#i vaguely recall it looking like this though

[the-badger-mole]

Kindness of Strangers

Please pick up

I'm busy

I know, but this is an emergency

With shaking hands, Zuko found Mai's number and pressed the call button. It rang twice before her voicemail picked up. Zuko groaned and almost started crying.

Mai, pick up Seriously, it's an emergency I don't got out that often zuko. You can't let me have ONE night? Mai I think i need to go to the hospital My stomach. I think it's food poisoning or something Your stomach ache? Seriously? You're a big boy. You can handle an upset tummy Drink some tea

Zuko groaned again. It felt like something solid and hot was burning through his intestine. He tried calling Mai again. This time it only rang once before he was sent to voicemail.

Leave me alone! If you call again, I'm blocking you

Zuko dialed Mai once more. Sure enough, it went right to voicemail this time. She'd done it. Zuko felt bile rising in his throat along with panic. His uncle was out of town. Haru, his only other friend didn't have a car. An ambulance was out of the question. His father had removed him from the family insurance policy, and though his uncle was working on the details to add Zuko to his own insurance, that wouldn't kick in until the following month at least. All Zuko had in the meantime was the student insurance the university provided, and it didn't cover ambulance rides. That left just one option.

The unsteadiness of his legs was a bad sign. As was the way his stomach roiled in protest at the movement. The hospital wasn't far, though, Zuko reasoned. He made it to his door, then he stumbled out into the hall, not even bothering with his shoes. He heard a gasp, and realized his neighbor across the hall was there.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Zuko shook his head. Then, he doubled over and puked onto the tile floor. The neighbor-Zuko recalled he'd heard someone call her Katara.

"My stomach," Zuko groaned, clutching his side. Katara rushed over and tried to help him stand, but the pain wouldn't let him stand upright. He felt a cool hand against his forehead. Then is jerked away with a gasp.

"You need to go to the hospital!" Katara said. She pulled out her phone, but Zuko groaned and tried to stop her.

"No ambulance," he insisted miserably. "Can't afford it." Katara hesitated, and Zuko knew she was debating calling anyway. Finally she sighed and slipped his arm around her shoulders, and helped him into the elevator and into the parking lot.

"Don't you dare throw up in my car," she muttered, strapping him into the passenger seat of a small, blue sedan. She slid into the driver's seat and reached into the back. Zuko was vaguely aware of some rustling, but he didn't know what it meant until Katara passed him an empty plastic bag. She peeled out of the parking lot and raced the two miles to the hospital. The large, white building was in sight when Zuko made good use of the plastic bag. He was still clutching it minutes later when Katara helped him out of the car and into the emergency room.

The next bit was a blur. He was brought back to triage almost immediately where it was discovered he had a ruptured appendix. The words emergency surgery were the last words he heard clearly before he was being stripped, shaved and prepped for the OR. This, he would later decide, was a blessing. He hated hospitals, and this visit would've sent him into an anxiety spiral. As it was, he still had a moment of panic when he woke up attached to an IV and several upsetting sounding monitors, but the panic fizzled into confusion when he realized he wasn't alone in the room. Across from him, in the chair, his neighbor sat curled up under a thin blanket.

She must have felt him staring because she stirred, and then looked up at him. She blinked in confusion, trying to understand where she was and why, Zuko guessed. Then she smiled at him sleepily.

"The doctor said you'd be out a while," she told him. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I...yeah," Zuko said. He was fine, at the moment, though, he could feel the dull ache emanating from his side from where they'd taken his appendix out. "What are you doing here?"

"I didn't know who to call," Katara explained. "I thought you would probably prefer not to wake up in a hospital room alone. They said it was fine if I stayed."

"Oh..." Zuko eyes fell to his hand, to the needle and tube stuck into his skin. Whatever the IV was delivering seemed to be working. He was already feeling the haze of sleepiness creeping back in. "Thank you."

"No problem." Katara smiled warmly. "Is there someone you want me to call? I have your phone."

"Did..." Zuko swallowed hard. "Did anyone call me?" Katara glanced down at his phone and shook her head.

"No," she said. "You've only been here about three or so hours, though." Zuko sighed and let his head fall back. Mai hadn't called. He was irritated, but also a bit...relieved? That surprised him.

"Can you call my uncle?" he asked. He told Katara his passcode. As he drifted to sleep, he heard her telling his uncle that he was fine, and had already come out of surgery.

The next time he woke, the sun was up, and he was once again not alone. Iroh sat in the chair across from him, worry lines etched deep in his face. His entire body unclenched with relief when he saw Zuko open his eyes. He was, Zuko surmised, thinking of the last time he'd sat in a hospital room with his nephew.

"How are you feeling, Zuko?" he asked. He came up to Zuko's side and placed a hand on his wrist, careful not to disturb the medicine drip.

"Like lukewarm garbage," Zuko sighed. The events of the night before caught up to him and he jolted up, looking around. "Where's...?"

"That lovely young woman who brought you in?" Iroh chuckled. "She offered to stay, but she looked like she could use some rest. Very kind of her to sit with you."

"Yeah," Zuko agreed. Iroh cast him a sly look, one that Zuko was too heavily medicated to take heed of.

"She's very pretty, too," he commented offhandedly. "Even after spending the night sleeping in a hospital chair."

"She's too young for you," Zuko snorted.

"Indeed!" Iroh agreed emphatically. "But...she is just the right age for a handsome young man who happens to be studying at the same school and lives in the same building as her. One who now owes her a nice thank you dinner. One into whose phone I took the liberty of programing her number, and who should definitely call and let her know how he's doing."

"Uncle," Zuko groaned.

"I did tell her you would let her know you're okay," Iroh said. "I'm just saying."

"I'm dating Mai." That brought back the earlier portion of the night. Zuko looked around and grabbed his phone. Surely Mai had called him at some point. There was nothing from her. He tried calling her, but it still went straight to voicemail.

"Something wrong?" Iroh asked. Zuko sighed and shook his head.

"No, uncle. Nothing at all."

Zuko didn't hear from Mai until the following day. He hadn't tried to reach out to her again, so he didn't know when she had unblocked him. Suddenly, his phone started ringing and her name and picture showed up.

"Hello?" Zuko said groggily. He had been taken off the pain medication, but the effects hadn't worn off yet.

"Why is your door unlocked?" Mai asked. "Where are you?" Anger boiled up in Zuko's body, unhindered by the lingering drugs.

"The hospital," he told her dryly. "My appendix ruptured." He had at least the satisfaction of hearing her gasp.

"What hospital are you at?" she asked. "How long have you been there?"

"I've been here since I called you to tell you I needed to go to the hospital," Zuko snapped. Mai let out an irritated huff.

"Well, I would've come if you'd told me it was that serious," she said. "It just sounded like you were overreacting about a stomach flu! Where are you? When are you getting checked out?"

"They're discharging me tomorrow," Zuko told her.

"Do you need a ride home?" Mai asked.

"It's taken care of," he said, shortly. "Uncle's coming to get me, so you don't have to bother about it."

"Why are you being so bratty about this?" Mai demanded. "I said I was sorry!" She hadn't, but Zuko chose not to point that out.

"Where were you?" he asked instead.

"Out with friends." That answered absolutely nothing, but the tone of her voice told Zuko that was all the answer he would get.

"Whatever," he huffed. Mai was silent on the other end for a long moment.

"You want me to bring some food?" she asked. She sounded unusually subdued. "I can bring you something at the hospital, or I can make something for when you get back, tomorrow."

"It's fine," Zuko sighed. "I'm staying with Uncle for a few days."

"Are you going to be all mopey about this?" Mai demanded.

"What are you talking about?" Zuko turned his head to scowl at his phone.

"You're doing that woe-is-me, kicked puppy voice you do," Mai said. "I'm sorry I didn't rush over when you called, but I had been drinking, so it's not like I would've been able to take you anyway."

"So instead of saying that, you blocked me?" Zuko's grip on the phone tightened, and he resisted the urge to hurl it across the room. Surely it shouldn't be this hard being in a relationship. Surely it shouldn't be a battle to get his girlfriend to be sympathetic to him after he almost died and needed emergency surgery. The machine monitoring his heartrate started making an alarmed beeping noise, and Zuko forced himself to take a deep breath.

"You know what?" Mai said quietly. "I'm going to let you go. Clearly you need some rest."

"Mai-"

"See you later, Zuko."

The call dropped. Mai had hung up on him again. Zuko's heartrate dropped to it's normal pace.

Mai didn't call again after that, and Zuko didn't call either. She sent him a few texts during the time that he was at his uncle's house recovering. He sent her very short responses. He was fine. He would be home after his stiches were removed.

A day or two into his stay, another message came through.

Hey Just wanted to see how you were doing This is Katara, by the way. Your neighbor Your uncle gave me your number Hope that's ok

Zuko was fine with it, it turned out. More fine than a man with a girlfriend should be, maybe.

When he finally returned to his apartment, his first call was to let Mai know hie was home. She didn't live far, and she wasn't busy. Fifteen minutes later, she was at his door, looking sullen and bored.

"Glad to see you're okay," she said.

"Yeah." Zuko led her into the apartment and sat at the table. Uncle had left him with cookies, among other assorted reheatable dishes. He offered one to Mai. She declined. Then there was nothing else to stall with.

"Why did you block me?" he asked Mai. There was no heat in his voice, no anger. He genuinely wanted to know. Mai scowled at him.

"Seriously? You're not over that yet?"

"I just want to know why," Zuko pressed.

"You were bugging me," Mai shrugged carelessly. "I was out with friends, and I thought you were just trying to get me to leave early."

"When have I ever done that to you?" Indignation flashed through Zuko, hot and bright. Mai just shrugged again. She sat back in her seat and folded her arms.

"I'm sorry, alright?" she huffed. "Can you just drop it now?" Zuko leaned back and studied Mai. He had been with her for five years. She was his first ever high school girlfriend. Had she always been so dismissive?

"I needed you," he said. That made Mai roll her eyes skyward.

"I promise it won't happen again," she said. Zuko shut his eyes and shook his head.

He had other questions. Lots of them. For one thing it occurred to him that she might be cheating, and the reason she refused to answer or come to him when he called was because she was busy with some other guy. It wouldn't have been the first time. He could ask and give her a chance to lie about it. He could even pretend to believe her. Or she might be telling the truth and he was wrong about her cheating. It didn't matter, he realized suddenly. Her answer didn't matter, so he wouldn't ask.

"It won't happen again," he agreed at last. "Mai... I think we should break up."

Zuko's next call was to Katara. The day after his messy break up with Mai, having cleaned up the remains of his cookies and the plate they were on, Zuko dialed Katara's number.

"Hello?" she said, sounding uncertain.

"Hey...um...Zuko here." Zuko's face flushed hotly when he heard her giggle on the other end.

"I know," she said. "I have your number, remember? How are you doing? Are you back?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm back. I'm feeling a lot better. A little sore, but I can get around."

"I'm glad to hear it." And she sounded genuinely glad. "You didn't have to do all that to meet me, though. You could've just knocked on my door and said hi."

"And waste an opener like puking my guts and almost dying in your car?" Zuko was rewarded with another giggle. She had a nice laugh, he thought. It was so easy to talk to her.

"It was a memorable opener, I'll give you that," she said, laughing again.

"Yeah." Zuko swallowed hard against his suddenly dry mouth. "I was actually calling to thank you. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't been here."

"Don't worry about it," Katara said. "I'm just glad I was able to help."

"Yes, well..." Zuko chided himself for being such a coward, and he forced his next words out. "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me. To thank you! To say thanks for saving my life."

"Zuko, you don't owe me anything," Katara said gently. Zuko's heart fell into his stomach.

"Oh...I just thought I'd offer." He tried to keep his tone even and friendly as he hit his forehead with his other hand. Stupid. This was a stupid, stupid idea. "If you're not interested, I understand."

"I didn't say I wasn't interested," Katara said quietly. "Just that you don't owe me. I-I wouldn't mind having dinner with you. Just...you know, not as an obligation you think you owe me."

"Oh..."

Oh!

"What if it's not an obligation?" Zuko asked. "What if-I'm asking because I think you're kind and pretty and I'd like to get to know you better?"

Katara went silent for what felt like a nerve-wrackingly long time, but was likely just a few short seconds. Then she said the three sweetest words Zuko thought he'd ever heard.

"It's a date."

[magua-vida]

SLAY THE QUEEN THORN

I was inspired by Abby's sketch of a hypothetical Queen version of the Princess, so I tried my hand at it with a few vessels, including this one. I... ended up drawing something akin to a fashion design concept art rather than a practical design that won't be tiring to draw over and over after a handful of sprites later. I also had to use a bit more artistic license growing unnatural poppies on the dress and the thick twirly prickly noodles.

some explanations behind the process

For the "mended" Thorn, I pretty much just removed the foreground thorns and added the dirt.

rambling/fangirling/screenshots below:

The Thorn is one of my favorites. If I had to choose only five vessels to offer to Shifty and there's no replayable feature, she'll definitely be one of them. I'm one of those suckers who's into Hurt/Comfort stories. Almost like a masochist for those fics, you could say. If the climax to an Action-heavy story is the defeat of one party, then the catharsis of Hurt/Comfort is when the two characters... well, comfort each other- either due to hurt from each other or someone else. In The Thorn's case, she started off rather innocently, Damsel-like, but not quite. She still had caution. It was until she was literally stabbed in the back that she learned that it was a mistake. And when Long Quiet offered sincere regret and admission of fault, she stabbed him... but she didn't feel the relief she thought she'd get from it. I think many relate to having been betrayed and/or betraying someone they trusted, and the scratches are felt by many players.

The thorns curve inward, as if it's more painful to leave her than it is to approach her.

Poppies grow around along the bramble. Many mistook them for roses because they're red and there are brambles (tbh, I actually dunno if they're brambles or briars, I looked them up and I got confused, forgive me, plant enthusiasts ;.;) that grow around the patches of those poppies. Death and romance~

This brings back to Chapter 1 where Hero was kinda-sorta-maybe-definitely crushing on the Princess and wants to give her the benefit of the doubt, not only because of feelings, but for a reasonable cause of wanting to rescue someone who possibly may actually be a victim of circumstance.

Look, I have reasons why Thorn route is one of my favorites and it definitely doesn't have anything to do with both characters having massive trust issues and the capability to change themselves for better or worse and the emotional moments hitting me like a lovely diamond-dusted dagger. Both of them are rather cat-like with pointy ears too.

I appreciate that you're still given the options to leave or stab Thorn, as if the situation isn't pitiable enough. Even her tiara looks like a crown of thorns. It's as if she views the thorns as both a form of penance and a defence mechanism to protect herself from being hurt again, even though she's hurt by her own making this time.

I chose for the Long Quiet to save her and leave the cabin together.

This part stabbed me the most. Even when shown genuine help, she shrinks back.

This part burns a bit of the jadedness away. Trust is a scary thing, so is love. How can you be so sure that you won't be hurt by the one you love again? But just like what The Prisoner says, it's about trust- blind trust. Thorn looks more human than her previous self- less animalistic, softer. A part of The Damsel returns, even in the music.

I recall weighing on whether I prefer the version with the Voice of the Cheated or Voice of the Smitten. I vaguely remember wondering if there was an option to ask her if it's okay to kiss her. I guess the ideal would be is to have that choice, but I suppose the climactic moment calls for it and she doesn't mind it, at least. It's like the option to hug Astarion from BG3, but you're not sure whether he'd be comfy with it after being hurt so much. He gave approval for it too~

As much as Thorn is one of my favorites, I'm not attracted to her and any of the vessels. Instead, I ship her with the Long Quiet- the character himself. I don't really see myself AS the Long Quiet, more like choosing what actions on what he does and I separate myself from him a lot for many reasons. It's a bit like the Harry situation from Disco Elysium in terms of seemingly blank-slate protagonists.

Instead, I kinda put myself into her situation to feel how she felt in this route. The poppies not only felt symbolic of her nature as part of the Shifting Mound, but also specifically the end of the mutual treachery you've inflicted on each other, potentially beginning anew on a path of healing.

==============ramble-bramble over===================

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 34

Kid, Killer, Wire, Heat x Reader (Sexual)

Pure smut; No plot; 18+ only (could be read as a standalone I suppose?)

Warnings: Sex, group sex, blood play, knife play, rough sex, no holes barred, dp

(Was inspired to write this by Bestrafe Mich (Punish Me) by Mike's Dead)

Audience Participation

Kid's hands weren't long for wandering around your body before the flesh hand was shoved under your waistband, and the metal one was tearing your shirt over your head. If you minded being watched, there were no protests for Heat, Wire, or Killer to leave. You had seemed sheepish when you were telling him about this dream of yours, though there was no hint of that shyness now, while he sank two fingers into you. 

The only reason you had reservations about being shared was that you were friends with Heat and you thought Wire hated you. You didn't want your friendship to be tainted, since you had so little of them to begin with. As for Wire, you didn't know if he would be into it. You didn't have much of a chance to give a shit about that as Kid tore moans from your mouth with his fingers. You did, however, notice that Killer excused Minerva and sent her out of the room. Always so thoughtful. 

Your own hands were occupied fighting Kid's belts. Why did he have to lock his dick away like this? You were struggling to focus on them as Kid pushed you closer to the edge. You felt other hands push yours away, both flesh hands, which caused you some confusion. You looked over Kid's shoulder to see Killer, who had reached his hands around Kid from behind. 

"Let me help, darlin." Killer spoke in a low tone that sent electricity straight to your groin. "You seem distracted." He undid Kid's pants in record time, himself an expert at getting to Kid's dick.

Kid tsked. "What a slutty lass you are. Already reaching for my cock." He spit into his hand and gave himself a few pumps. 

You were unaware that Kid had been walking you back towards the wall until your back was flush against it. You couldn't take your eyes off Kid, his heavy member in his hand. Only vaguely do you recall shedding your pants along the way. He tugged your panties to the side and pressed his weeping tip to your entrance, pushing the head in before suddenly removing it again. You whined, desperate to have something filling that space.

"How bad do ya want it?" 

"Badly. Give it to me."

"What will ya do for it?" 

You swallowed thickly. "Whatever you want, Captain." You knew he loved when you called him by the proper title, an instance where you let him have dominance over you.

Kid hummed. "And what if I want to be rough?"

"I'm not fragile." You looked at his bandolier. "Will you... use this?" Your hand tugged at the hilt of his blade. 

Kid's brow quirked up. "Ya sure about that?" 

You nodded. A chill of excitement running up your spine.

Kid pushed his tip in again and then pulled it out, with a devious look in his eyes. "I change my mind." Kid turned you around so your chest was against the wall. "I think I want this hole instead." His hands ran down your sides and paused at your hips, pulling them against him to rub his cock between your cheeks. 

From this angle, you had a hard time seeing what Kid was doing, though you heard him slide his knife out of the sheath. Killer had been on the side you could see and moved to be behind you, Heat taking his place. You couldn't tell where Wire was. There was pressure, followed by stinging pain on your lower back. You sucked in a hiss.

Killer spoke from behind you. "You can say stop if you need a break, ok?" You felt his broad hand cup the back of your neck. 

You nodded. Finding it difficult to look Heat in the eyes, yours drifted down to his feet. They came towards you until the scent of burnt wood filled your nostrils. That's not how you thought he would smell but you weren't mad about it. You felt his fingers lift your chin, causing your gaze to pass over the bulge in his pants. He paused for a moment, either to look at you or give you a chance to pull away, or both, then brought his lips to yours. He tasted like fire, too. You don't know whose hand it was, but it found your clit and immediately went to work rubbing circles into it. The sting on your lower back turned into a blissful burning sensation, growing as Kid slowly continued to drag his blade over your skin. Warm liquid that you almost couldn't feel since it was your own body temperature starting dripping down your back and into the valley Kid was rutting against.

