneath the watchful gaze of their draconic guardian, a beast of legend whose breath was death's cold whisper. The twins knew not the touch of human hand nor the soft cadence of the spoken word; their language was the howl of the wind, the crack of ice, and the silent understanding that passed between them like the secret whispers of the stars. No names graced their lips, for in the language of the winds and the wild, names were as fleeting as the breath that bore them.

Their days were a testament to the savage beauty of survival, a dance with death played out upon the endless white. They hunted with ferocity of the wild, their bodies honed by the relentless pursuit of the fleet-footed hare and the sharp-clawed bear. Naked they roamed, their skin kissed by the frost, wearing only the silver and blonde crowns bestowed upon them by their lineage. They moved with a grace that belied their savage existence, their bodies honed by the relentless pursuit of survival. They were creatures of instinct, their senses sharp as the frost. Silver hair cascaded down their backs, untouched and unbound, a river of moonlight in the eternal twilight of their world. Their eyes, a haunting echo of Valyria's lost glory, gleamed with a feral light, silver and purple orbs reflecting the endless dance of predator and prey.The cold was a constant companion, yet it bowed before them, for they were of the ice, born to its embrace.

The twins hunted as one, their movements a symphony of silent death. The ice beneath their feet whispered tales of ancient hunts, of blood spilled and lives taken in the eternal cycle of survival. They feasted on the raw flesh of the seals that dared to bask on the ice, their teeth tearing through skin and sinew with primal savagery. The taste of blood, warm and life-giving, was the sacrament of their existence, a communion with the land that bore them.

They communed with the world and each other through gestures and looks, a language born of necessity and the purest form of understanding. They needed no words to convey the depth of their bond, for their souls were intertwined, two halves of a whole forged in the crucible of their shared existence. Their language was the unspoken bond of soul and glance, a communion of spirits entwined by shared blood. They spoke in the rustle of leaves, the crack of ice, the sigh of the wind through the desolate wastes. Theirs was the vocabulary of the wild, a tapestry of sounds and silence that spoke of deep, unbreakable bonds.

The dragon, their guardian and guide, watched over them with a presence as ancient as the mountains. Under her shadow, the twins knew no fear, their lives intertwined with the leviathan of frost and snow. They rode upon her back, her wings beating a rhythm that echoed in the very marrow of their bones, a song of freedom and flight that filled their souls with exhilarating terror. Each day, they roamed the wastes on the backs of their dragon kin, the sky their dominion, the earth their hunting ground. They hunted as the dragons did, striking from above with lethal grace, their prey unable to escape the shadow of death that descended upon them. Fish from the frozen rivers, hares that darted across the snow—no creature was safe from their hunger.

On the day that destiny's hand would steer their course anew, the sky above was a tapestry of brooding clouds, the sun a forgotten memory. The twins ventured forth upon the back of their dragon mother, her scales a labyrinth of frozen light. They soared above the world, masters of all they surveyed, until the whims of fate cast them down. They were aloft, the wind in their hair, the world spread out below them like a tapestry of ice and snow.

The boy, in his curiosity and boldness, leaned too far, reaching for a glimpse of eternity in the abyss below, laughing into the wind as they ascended into the heavens. And in that moment, the bond that tethered him to safety snapped, and he was swallowed by the void. A sudden gust, stronger and more treacherous than any they had known, caught them unawares. The dragon faltered, its wings buffeted by the relentless force of the wind. And then, in a moment that stretched into eternity, the boy was gone, torn from the dragon's back and sent plummeting into the abyss below. His sister's cry was a thing of raw anguish, a sound that would haunt the winds forevermore. She watched, powerless, as her brother fell, his body a mere speck against the vastness of the world.

The girl's cry pierced the veil of snow and ice, a wail of loss and despair that shook the very foundations of their world. She watched, heart shorn in twain, as the sea consumed her other half, the boy who was her mirror, her soul's echo. The dragon circled, a silent mother, its mournful cry a lament for the child it had failed to save.

As he fell, the world around him a blur of white and grey, the sea below, a maw of churning darkness, opened to claim him, swallowing his form with indifferent hunger. He struck the sea with a force that turned his body to fire, the cold waters closing over him in a shroud of death. But death was not yet ready to claim him. The cold seeped into his bones, a herald of the end, yet it was in this embrace that he found clarity. The memory of a voice, soft and sorrowful, filled his mind. He saw her as if through a veil of dreams, her face alight with love and pain as she whispered to her children. Her lips pressed against their foreheads, a benediction and a burden all at once.

Yet, even as darkness claimed him, he did not feel fear. In the space between breaths, in the quiet heart of the storm, he heard her voice again, a lullaby of the night sky, of stars and secrets and the boundless love that endured beyond the veil.

"Forgive me," she whispered, her voice the warmth in the cold, the light in the dark. "Forgive me, my darlings, for the world I have brought you into."

And he closed his eyes.