You moaned against Heat, allowing your tongues to slide past each other. You were able to move the hand on that side from being against the wall to press against his erection through his pants. Caught up in your own haze of pleasure, your hand stuttered, and Heat took it upon himself to grab your wrist and move it for you. Something about that mad you shudder. The pressure building in your abdomen made your legs twitch. The hand that played with you dipped its fingers inside, pressing its palm against your clit. You whined again as you felt the absence of Kid pushing against you. 

Kid looked down at his artwork, licking your blood from his knife. His dick throbbed at the act of marking you. In sanguine letters, "KID" was carved into your skin. He pressed his fingers against the lines, tracing his name again, coating his fingers with your blood. With every touch, you cried out with a mix of pleasure or pain. It was hard to say which, especially since Heat was greedily keeping your mouth occupied with his own. 

"Heat, I can't fuckin hear her." 

"Switch with me then," Heat teased.

"Not a fuckin chance." Kid took the fingers with your blood and introduced one to your back entrance. "Her ass is mine. Isn't that right?" Kid smacked your ass with his metal hand and slid another finger in simultaneously.

It was too much. You couldn't answer him. Or maybe this was your answer. The coil had been building and you knew you would cum soon, but the smack and the feeling of fingers shoved up both holes made it happen without warning. "FUCK!" You shrieked, almost losing your balance as your knees buckled and your eyes rolled back. Your body clenched down on Heat and Kid's fingers from both sides. You realized they were Heat's fingers because he shoved them in your mouth while you were coming down from your high. 

"If you're good for them, maybe I'll let you have a taste," Killer mused, touching the soaked fabric of your panties. Your hips instinctively tried to grind against his touch, but he pulled his hand back. "Uh uh. I said if you were good." 

All touches were removed from you while you caught your breath. You leaned with your back against the wall.

"Please, Killer." 

His hands briefly skirted across your belly before hooking his fingers on either side of your panties, shredding them with one pull. His finger slid under the bra you still had on. "Take this off too unless you want me to ruin it."

You tossed it away. "I want you to ruin me." You were only mildly aware that you were completely bare in front of all of them, two for the first time. 

Killer motioned for you to get off the wall and come to him, which you did gladly. He pulled you to his chest so you were slightly bent forward. You looked so cute with those eyes pleading up at him. He would love nothing more than to fuck your sassy mouth, but this was still his game and he still wanted to torment you. "You have to relax or it will hurt." He watched as your eyes widened when Kid spread your cheeks apart. 

"I want it to hurt." This wasn't your first time. You were aware of the risks, but you were also aware of your own body. It was going to hurt regardless since Kid was bigger than anything you had before. Unlike before, you could heal yourself if anything went wrong. 

Kid still worked you open a little more with a third finger and then a fourth. The blood dripping down from your future scar made it plenty wet still. He couldn't wait to feel that tight ass wrapped around him. Though he tried not to think about it so much or else he would cum. 

Killer still held you, praising you for taking Kid in. It stung, as you knew it would. In the beginning it always felt a little sore and weird, but after he started moving, it would be better. Just the idea of being 'violated' in this way had you dripping wet. The twinges of pain sending shivers up your spine. Killer released you when Kid was all the way in. You expected someone to come fill your mouth. Instead, you felt Kid's arms reach under your thighs to hook under your knees, picking you up while still on his cock, and spreading you wide open in the front. That was the first time you were acutely aware of Wire. He was rubbing himself through his clothes, enjoying the show. 

Kid groaned into your ear. "Fuck. Ya really clenched down when ya saw Wire. Ya thinking about him hate-fucking ya?" Kid slowly moved you up and down his cock, using you like his personal sex doll. Kid snickered. "In fact, I want ya to tell them about yer dream."

You slowly shook your head. "I d-don't want to." It was hard to get the words out when Kid was fucking your ass. "Embarrassing."

"Ya got a dick in your ass and your pussy spread wide for everyone to enjoy, and that's embarrassing?" 

Killer appeared in front of you. "Being good includes doing whatever the Captain says." He put his thumb against your clit, moving it very slowly.

"Please fill me up. I'm begging you." You writhed in Kid's grip, desperate to feel full. The slow pace that he and Killer set was agonizing. 

"Heat will be glad to oblige, but first ya have to satisfy my request." 

"I-"

"Louder. Wire can't hear ya from all the way over here."

"I-I had a dream that Kid was f-fucking me and that you were all g-gonna take turns."

"And what was that bit about Heat and Wire? They need details if ya want it to happen." 

"They tossed me back and forth, l-like a rag-doll."

"That's still not everything. Go on, tell Wire what you were interested in."

"K-kid please."

"Tell him," Killer pressured, pausing his ministration. 

"I want to get hate-fucked by Wire." You felt your face heat up.

"Good girl," Killer gave another firm press against your bud before turning it over to Heat.

Heat quickly blocked your line of sight, but not before you saw Wire with a sneer on his face. That look went straight to your cunt. 

Kid held still for a moment while Heat bullied his way in. "So tight." The pressure around his cock was made more intense by the feeling of Kid's cock filling up the space next-door. 

Heat's hands found their way to your breasts, kneading them and twisting your nipples as he bit at the smooth, warm tops of them. His mouth moved up the side of your neck, adding to the marks Kid had left earlier. Kid was moving you only slightly up and down the tips of both of their cocks, so Heat could kiss you. The height difference made it hard in this position to kiss and fuck at the same time. Heat released you, moving his rough hands to your sides, aiding Kid in moving you, though he didn't need it. They met over your shoulder to make-out with each other. The feeling of being ignored and used as a toy was dizzying. It's not exactly something you would have thought you liked. They used you to jerk themselves off while they moaned into each other's mouths. You gripped harder as the thought wound the knot in your stomach tighter. The overwhelming feeling of being filled and stretched by two, exceptionally large cocks was sending you to the moon. You were pretty sure there was a steady stream of moans from you mixing in with their own, tongue panting. You didn't know for sure, so focused on how good you were feeling. It could be your imagination, but Heat's dick had a warm sensation to it.

"Look at you. Taking two huge dicks at the same time." 

Killers words were going to make you crash back to earth. 

"After this, no one will be able to fuck you as good. Your cunt will never be full like this again."

"Shit. Killer." You didn't have words to warn him. 

"Tell me. Are you close?"

"Yeah," you moaned.

"Do you want to cum?" 

"I want to cum. Please." 

"I want you to hold it until they cum. Can you do that?" 

You shook your head.

"Yes you can." 

You felt both Heat and Kid's grips dig into your skin, slamming you down on themselves. You strained to keep your orgasm at bay. They were definitely close, their breaths ragged, their cocks twitching. Your arms were around Heat's neck for support. "Cum in me! Please cum in me! I want to be dripping from both holes," you repeated various iterations of this mantra until, nearly at the same time they grunted, filling you with hot semen. As they did, they held you tighter to their bases, pushing them into your sweet spot. Finally you were allowed to release. Your cry of pleasure was so earth-shatteringly loud, the dead guys in the room could hear it. There was a rush of fluid down your legs as your own juice and the force of your cunt clamping down caused cum to leak out. 

Before you had a chance to recover. You felt Kid remove himself, but Heat held you up. And suddenly you were on Wire's lap, facing him. He had been sitting on the table. "If you wanna be tossed back and forth you better get to work on Wire before I go soft," Heat said. You barely processed what he said before Wire impaled you on his cock, shoving it so deep, you felt it in your stomach. It was a good thing you were thoroughly prepared, because Wire was proportionate in every way. He bullied your cervix and just as you were about to cum, he lifted you off himself and gave you back to Heat who opted to take Kid's position, lifting you with your legs spread open, his hand barely reaching your clit. He already came, this was purely for you. Right as you were on the precipice of your climax, Heat passed you back to Wire. They did this several more time before Heat had to tap out. 

The last time Heat gave you to Wire, Wire got off the table and set you on it instead, on your knees, facing away from him. "Spread your legs until your stomach is flat against the table." 

It was slightly uncomfortable with your legs splayed completely out, bent at the knee. Your ass hung off the edge of the table and your arms were above your head. Wire's palm pressed firmly into your back, crushing you against the table. You felt him lean over you, the blades of his necklace touching your skin, so if you bucked, they would cut you. You wondered if that was their purpose. He didn't talk, simply shoved his cock back inside and railed you from behind. After edging so many times, you came fast and hard, gripping him so tightly, you earned a grunt from the otherwise silent man. 

Killer thought you had been good enough. And he was feeling a little left out if he was honest with himself. Watching you cum over and over again, dripping with sweat, blood, and tears. He wanted to take some responsibility for your impending fuck coma. You were beyond the point of fucked-out. Your pretty pink pussy was puffy around Wire's cock from the repeated battering. And your ass was still gaping for now. But your poor mouth had no use. He positioned himself on the table in front of you, legs splayed almost as wide as yours, as wide as his jeans would allow, to get his cock as close to you as he could. You were practically drooling as you looked up at him, making his dick twitch within its confines. He freed his cock from his jeans and it sprung forth, bobbing in front of your face.

Wire released the hand from your back so you could lift your front half enough to reach Killer. "Choke on his cock you filthy fucking marine bitch." 

You eagerly opened your mouth. Finally Killer was going to reward you. You gagged as Killer unexpectedly pulled your head down on him. Your ponytail was wrapped around his hand.

"Fuck the little slut tightens up when you do that. Do it again." 

Killer did it again, bringing tears to your eyes. You were being bounced back and forth by the thrusts of their hips. "You're so cute when you're crying on my cock, breadcrumb." 

"You like getting used, don't you? I bet you'd like to be chained down here, free use for all the Kid Pirates, huh? I can feel you getting close. You want me to come visit every day and fuck you until you cry?"

"That's it, darlin. Relax your throat. You feel so good."

"Marine whore. Cum on this pirate cock."

The opposition between degradation and praise was strangely working. Wire slapped his hand down on the freshly carved "KID". The vibrations from your yelp going straight to Killer. He felt his balls empty. He meant to last longer, but he had held out for so long he was straining from the start. The salty taste hit the back of your throat. You swallowed most of it, though some leaked from the corner of your mouth. Partially because you weren't ready and partially because that sensation forced you over the edge. 

"Fuck. I'm- I'm-" The words were lost as Wire felt you start to pulse around him. He pulled out and slammed back in, not into your cunt, into your ass. He shoved his fingers in your pussy at the same time. It was the most intense orgasm yet. Your feet cramped from your toes curling so hard. Your whole body shook and twitched. Your eyes were squeezed shut, and you would have screamed even louder had your voice not been hoarse already from being so vocal. The vice grip you had on Wire pushed him over the edge too, he chose to pull out, showering the letters on your back with cum. 

You couldn't move. Arms and legs too weak to push yourself up. Eyes completely glazed over. Still twitching with aftershocks. You didn't even want to heal yourself at then moment. The dull throb and the burn felt good. 

"Don't worry, darlin. I've got ya." 

[zarla-s]

look i have to take my victories where i can get them okay

Spy didn't actually get hurt from the bolt (opposite in fact), he's just being dramatic lol

[patreon]

[cakeyouareoh]

finished season 2 of fringe and feeling mentally unwell about it….

[elftwink]

just saw a tweet that was like "imagine if 9/11 happened 2 mos earlier and 7/11 had the worst PR crisis ever" like that wasn't basically what happened to corona beer in 2020

[worstloki]

Thor and Loki often have similarly styled pants but no one seems to go 👀👀👀😳 over Thor's and I for one find that very funny

[gh0st-in-green-c0nverse]

golden

percy jackson x reader — you take his place on the throne

cw: EPISODE 5 SPOILERS (ish), swearing

The boat bobs along the water slowly. You feel sick. For a while, the two of you just sit there, still reeling.

“You okay?” Percy asks after he catches his breath.

You’d reached out and grabbed his hand without realizing it in your panic. You’re suddenly very aware of his skin on yours, warm and kind of clammy. You disentangle your fingers without comment.

“Yeah.”

He’s about to say something to fill the awkward silence when your eyes widen.

“There’s the shield!” You exclaim, standing.

He follows your gaze to a golden statue, the shield wedged between its hands. The boat doesn’t stop, though. He looks at you, and then back at the statue.

“We’re gonna have to jump,” he says, and you grimace. The artificial waves are getting choppier.

You eye the water.

“On three?” You finally say.

Percy smiles in a way that he hopes is reassuring. “On three.”

“One…two-!” Before you can say three, the boat lurches and you both topple over the edge.

As soon as the water closes over your head, you’re struggling and kicking. You can’t tell up from down. Your lungs squeeze, your eyes sting. Somewhere in the haze, you see Percy, and you reach out, but he’s so far. He disappears in a whirl of water, and you think, wow, after all of this, I’m about to die in an amusement park.

Suddenly, something solid rushes to meet you and there’s air on your face and you can’t stop coughing.

Percy places an unsure hand on your back as you suck in rattling breaths. He says something, but it still sounds like everything’s underwater.

You shake your head sharply, hand pressing your ear flat until the water drips out and you can hear again. “I’m alright,” you say, before he asks. He helps you stagger into a standing position. For a few moments, the only sound is your wheezing.

Percy squints at the chair. “This is Hephestasus’ park, right?”

You nod.

“I think this is Hera’s throne,” he says slowly, glancing at you for confirmation.

You vaguely recall that story. “She sat in it and couldn’t get up,” you think aloud.

“It was a trade,” Percy continues. “Aphrodite’s hand in marriage for Hera. The shield for…”

One of us.

Oh.

“I’ll do it.”

He catches your arm as you start forward. “Wait a minute!”

“Whoever goes in there isn’t coming back,” you explain, brows set in a hard line.

“I know, that’s why I said wait!”

You yank your arm back. Percy’s face flickers with something you can’t read.

“You need to stay alive,” you say, stressing every word.

“So do you!”

You shake your head. “You have your mom. You have Grover. You have people who need you.”

The I don’t hangs in the air, unsaid.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

I need you, he wants to say.

But he doesn’t.

“The gods chose you, Percy. This is your quest.”

This is wrong. This is so wrong. It’s cruel, and so unfair that they have to choose. Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

“This isn’t about that,” he protests, though he knows he can’t beat you. You’d always had a sharper tongue than him.

You unhook your dagger. He remembers the arch, only yesterday. Is this how you felt? This burning in his chest?

“It is. It all goes back to that prophecy. To fate. To the Fates.”

Your eyes burn with tears as you hold out your dagger for him to take.

He blinks hard. “This is wrong,” he says, voice wavering, and you’ve never seen him like this before. Always tough, always witty. Unserious, sure, but never afraid.

You push it towards him, and he takes it.

“I know.”

Your fingers twitch. You’d hug him, one last time, but you remember how he froze back in St. Louis.

So you don't.

You walk over to the chair, heart pounding. This is a death sentence. This is it. This is it.

“Hey, Percy?”

His head snaps up, lip tugged between his teeth as he holds back tears too.

“Go save your mom,” You say. “Save her, save the bolt, and tell Grover I’m sorry.”

You picture Grover’s face when he finds out what happened to you. You turn away, stand right in front of the throne. It glints in the swimming light.

“And if you have a chance, I don’t know, maybe swing back around here and try to get me out?”

He laughs sadly. “You think you had to ask?”

“Just making sure.”

You sit.

For a moment, nothing happens, and you're worried that you’d said all that for nothing. You’d feel pretty stupid.

And then—

“This is weird,” you say. “It’s warm.”

There’s fear in his eyes and your dagger in his hand.

Something snakes its way up your leg, smooth and fast. It feels like wax, almost, hardening over your skin.

“This is a bad idea,” Percy says, eyes tracking something at your feet. “Stand up.”

You don’t look at what he’s looking at. You don’t want to.

“I can’t.” Panic rises in your chest, fast and unwelcome, and you’d be shaking if you could move.

“y/n—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice hoarse. The words don’t sound right in your mouth. Your legs are completely immobile. Your breath comes in short gasps. “I’m okay. I’m… okay.”

You look at him, trembling and still pretty damp, mouth open like he wants to say something.

Whatever’s seeping onto your face is warm and brittle. You stare hard at his eyes. They’re a shining blue. They’re afraid.

It’s the last thing you see.

a/n: sorry guys cliffhangers make me giggle ‼️ I’ll write another part If u guys would want me to !

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.

word count; 6.7k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <33

a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.

in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.

tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe — and you think you’ve done a pretty good job.

it’s soothing, comforting, all of these sensations. bleeding into each other like smudges of paint on a canvas; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. absolute bliss.

indulging in a peace yet to be shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes. blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.

beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a little like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.

it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber.

a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in. 

a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly. 

satoru gojo.

like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.

even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace; like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car. 

(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)

honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.

then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. you remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.

and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.

it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.

a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.

when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.

(— and the world wakes up.)

a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.

faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position. 

it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.

when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.

gojo cracks a grin.

“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself. 

“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”

a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.

“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.

choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.

“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.

“not staying for breakfast?”

gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.

his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.

”generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.

you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”

the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.

(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)

you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.

maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted. 

“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“

“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“

“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.” 

it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.

something about him just feels safe.

“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”

(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.

gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.

he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.

“well, if you insist.”

he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.

you’re pleasantly surprised.

“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”

“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.” 

so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.

“got it.”

the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.

the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.

a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it. 

gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.

you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

a budding connection.

the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.

with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.

gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.

today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes. 

he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about. 

protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.

he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.

(cute.)

distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street — 

crashing straight into a lamp post.

”owch!”

it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit. 

and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings. 

a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week. 

for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings. 

then he starts laughing.

scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.

asshole.

with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.

(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)

”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”

but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.

”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —” 

he stops trying. laughing, again.

and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.

and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.

he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.

he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.

while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin. 

searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red. 

”ah.”

gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —

when suddenly, something touches your cheek. 

one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.

gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.

he looks awfully amused.

(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)

”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.

a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.

stay safe for me, silly.

then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.

and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.

he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”

a moment passes. 

”or do you need me to call shoko?” 

you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.

”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”

gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting. 

with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.

a touch from the untouchable.

gojo’s lying on your couch.

he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.

(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)

this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things. 

he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.

he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.

you think he might be having a rough day.

even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.

then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best? 

you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.

he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.

you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber. 

(but you know better now.)

hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.

gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.

a moment passes. agonizingly slow.

before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.

gojo only stares. 

his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.

for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.

— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.

when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close. 

cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings. 

a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.

gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace. 

(a little like a frightened fawn.)

a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin. 

he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.

nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do. 

eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.

you’re not a god at all, are you? 

a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.

you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.

one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.

there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before. 

so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice. 

one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.

(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)

you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.

and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.

sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.

(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)

it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.

a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.

and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.

”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”

”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee. 

he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”

despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.

and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.

breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.

gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself. 

”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”

he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.

and your heart softens a little.

because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.

so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.

”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.

”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.” 

his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”

a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.

”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”

satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.

the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question. 

a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.

it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.

side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.

(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)

satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you. 

he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.

you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”

at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”

”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”

satoru blinks.

he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.

then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.

”.. you teasing me?” 

a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”

another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell. 

but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.

something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.

his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.

and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.

satoru parts his lips.

”right next to you.”

a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.

at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours. 

for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick. 

then he’s leaning forward. 

it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.

he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything. 

and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.

there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.

”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”

the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him. 

it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you. 

and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.

sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.

so you know it’ll be fine.

swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.

”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”

he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.

you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.

many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.

and that will be enough.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Brother's Best Friend - Part 12

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Trying to get back into these two. Did we miss them?

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: mild angst, swearing, fluff

WC: 2600+

Part 1 | Masterlist

“So…” Jake pauses and purses his lips to suppress a mischievous smile. “When did you start liking me?”

You look down at your lap where his head has been resting for the last five minutes. “Did I tell you I like you?”

Jake meets your gaze and snorts. He reaches up to take your hand off the keyboard of your laptop and brings it down over his chest. “Indirectly,” he admits.

You roll your eyes, recalling when you had expressed to Bradley – in Jake’s presence – how ‘your guy’ makes you feel. You pull your hand out of his grasp and look back up at the screen in front of you. “I have to work, Jake.”

“You’re too hardworking,” Jake responds with a whine.

You shake your head with a grin. “Such a dreadful habit, I know. I’m working on it – wait. Damn, I see what you mean –”

Jake starts chuckling and his head tickles your bare thighs. “You’re so fucking cute.”

You press your lips together as your smile broadens. “When did you start liking me?” you ask.

Jake releases a heavy sigh and sits up. “Alright, enough chitchat. Get to work.”

You watch him rise to his feet and make his way into the kitchen, curious why he so abruptly decided to change the subject. “Got any plans this weekend?” you ask casually, wondering if he’ll finally ask you out on a date. The two of you have been sneaking around for a while, but your only outings together have been with Bradley, so you couldn’t even hold hands. Thus far, you’ve assumed that Jake is just waiting for the right moment to speak with Bradley before the two of you make your relationship official but, as time goes on, you become increasingly skeptical that Jake actually intends to come clean.

Jake shrugs. “Not really. Just hangin’ with your bro.”

You try your best not to frown. “Sounds fun.”

Jake walks back over to you and sets a bowl of strawberries on the table by your laptop. You glance up at him inquisitively and he responds with, “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

You give him a smile. “Neither have you.”

He nods. “Which is how I know you’re hungry.”

“Thanks,” you say. “As soon as I’m through with this part, I’ll move all this shit and we can have some lunch.” You gesture at the pile of literature currently cluttering your workspace.

Jake takes a seat adjacent to you at the table and lets out another sigh. “I don’t know,” he says.

You shift your gaze from your computer to look in his direction. “Don’t know what? If you want lunch?” You pick up a strawberry and pop it into your mouth.

Jake is observing you carefully and you stop chewing because the attention makes you uncomfortable. “I don’t know when…” he says, pausing as though he isn’t sure how to continue. “When, uh… I don’t know at what point” – he exhales sharply – “I have no clue when I f – when I started to see you as more than just Bradley’s sister. As more than a friend.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, your mouth still full of half-chewed strawberry.

“I think I just realized, at one point, that I’d rather spend time with you than with anyone else,” he admits.

You finish chewing awkwardly before responding with, “Huh.”

Jake stares at you expectantly, as though you should have something to add.

But you’re not really sure what to say. You’ve been crushing on Jake for an embarrassingly long time and he does not have clearance for that kind of classified intel, especially since his interest in you is far more recent. What does he want, anyway? A pat on the back for finally figuring it out?

“Your turn,” he says, clearing his throat and leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence.

You purse your lips as though you’re in thought. “Not sure,” you say vaguely.

Jake narrows his eyes. “Not sure? Or don’t want to say?”

You meet his gaze tentatively. “I probably liked you before you liked me.”

Jake watches you with a slight grin. “In that case, you were very good at hiding it.”

…

You arrive at the pub already slightly tipsy after pre-drinking at your friend’s house. In fact, you’re drunk enough to not give two shits that Jake has, once again, decided to spend his Saturday night with Bradley. This time, he didn’t even invite you along.

Once inside, you head straight for the bar; no sense in wasting time waiting for a table. You grab a drink and take a look around the crowded establishment. That’s when you see him.

Jake fucking Seresin is sitting at a table near the back – not with your brother. You stare at him – and his female companion – in horror for a few moments, letting the scene sink in. Wondering if you’re in the wrong for being shocked. Are the two of you even exclusive? This has never actually been discussed. But one thing is certain: Jake lied, which makes you sick to your stomach.

You slide off your barstool and, cocktail in hand, you make your way to the little table in the back where your supposed boyfriend – or whatever he is – sits entertaining another woman. It’s not long before Jake notices your presence because you’re making quite a spectacle on your way over as you furiously skirt every person in your path.

Jake looks uncomfortable and that satisfies you greatly. “Hey,” he says when you arrive.

You gape at him. “Hey?” you exclaim in outrage.

“Uh,” Jake stalls for a moment. He turns to his date and says, “This is Bradley’s sister.”

The woman opposite Jake smiles at you but you’re too busy glaring at Jake to acknowledge her. “That’s all you want to say about me?”

Jake watches you pointedly. “What else do you want me to say about you?” He looks back at his date and lets out a nervous chuckle.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Seresin?” you shriek, slamming your stemmed glass onto their table so aggressively that your sour apple martini splashes over the rim.

Jake jerks back to avoid getting wet and then looks up at you in alarm. “What’s the matter with you?”

You shake your head at him in disappointment and then turn abruptly to leave. You expect Jake to grab your hand, or follow you out, but he does neither. In fact, you make it all the way back to the bar before you realize that Jake is not even looking in your direction. You see him laughing together with his female friend, as though they both just witnessed something absurd and worthy of repeating in the future for a good chuckle.

“Hey, isn’t that your brother’s aviator buddy?” your friend says, nodding toward the back of the pub.

You roll your eyes and then turn toward the bar, realizing you left your drink at Jake’s table.

“He’s kind of hot,” you friend continues. “But he’s got fuckboy written all over him.”

You close your eyes and sigh. You have nobody to blame but yourself. You know Jake. What in the world made you think he would become a different person if he were with you?

…

The following day, you wake up past noon with a debilitating migraine. You hear Bradley and Jake’s voices drift up from the kitchen and groan. You’re not in the mood to face Jake after the events of the previous evening. You ended up going home shortly after confronting him and you have no idea where he ended up. Probably in bed, and probably not alone.

You get dressed unhurriedly, dizzy from the pain and, on your way downstairs, you grip the banister tightly just in case. The kitchen is excruciatingly bright, and you cringe upon entering, shielding your face from the open window like a vampire.

“Oh, hey sleepyhead!” your brother greets you.

You grunt in response and head straight for the coffee pot. “Is this fresh?” you ask.

“Nope!” Bradley replies cheerily.

You pour yourself a mug anyway and put it in the microwave, turning to face the two of them while your coffee warms.

Jake meets your gaze with a stoic expression.

“How was your night?” Bradley asks with a grin, clearly seeing that you’re hungover.

“Fine,” you say monotonously.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “It’s the enthusiasm for me,” he says with a smirk, looking over at Jake.

Jake, however, ignores him and grabs his jacket from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “You ’bout ready, Bradshaw? I ain’t got all day.”

“Alright, alright,” Bradley says. “Let me get my stuff.”

Bradley jogs over to the staircase and runs up to grab his duffel bag. Meanwhile, you are deliberately avoiding Jake’s gaze as you lean your back into the kitchen counter. Jake stuffs his hands into his pockets and is also not looking at you. When Bradley returns a few minutes later, disrupting the silence with a melodic whistling, the two of you have not moved an inch from where you’d been standing when he left. Even though the microwave has beeped at you twice.

“What’s with you two?” he asks, pausing in the doorway.

“Nothing,” Jake responds curtly. “Let’s go.”

Bradley glances between the two of you. “Okay,” he says slowly, his gaze lingering on you in particular. “See you later, sis,” he says.

You wave a distracted hand in his direction and head for the couch with your coffee, nearly bumping into Jake as you cross paths because neither of you is looking at the other.

“Sorry,” Jake mutters, stepping aside to let you pass. His hand goes up instinctively to guide you but he catches himself before letting it rest on your arm.

“It’s fine,” you say, wavering slightly on the spot. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and press a couple of fingers into your temple.

“You okay?” he asks, his eyebrows converging as he tries to catch your gaze.

“I said I’m fine.” You sigh, trying to walk around him.

“Seresin, you coming, or what?” Bradley calls from the foyer.

Jake hesitates as you finally pass him, and then yells back. “I’ll meet you there!”

Bradley waits a moment as though he’s still trying to figure out what’s going on. Then you hear the front door open and Bradley shout, “Don’t be late!” as he exits the house.

Jake trails after you into the living room and, when you lower yourself onto the couch, he crouches down in front of you, placing a hand on your knee. “Migraine?” he asks.

You nod slowly so as not to exacerbate the pain.

Jake’s hand gives your leg a soft squeeze. “Have you eaten?”

You cringe. “Please don’t talk to me about food right now,” you beg.

“Did you take anything?”

You shake your head. “I’m out.”

Jake gets to his feet. “I’ll go pick up some meds for you,” he says.

You glance up at him miserably. “You’re going to be late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he responds, already on his way out.

…

Jake returns not ten minutes later with your medication and a bag full of snacks. “I heard dark chocolate is good for migraines,” he says, holding out a block for you as you swallow your pills.

“I’m not hungry, Jake,” you say weakly, closing your eyes and lying back down on the couch.

Jake sighs, sitting down on the floor beside you and starting to unwrap the chocolate. “You need to eat something,” he says, breaking off a piece. “I also have gummy worms and popcorn.”

You open your eyes. “I love gummy worms,” you whisper.

Jake grins. “I know,” he whispers back.

You take the chocolate square from his hand and he busies himself with opening the bag of gummy worms while you let the chocolate melt in your mouth. A moment later, he hands you a gummy worm and you stick it between your teeth and bite. “Oh my god, it’s so good,” you moan. The motion of chewing helps alleviate some of the pain in your temple and you sigh blissfully, closing your eyes.

Jake leans his back into the wall adjacent the couch and pops a gummy worm into his mouth. For a while, the two of you sit in silence. Then, he says, “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you say.

Jake shakes his head and you can sense his irritation without even looking at him. “This isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me.”

You turn to give him a flat look. “Would you trust you, Seresin?”

Jake squares his jaw. “I have never given you a reason not to trust me.”

“You lied to me! You said you were meeting Bradley!”

“I was! He was running late.”

You watch him sourly. “And you just happened to pick up a girl while you were waiting?”

Jake returns your bitter glare. “Is that actually what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you say, sitting upright to look him in the eye. “You weren't exactly forthcoming with an explanation.”

Jake sets the gummy worms on the couch and gets to his feet. “The girl was there for Bradley. He was running late. End of story.”

“You couldn’t tell me that yesterday?”

“She’s seeing Bradley! And he doesn’t know about us. It’s not like I can say, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m actually dating your boyfriend’s little sister and that’s why she’s acting like a nutcase. Brb.’”

You fold your arms, sulking. Did you consider the possibility that the woman Jake was sitting with wasn’t his date? Briefly. But you were already annoyed with Jake and that, combined with your less than sober state, was apparently a recipe for disaster. “I guess I don’t trust you,” you say with a shrug, even though this statement isn’t altogether true.

Jake places his hands on his hips, exhaling slowly. “Why?” he asks, sounding exasperated.

You stay silent and continue to brood.

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose and grimaces as though this conversation is wearing him out. Then, he lets out another sigh and crouches before you again, trying to catch your gaze as he places his hands in your lap, palms up. “Why?” he asks calmly, waiting for you to join hands with him.

You do. “Well, why would I?” you say quietly, hesitating before you continue. “What is this, even? What are we? Do you know? Because I don’t.”

Jake’s eyebrows knit together. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, why haven’t you told Bradley yet? Is it because you’re not sure you want to make this official? Is it because it’s just a fling so why bother?” You cringe inwardly, hating how insecure you sound.

Jake stares at you in wonder, as though this line of thinking has never even crossed his mind.

“Like, are we even exclusive?”

Jake’s eyes widen and he blinks at you in awe. “We fucking better be,” he retorts, his hold on your hands tightening slightly.

“Well, how would I know that?” you exclaim.

Jake brings his hands up to his face and rubs his eyes. “Jesus fuck, how would you not know that?”

You scoff at him. “Because you’ve never once been in an exclusive relationship! Not while I’ve known you, anyway. Do you even know how?”

Jake’s hands slide down his face and stay over his mouth as he gapes at you. When his hands finally drop back into your lap, you can see that he’s got a small smile on his face. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he says finally.

You lower your gaze, not exactly comforted considering he still has not addressed your main concern: Bradley.

Jake stands up and pulls you up off the couch. He puts his arms around you and you rest your head against one of his giant shoulders, allowing him to cradle you lovingly.

“Why haven’t you told Bradley?” you mutter into his shirt.

Jake pulls away from you and runs a hand through his hair uneasily. “I’m scared, Baby B,” he admits. “I’m scared he’s gonna make me choose.”

Hangman Tag List:

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[roseykat]

TITLE: Venom Biter

PAIRING: Minho x reader

SUMMARY: The end of a relationship between you and Minho turns as sour as it could ever get. A lovers to enemies trope.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

TAGS: breakups, hate sex, post-breakup sex, unprotected sex, swearing, angst, manhandling, push and shove, spitting, choking, oral sex (f!reader receiving), angst, strong hints of degradation, use of degrading names such as 'slut' and 'whore'.

A/N: this was originally meant to be for one of the days I had planned for Kinktober but I was up to my neck in work and I didn't want to post something sort of half-assed so I had to hone down on most of the work for this piece.

MASTERLIST

“Broke up?” Chan’s eyes refuse to blink. “You two broke up!?”

His confused filled stare shoots for the direction of his best friend, Minho, who quietly sits opposite him across the table. He looks slightly withdrawn or…off colour. It can’t have been the gruelling two hour lecture they finished before heading out to lunch. If it were that, Minho would be complaining his head off saying how boring it was or cursing himself for not changing his minor earlier. 

He’s just not his usual self. In other social settings, he could talk until the cows came home. But the entire hour that they’ve spent together at lunch, Chan has been doing all the conversing and only receiving vague one-word answers. It wasn’t until he asked what was up with Minho that his friend dished out the news that he and his girlfriend - you, had split up.

“Why?” Chan proceeds, still swimming in shock.

A sigh leaves Minho’s mouth. He truly doesn’t feel like revisiting this subject. When he even thinks about the answer, all he can recall is the firey shouting match you both had the day things crumbled. 

“It’s messy,” he replies with a cloudy and ambiguous answer. 

“If you talk about it, then it might help you make sense of it all.”

He groans this time, “I really, really don’t want to do that. What’s done is done.” 

“Done?” Chan questions, still not letting up on an interrogation. “You were in a relationship with Y/N, for years. You guys talked about a whole future together. That’s not something you just sweep under the rug and forget about.”

If there’s one thing he almost did forget about, it’s that you were friends with him - not just Chan, but the seven others as well. After all, it was Minho who introduced you to those select people whom he calls his brothers. They would’ve found out eventually if Minho refrained from telling them who you were dating all those years ago.

Though naturally, you became very close with them. 

“We’ve both chosen to do that so there’s nothing really much left to dispute.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrow, realising he left out a crucial question to the situation, “why did you guys break up in the first place?”

Minho feels like he’s going to run out of sighs, “she doesn’t love me anymore and I don’t love her anymore. That’s literally all there is to it.” 

“You’re telling me you both fell out of love - at the same time,” Chan responds, still having a difficult time trying to comprehend his friend's situation.

“Pretty much,” Minho confirms with a nod. 

Chan finds that extremely hard to believe from his friend - the very person who would enter a different realm whenever he was in a five centimetre radius of you. His eyes would glaze over as if he were possessed; always fixated on you, he’d smile more than he usually would, and was comfortable in the space around you. 

There had to be another reason, surely. 

But it had almost been three weeks since Chan dissected the news out of Minho, and it was almost like pulling teeth trying to dive for the details. Each attempt was as fruitless as the next and in the end, Chan just plucked the same answers.

Regardless, it seemed to play out better than expected. Minho saved himself from having to dish out explanations as to why you wouldn’t be around anymore. As a result, telling Chan was the best option and since the others didn’t know, Minho was okay with him telling them so that he didn’t have to. 

In saying that, Minho left out very central details of what happened leading up to the breakup. He never mentioned the constant fighting, the lying, the false accusations, the shouting matches, up until the point where you were both swimming in the toxicity the pair of you created. 

He also absconded from the fact to Chan that not only did you both separate, but you’ve also both come to view the other differently and not through a good lens. Minho shouted it in your face the other day to which you did the same; “I hate you.” And that was that.

But his friends probably didn’t need to know all of that. 

Since that day, you’ve been in the process of trying to find an apartment for yourself which isn’t easy. You want to remain in town and not too far out so that you don’t have a long commute to work, and at the same time, you don't want to break the bank trying to find a nice place to rent in the city. All in all, it was tough, but you were ready to just leave. 

Having packed up the majority of your stuff in boxes, all you had to do was wait for landlords to contact you back about possible vacant apartments. Thankfully Minho was lenient in allowing you to stay until you found a place. 

You slept in the spare room, mainly keeping to yourself and the boxes of things surrounding the space. Occasionally you would have to lock yourself in there and throw on some noise-cancelling headphones whenever Minho brought around another woman to sleep with.

It was his house, you knew that and now that you have no ties to him and he’s letting you stay, it was never your place to question his actions. 

Still, that could never lessen the hurt. It was painful which is why you hated him so much. You don’t know how a person could move on so quickly after so many years of being told how much you’re loved. It was like he never meant it. With that being said, when you eventually managed to find a decent place, you were free from Minho. 

All of your items were ready to be moved out, taking a couple of days to actually get them to your new place. In the tiring process, you also had to factor in your work schedule which meant it would take longer to continue moving your stuff. Nonetheless, you had the majority of your boxes out of Minho's house with only a few remaining that you needed to swing by and pick up.

"Something wrong?" he wears a blank look on his face when you arrive on the doorstep to his house.

"Some of my stuff is still here, can I come in to grab it please?" You ask politely. He gives a silent answer in return by opening his door wider for you to walk in before he goes back to whatever it was he was doing.

You make your way into the spare room where the last of your things remain, but there is one odd detail you notice as you approach the items. What was supposed to be taped down lids to the boxes had in fact been opened; not in the state you had originally left it in. 

"Minho," you call out, hoping he heard you.

Sure enough, he did. Minho walks into the spare room with a puzzled expression, wondering why he's been summoned, "what?"

“Why are these open?” You ask, lifting one box off of the other to check if the rest were open as well. “Half of my stuff isn’t in here.”  

“You were coming back for those?” he replies with a question. 

“What the hell else would I be coming back here for?” 

“That's what I thought when you got here,” he says. “I thought it was for other things that you left behind, not ones in these boxes."

Your eyes never leave his face, tracking any sudden shifts in his muscles to try to figure out if he’s actually telling the truth or not. Even though you and Minho aren’t together, you're sure he wouldn't do anything malicious out of spite.

“So why is half my stuff missing?” 

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, “I thought you didn’t need any of it and that you left it here on purpose for me to deal with or throw out.” 

“So what…” you trail off, expecting his answer. Minho hesitates for a few moments, sitting on the fence about whether he should actually tell you or not. But the least he can do right now is be honest. 

“I told the…girl I bought around the other day that if she wanted anything-“ 

“No you fucking didn’t.” 

“-she could have whatever was left in the boxes,” Minho finishes the rest of his sentence which would’ve been better for you not to hear. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you for leaving them behind in the first place!” Minho argues back, trying to defend himself here even though he knows he’s in the wrong. “You were gone for a few days Y/N, I thought you just left!” 

“I never left them behind! I told you how long it was going to take my things to move!” You shout at him, tears brimming your eyes. “Now my stuff…”

The hurt genuinely sets in. Minho feels a sharp stab of pain in his chest when he sees how visibly upset you are. He knows that he’s been nothing short of a dickhead within the past month and now he’s gone and made things worse. It’s no point in him now to say that it was an honest mistake.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, truly.”

You shove him backwards into the dresser, knocking down some of the empty photo frames that were once homes for pictures of you and Minho, “you’re not sorry. You’re the fucking worst.”

Taken aback by your actions, Minho turns behind him to see the frames flat on the surface then looks back at you, “seriously Y/N, I would not have done that out of spite.”

“But it’s the fact that you still did it!” You raise your voice at him and shove him back again. “You didn’t bother calling or texting me about it when you should’ve!” 