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭: 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿

@fragileheartbeats . Don't plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

House Celestyr tag list: @emily2003alzaga @nash-dara @altaircc @heavenly1927 @omgsuperstarg @asoiafhyperfixation

57 notes · View notes

cookies-over-yonder · 7 months

Text

right there where you left it, lying upside down

The teens spend some time resting and recovering at the Oak-Swallows-Garcia household.

It's been days, and Taylor hasn't said a word.

[title from everything stays from adventure time]

for @cookies-over-yonder (yes, me. i wrote this for me. fuck.)

ao3

“How—how are you guys? I—I—I’m… I’m—I’m not fine… but—but I’m… just…”

Normal sucks in a breath and swipes at his tears. Sparrow squeezes his shoulder. There’s fresh burn scars scattered across his body, but his eyes are open, and he’s breathing, and he’s alive, and stable—physically anyway—and that’s really all she could ask for. It’s been days. She doesn’t know how many. She doesn’t think anyone does. Lark isn’t happy, and neither is she. The kids need to rest.

And one of them is dead .

A backyard burial without their own parents. Lark thought it was unnecessary and that they were just losing time. Sparrow thinks he’s the only one who didn’t cry.

“I’m, uh… I guess I’m okay, Norm,” Scary answers, still holding his hand like it's his last lifeline. Sparrow isn’t sure she’s let go at all, or if she ever will.

Her voice is shaking like her hands, and her eyes are wide. No tears now, but her face is red from the way there were earlier.

She spares a quick glance to Link before bringing her gaze back to Normal, and then to the Doodler— Dood , lying in Normal’s lap. Asleep? Can it sleep?

She’s been pressed up against Normal nonstop, leaning on him, laying on him, like an eldritch weighted blanket.

“Yeah, same,” Link says, though the way he’s been anxiously wringing his hands together for the past few hours says otherwise. It… reminds Sparrow a little of Grant. The anxious mannerisms, the inflections of his voice, it’s… he’s left an imprint. For sure.

“Taylor?” Normal asks, glancing over at the kid half in his sleeping bag, half sitting up against the wall with a pillow wrapped in his arms.

And there’s nothing but silence.

At first, Sparrow thinks he’s asleep, but through the darkness there’s the faint glow of his sclera. A trait Sparrow knew well from Nicky. The demonic glow seems to have passed down, reflected in little Taylor. Normal’s spare clothes seem to fit him a lot nicer than the other two, probably since he’s quite short in stature.

“Taylor?” Link echoes. They’re all looking at him now, and still, he doesn’t say a word.

Link reaches out a hand and taps Taylor’s ankle.

He’s awake, eyes wide and staring straight ahead. His breathing is slow and steady, but still, he’s not responding.

…

Come to think of it, Taylor’s quite chatty, and yet Sparrow isn’t sure he’s spoken since they got inside the FBI’s headquarters.

He hasn’t said a word since Hermie…

Oh, Taylor…

The others glance at each other worriedly. Sparrow puts up a hand when she sees them start to move closer to him—crowding wouldn’t be the best idea.

Instead, Sparrow lets herself leave Normal’s side only for a moment, and she crawls over to him. Taylor’s eyes are wide and his mouth is slightly agape, revealing the point of a fang. His lips are horribly chapped and bloody—some of that blood looks fresh.

“Taylor,” Sparrow says so low it could almost be a whisper, lifting a hand to his shoulder, before placing it down slowly for little chance of startling him. “Can you hear me?”

Taylor blinks and continues staring off.

Sparrow thinks she might cry again. Had he been dissociating this whole time and she hadn’t noticed?

She squeezes Taylor’s shoulder and starts to run her hand up and down Taylor’s arm.

“Hey, okay, just listen to me, hon. I know it’s really scary, but you’re safe right now. I need you to try and focus on me.”

Taylor still shows no sign of acknowledgement.

“What’s wrong with him?” Scary asks, matching Sparrow’s volume.

“He’s just in shock,” she answers, though she’s not sure what she can do anymore. Grounding techniques… many used and many forgotten…

“Lincoln, could… you get me an ice pack from the freezer?”

He nods, and he’s off immediately.

Here’s to hoping that’ll work, she thinks, carefully prying Taylor’s hands away from the pillow and holding them in her own.

Link returns swiftly with the ice pack and she takes it, lets go of Taylor briefly to wrap it inside a loose pillowcase, and places it in his hands, holding the backs of them steady, making sure he can feel the ice.

It’s something that worked for Lark growing up, she remembers. Something about strong physical sensations pulling you out of your head and back to the present.

Taylor’s gaze breaks away from whatever distant spot it was locked on, and he’s looking at their hands and the ice. That’s good. This is good.

“Can you feel that, Taylor?” she asks.

“‘S cold…” he mumbles, his voice so small, so fragile, she almost can’t hear it.

“It is. Keep focusing on it, okay?”

Taylor closes his eyes, and his hands start to shake. Sparrow suspects it isn’t purely from the cold.

Especially when it spreads. Anxious trembles running across his body. After a while, he speaks again.