Minho predicts your next move and catches your arms to stop you from pushing him back impossibly further into the dresser. He shoves you back, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed which causes you to land on it behind you.

Before the surprise kicks in, Minho is kneeling on top of you, nearly straddling your lower half as he starts pinning your arms to the side of your head. Yet with a split second of momentum to break free, you struggle but manage to flip the tables and pin Minho on his back. 

You mount his hips before your mouth comes down to kiss Minho so aggressively that it takes him a moment to react. With any other woman that he’s slept with so far, he would allow them to be on top. But because it’s you, and supposedly hates your guts, not to mention his untapped pride, it’s not going to happen. So Minho fights back, kissing and biting nearly every part of your upper body in the process until you’re under him. 

He sucks large, deep, red hickies into the skin of your neck, in places where everyone would be able to see them. Minho would want people to know that you’re just a whore he uses. Especially for the next guy you sleep with who would go down on you and see the myriad of hickies that Minho would eventually put between your thighs when he rips your pants down. 

“Wanna play this fucking game with me,” he rasps before yanking down your off. 

Despite being a dickhead Minho will still eat you out for prep. But it’s not soft and teasing when he does go down on you. It’s tongue and finger fucking you until you’re dizzy from how hard you’re about to cum. It gives you the opportunity to pull and tug on his hair until his scalp starts burning, forcing you to be as vocal as you’ve ever been. 

His fingers curl up into that sensitive spot while his tongue and mouth work simultaneously. He’s always been good at giving head, but unusually better now that he’s relatively angry. In the back of your mind, you supposed it helped having not slept with anyone for a month, making it easier to reach that peak of delicious, eye-rolling ecstasy. 

“Fuck!” you scream out, voice projecting throughout the room as Minho sucks on your clit. “Fuck you…you’re gonna make me cum.” 

Those words are something Minho could never get tired of hearing you say. Even in the headspace that he’s in now, he wants nothing more than to hear how good he’s making your body feel. However, he doesn’t need verbal confirmation from you to know that you’re about to cum. When your walls seize and clamp around his fingers, when you’re trembling around his head, Minho knows what that means. 

The quick drag of his fingers is only light work for him, pumping at a pace that has you panting to try and keep up with it. As a result, it’s not long before Minho brings you to your sweet release; a toe-curling burst of euphoria that has you silently creaming around his fingers. 

He has no patience for you to descend from your orgasm, sucking his fingers clean as he pulls away from your pussy. He gets to unbuckling his belt faster than he can even comprehend that this is still happening. 

“H-Hurry,” you whine, trying to quell the hunger for Minho’s cock while you wait.

His eyes squeeze shut, hissing as he coats his length with your slick, “shut the fuck up.”

Despite being in a haze post-orgasm, you manage to sit up quickly to turn and push Minho down by his shoulders. You find yourself straddling his hips once more, reaching down and behind for his cock, aligning it with your hole. Minho allows you to work for it yourself, watching his cock vanish by the second as you sink down. 

“Mmm…f-fuck,,” you whine, unable to come to grips with how much you miss him filling you out. 

Taking a couple of slow strokes up and down allows you to realise that never in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine hate sex with Minho would be this…rough. Both of you pushing, shoving, and manhandling each other around, speaking to each other with such disregard for the other person's feelings – beyond the point of degradation.

“Come on,” Minho grunts, fingernails embedding themselves into your hips so that the indents remaining become as equally as vibrant as the hickies blooming on your neck. 

You look down at him with disgust before your hand lowers to his throat, choking him out by the sides of his neck. That familiar feeling of restriction to Minho forces him to repress his sick enjoyment of it, even more so when you start really riding him. 

“Fuck you,” you strain out, trying to assert some degree of control even though you’re battling with oversensitivity from your previous orgasm. 

You slam your hips down repeatedly, building up a good pace and rhythm that’s enough for small moans to force their way out of your mouth. With a cock like Minho’s, it’s impossible to keep quiet no matter how much you try. However, as you work for your own orgasm, you don’t want to give him any satisfaction by making him think that he’s the one doing it; yet in reality, he is. 

Nonetheless, you continue to use him just as much as he’s using you until the luxury of pleasure accelerates in the pit of your stomach. In saying that, it doesn’t take long for Minho to find that information out as you continue to ride him. The observation is clear-cut;

“Nobody’s fucked you since me haven’t they?” He asks you breathlessly, watching you roll your hips deliciously over his cock. “Know how I can tell? Because you keep fucking clenching around my dick.”

Your eyebrows furrow, struggling to find an answer for him because he is right and that’s not your fault, “s-so what? Want me to stop?” 

“Didn’t say that, did I?” He argues back, too proud to say ‘no’. “Just…just keep moving.”

A firm hand of yours catches his taut jaw, and while his mouth is open, you lean down and spit right in it. 

You curse right at him, “fuck you.” 

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment, Minho is shocked, but not in a bad way. In that moment you despised him so much that he made you do something a normal person would find disgusting. Although it’s not long before a sick smirk spreads across his face, failing to pretend as if he didn’t just enjoy that, swallowing it back. 

“Course you’d be into that you fucking whore,” he rasps, his body jolting every time your hips slam down. 

“I’m not the whore who’s taking it,” you snipe back at him. 

Your comment riles Minho, resulting in him nearly bucking you off his body before flipping you onto your stomach. He yanks both of your hands behind your back as something for him to latch onto when he pushes his cock back into you, and starts fucking hard and fast. 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut. 

The new angle makes his dick slip in just that extra bit deeper, achieving a sensation which you miss all too much. With the amount of relentlessness that Minho puts behind his thrusts is nothing but a fast, brutal, and unforgiving type of fucking. He’s not holding back with you, no matter how much you hate him and he hates you, he will fuck you to tears.

“Such a fucking slut,” he drives forward nastily. “Needy, loud, slut.” 

Your choked moans and whimpers are typical responses to hearing him call you that name again. In bed, if you weren’t his lover, you were his slut. Minho wouldn’t care less if the bed broke beneath him trying to fuck you like the whore you always wanted him to treat you as. But it was phenomenal.  

Now, that’s only a distant memory clawing to come back. 

“Make me cum…make me fucking cum,” you demand, acknowledging how close you are to the cliff of ecstasy.

Minho's breathing picks up from hearing the pure desperation in your voice, and so does his pace. His only release is not but a minute away, respecting that and also his motive to continue rearranging your guts. 

Yet the possibility of keeping up any longer draws to a short term. Minho’s hold on your wrists behind your back becomes a solid death grip with no chance of escape until the wet heat from your pussy has his hips jumping out of rhythm. 

His head tilts to the sky, the pleasure screaming at him from the base of his cock, “y-yes, fuck I'm cumming.”

At that very instant, Minho’s release rocks him over. His hands let go of yours in lieu of grabbing onto your ass instead. The pain and sting of his fingernails scraping deep into your flash forces strained whimpers and mewls from your throat, helping to push you over the verge of your second orgasm. 

“Y-Yes, cumming, oh fuck-” you cry out with a shaky voice, stiffening while your hole seizes rhythmically around Minho’s length. 

The pleasure is throat-gripping, making you forget the words to express how good you feel. Except, in the vapour of your orgasmic haze, you still don't want to accept the fact that it's Minho who makes you feel that way.

He pauses for a moment then thrusts hard back into you, making you keep the warm load that you were so undeservingly given, regardless if your walls are spasming and contracting it out. Then just as he was fast to try to get inside you, he's just as fast when he pulls out and flops beside you.

The air in the room becomes breathable again now that your heart rate isn't racing to the heavens, but picks back up quickly when you decide to hop off the bed and get dressed. You couldn't care less if you were sore and unbalanced. The thought of staying in the room with Minho any longer was suffocating.

“About your stuff,” he starts, filling the silent void with an exasperated voice. “I’ll try to get it back.” 

You zip your jeans up, “don’t bother. I know you did give it away for whatever reason, but for what reason is something I’m betting you’ll take to the grave with you.” 

Minho is up and now following suit by putting his clothes on. If now is the time to get one thing off of his chest, it’s now. Since the day you both separated, there has been no proper conversation. Both of you are too stubborn to admit wrongs and fix rights, but in your eyes, it's too far gone. There’s no going back to a good thing that was once more. 

"I won't if we can just talk it out," he offers the opportunity to you.

“Minho, the nights that I had to listen to you fuck someone else in the next room right after we just broke up was a clear sign that we did not need to talk it out. All it made me do is realise that you didn't actually love me."

“That’s not true,” he shakes his head as you hear a twinge of desperation in his voice like he's pleading his case. "That's not true at all."

"It is though," you correct him. "You were free to sleep with whoever you wanted to because we had broken up at that point, but not a day after that did you wait."

Minho follows through with his explanation, “I was trying to get you out of my head. Spending too long just thinking about you makes me want to lose it. It didn't mean that I never loved you before."

“So you’re just going to continue being delusional? To fuck your way through trying to forget me?” You question, nearly laughing. "I honestly think you're just being pathetic."

He shrugs, “if it means that I don’t have to feel heartbreak, then yes.”

Part of you gets it. Minho’s found a vice and is using it as a tool to deal with his pain. But you’re in pain too, and you haven’t done anything to upset him ever since you split. Maybe it is as bad for him as he says it is. Maybe he doesn’t truly know how to navigate himself out of this like you’re attempting to.

It’s almost a rebuttal to your statement about whether he truly loved you or not; if he’s using other people to drive the thought of you out of his brain because it’s too painful to deal with, then maybe you were more than just a lover to him. 

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I cannot stand being around you anymore because of how much it hurts to know that you're not actually with me. I'd rather try to forget your existence in order to not feel that type of heartbreak," Minho explains, his words coming from a place inside him that must've just opened up.

But he continues, "the second we split, I needed every last memory of you out of this house. But I know that this hurts you too and that this past month I’ve hurt you and that’s no justification to say that my reason is because you mean more than my entire life.”

There’s an ache in your chest that you’ve never felt before, a blend of all the emotional pain that could’ve been prevented had the two of you just talked. But that ache is fuelled by the fact that you can hear the waiver in Minho’s voice, and even though his back is still turned to you while he sits on the edge of the bed, you’re sure he’s crying.

-

A/N: Dare I say that I want to make a part 2 to this where Minho and reader try to rekindle, things are pretty tender but they sort of want to make it work...

[sunmoonjune]

spring tides [like the moon universe]

pairing: poly!ot8 ateez x fem!oc!reader

warnings: vague mentions of eating disorder, death and torture, scars, ptsd, very fluffy! a lot of comfort! not so dark this time xD I did not proofread this :D

word count: 14.1k

a/n: hello y'all :D I have returned with some LTM for you <;3 This is a oneshot for my like the moon universe! You don't necessarily need to read the series to understand this fic but it definitely helps the immersion and understanding some of the plot points! you can find all chapters of ltm on my masterlist <3

Seonghwa remembers something in the spring of your third year with Ateez. As he watches you at Jongho’s side, silently offering the guard slices of fruit as he cleans his claymore, Seonghwa recalls that he doesn’t know when your birthday is. 

Jongho is murmuring something about the design of his blade and the engraving along the handle when Seonghwa stands abruptly. The eldest shifts on his feet, brows furrowed and teeth worrying his bottom lip. His lips purse when Jongho questions him. 

“Hwa?” 

The red-haired guard looks up at his partner with a lilt of concern in his voice, hands halting their motion on his blade. Jongho’s dark eyes glint as the fading sun catches the hickory color of his irises. 

“Is there something wrong?” Jongho continues, already shifting to stand to his feet. “Are you alright?”

You rock on your feet, legs stretching as you prepare to stand with Jongho. Your eyes flicker across camp, scanning for whatever has caught Seonghwa’s attention. There’s two swords still strapped to your back and you can nearly feel the cool metal pressing into your skin – a haunting reminder of the terrible things you’ve done with them. The buzz beneath your skin itches with the beginnings of adrenaline, already prepared to stand and defend the two Ateez members at your sides.

Seonghwa lifts his hands and shakes his head to soothe you and Jongho before you can stand. He softly waves his hands to encourage you to sit back onto the carved log beneath you, a wary smile on his lips. 

“No, it’s nothing,” he murmurs, still gnawing at his lip as he finishes. He offers a barely concealed sigh and shakes his head again. “‘M alright, just remembered something.” 

Jongho doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer, but he settles back onto the floor regardless. His hands return to wiping down his claymore but he doesn’t look away from his partner. 

You share the sentiment, continuing to watch Seonghwa and making note of each creak and scratch that echoes through the camp. You don’t know what startled him, but you’ll be prepared for the next time. The fruit in your hands has made your fingers sticky in the brief moments you spent looking up at Seonghwa rather than cutting the supple treat. 

You don’t mind though. You like slicing fruit for Jongho.  He doesn’t eat enough, you’ve noticed. You’re not quite sure why, but you suppose you don’t quite know how to ask. No matter the reason, it brings you comfort when he continues to take slices of succulent fruit from you as he cleans. He doesn’t look up, simply trusting you to place the pieces into his hands so he can eat without trouble. When you sat beside him that morning with the fruit in your hands, Jongho raised an eyebrow but didn’t mention it. You ate the first few slices before offering them to the wine-haired guard, who accepted them with a small smile. Every so often, he turns slightly, ensuring that you’re continuing to eat as much as he does. 

At one point he tilts his head back, looking up at you with those pretty, boba pearl eyes and opens his mouth slightly. Both his hands are occupied, busy with the intricate care his blade necessitates. With your heart thumping quickly in your chest, you place a slice of fruit on Jongho’s waiting lips and try desperately not to linger on the thought of how full and supple they are. 

“Thanks, love,” he murmurs without looking at you, the words sweet and saccharine in the low timber of his voice. 

Seonghwa laughed when Jongho’s cheeks pinkened after that, but you weren’t really sure why. 

Turning his attention to you, Seonghwa looks down at your figure. Sitting with a slight slump in your shoulders, the spymaster smiles faintly. Slouched posture is a good sign, he muses. You’re comfortable. 

When you tilt your head to the side, silently questioning Seonghwa’s thoughts, you reach up to gingerly grasp his fingers. There’s no hesitation. There hasn’t been in a long while. Seonghwa extends his hand in offering when he notices your appendages twitch. His warmth sinks into your palm and you nearly hum at the soothing feeling. 

You squeeze his hand twice before lingering for a longer third.

‘Are you okay?’ you silently question.

Seonghwa’s lips quirk into another gentle smile, but his eyes are distant. It makes your heart tug painfully. The hickory of his near-black irises is muted. You miss the glimmer of those sweet, dark eyes that show when he smiles. 

“Yeah, m’alright, lovebug.” 

Your heart slams into your ribs – a delighted feeling. Lovebug. You like that. 

Seonghwa leans closer to repeat the gesture, squeezing twice and then lingering for an ‘okay.’ His other hand lifts to run over the back of your head with a delicate movement. Fingers carefully scratch against your scalp and you resist the temptation to lean into his hands and exhale softly. 

“I have to go see Joong and Yunho, though. I really did just remember something I wanted to speak to ‘em about,” he whispers. Dragging his nails gently over the nape of your neck once more, Seonghwa smiles when you finally lean into his touch with a quiet rumble. He thinks you look positively cat-like. When one set of lashes flutters against your cheek in a tired, pleased expression, Seonghwa could coo at the endearing look. He withholds only to save you the embarrassment of his mother-hen tendencies. 

Your one eye flickers over his expression once more before you relent and nod your head just once. Seonghwa’s hand begins to pull away from your head, and this time you do make a tiny sound of sadness. The eldest feels his heart squeeze at your reluctance to be parted from him, leaning close to drag his thumb over the stiff material of your mask with a sweet touch before he stands upright once more. 

“I’ll be back in a minute, okay? You and Jongho finish up and join us for dinner soon.” 

You let out a short exhale through your nose, a sound they’ve taken to signify your agreement. Jongho’s lips twitch at the noise, trying to hold back the laugh he wants to let out. 

“Okay,” you whisper softly beneath your breath as you lean back against the back of the log. Seonghwa smiles and finally shifts his stance to leave, only pressing a gentle kiss to Jongho’s brow before walking off. Your head tilts one last time as Seonghwa leaves, wondering if perhaps one day he’ll kiss your head too when he takes his leave. 

The archer finds Yunho before Hongjoong. The tallest of Ateez is easy to collect when Seonghwa gives him a meaningful look. The tension in the eldest’s brow must convince Yunho that there is something important he is needed for because he immediately follows after Seonghwa. The two find themselves in the Captain’s cavern, his and Seonghwa’s really, standing before the long-haired leader with a small frown on the archer’s lips. 

Hongjoong mimics the frown, coming to a stand behind the desk currently holding a plethora of worn maps. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Seonghwa sighs, squeezing his fists together before he turns to face Yunho with a solemn expression. 

“When’s her birthday?” 

Yunho’s brow quirks at the same time the tension in his shoulders finally loosens a notch. Sighing softly, he licks his lips and answers.

“Tiny’s?” 

Seonghwa nods, the expression on his face unchanging: serious and solemn, as if the situation was as grave as a wake. Hongjoong glances between the two men, his brow now lifted in surprise, but he says nothing. 

“It’s been three years since she’s been with us,” Seonghwa murmurs tersely. “But we haven’t celebrated her birthday. The first year I could understand missing it – I mean, she was still adjusting to Ateez, and even after that she’s still a little apprehensive. Not that I blame her, of course – I just… It’s been three full years and I can’t believe we’ve missed her birthday at least three times.” 

Yunho’s bottom teeth sink into his lip and his eyes suddenly dart towards the floor. He swallows once, shifting on his feet and sighs as he ponders how to answer Seonghwa’s question. The eldest watches his partner with that same, tense look and his eyes glisten with something sad – something understanding, as if he knows Yunho’s answer before he speaks it aloud. 

“I don’t know,” Yunho finally answers quietly. He looks down at his feet, unable to meet his elder’s eyes. His eyes squeeze shut with another sigh that shakes through his shoulders. He repeats himself louder, still just barely above a whisper. “I don’t know.” 

Hongjoong steps forward from behind his desk. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?” 

“I mean I don’t know,” Yunho whispers sadly. “And she doesn’t either.” 

Seonghwa licks his lips, grasping at strings as he scrambles to find the right words to say. 

“I don’t understand. How can she not know her own birthday?” 

Yunho won’t look up from his feet. His fingers curl into fists and the tips of his nails dig into his palms from the tightness of his grip. He can’t bring himself to loosen his hold. 

“Tiny, uh… After everything that happened with her – with that village, they don’t particularly regard her… fondly, you know?” 

Yunho speaks slowly and methodically, as if trying carefully to pick the right words to say. His tone is terse and cold, the disdain for the village of his past more than evident in his voice. Hongjoong looks up at his partner with a frown still on his lips, his heart pulsing sadly in his chest. 

“But she doesn’t know her own birthday? No one in her village told either of you?���

Yunho sighs again, finally looking up at his Captain with grief plastered across his features in an expression neither man can ignore. Seonghwa is already stepping forward, settling an arm over Yunho’s shoulders and rubbing his thumb across the taller man’s jaw. 

Yunho leans closer to Seonghwa and continues, voice deep and throaty with the weight of his words. “We celebrated it once. Back when we were young – back when… Daia was still around.” 

Hongjoong looks away. 

“But even then,” Yunho continues softly, trying not to think of the bony cage casting shadows of your quivering form. You were so young. Little fingers grasped the cold bars that separated him from you, desperately whispering a plea for him to leave. He should have known your father wouldn’t let you celebrate your birthday like he and the other children did. But the smile on your face was so pure, so genuinely happy that he could never utter the words that may wipe it away. 

 “We didn’t know the exact date – just that she was born in the spring. Her father… well he killed the attendants that assisted her mother through labor. Not that we could prove it, of course. Anyone around for Bug’s birth… isn’t around anymore. And Bug was raised kind of secluded the first few years of her life. No one knows exactly when she was born and her father certainly wouldn’t say.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes continue to glisten with that broken look, and he licks his drying lips before he speaks. His heart throbs painfully, echoing the sadness in his face.. “And… after Daia wasn’t around anymore?” 

Seonghwa hates that he asks. 

Yunho shifts on his feet and looks away again. 

“I, uh… I don’t know much of what happened after Daia…” he trails off for a long moment. “By that time, the village and her father turned their backs on Bug, and I… I was exiled a few years later.” 

Seonghwa thumbs over Yunho’s jaw again, trying to soothe his lover’s agony. Hongjoong steps closer and lays his hand across Seonghwa’s back, their combined sadness near tangible in the cavern hall. 

“Bug’s birthday…” Yunho finally continues. “She’s never seen it as a good thing, you know? Her father and the village certainly didn’t see it that way.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes sadden, the shine of his irises dulling at Yunho’s confession. He turns over his shoulder to look at Hongjoong and presses his lips together, as if regretting bringing up the topic altogether. 

“A good thing?” Hongjoong whispers. 

Yunho shakes his head, his frown dragging down his lips as he breathes softly. “Not something worth celebrating. The day she was born was… the start of everything bad, I guess.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes squeeze shut, the burn of tears forcing pressure to build in the corners. 

“Sometimes I think,” Yunho whispers tiredly, his eyes cloudy and unfocused as he stares into the distance. “I think she might hate it; that she might despise the day of her birth because of all the pain that came after.”

Hongjoong takes a deep breath in through his nose, trying to soothe the anguish that swells inside his ribs. There’s grief there, rage too, settling in the pit of his stomach and pushing upwards into his chest and throat. It’s not directed at you – it could never be. It’s towards your father, towards your village, towards anyone that has looked at you with disdain and uttered that foul moniker he knows makes you flinch. 

“I’m sorry, Yun.” 

Yunho shakes his head, leaning into Seonghwa’s hand and looking down at Hongjoong with his eyes glistening with welling tears. He swallows, clearly resisting the urge to cry, and kisses Seonghwa’s thumb when it brushes his mouth. “‘S okay, Seonghwa. I know your intentions were honorable.” 

Seonghwa nods, finally leaning forward until his head rests against Yunho’s collarbone. An arm wraps around the eldest’s shoulders and Hongjoong presses himself against Seonghwa’s back, encasing both him and Yunho. 

“So don’t bring up her birthday, then?” Hongjoong whispers, frown still drawing his lips downward. He speaks the question into Seonghwa’s shoulder blade, his lips grazing the tunic covering his skin. 

Yunho is silent for a long moment. No one speaks and the sounds of their hushed breaths are all that echo through the hollowed cavern. Yunho ponders his Captain’s question in the silence and thinks of your growth in the years you’ve spent in their camp. Would you rather they never mention your birthday again? Or would you appreciate a different kind of memory to replace the shaded pains of the ones long past?

Soon after, Yunho leans forward to bury his face into Seonghwa’s hair before he breathes deeply and pulls back, a small quirk lifting the corner of his lips. He thinks of you and that youthful grin that used to grace your lips more often as a child. Yunho recalls the mischief in your smile and the wonder that would flash across your eyes, and he begins to twist an idea around his thoughts. It’s that look he wants to see again. He always wants to see it; the mischief, the awe, the teasing grin you used to throw over your shoulder to get him to chase you through the training grounds. He wants that so badly. 

“Actually, Captain…” 

Hongjoong peels his head away from Seonghwa’s shoulder, looking up to meet Yunho’s eyes with a raised brow and a question in his eyes. “Hmm?”

Yunho finally manages a fraction of a smile, stroking his hand over Seonghwa’s shoulders as he speaks. 

“I think there might be a way we can show her that her birth is something worth celebrating. I’ll need your help though.” 

“Anything.” 

“Anything for her,” Seonghwa finishes at the same time Hongjoong speaks. 

Yunho’s heart swells. The soft grin on his features begins to stretch, mirrored by his two elders. Pride begins to surge beneath his skin and it makes him feel fuzzy. 

“What do you need?” Hongjoong whispers into the fraction of space separating their lips. Yunho huffs a smile, leaning closer until his mouth brushes against his leader’s. 

“How do you feel about a little trip, Captain?” 

Time passes easily. About a week goes by after the conversation between you, Jongho and Seonghwa before Hongjoong announces that Ateez will be spending a few nights traveling away from camp. He won’t say where they’re traveling to nor why they’re going, but there’s a mischievous grin on his lips when you tilt your head in suspicion. No one will tell you anything about the adventure other than handing you a cloth pack to gather some things for the trip. 

Mingi helps you clean your blades and slides them into the scabbards on your back for you. Seonghwa packs food away carefully and slides extra servings of dried and cured meats into your pack followed by the fruit he knows you and Jongho love. San and Yeosang sit by your side as you help sort the first aid supplies the camp may need. The inky vines wrapping around Yeosang’s forearms flashes from beneath his sleeves, and you find yourself following the sight of the tattoo each time you peek a glimpse of golden skin covered in leafy shapes. 

San laughs and raises an eyebrow at his lover when he flicks his shirt above his waistband playfully, showcasing the span of scales descending over his hip and up his waist. He giggles when you reach forward to pull his shirt higher over his side, eager to follow the lines of ink up his torso. San pushes your hands away and promises to show you one day. Wooyoung enters the cavern a moment later and exchanges a knowing look with San, as if the same pattern of obsidian scales crawls up the opposite side of his own torso. 

On the morning Hongjoong announced their leave, you pack the last of your things diligently in the cloth pack given to you. There’s something fond rippling through your chest as you slide a hand over the large tunic laid across your bed. 

The sensation seeps all the way down to your toes, a bittersweet happiness that arose from the realization that you’ve never… owned things before. 

In that village, nothing was ever yours. It was always stolen or taken, never owned. 

But now… 

Now there’s all kinds of things in your corner of the medical cavern. There’s the little rope of twine with eight little beads Yeosang gave you to fiddle with so you wouldn’t pick and pull at your nails. There’s the bear-hide blanket Jongho handmade when you started to grow cold in the winter nights. A pile of spare clothes tailored to fit your size sits beneath your bed. A hollowed shell of smooth, rich cream sits beside you, specially made for you by Wooyoung and San when they noticed your scars were particularly aching in the cold weather. There’s a whetstone and cleaning tools beside your swords, left there by Mingi when he noticed your blades were dulling. Seonghwa always leaves a myriad of flowers beside your bed each week, and the dried stems of all his past bouquets hang above your on a piece of twine Joong brought you. There’s armor and chainmail beneath your bed, presented by Hongjoong with a shy smile. He cleans them for you when he thinks you’re not looking, ensuring the armor stays in good shape and protects you well. One of Yunho’s thicker tunics lies at the foot of your bed, a staple of your growing closet of clothes. He knows you like having his scent nearby. There’s books too, ones from the medical cavern and ones from Wooyoung, who you’ve discovered is quite the avid reader. 

There’s just… all sorts of things. 

And you’ve never really owned things before. It’s strange. And quite enjoyable, you decide.

You like owning things. You like being part of Ateez – being part of a family. 

With your lips twitching upwards into a fond smile, you stand with the last of your belongings and slide the straps of your cloth pack over your shoulders. It sits a little strangely on your back but you huff and step out of the cavern anyway. 

The rest of Ateez is already outside, shuffling the last of their belongings into storage and closing up the cave system behind you. A wooden sort of door slides shut behind you and the viny, earthen cover falls over it. It’s perfectly concealed from the wild, appearing just like any other cropping of rocks and stone. You marvel at their ingenuity and turn to find Wooyoung approaching you with a smile on his lips. 

“Good morning, Bug. Are you ready?” 

Your head tilts with a question as Wooyoung’s hands shift upwards to the straps of your pack. He raises a brow once, always asking for permission before he touches, and you shift closer and slide your hands onto his hips with a nod of your head. Wooyoung’s smile seems to widen, if at all possible, and he carefully begins to adjust the straps of your pack so it sits better across your back. Your gaze follows his hands, tracing over the fading scar on his one wrist – the space where a rusty shackle used to sit. Your lips quirk happily at the sight of the missing metal cuff, now long buried in the earth. He hums happily at the feeling of your hands on his waist, and chuckles beneath his breath when he feels your hands attempting to weasel under his shirt – likely another attempt to get a look at the tattoo you know sits there. 

Wooyoung huffs a breath as you skate a gentle hand over his bare hip, focusing on the wavy shape of an oscillating line your draw over his skin. He translates the word as ‘what’ and understands your inquisition to mean ‘Ready for what?’ 

“Can’t tell you,” he laughs, his chest shaking with the motion as you squeeze his hip in retaliation. “Sorry, baby. Captain’s orders; take it up with Hongjoong if you want to know so badly.” 

Your one eye rolls and Wooyoung laughs again, that bright, cackling sound echoing through the trees in a burst of noise that makes your heart flutter. You like Wooyoung’s laugh. 

“C’mon you two!” Hongjoong calls from a distance, already beginning to pace towards the southwest. “We’re burning daylight. Let’s get moving.” 

You respond with a choked hum despite knowing your Captain can’t hear it. Wooyoung grins, finally satisfied with the adjustments he’s made on your pack, and turns over his shoulder to call back, “We’re coming, Captain. Relax a little. It’s barely dawn, we’re on schedule.” 

You don’t need to see Hongjoong to know what expression the Captain has on his face. A tiny smile appears on your lips and when Wooyoung turns back to face you with a hand held out in offering, his grin beams once more. 

“C’mon, baby. You wanna walk with me and Sannie today?” 

Your answering nod is a little too eager, but Wooyoung doesn’t mention it. 

To you, anyway. The smug grin he shoots over his shoulder at Mingi and Yunho is met with a sigh and an eye roll. The vulgar gesture Mingi throws back goes unseen by you too. 

Seonghwa sees it though, and the sound of Mingi’s squawk when he’s slapped across the shoulder by the archer makes Wooyoung laugh again. 

It’s springtime. The forest is filled with bright shades of emerald green and flowers have begun to sprout along patches of sunlight. Lupin tickle at your ankles when you pass and you watch their lilac and lavender petals sway in the wind with a fond expression. Your last bouquet from Seonghwa was fresh Lupin flowers, a growing favorite of yours he has noticed. 

Wooyoung holds your hand as you walk, sometimes shifting to allow San to take his place. They talk happily as you stride through the forest, following Yeosang and Jongho as they lead your band of warriors through the trees. You still don’t know where you’re going nor why you’re going there, but you trust your Captain and you trust your family. 

Eventually, you unlink your hands from San to step ahead and walk besides Mingi and Yunho. San’s resounding pout and soft sigh are lost on you, but Wooyoung slides his hand into his partner’s empty fingers with a grin and a teasing poke to San’s side. Mingi intertwines his fingers with yours with a beaming grin and a happy chuckle, swinging your hands between you as you walk. He points out the flora and fauna he recognizes along the hike, explaining their uses as he recalls Yeosang’s teachings. He mentions the honey-haired healer’s tattoo sleeve of medicinal herbs and shows you some of the plants he recognizes to be inked into Yeosang’s skin. You eagerly categorize the leaves and petals of each plant, hoping that you’ll one day be able to find each one decorating Yeosang’s skin. 

The first night away from camp is spent sleeping beneath the stars. 

Your group of nine lays huddled together in a clearing in the pines, with a small fire burning quietly in the center for warmth. Shifts for watch are assigned and you find yourself curling between Yunho and San that night with a promise to take the final watch with Seonghwa. With cicadas clicking in the distance and a cool breeze rustling the branches above you, you find sleep easy that night. Strangely enough, despite resting out in the open with no cover around, you find you can sleep calmly. Nestled between your Yunho and your San, their body heat keeping you warm even underneath the fur blankets swaddled around you, you feel safe enough to sink into a well-earned sleep. You know the others will wake you if there’s trouble lurking about. They would never let anything happen to their family. 

The next day is spent between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, happily listening to their stories and eagerly nudging the both of them to show you some of the ink decorating their skin. Once you found out about Yeosang’s tattoos, there was nothing holding you back from asking the others about their own. Seonghwa relents with a teasing grin towards Hongjoong, showing you the pattern of large scales that crawl up his forearms. You trace the delicate scales with a happy sound, not noticing the shiver that crawls down Seonghwa’s spine. Hongjoong rolls his eyes at his partner, but he almost wishes to show you the ink decorating his back and spine too. He only waves you away with a laugh when you turn to him with a tilt of your head and a happy question on your lips. 

That night you sleep between Yeosang and Jongho, one of your legs wedged between the youngest’s and your hand clumsily intertwined between the healer’s fingers. This time, the nine of you settle in a cliff alcove, sheltered from the fog and the light drizzle of rain that spatters through the forest around midnight. 

There’s no telling how far you’ve traveled from Ateez’s hollow. It’s been two days of mostly hiking and stopping for breaks and meals, but you’ve long grown used to strenuous labor so the walk is not nearly as difficult as you once thought it to be. You still have little to no knowledge on your destination as your Captain is tight-lipped about the matter. He only gives you soft smiles and quiet laughter when you nag him about where or why you’ve left camp. 

On the third and last day of your long journey, you walk between Yeosang and Jongho at the front of your pack. The two have been leading you for three days, seeming to know the way without needing a map or compass. Every once and a while, Yeosang looks up at the night sky and lifts a hand to palm at the stars. You understand he must be checking your position, ensuring that they’re still on the right path, but you don’t ask. You find Polaris winking down at you each night with a fondness in your chest, and you give her a gentle, barely-there smile each time you see her. 

The healer and his partner pace through the trees with newfound urgency that morning. The two members eagerly shuffle through the trees with beaming grins and an energy that you cannot help but mimic. They’re excited about something – unfathomably so. 

“We’re almost there, honey,” Yeosang encourages you, holding out a hand to help you scale the final boulder before you begin your descent back down the mountainside. “Just another mile or so, I promise.”

You trust him. 

The others have begun to feed on the buzzing atmosphere building in the group. There’s tension simmering, but a good kind, as if there’s something awaiting your family at your destination. You don’t know what it is, but it must be something good if they’re eagerly beginning to quicken the pace. 

Soon after you begin your descent down the small mountain, the dense foliage of pine trees and packed soil gives way to something softer – something you’ve never quite seen or felt before. It’s pliable and squishy beneath your feet, allowing your weight to sink into the material with each step. It leaves footprints in your wake, the ground shifting and moving beneath your feet. 

Sand. 

It’s sand. 

You know it’s sand because Yeosang has some collected in a small jar in the medical cavern. You’ve never seen it before: sand or the sea. You found the tiny bottle of eroded stone once and carefully examined it with a puzzled expression until Yeosang found you. The miniscule grains of rock and shell shifted in the bottle as Yeosang explained where it was from. 

You listened to him for hours that day. 

He talked about the sea and his life as a captain of his own ship from the hour of the sun’s peak until it descended beneath the horizon. You were fascinated. Eagerly hanging onto every single one of his words, you listened to Yeosang with a rapture you couldn’t describe. He spoke of the ocean and the smell of salt in the fresh air, mentioning that there was a particular hint of something so ocean-like in the scent that he couldn't begin to describe. Yeosang described the sand and the shore, detailing how the plush sand like the stuff in his bottle gave way to harder packed ground the closer you grew to the sea. He talked of how it felt to play in the waves and to feel the cool touch of the ocean on his skin. 

You marveled at him for hours, longing desperately to one day know the smell he spoke of, to feel the ocean breeze tickle your skin and to feel its waves brush against your feet. 

It sounded wonderful. 

So when the sand beneath your feet begins to thicken, giving way to clumsier footsteps and the sound of something roaring in the distance, you perk upwards. 

Your entire body slams to a halt, startling San who walks behind you. Jerking upwards, your one eye darts over to Yeosang, who stands with Jongho at his side, already looking at you. There’s this look in their eyes; something fond and gentle – an expression you’ve begun to recognize. They watch you as you begin to piece together the information you’ve gathered of this little trip, smiles on their faces as you realize where they’ve taken you. 

At your side, San begins to bend forward, his hands reaching out to pull at the laces of your boots and chuckling beneath his breath. You reach out to stabilize yourself on his shoulder as you make a sound of confusion. 

‘What’s going on?’ you try to question without speaking.

At your back, Yunho runs a hand down your spine and soothes the tension in your shoulders. You reach back, grasping his hand with a strength that surprises you and draw that oscillating squiggle across the back of his hand with a bewildered expression. 

‘What’s happening?’ 

There’s another word you want to say. One you don’t have a translation for. A word you’ve never spoken or seen. 

Ocean. The sea. 

You don’t have a word for it. 

But you can smell it now. That salty, fresh sort of scent with a hint of something you cannot place. Just like Yeosang described. 

The sea. 

San taps your leg, garnering your attention and helping you lift your foot so you can place it on his knee. He’s kneeling at your feet, one leg propped up to lift your foot and the other in the sand beneath him. The healer pulls at your laces, beginning to untie your shoes and pull them from your feet with a grin. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs with that low timber that makes you shiver. “Let’s get these off.”

Your held tilts in confusion. Seonghwa chuckles behind you, leaning into Mingi’s side and shooting a look over at Wooyoung. “Gotta take your shoes off unless you want sand in the soles, Bug. It’ll be a pain to walk back with all that in ‘em. I promise you’ll never be able to get it all out.” 

Hongjoong laughs from beside Jongho, the Captain throwing his head back with a knowing grin. “Speaking from experience, huh, darling?” 

Seonghwa rolls his eyes and ignores his lover, dropping a hand to intertwine with Wooyoung’s. The younger eagerly locks their fingers together, smiling happily and leaning his head onto Seonghwa’s shoulder as you process everything. 

The others begin to pull off their own shoes, tying them to their packs or holding the laces in their fingers. Mingi laughs and pushes Wooyoung when he bends over to undo his laces, and when Wooyoung stumbles, he shouts indignantly and lurches upwards for revenge. Seonghwa laughs and tries to settle them, only to end up yanked out of the way by a grinning Yeosang. Wooyoung and Mingi screech at each other, beginning to race down the sand towards the roaring sound that continues to swell in the distance. 

You worriedly look down at San, his dark irises already looking up at you with adoration swirling behind them. The healer pulls off your sock and carefully sets your foot back onto the sand, watching as you marvel at the plush, cool material beneath the soles of your feet. 

“C’mon, tiny,” Yunho laughs behind you, chest rumbling as he speaks. The vibration echoes through your back from how close the warrior is pressed against you. He grins when you shiver pleasantly. “We’ve gotta catch up.” 

San lifts your other foot delicately and places it on his waiting knee, repeating the process of taking off your shoe and sock before he ties the laces together and stores them away in his pack. Before he sets your foot back onto the sand, San’s eyes twinkle with something mischievous.

He leans forward and drags his fingers across the skin of your calf, eyes crinkling as he smiles. You look back down at him with your stomach fluttering pleasantly, watching as San leans forward and presses his lips to the side of your calf. 

Oh. 

His lips skate over the muscle and his hand rests where your thigh connects with the knee. You feel your breathing still. Air catches in your lungs, and some burst of emotion lurches into your throat as you stop and stare down at the healer with one widened eye. You can feel the smile on San’s soft lips as he drags his mouth from your calf to your knee, kissing your skin sweetly as he goes. He drifts over scars both fresh and faded, but does not stop moving as he ascends up your calf. San leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake, your skin practically shivering under his touch and lighting ablaze when he pulls away.

Oh. 

You stare open-mouthed at the healer when San finally slides a hand down your leg and deposits it onto the sand. You lick your lips once, trying desperately to come up with words to say, but there’s nothing. Just the trail of blazing heat San left behind and a roaring fire beginning to spread inside your chest. You can practically feel the heat in your face, and you lift a hand to palm at your cheek as San watches with a teasing grin. Your figure practically vibrates as you shiver through the emotion bursting through you. 