“I…” he mumbles, opening his eyes, “Wha…”

He looks at Sparrow. And actually at her. Not past her. Not through her.

“Can you hear me?” she asks again.

“Ye…yeah… hi…”

“Hey, kiddo.”

Taylor looks at the walls, and then at the floor, and then at the ceiling, and then out the window. “Um…”

“We’re at your friend Normal’s house. We’ve been staying here for a little bit,” she tells him, sensing his confusion.

“Right. I… I knew that…” he says, looking over at Link, then Scary, then Normal. Sparrow takes her hands and slides them up and down his arms once more, when he starts another question…

“Where’s… where’s—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp gasp, and oh, it hurts .

He’s just a kid.

They’re all kids .

Sparrow thinks she might cry.

Taylor stands up fast, dropping the ice and breathing faster, and Sparrow is quick to catch him when he starts tipping over. His body temperature much higher than before, much like Nicky when he’d start to panic.

“Let’s sit back down,” she says, guiding him back to the sleeping bag. He’s hyperventilating now.

“That—Hermie—tha… that’s… that wasn’t real, right?” he asks between breaths.

“Taylor, hey, slow dow—”

“It wasn’t, right? ” he asks again, his voice gaining more strength however strained it might be.

Sparrow doesn’t know what to say.

“I mean—he’s, like, freakishly resilient! Or—or—or—or just lucky… either… either way! There’s no way!” he continues, yelling now, locking eyes with everyone one by one and bordering on hysteria. “Why aren’t you guys saying anything!?”

Scary starts, “Taylor—”

“We buried him in the backyard,” Link finishes.

Taylor lets out a choked squeak sort of noise, and the waterworks start. It’s not sobs, just a steady stream of tears as the frantic breaths continue. “Maybe it was a—a—another scam…?”

“It’s been days, Taylor,” Scary says.

“ Days? ”

“Ye—”

Before Scary can finish her sentence, Taylor is booking it out the door and into the yard, nearly tripping over himself but stumbling out nonetheless.

“Taylor!” two simultaneous calls from Link and Scary as they get up and chase after him.

Sparrow’s about to follow when she sees her son has stayed put.

Curled in on himself.

Crying.

It’s something she’s seen much of lately, and every time, more of her shatters.

Dood stirs, and turns to wrap his arms around Normal’s waist. The purple static is exceedingly hard to look directly at, but Sparrow’s heart aches nonetheless.

She just wants to make it all go away…

“Oh my god!”

“Taylor, stop! ”

Screams from the backyard.

Sparrow runs out.

Taylor is squirming in Link’s grip, breathing harder and faster than before.

“ Let me go! ” he screams, punching Link in the arm repeatedly with dirtied fists—

Dirtied fists…?

Sparrow’s gaze slips from Taylor to Scary, who’s standing in front of the grave with her arms outstretched, like she’s guarding it. And the grave… oh…

It’s a mess.

The flower has toppled over, and bits of dirt are spread around it.

Oh.

Oh, Taylor .

“ Ow! ” Link shouts. Taylor is kicking at his legs now.

“Fucking— let go! ” Taylor screams again, and the sheer volume could wake up the whole of San Dimas.

“I won’t. You’re—you’re not stable right now, man!”

Taylor lets out a whine, and Link yelps in pain, claw-like nails digging into the flesh of his arms.

“Put me—put me down!” he whines. His face is red, he’s trembling worse, and he’s sucking in breaths like he’s trapped underwater and his lungs have lost their air.

“Taylor, breathe !” Link shouts, his voice strained. Blood trickles down his arm from where Taylor’s piercing the skin.

“Let me go!”

“You know that I won’t.”

Taylor only wheezes in response, pulling his hands away for a moment, revealing bloodied nails, before feebly attempting to pry Link’s arms off him once more.

“Taylor, listen to me,” Link says, holding him tighter and taking on a gentler tone, “stop fighting, it’s not worth it.”

Somehow, this calms him some—well, it stops him from actively attacking.

His head tips forward a little, and his eyes start to droop.

“Taylor, hey, hey, hey, breathe. Breathe. You’re gonna pass out,” Link says, turning Taylor around so he’s pressed up against Link’s chest, and taking an exaggerated breath in for Taylor to follow. He doesn’t.

“But…” he whines.

“There’s no use,” Scary says, taking a step closer to the two. “He’s gone, and I don’t think… looking at his body will change that. It might just make you throw up.”

Taylor lets out a small squeak, and, at last, a sob rips through him.

And another. And another. And another.

A cacophony of sobs becomes muffled in an instant when Link holds him closer, kissing the top of his head and rubbing his back, his eyes glassy with newfound tears. Scary holds his hand in one of hers and rubs his arm with her other, tears sliding down her face as well.

Sparrow approaches the grave.

She moves the dirt back where it belongs, restoring the even surface it had before, and she’s careful to pick up the flower and not hurt it when she replants it, upright and steady, patting down the dirt around it to keep it secure.

She hopes this didn’t disturb their rest, but if it did, she hopes they know how much Taylor cares.

86 notes · View notes