“San…” 

Said healer mimics your shiver as you whisper his name, fingers dancing along your calf before he stops. He presses one final kiss to your knee, at the crease of the joint, and this time your eye slides shut with a shiver. The plush feeling of his lips against your skin is ambrosia for your soul and the barest touch of moisture is left behind when he finally pulls away. 

He looks up at you with honey in his irises, hand skating down your calf once more and smiles. 

“C’mon, Bug. We’ve got places to be,” he teases, saccharine timber never failing to make you melt. 

As if he wasn’t the one distracting you. 

Finally, you’re able to squeeze his shoulder thankfully and San beams up at you in the way that makes those sweet little dimples poke out of his cheeks. You nearly lean forward to caress a finger of the indents that make your heart mushy, but still as the cool sand sinks between your toes. 

It’s… soft. 

The sand melts beneath your soles like butter, cradling your heels and caressing your skin like silk. You wiggle your toes and awe at the feeling, watching the sand shift and move with your lips just barely parted in wonder. San watches from your feet, his gentle eyes roaming over your partly-concealed face and grinning at the expression plastered across your features. Your lips are parted, but just barely, taking deep breaths to inhale the fresh air of the sea breeze and one eye dilated with awe. San's heart thumps vibrantly beneath his ribs, a song of your name. It calls out to you sweetly, and San swears that when he runs his hand across the bare skin of your leg, brushing over scars and broken skin, he can hear your heart call his name in return. 

Your one eye darts upwards to meet your Captain’s gaze. 

Hongjoong stares at you with some ineffable softness in his expression. He reaches a hand out to grasp your fingers, helping you step forward away from San. The healer stands from his kneeling position, his own footwear now missing, and joins you at your side. 

“You like it?” Hongjoong whispers as you near. 

The vigorous nod of your head is almost comical, and Hongjoong chuckles beneath his breath. Yes. Yes you like it. 

San beams at your side, unable to stop the mirthful sound of his laughter. It erupts from his chest in that giggling way that you adore. You tilt your head to look at him, your chest swelling and heart thumping with the tumultuous feelings surging within you. San reaches out to run a hand down your arm and you lean close offering a single line of ‘thanks’ across his palm. 

Yunho leans forward and pecks a kiss across your forehead, directly over the mask concealing the right half of your face and then turns to walk after Wooyoung and Mingi, San at his heels. He doesn’t acknowledge the kiss, but your heart jumps into your throat regardless. Your fingers itch to follow him, twitching in an attempt to reach for him, but you turn back to your Captain instead. 

Hongjoong is still looking at you, that ineffable softness still radiating from him. “C’mon, angel. Let’s go see the ocean.” 

You’ve never been more excited. 

Hongjoong begins pulling you in the direction the others have disappeared in, following them over the dunes of sand. At first, he pulls your awestruck figure behind him as you make your way through the deeping sand, turning back to watch you marvel at the grains of white and cream colored grains. Your feet drag, slowing the two of you down as you continue to look down at the sand beneath you. At one point, you can’t resist the temptation and you stop, carefully pulling your hand from Hongjoong’s to bend at the knees and drop into the sand. 

“Woah, angel!” Hongjoong gasps as you let go of his hand and urgently drop into the earth below. “Careful!” 

Dragging your fingers through the silky material, you watch the tiny pieces of sediment cascade back into the hills beneath you as they trail between your fingers. The sand is cool to the touch and gentle as it scratches against your skin. You thought it would be rough, but it’s not. Not this sand anyway. 

Seonghwa chuckles behind you, stopping to drop his hands beneath your shoulders and gently lift you back up to your feet. The others are little specks in the distance, just a few hundred yards away. The eldest carefully sets you on your feet and slides a hand down to intertwine with your own. 

“C'mon, lovebug. We haven’t even reached the good part yet.” 

The good part? You wonder. How could it possibly get any better than this? 

But as the crashing sound gets louder with each step you take and the smell of salt continues to grow stronger, you begin to realize what the good part is. 

Soon after, it becomes you dragging Hongjoong and Seonghwa through the sand dunes. Eagerly tugging them behind you as you race towards the others, you sink into the sand and stumble a few times, only catching yourself when either member scrambles to grab your waist. You push quicker through the deepening sand each time you right yourself, racing through the dunes until you finally see it. 

The sea. 

And you stop moving. 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa nearly crash into your back as you freeze, body halting at the top of the sand dune. Your one eye is transfixed on the view before you, mouth parted and body slack with awe. 

Waves are crashing along the shore, breaking into foamy surf as they collide with the cream-colored sand. There are little birds with thin, long legs dancing in the shoreline, pecking at things in the packed sand. You watch with fascination as they rush away in a flock from an oncoming wave. When the foam finally settles, they return to their feeding grounds, continuing to peck away at something beneath the darker sand. The smell of salt fills your senses and there’s a brush of water against your skin as a breeze carries a mist of salt onto the shoreline. 

You’ve never seen so much… color before. 

The ocean is blue. Green too, and teal and dark and bright, and every color in the range you can possibly think of. It’s aquamarine in the peaks of crashing waves and a darker cyan in the deepness of the salty water. There’s pale blue, creamy skies and even paler cream-colored clouds. You nearly wish you could reach out and touch one. 

It’s wonderful. And it’s so much more than you think you deserve. 

With awe on your features and mouth slightly parted, you stare mystified at the sea before you. Hongjoong steps up beside you, the others starting to circle back to stand nearby. They just stand there… watching you for a minute. 

They watch your one pupil dilate and your expression softens into wonderous glee. Their hands intertwine with each other, fingers squeezing one another and hearts thumping happily in their chests. There’s pride there, and affection too, roaring madly beneath their skin and calling out to the sea with a throaty, triumphant call. 

You like it. You like the sea. 

And they like you. 

Hongjoong slides a hand down your arm until he can gently link your scarred fingers with his own. Your attention briefly shifts away from the sea to look over at your captain. 

His soft brown hair rustles as the sea breeze flutters through the strands, and Hongjoong smiles. Eyes scrunching into a beaming grin, the one that you like so much, he offers a squeeze of your palm. The scar crossing his one eye moves with his expression and you adore the way it looks when he smiles. Chocolate brown irises flicker in the brightness of the sunlight and for a moment, you think you much prefer the color of his eyes than the enchanting blue-green of the sea. 

But it’s tough competition, of course. 

Hongjoong squeezes your hand once more, fully drawing your attention back to him, and he leans close to carefully grasp the side of your face. His palm gently cups your mask, stroking his thumb over the tough material with a delicateness you cannot fathom deserving. But he touches you regardless, even if it's the mask instead of your skin. Hongjoong doesn’t care that you continue to wear it. None of them do. It’s a part of you, and they’ll continue to care for you all the same. 

“Are you happy?” The Captain inquires, licking his lips as he watches you. 

The vigor in your nod nearly makes him laugh. His beaming grin only seems to widen and you find yourself stunned at how beautiful he looks happy. 

“Yeah? That’s good. I’m glad you’re happy, angel.” 

You want to ask something else. Something about why your little clan has ventured this far or perhaps something else, but you can’t begin to find the words for it. 

You don’t need to though. 

Hongjoong leans closer, his warm, umber eyes scanning your features as he whispers something only for you to hear. 

“Happy birthday, Bug.” 

You barely register the sentiment before your captain leans forward and gently presses his lips to the crown of your head. 

You don’t breathe. Too frightened that any movement will force him to pull away, you stay remarkably still and stare numbly into Hongjoong’s chest. 

His lips linger for a long moment against your hairline, and you feel the warmth of his exhale against your scalp. The feeling makes your stomach flutter pleasantly and suddenly your body feels like you’re going to vibrate out of sheer enjoyment. Another shiver tickles its way up your spine and you finally exhale shakily. Reaching a hand upwards, you clutch onto the hand Hongjoong has still cupping your cheek. 

Her heart finally throbs with a dull ache. 

Your birthday? 

You didn’t even think… 

Hongjoong exhales softly and bends to drop a second kiss onto your mask, just above where your right eye would be. It throbs suddenly, but not so painfully this time. 

Your birthday. 

They came all this way for you? 

All of this… leaving the camp, walking all this way, spending nights on the road, showing you the sea for the first time… they did this to celebrate your birthday? 

Your heart hurts. 

No one has ever done that for you before. 

You suppose Yunho and Daia tried once… but that didn’t end so well. Salt wells behind your one eye and your lip twitches just once, but it's enough for Hongjoong to catch. Your chest aches with the memory of your mother. It’s a hurt you could never quite soothe. 

The Captain’s smile is still bright when he pulls away but there’s a sadness beneath the joy. No, not sadness, you suppose. Something empathetic – something… bittersweet. 

Hongjoong knows. They all do. 

“My birthday?” Your mouth parts to let out the croaked sound. Your voice has gotten better. The deeper, rough tone of your voice has begun to fade after finally learning to use it again. It’s beginning to return to what it used to be – slow and steadily. 

From behind you, Yeosang hums deeply. You recognize the sound without turning to look at him. His voice always carries that undertone of sweet and smooth honey, and you can’t find any other way to describe it. 

“Yeah, honey. You told me you’ve never seen the sea, right? We thought it would make a good birthday present.” 

The healer is standing behind Hongjoong, San and Wooyoung at his sides and the rest of Ateez just beyond. They’re all here. For you. 

You shift on your feet, barely able to restrain the wetness of your one eye as you attempt to face them. Your heart still throbs, but it’s more of a pleasant ache – a good one. A sea breeze rustles your hair. Three silver rings click against your mask; a comforting sound that reminds you of home – of Yunho. The scent of salt in the air fills you with warmth and the silky sand beneath your feet cradles you in the earth’s gentle hands. The world itself seems to wrap around you in its kindness, delicately embracing you as if asking for forgiveness. 

It feels like your mother – like the hugs you can barely remember. 

The burn of tears returns tenfold. 

You’ve never celebrated your birthday before. It was never a day others regarded with joy, so you supposed it was only fair to see it the same way. You don’t even really know what day you were born. Father never told you – he never told anyone. 

But… perhaps this day – the day Ateez has chosen for you – can be your birthday. Maybe this time it doesn’t have to be a bad thing anymore. 

“We wanted to show you something new. Something good. Do you like it?” Wooyoung whispers as you process your feelings. His voice is apprehensive, as if he isn’t quite sure how you’ll respond to celebrating your birthday. You can barely hear him over the roaring sound of waves colliding with the shoreline and birds peeping in the surf. 

You’re already throwing yourself into Wooyoung’s arms before a moment of silence can pass. You crash into his chest with a crooned sound, a desperate cry of joy. 

“Yes!” You finally croak, the word sounding more like a sob than an agreement. “Yes, I like it!”

Wooyoung laughs happily as he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a joyful sound. His chest vibrates with his laughter and you love the way it feels against your body. One of your hands slides out from between you and you urgently grasp ahold of Yeosang’s shirt and tug him into your pile with a quick movement. San follows soon after, lured in by Wooyoung’s touch and suddenly you’re buried beneath a mountain of Ateez’s warmth. 

Another wet sob leaves your lips, but it’s much closer to a laugh this time. 

“I love it…” 

And we love you. 

He doesn’t say it aloud, but Wooyoung hopes you hear it anyway. 

Seonghwa lets out a hearty laugh despite it sounding wet with his own tears, and he wraps an arm around Hongjoong’s shoulders as he tugs his captain close. The leader’s eyes are watery as he and the archer pile into your embrace. Mingi and Yunho follow quickly after, with the tallest of the two reaching out to snag Jongho’s tunic. The youngest is already moving, sliding beneath Yeosang’s arm to nuzzle into the healer’s side. One of his hands nestles between his lover’s ribs, resting atop your bicep. You push closer into their hands, warm and happy and still softly crying. 

You love it. 

It cannot possibly get any better than this. Not even the comforting breeze of the ocean air brushing over your skin nor the warmth of any roaring campfire could rival this feeling. There’s no warmth in the world that can surmount the heat of Ateez embracing you. Their hands carefully sweeping over skin leaves trails of pleasant heat in their wake, and the throb of your aching heart is only soothed by a soft coo leaving San’s lips. Wooyoung slides a hand over your head, pulling you closer into his neck, and you feel a bigger hand – Yunho’s, you know – scratch gently over your scalp. Another settles onto your hip, rubbing gentle circles into the bone. They’re Seonghwa’s, you recognize the calluses on his two fingers when they brush over the skin of your bare hip. Mingi’s hand settles across your back, resting between your shoulder blades. His firm touch and big hands are easy to decipher. Jongho’s wrap around your arm, strong and steadfast, just like you know him to be. Your captain’s smaller hand finds your fingers, sliding between them as you grip onto San with a fierce grip. 

Hongjoong’s hands tremble when he twists his grip to drag a line down your left ring finger. His gaze finds yours, a watery smile on his lips when your mouth parts in shock and your one eye dilated beyond comprehension. The Captain finishes drawing the line at the tip of your nail, where each of his fingers meets the end of each of yours. Then Hongjoong slides his hand into yours and squeezes three times. 

Yunho must have taught him that one. 

Because no one else has ever uttered those words to you – least of all meant them. 

Your grip tightens fervently, pulling until you can press Hongjoong’s hand into your chest and let him feel the racing pulse of your heart. It slams into your ribs with a thunderous pace, beating in a pattern you hope he can discern. You pull your head from Wooyoung’s neck just slightly. Just enough to lean down and press your lips to Hongjoong’s fingers. 

You hope he knows what it means. 

He does. 

“Happy birthday, tiny,” Yunho murmurs into the shared space between the nine of you. “We’re so happy you’re here.” 

You weep. 

Ateez spends three nights and four days at the beach. 

On the first, you don’t have the courage to venture too far into the shore. The roaring of waves crashing onto the sand is intimidating when you don’t know how to swim. You settle for watching the others splash and wrestle in the shallow sea. Their shouts of glee are enough joy to warm your heart. 

You watch Mingi grapple with Hongjoong on the shoreline, huffing softly with a grin when Mingi inevitably gets the upper hand. The guard lifts Hongjoong over his shoulder and laughs deeply as he storms his way towards the sea. 

“Put me down!” Hongjoong roars, smacking his hand against Mingi’s back. “Mingi!” 

The guard only laughs and spins the two of them in the shallows as he wades deeper into the waves. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

You watch as Mingi laughs brightly once more, calling out a “too late!” as he unceremoniously dumps his captain into the sea.  

Hongjoong dunks beneath the water with a roar, and for a moment you worry he won’t emerge again. He does, however, and lurches from the waves with an undignified shout and lunges towards Mingi as he laughs. 

“Get back here!” 

You grin and watch the two continue to wrestle in the waves. 

Jongho takes you onto the nearby rocks and shows you the wonders of tide pools. He and Yeosang spent years living by the sea, and he murmurs hundreds of little facts about each of the animals he can find. Crouching down by a shallow pool, Jongho reaches into the cool water and ever so carefully lifts a sea star from the water. He cradles it delicately, leaving it half submerged as he pulls you closer with his other hand. 

“This is a sea star,” he whispers, looking up at you and gesturing for you to crouch beside him. “You want to feel? You won’t hurt it.” 

 When you crouch at his side, Jongho pulls your hand towards him with a smile. Bent at the knees, you lean into his side and watch with a bated breath and marvel at the texture of the sea star still carefully held in Jongho’s hands. It’s soft and squishy beneath your delicate touch and you huff a smile as you watch with a mystified expression. 

You watch some of the tiny feet of the sea star wiggle in Jongho’s hand and whip your head over to face him with a question on your lips. 

Jongho is already looking at you, watching you instead of the sea star in his hands. He’s smiling, softly and sweetly, his eyes fixed on your one eye. They drift from your left one to where your right would be if not hidden behind the mask, then he drops them to your lips. Your breath stutters and you swallow shyly before Jongho lifts his eyes back to your own. 

He smiles, as if nothing happened and continues, “See the poky creatures down here? The ones that look like they have needles? Those are urchins. The sea stars will eat those.” 

It takes more effort than you’d like to admit to pull your gaze away from Jongho’s face. 

At another tidal pool, Jongho points out a creature he calls an anemone. The vibrant teal and green color of its shape mystifies you and you lean closer to investigate it. Listening carefully to Jongho’s explanation of the anemone, you look back up at him with a question in your eyes. 

“Yeah, you can touch that one too. Be careful though.” 

You don’t understand his warning but carefully drop your hand into the pool to delicately caress the anemone anyway. The chill waters surround your skin and you lean closer to touch the creature, you let out a startled squeal when its sticky tentacles wrap themselves around your finger. Surprised, you lurch away from the pool, confusion in your face and hands braced on the rock beside you. 

Jongho laughs so hard you think he might choke. 

You turn to look at him with furrowed brows and an upset pout on your lips, a little disgruntled Jongho didn’t tell you that would happen. 

The youngest continues to laugh at the utter confusion in your expression, finally bracing himself against you and apologizing. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Bug. I couldn’t help myself!” 

You frown and push gently at his chest, posing a little miffed at Jongho’s teasing. The youngest snorts and pulls you closer to his chest, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

“I won’t do it again, I promise,” he laughs. “We should wash your hands though, the stingers on those anemones can leave toxins on your skin. I don’t want you to touch your face without cleaning your hands first.”

You huff and nod, letting him lead you away from the rocks and towards the others. When you find San, you race away from Jongho and bury yourself into his chest with a pretend pout. The healer wraps you up in his embrace without question, turning to look at Jongho with a raised brow. Jongho rolls his eyes and laughs. 

Seonghwa and Wooyoung take you to collect shells in the afternoon. 

Your footprints linger in the sand behind you as you hold the archer’s hand and walk along the shoreline. The sand is packed beneath your feet closer to the shore and you find that there are all sorts of different shells just above the water line. 

You recognize some of the larger, smoother shells Yeosang and San use to store medicine sometimes. They’re scallop-shaped and hollow in the middle, and the healers like to use them for creams or other ointments. Seonghwa helps you carry some back to the healers who gratefully pile your collection into one of their packs. They can always use more shells in the medical cavern. 

Further down the beach, you find a plethora of smaller shells and drop down into the sand to rummage through them. There’s hundreds of them, some twisting into points and others round at the edges. Some are still split into pieces and others are still whole. Some are closed like a locket. Seonghwa tells you to leave those ones alone – there’s still creatures living in those ones. You gasp and carefully set the shell back down into the sand ever so delicately. The archer smiles fondly at your care for the earth and her creatures. 

One of the bigger shells that washes up on the shore catches your attention, and you rush over to the pristine, cream colored object. Yeosang called these conches. When you excitedly turn over the shell, you’re startled to find a spiny looking creature inside. A large claw grazes your hand and your heart lurches. 

You shout in surprise, jerking away from the shell with a gasp. 

“Bug?!” 

Seonghwa is at your side in an instant, hands on your back and pulling you away from the shell. “What happened?” 

 He doesn’t know why you shouted at first, too worried something has hurt you. His hands slide across your shoulders, turning you to face him and urgently scanning you for injuries. But when he looks down at the crab claw emerging from the shell, Seonghwa feels his chest shake with quiet laughter. Your head jerks back to look at the archer.

“It’s alright, darling. You just startled the crab living inside this one. He won’t hurt you, honey.”

Each shell you turn over for the rest of the day is done carefully and gently, and Seonghea feels his heart tug affectionately at how cute you look doing so. You nudge one with a stick to see if any claws come out and Seonghwa has to bury his smile in Wooyoung’s shoulder. 

“She’s so precious,” the warrior murmurs under his breath. 

Seonghwa hums in agreement, his head lifting from his partner’s shoulder to find you waving them over excitedly. 

“We’re coming, sweetheart!” 

Wooyoung settles at your side with a grin and looks down at the smooth stones in your hands. There’s a few rocks mixed in with the more ornate looking shells you’ve gathered, and Wooyoung tilts his head in an attempt to decipher why you’ve called them over. 

“What’s goin’ on?” 

Seonghwa’s heart stutters at the beaming smile on your lips. You smile more and this is not the first he’s ever seen, but each time you look up at him with that grin on your face, Seonghwa feels his stomach flutter and pride swell from his gut. He almost bites down on his bottom lip to resist sending you back a grin of his own, but Seonghwa doesn’t. And he’s grateful he does, because the way your one eye crinkles with joy when he smiles down at you makes his cheeks burn and his skin tingle. 

“Look!” You urgently whisper, swallowing around the word to repress how sore your throat is. 

Directing his attention to the dark stones in your hands, Seonghwa’s brows furrow in confusion. 

“I don’t understand.” 

You lift the stone beside his face, pulling Wooyoung into your side as you do. The two of you face Seonghwa as the archer grows more confused. The dark brown, near ebony-colored stone is lifted just beside his temple and you watch with a marveled expression as you shift your gaze from the rock to his eyes. 

“What is it?” Seonghwa urges. 

Wooyoung grins, his teeth flashing as he laughs sweetly. His two-toned hair ruffles in the breeze and Wooyoung turns to face you, squeezing your hip as he slides an arm around you. 

“That’s a good find, Bug,” he murmurs, looking back up at Seonghwa with honey in his gaze. “The same shade as his eyes. It matches him perfectly.” 

You nearly vibrate with happiness, wiggling a little in Wooyoung’s arms as Seonghwa’s eyes crinkle. “Really?” 

You nod fervently, reaching for his hand and dropping the smooth stone into his hand and curling his fingers around it. Seonghwa holds the rock carefully, not looking away from your one eye as he lifts it to press into his heart. 

“Thank you, darling.” 

You smile again, just a little twitch of your lips and nod. Then you turn to Wooyoung and weasel your way out of his grip to hold another up for him. This stone is a similar shade as Seonghwa’s, but just different enough that Seonghwa can see where you’ve matched this one to the exact hue of Wooyoung’s umber irises. 

You hold it out to Wooyoung with a tilt of your head and Wooyoung has to resist the urge to lean forward and squish your cheeks. He’s rarely seen you so excited – so… at ease. It makes every muscle in his body eager with the urge to hold you close and squeeze you tight. 

“For me?”

You nod excitedly and Wooyoung accepts the stone with a skip of his pulse. “Thank you, baby.” 

He and Seonghwa exchange looks and Wooyoung slips the stone into his pocket, where he knows he’ll keep it safe. 

“Help me?” You whisper softly, gesturing to the plethora of stones and shells beneath you. “For the others.” 

“Of course.” 

The two help you find six more stones, one of each of the other members of Ateez. Each one is the exact shade of their eyes – colors you know by heart. 

Wooyoung cannot tell you that after the trip, the rest of the boys gather to look at the stones and shells you collected for them. He doesn’t tell you that Mingi finds some twine and they braid bands for each other, carefully depositing their gifts onto string and binding them to each other’s wrists. 

On the first night, the nine of you sleep around a bonfire. 

The crackling flames keep you warm from the evening’s cool breeze, but you don’t think you sleep at all. The excitement and pure glee from the day keeps you awake. Adrenaline still roars through your veins and you settle for watching the stars for a moment longer. You find the twinkling shape of Polaris easily, and whisper your thanks up at her, just like you do every night since Jongho pointed her out. 

She winks back. 

The fire continues to crackle and the smell of wood burning soothes your nerves. Eventually, you pull yourself from your bed roll, carefully maneuvering away from Yunho’s warm chest and wrap your blanket around your shoulders. Quietly, you make your way over to the massive piece of driftwood facing the shore. 

Then, you drop silently beside Mingi, who sits and watches the sea. It’s technically his watch, but the guard faces the ocean as if he cannot bring himself to look away. 

Mingi does not startle when you find your place at his side, only shifting slightly to allow you to get comfortable. As you settle, you scooch as close as you can towards Mingi’s broad chest. Your side presses into his as you rest your weight against him and Mingi smiles, still looking at the sea. He easily accommodates your weight and wraps an arm around your shoulder, covering both your forms with his blanket. You snuggle close, burying your face into his neck and continue to watch the waves crash against the shore as the moon illuminates their peaks. 

You sit there for hours. Though you cannot sleep, excitement still pumping through your body, you find staying awake with Mingi is just as nice. Far more comforting, you’d even say. Mingi’s body heat keeps you pleasantly warm and his big arm stays wrapped around your waist. Soon after you settle, the guard drops his cheek onto your head and he breathes slow and deep. 

Even when Yeosang relieves him of his shift, taking over his place for watch, Mingi remains still. The two of you stay there until neither of you can keep your slowly fluttering lids open any longer. 

Yunho finds the two of you in the morning, and he kisses Mingi awake with a sweet grin and soft eyes. He brushes a hand through your hair and drops a kiss onto your head, eventually dropping onto your other side where he wraps an arm around both you and Mingi as the three of you watch the sunrise. 

The second day, you finally find the courage to venture into the waves with San and Yunho at your sides. Yeosang stands in the waves, waiting for you. 

San leads the way, walking backwards into the surf and holding both your hands. Yunho stands beside you, one of his arms reaching out to steady you and reassure you that he’s still there. You make eye contact with Yeosang and he winks at you. The honey-haired healer grew up in the sea. You know that if anything goes wrong, Yeosang will know what to do. 

“Let’s go, tiny. You’ve got this,” Yunho encourages, softly nudging you forward as you apprehensively toe the water line. 

You can’t swim. And you’ve never ventured into the sea before. 

It’s a little daunting, but the dimples on San’s cheeks and the smile on his lips encourages you to keep walking. You clutch his hands with a vice grip and gasp as the cold, salty waves cascade over your toes. 

“Sorry, lovebug. It’s a little cold.”

San laughs as you throw him a withering look. That information would have been helpful before you stepped into the sea. Yeosang laughs at your side, rubbing a hand along your waist and watching you shiver at the warmth of his touch. 

No matter how many times they touch you, you cannot help the way it makes you feel. 

“A little further and we can stop,” San murmurs, squeezing your hand when you stumble in the sand and pulling you closer. “C’mon, baby.” 

A few steps further and you stand at Yeosang’s side, digging your toes into the plush sand beneath your feet and marveling at how the waves lap at your knees. It’s cold, but you don’t mind since it’s a reprieve from the midday sun. When you turn your back to the sea, a strong wave pushes you closer to San and he laughs when you stumble into his chest. Water splashes upwards, and you get your first taste of seawater. 

“Woah!” San laughs, steadying you by the waist and watching as you stick your tongue out with an indignant sound. He can’t help the way laughter bubbles from his chest. You look positively betrayed by the ocean, as if the taste of salt on your tongue personally offends you. 

Yunho and Yeosang dissolve into giggles behind San, leaning onto each other to support themselves. Your one eye narrows and you shoot them an angry look, but San thinks you look more like an angry, wet cat than anything scary. Of course, he would never tell you that.

“I’m sorry, Bug!” Yunho laughs. “You just look so funny!” 

San listens to you grumble something under your breath, something that sounds like ‘showing him something funny,’ and then you bend at the waist and splash a mountain of water in his direction. 

Yunho guffaws at the betrayal and San dissolves into his own laughter, bending at the waist and bracing a hand on his chest as he cackles. Your grin is positively menacing, Yeosang decides. He wonders if you’ll become as much of a brat as Wooyoung if this continues. 

Yunho, now drenched in salt water and wet hair dripping into his eyes, enacts revenge and lunges towards you. San, ever the sweetheart, throws himself in between you and Yunho and the two sink into the waves with smiles. 

Eventually, when your skin begins to wrinkle from the time you spend in the waves and the sun begins to set, Yeosang and you step away from the shore to settle against the same piece of driftwood that marks your temporary camp. Yeosang sits atop the log and you lay just below him on the sand. You lean against his leg, just watching the rest of the boys continue to dance and swim in the surf. The sound of their laughter makes your heart happy and their gleaming smiles leave a grin of your own on your lips. 

It’s nice – smiling again, you mean. It’s a gift from Ateez they have not realized they’ve given, but you take care to treasure it regardless. 

You wrap an arm around Yeosang’s tattooed calf, your fingers occasionally dragging along the pattern of thorns that descend from his thigh. They wind around his leg, ending at the bone of his ankle and you’ve seldom been able to keep your hands away from the obsidian ink since he showed you. This, of course, is much to Yeosang’s delight, and the honey-haired healer can barely resist the way he beams so brightly when your delicate hands skim across his tattoos again. He loves it when you touch him. 

Mingi and Seonghwa leave the shoreline after a few minutes. They step away from the water to stoke the bonfire at the center of your makeshift camp. The flickering amber hues dance along burning bark and release a pleasant aroma onto the beach. You inhale deeply and lean further into Yeosang, humming happily when one of his hands reaches out to scratch along your scalp. 

Head scratches have become one of your weaknesses, you suppose. All it takes is for one of them to run their nails along your head and you’ll sink into their embrace with a happy sigh and mushy bones. 

When Mingi is satisfied with the roar of the campfire, he and Seonghwa press kisses to Yeosang’s hair and brush fingers over your hairline as they pace back towards the shore. 

A harmonious shout of glee leaves San’s lips as Jongho tackles him into the shallow surf, and there’s an uproar of laughter from amongst the boys. San shouts something along the lines of being cold and twists in the waves in an attempt to pin Jongho beneath him. Jongho, easily the strongest of the nine of you, maintains his place above San but spits salt water out of his mouth in surprise when his partner douses him with a splash. In revenge, Jongho prepares to dunk San’s head beneath the water, only to be tackled into the sea by Yunho. The youngest lets out a squawk of surprise as he sinks into the water and the laughter begins again. 

You turn your head towards Yeosang, resting your cheek against his knee and looking up at him with your one eye. You nudge him gently with your knuckles, drawing his attention to you. 

“Are you going to join them?” 

The honey-haired healer barely catches your question over the cacophony in the surf, but he smiles at the sound of your voice. He slides a hand deeper into your hair and scratches against the nape of your neck, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when your eye flutters shut briefly. 

His eyes, chocolate brown and gleaming with the flicker of flames before you, are warm and strong. They look down at you like you’re the only thing he sees – the only thing he wants to see. 

It’s familiar. This moment is too. 

Shivering gently from the weight of his gaze and bones feeling mushy and warm, you look up at Yeosang and wait patiently for his answer. 

“No, not yet,” he whispers in return, expression soft and eyes tender. “I’m very happy where I am right now.” 

You inhale deeply through your nose, recalling when he spoke the same words so long ago. The exhale that shudders through your lungs is accompanied by the sound of Yeosang’s deep, honey-sweet voice. 

“I‘m happy here with you.” 

He finally has the courage to say it. 

You look away from Yeosang so he doesn’t see the water welling in your lone eye. The stroke of thanks you brush across his skin is enough to let him know what you mean. The swell of electricity zinging beneath your skin leaves you breathless and you lean into Yeosang’s legs to combat the shift in emotion. 

The healer hums sweetly in response, unable to look away from you. He examines you as you watch his partners, lifting his head when another uproar of laughter erupts when Hongjoong overpowers Wooyoung in whatever game they’re playing in the waves. 

But when you glance back at Yeosang shyly, you see it. 

You see the way he looks at you now. 

With stars in his gaze and affection glimmering in the shine of his irises, you see the way Yeosang’s features melt so sweetly as he watches you. He looks at you the way he looks at them; like he’s staring at his very heart and soul – like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather gaze upon than your face warmed by the flicker of roaring flames and your one eye finally staring back into his. No apprehension, this time. No fear or confusion or worry or an amalgamation of all of them together. You just… look back at him. 

Just like how he looks at you. 

When Seonghwa and Mingi rejoin the parade, kicking up salt water and spinning through the shallows, the boys cheer gleefully and begin to dance. It’s chaotic and a mess of stumbling and laughter, but it’s dancing nonetheless. The sound of their joy is infectious and spreads along the beach until it reaches you and Yeosang.

But he’s not listening to them. He’s listening to you. His ears are trained on the sound that erupts from his feet, bubbling from your lips in a noise he’s been praying to hear. 

Laughter. 

You’re laughing. 

There’s this bright, heart-stopping smile spread across your lips as you look up at Yeosang and listen to your family dance on the beach. Your shoulders shake softly with the movement of your laughter, and Yeosang can feel the vibrations of your chest pressed against his leg. It starts as a muffled giggle, barely concealed by your smile, but it deepens into a hearty laugh from deep in your belly. 

He cannot tear his eyes from you. 

You laugh. 

You laugh and you look up at him with stars in your eyes and his heart in your hands, and it takes every fiber of his strength not to lean forward and drown himself in the taste of your lips. It’s all he wants – all he needs, he swears it. One taste of your lips would sate him for life, even though he knows he’d never be able to tear himself away again. 

When you lean upwards, grabbing ahold of his fingers and pulling them towards you, Yeosang’s mouth parts to suck in a breath. 

You kiss his fingers. 

By the Gods, maybe that was a lie. One kiss would never be enough to sate him – there would never be enough of your touch or your kisses that could ever appease his soul. Even if he were immortal and your paths intertwined until the last of the stars burned from the sky, not even then would he have enough of you. 

You laugh again, grinning up at Yeosang with a toothy smile and the corner of your mouth digging into your mask. If he wasn’t already sitting, he swears he would drop to his knees at your side. 

He loves it – the sounds of your laughter. No matter how raw or croaked the sound is, he adores it. The sound of your voice once made his heart race with glee, but this… This is different. 

It’s so much more. 

This is joy. Unbridled and unashamed and so clearly you. It’s your laughter, your glee, your happiness that sinks beneath his sin and lights his nerves on fire. It’s your smile and your giggles that make his heart swell. Yeosang adores it. He adores you. 

He cannot help the way he slides off the driftwood log and into the sand at your side. Yeosang is pulling you into his chest before you can question his actions. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls your head into his neck, pressing you as tight to his chest as he possibly can. 

“You’re laughing…” he whispers as he huffs in disbelief. “Bug! You’re laughing!” 

The second time Yeosang utters the phrase, it’s shouted cheerfully as he squeezes you tight into his chest. His heart thumps brazenly beneath his ribs, and he can feel the pulse of yours against his own. You giggle again, wiggling to readjust yourself as you sink into the honey of his embrace. Yeosang’s heart trills excitedly again. 

Yunho’s head darts upwards from the beach, startled by Yeosang’s call. 

“What?” 

San hears Yunho’s whispered disbelief and stands from the surf, attention drawn over towards you and Yeosang. “What did he just say?” 

“It’s Bug,” Hongjoong answers, standing behind Yunho with his eyes blown wide. His heart stutters once in his chest as he takes in the sight of your shoulders shaking gently with your giggles. He can’t hear the sound of them, but Gods does he wish he could. “Bug’s laughing.” 

“Holy shit…” 

Yunho takes off from the beach without another word. He doesn’t even hear who curses.

Sand kicks up from his feet as he sprints towards you and Yeosang with his heart in his throat and a watery grin on his lips. He doesn’t even need to turn around to know that San is the one on his heels. Yunho knows the sound of San’s muffled sobs just as well as he knows the beat of his heart. Wooyoung is not far behind, a bubble of laughter leaving his lips and a chain missing from his wrist. Nothing binds him to that place anymore. You set him free. 

Hongjoong and Mingi chase after the others, and the Captain manages to get some revenge for the day before as he shoves his guard into the surf on the way. Hongjoong’s mirthful chuckles as Mingi shouts are heard when Jongho pulls Seonghwa behind him, urging the archer to move faster. 

“Bug!” 

Your head pulls from Yeosang’s neck, that toothy grin still on your face just as Yunho collides with you and the honey-haired healer. The two of you sway as Yunho’s weight sinks into your figures, but Yeosang sets an arm down into the sand to support you. The black and white strands of San and Wooyoung’s hair drip with salt water as they throw themselves onto Yunho’s lap with a shout. Mingi follows just after, likely having passed Hongjoong on the beach with the length of his strides. He shakes his wet hair as he clings onto Yunho’s back and Wooyoung complains despite the fact that he’s already soaking wet. The giggly sound of Mingi’s laughter makes you chuckle again.

You laugh, as if it’s as easy as breathing. 

Yeosang watches, his eyes welling with happy tears as he continues to cling onto you with one hand. He watches you giggle and the others pile into your space and listens to his new favorite sound. 

Gods, he adores you. He adores them – this family. 

Yunho is crying, his lip wobbling as he buries his head into your hair. He’s at your back, chest shaking with the sound of his watery sobs. 

“Tiny…” he cries, but it’s a happy weep. You reach around to cling onto one of his hands. Yunho squeezes you tight, stealing the air right from your lungs, but you don’t need it. You would happily breathe in the pure euphoria of this moment instead. “Tiny, you’re laughing.” 

San buries his wet hair into your lap with a joyful sound and the giggles commence again. The healer’s heart throbs so strongly but so pleasantly he thinks it will burst. You have a laugh that makes others laugh with you. Just like Wooyoung, he realizes. 

Your other hand drops from Yeosang’s back to brush through San’s hair once and the healer looks up at you with glimmering half-moon eyes and a dimple poking out of his cheek. You allow your finger to poke the sweet little spot this time. His cheek muscles ache from how big his smile is. San nuzzles closer to your stomach and you let yourself shiver pleasantly, far too happy to deny yourself the joy of this moment. 

You’re pretty, San thinks to himself. So pretty. Especially when you laugh. 

Wooyoung melts into Hongjoong’s side and the Captain wraps an arm around his shoulder. They stand just behind Yunho, burying their happy tears into each other as Seonghwa pulls them close. Mingi and Jongho sink into the sand behind Yunho and pull each other tight. The taller guard squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips into Jongho’s forehead, desperately hoping all his adoration is conveyed through the kiss. Jongho reaches out to squeeze Yunho’s shoulder and rests his weight against his elder’s back. 

“I know,” you finally whisper into the space that separates you and Yunho. “I’m happy.” 

One hand lifts to pull the mask away from your face. Without a moment’s hesitation, your nimble fingers detangle the knot from behind you, and you drop the obsidian mask into the sand. A hand wraps around your fingers when you finally let it go. Someone draws a line along the length of your left ring finger and twines their fingers with your own. They squeeze three times. 

You repeat the gesture, tracing a finger down the fourth finger on their left hand, right over the thin, dark band you know is tattooed there. You squeeze their hand three times. This sign needs no translation. 

You open both eyes. 

“I’m so happy.” 

bonus:

stranger: so who would you choose; ateez or–

reader: ateez.

stranger: you didn't even let me finish, ateez or–

reader, not missing a beat: ateez. I choose ateez.

a/n: This currently takes place sometime after the main storyline (probably xD) so it accounts for the boys knowing parts of Bug’s past (not revealed but it’s mentioned they know). For now, I won't consider these oneshots canon simply because I won’t know where it fits in the timeline HAHA xD this is essentially just a little bit of fluffy comfort for those who have been missing Bug and the boys! I’m catching up on their story but I hope you enjoy this filler for now <33 ALSO disclaimer, don’t pick stuff out of tide pools! my marine biologist family is screaming at me for including that xD just leave the creatures alone in their habitats!

sorry if bug seems a little ooc here! Loren and I have decided that bug goes from black cat energy to golden retriever after enough time with atz :’))) This is supposed to take place sometime in the future where she’s healed a little more and is a little more curious and open. There are a lot of references to things that have yet to happen in ltm so this is kind of a teaser for those xD 

also shoutout to the loml @eightmakesonebraincell for the majority of the ideas in this :D she's a real one xD

taglist: *If you don't see your name on this taglist, you may have been removed if your tag doesn't work :( let me know if you don't see your name and I'll try to see what we can do to fix it :D

@verseoks @smallfrye @istgcyj @rensunjun @flowrsforfun @justchaoticwhispers @gayliljoong @http-lovelyknow @kpopnightingale @rielleluvs @queentiti72 @paralumanniluna @chittaphonstar @dear-dreamie @bangtanxberm @havetaeminforbreakfast @knucklesdeepmingi @pingyu-in-wonderland @5sos-wdw @atzcoke @ddeonghwva @sophxom @khjcoo @sunukissed @becauseiloveyunho @atinymonbebestay @goldenstarmermaid @simplyaghostsworld @multifandomizer @yeosangs-left-ass-cheek @revehosh @mysticfire0435 @side-angel @taestrwbrry @billboard-singer @jenseok17 @parkthothwa8 @jcngh0-hq @dream-in-progress @dees-writing-corner @frankenstein852 @darkdayelixer @ateezkeepmysoul @maruskz @ahhhhhhhhhghh @honeyhotteoks @simeonswhore @jxxngieteez

[melancholyhigh]

LATE NIGHT CALLS.

ft. leon x coworker!reader

synopsis. leon misses you so he gives you a call.

content. smut. 1.3k words. phone sex, leon's pov, needy leon, masturbation, dirty talk, praise kink, mommy kink.

note. hello?? thank you guys for 700 followers!! i haven't even figure out what i wanted to do for 500 as yet. i appreciate all of you guys so much <33

masterlist. i love feedback & reblogs :3

Leon huffs as he lies in his bed. He can’t help but think about you.

He wonders what you’re up to. It was midnight the last time he checked, and you’re probably working on a case. He doesn’t like when you’re up late, coming to work the next day with exhausted eyes and greeting him with a tired smile. Maybe he should check up on you like you always did for him. 

He didn’t want to disturb you, though. But he needed you so badly.

Glaring at his phone on the bedside table, he thinks about how he’d explain himself for calling you in the dead of night. 

I really fucking need you. Leon thinks to say, but that might be too straightforward.

He regrets not talking to you after getting back from his mission. It wasn’t his fault. It was the one thing he looked forward to doing. Leon knew you’d greet him with the biggest grin on your face even though your brows were etched with worry when you asked him if he was alright.

Good job, agent. You would praise. You’re amazing. You know that?

It’s the exact words you uttered that one night. The entire mission was blurry, except for the sweet phrases you let slip as you comforted him. 

The both of you were stationed at a rundown motel for the night, awaiting further instructions. He vaguely remembers that there was one bed, and you persisted for him to take it. 

“You always have a stick up your ass, Kennedy?” you mused. “You need rest. You’re giving yourself a hard time.” 

Leon had rolled his eyes before giving in, resting on the rock-hard mattress before succumbing to slumber. It has been mainly calm — as peaceful as a crusty motel can be until he recalls you waking him up, concern lacing your voice.

He felt the tears in his eyes slipping down his face, and then it hit that he had a nightmare. Leon inwardly cringes at the memory, grateful he doesn’t recall the dream. It felt so childish, a nightmare. But at that point, you didn’t care. 

He was so weak and vulnerable, and you tended to him. You sat with him, talked to him, and told him everything would be alright. The recollection has heat blooming within his chest. 

From then on, the relationship between that you and him changed. You’re closer, and he’s honestly disappointed that it took so long for him to acknowledge you.

–-

Leon sighs. Why did most nights end up with him thinking of you? It had been worse since he was away for a few weeks. He feels neglected even though you owe nothing to him.

He lets his mind wander, thinking about your touch featherlight along his body. He allows his hand to trail to his tummy, abs flexing, as he mimics how you would touch him or how he wishes you would handle him.

Leon gasps softly, palming his hardening cock through the confines of his boxers. His eyes squeeze shut, and his other hand squeezes his pec.

Fuck it. Grabbing the phone off the bedside table, Leon dials your number, placing his phone to his ear. After a few rings, you answer. 

“Hey, Leon, everything okay?” your ask, your voice soft, and you’re clearly exhausted. He feels wrong for calling, but his need outweighs his morals.

“‘M good. I just wanted to talk to you,” Leon says, trying to keep his voice from faltering. He hears a laugh from the other side and the rustling of your blanket, he assumes.

“It’s late. You should be getting your beauty sleep, pretty boy.” 

Leon scoffs, hypocrite. Though the way you mutter the pet name has him breathless.

“I miss you,” he grumbles, eyes squeezing shut again. 

“Oh, really?” The tone is teasing, and he imagines that’s what you’d say when he’s pleading for your touch.

“Yeah– can you tell me how your day was? Talk to me, please?”

“Uh, okay, Leon. Are you sure you’re alright, though?”

“I’m fine! J- just keep talking, please.” 

You were thoughtful, asking him if he was alright, but he’s selfish. Getting off to your voice because he was so fucking horny for you. 

“Well, my day was pretty bad. My week, actually. It felt like something was missing, ya know?” You sigh.

“Uh-huh,” Leon responds, not even sure what you said.

His body is so fucking warm. It feels like he’s burning. Not just from arousal but the guilt that lies with him as he shamelessly pulls his boxers down, his dick swollen as it slaps his stomach.

The guilt washes away when you tell him you missed him too. Blood runs straight to his cock as he moans loudly. He hasn’t even touched himself as yet.

Your thoughts are cut short, and there’s a beat of silence as you gather yourself. 

It’s over. Leon thinks.

“Leon? Are you touching yourself?” you questioned. You sound confused, not mad, and he wonders if there’s not enough blood pumping to his head. He doesn’t know how to respond.

“Is that why you called me at one in the morning? Pretty baby just wanted to cum.” You mock, and fuck does it go straight to his cock.

“I needed you so badly,” Leon exasperates. He got onto his tummy, burying his head into his pillow and rutting his hips into the mattress. His precum dripped onto the sheets of his bed.

“Mhm, did you come as yet, pretty boy?” your whisper.

“N- no, mommy.” It slips out, and he can’t help it. Gosh, can he embarrass himself even further? 

“Oh? Did you want mommy to help you, Leon? It’s okay, baby,” you sigh before instructing, “Want you to stroke your pretty dick f’me, honey.”

He shifts onto his back again, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he grasps the shaft and gradually tugs it. Soft groans escape him as precums oozes out the tip, leaking onto his tummy.

“I wish it was your hand, mommy,” Leon whimpers. He’s so far gone. He had wished for moments like these where he’d be yours, though he hoped for different circumstances.

“Me too, baby. I’d take my time with you,” you mumbled breathlessly. He wonders if you’re touching yourself. Rubbing your puffy clit as you listen to him whine in your favour, your cunt stuffed with your fingers. 

He increases his pace, pumping his aching cock faster. He’s so loud, and he’d be embarrassed if you weren’t encouraging him to be louder.

“You sound so sexy, Leon. I can’t wait to have you.” How were you going to have your way with him? Maybe you’ll stroke his cock like he’s doing, pinching his nipples, sucking on them til they're abused and red. He hopes you’ll ride him, bouncing on his cock for pleasure, not letting him come once. 

Sloppily fucking his fist now, his head tilts back into the pillow, his hair sprawled out, and his phone is next to his ear as he listens for your quiet moans. 

He can’t wait to get his hands on you, sucking on your tits or clit, as you ride his face until utter bliss.

“Come for me, Leon. Come as if you’re inside of me.”

“Holy shit.” Leon groans, the knot inside his tummy snapping as he spurts his cum out, trickling onto him as he rides his orgasm out.

You’re still on call as Leon breathes heavily, trying to collect himself. You break the silence.

“Wish I could’ve seen you coming,” you huff out. “Bet you look even prettier.”

“Did you touch yourself?” Leon asks in disbelief, cleaning himself off with the box of tissues near his bedside table.

“How could I not? You had me dripping. I have to change my sheets now.” you joke, and Leon blushes, grateful you can’t see him. He couldn’t believe he had such an effect on you.

“Can I take you out sometime?” Leon asks nervously. He hopes this doesn’t change the relationship you shared for the worse just because he was a horny mess.

You giggle, and he swears it’s the most gorgeous sound ever.

“Sure thing, baby. Where do you plan to take mommy, hm?”

You weren’t going to let him live that down won’t you? Not that he minds, of course.

[moonstruckme]

heyy i absolutely love your writing and i wanted to ask if you could write something for remus?? <3 I’m having a surgery soon and i’m a bit nervous about it so if you feel like it, could it maybe be about reader having surgery and remus calms her beforehand or takes care of her after? thank you so much for sharing your amazing work with us, ly!!!! <3

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!

cw: hospital, reader is a bit out of it due to anesthesia

Remus Lupin x fem!reader �� 907 words

Remus doesn’t think you belong in hospitals. You don’t look like yourself, all swathed in white. White sheets and a white gown and white fluorescent lights that make your skin look paler than usual and thin as paper. He’s been rubbing the back of your hand absentmindedly as he waits for you to wake up. It feels stupid, comforting you while you can’t feel it, but when your eyelids twitch he’s glad he is. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly. Your eyes find him, sleepy and unfocussed. “Glad to have you back with me.” 

There’s a tiny divot between your brows as you survey the room. “Did I do it?” you croak.

“Yeah.” The word leaves Remus in a laugh, and he can’t help reaching forward to brush a piece of hair away from your face. When you lean into the touch, his heart splinters. Something about seeing you like this makes him want to swaddle you in blankets and spoon-feed you soup and kisses for the rest of eternity. “Yeah, baby, you did it. You’re all done.” 

“M’glad,” you sigh. “I told them I wanted to bring you, and they wouldn’t let me.” 

“Yeah, I remember.” He grins, recalling your doped-up argument with the nurse. The cute pout that had stayed on your face throughout. “I was there.” 

“Mm.” You hum as though vaguely recollecting his presence, though Remus had been the one to finally get you to calm down and go on without him. 

Your gaze fogs over, and for a long time you stare at nothing, features relaxing. Remus is content to let it happen. He’s never minded sitting with you like this, both of you lost in your own thoughts and the love between you humming and incandescent in the air nonetheless. He’s watching the slow drooping of your eyelids, wondering if you might fall back asleep, when suddenly you perk up. 

“Rem—Remus.” You sit up, reaching for him. 

“What?” You’re pulling your IV. He stands from his chair and leans over you to grasp your forearm, pinning you as gently as he can to the bed. “What is it?” 

“You haven’t kissed me hello.”

Remus can’t be held accountable for whatever passes over his face in that moment. He’s too surprised, and you’re too cute. It’s unbelievable. 

“Well, it’s not really a hello,” he reasons. “We’ve both been here the whole time, love.” 

You scrunch your face up as though you’ve tasted something sour. “Don’t play mind games with me. I almost just died.” 

Remus is fairly sure you’d come nowhere close, but he doesn’t feel much like arguing. He bends over you carefully, pecking you on the lips. Your lips are warm and a bit chapped. He makes a mental note to dig your chapstick out of your bag a bit later.

When he pulls away, you’re frowning. It doesn’t do wonders for a man’s ego. 

“That wasn’t a real kiss,” you complain.

He chuckles. “We’ll have more kisses when we get you home, okay? There are people around.” 

You glance towards the door. “There’s no one here right now,” you say, as if there aren’t doctors and nurses passing by every five seconds. “Just a quick one. I really missed you.” 

Remus glances towards the door, too. It’s a bit public for his taste (and usually, for yours), but he can never really say no to you when you’re being all sweet and earnest like this. He sits on the bed this time, heedful of any wires or tubes, and melds his lips to yours slowly. You take his face in your hand, your mouth pushing with almost too much force. Remus pushes back, but tries to slow you down with a hand on your shoulder. Soothing. You whine. 

He pulls away quickly, thinking he’s hurt you, but you don’t let him get far. You’re clutching the material of his shirt like a lifeline. 

Your eyes are wet. 

“What is it?” Remus asks, panicking. 

Your eyebrows bunch, pulling upwards in the middle. It’s a crumpling. “I love you,” you say, “so much.” 

“Sweetheart.” Your crying makes him want to cry, but Remus does his best to laugh through it, hoping to get you out of this mood before you’re fully in it. He kisses the first tear as it falls. “I love you too. That’s nothing to get upset about.” 

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s too much. I love you so much it hurts.” 

“I know what you mean, darling.” 

“You do?” 

“Of course I do. If I let myself think about it too much, I’d never stop crying. You’re a real burden to me, you know that?” 

To Remus’ relief, you laugh. Wetly, but still. “Especially when I almost die, I bet.” 

“You know you didn’t actually almost die, right?” He narrows his eyes at you. “I feel like it’s important that you know that.” 

You only blink at him, befuddled. 

Remus nods slowly. “I guess someone will be wanting to know you’re awake,” he says. “I’m going to go find a nurse.” 

He stands, but you hold fast to his shirt. “Wait,” you plead. 

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Hm?” 

“One more kiss.” 

“I think you’ve had enough.” 

“One for the road. Please.” 

Remus shakes his head, grinning. “You’d never consent to this much PDA if you weren’t so loopy right now, you know.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “Back in a minute, love.”

[nordschleifes]

life is what happens to you

➝ the life of a mother is not simple but it does not surpass that of the mother of a child who, in theory, does not exist to the world

➝ word count: 5,8k

➝ warnings: mentions of smut, coparenting.

➝ author's note: let's just say the idea of a formula one driver having a secret son gave me ideas.

The doorbell made you jump from the couch, relief filling your chest. As you walked to the apartment door, the sound of laughter made you smile. Finally your heart was home. When you opened it, you found a man and a little boy standing in the doorway, both with huge smiles on their faces.

— Mamá! — the boy exclaimed, throwing himself into your arms as he laughed.

— Hi, my love — you replied, pressing a kiss to his brown hair — How are you? I missed you so much.

— I missed you too, mamá — he murmured, his head nestled against your sternum, his hands resting firmly on your back, as if he were trapping you between his arms. After what felt like an eternity away from him, you never wanted him to let go.

— How was your week? — you asked.

— It was good — the boy replied, turning his head toward the man behind him — I biked a lot, didn't I, papá?

You looked up into a pair of brown eyes that were similar to your son's. The man in front of you had a tender, soft expression. One of his hands gripped the handles of a carry-on bag that you’d packed, and the other was stuffed into the pocket of his dark jeans. He looked exactly the same as the night you had met a Richard Mille event, seven years earlier.

You had been working as a designer for the watch brand for a few years at that point, and had gained a reputation for creating some especially bold pieces. At that time, you were celebrating the launch of your newest creation, the RM 19-02, which featured the first automatic movement for the brand, featuring a magnolia flower that opened and closed as the internal mechanism moved.

Seeing people enchanted by your creation, praising the little details, felt incredible, but all of it became background noise when an incredibly well-dressed man stopped to look at the display. You had seen his face before, but you couldn’t recall his name.

— This is yours, right?

— What? — you asked, half confused by the vagueness of his question, half captivated by how smooth his accent was.

— The design. It’s yours?

— Yes, it's mine.

He smiled.

— I can tell.

— Why? — you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

— It's beautiful like you.

Before long, he had introduced himself as Fernando and that he was a longtime friend of Richard Mille himself. You had a feeling that he wasn’t just any ordinary guest at the party. As the two of you continued talking, he started talking about cars, but you’d long stopped paying attention. His lips were of much more interest to you than the words coming out of them.

Ending up in bed with Fernando felt inevitable. Later that night, you didn't care about the marks on your neck or the volume of your moans. You didn't care how tightly he held your hair or how your hips bumped against his. You didn't mind when he mumbled something about the condom, his words were all lost in the post-orgasm haze.

Three months later, you realized that maybe you should have cared a bit more.

Finding yourself calling Fernando and then showing up at the front door of his house in Lugano with a positive pregnancy test in your purse made you feel like you were in a bad serial drama. You were fully prepared for him to humiliate you and tell you that it couldn’t have been him, that he would have never gotten a woman pregnant on a one-night stand. A pit formed in your stomach as you braced yourself for the inevitable paternity lawsuit you would have to file. 

To your surprise, though, he didn’t take the news badly. He didn’t look angry or shocked, but contemplative. He asked you a few questions about birth control and the morning after, but when you told him that you’d forgotten to take the morning after pill in the blur of the hangover the next day, he sighed.

— Well, I guess we're going to have a baby, then.

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

— What…?

He looked at you, his gaze serious.

— You don't want to? I mean, don't you want to continue with the pregnancy? Of course, I'm not forcing you to do anything, if you don't want to continue, we can look at our options and, and I’ll help you pay for the procedure, of course… 

— No, no, I want to have this baby... In fact, legally I can't do anything at this point — you stuttered, shaking your head — I mean... Aren't you going to ask for any proof?

He knit his eyebrows together.

— Do you want me to take a paternity test to verify?

— No, not because I have any doubts, you were the only guy I had sex with in the last few months. It’s just — you said, letting out a nervous laugh — It’s just thought, I thought you’d react in a very different way.

— Different?

— I thought you would be pissed and that I’d have to leave here and find a lawyer — you said softly.

Fernando smiled, taking one of your hands.

— I always wanted to be a father. It’s not the most conventional way, but now that I have the chance, I won't waste it. You can count on me, Y/N.

He had been sincere in offering his support. It wasn’t just monetary, either; even from the first few doctors appointments, Fernando was nothing less than the best co-parent you could have asked for. He was sincere in his willingness to wade waist-deep into the world of pacifiers, dirty diapers, doctors’ appointments, and toys.

However, the joy of having him around didn’t come without a lot of sacrifice and sadness.

Before long, you realized that Fernando was incredibly famous, especially in Spain, his home country. Because of this, and his incredibly public persona as a Formula 1 driver, a lot of legal rules had to be established with regard to the baby. His best friend and business partner, Alberto, diligently drew up a document outlining a custody schedule, restrictions on posting any identifiable images of the child, a future move — paid for by Fernando — when the child came of school age, and an agreement not to disclose the child’s paternity. It was all to protect the privacy of you and your baby, Fernando said.

However, it was worth it, and still was, especially when you saw the sparkle in your son's brown eyes. He was named Leon Alberto Luis, after Fernando’s best friend and father. All the effort was worth it when it came to your little boy, the greatest love of your life.

— Yes, we biked a lot — Fernando replied, looking up at you after dropping your son's bag on the ground — We went all around Parco Ciani, didn't we, Leon?

The boy nodded excitedly.

— And what else did you do? — you asked, as you stroked his hair.

— We played football and papá ordered Japanese food for us...

— Calamari? — you asked, looking up at Fernando again.

— As always — he replied, putting his hands in his jeans pocket. Even after seven years the similarity between Leon and Fernando still caught you off guard. It wasn’t just the physical similarities, either, but their personalities were almost identical. They both were shy at first, but had a great sense of humor once they were comfortable with someone. Both of them were also incredibly witty, with intelligence and mischievousness in equal measure.

— That's good, my dear — you replied, kissing his head — Now, say goodbye to your father and go straight to the shower.

— Do I have to take a shower now? — the boy questioned.

— Yes, you do. I could smell the sweat as soon as the car pulled up.

— I told you she would smell it — Fernando said to your son, ruffling the boy's hair — Now come here, let me give you a kiss.

Leon walked over and hugged his father tightly, his face pressed against his belly. Bowing down a little, Fernando placed a kiss on the boy's forehead and murmured something in Spanish to him, who nodded his head.

— Don't forget to ask, okay, papá? — the boy said, toddling off to his room with his overnight bag. As you looked back up at Fernando, he seemed to have a sheepish look on his face.

— You have something to ask me? — you asked, giving a small smile.

— Yeah, you could say that — he murmured.

— And what would it be?

— I wanted to know if you could... Not that, it's... If you'd like to bring Leon to a race at the end of the month — Fernando stuttered, running a hand through his hair — You know, it's going to be my birthday on the weekend and … You know…

You clenched your jaw. It was a tense subject between the two of you.

The first and only time you took Leon to a race track was, in short, a disaster. It was at the end of 2018, when Fernando had decided to retire from Formula 1 to dedicate himself to other projects, and to spending more time with Leon. The last race would be special, and he wanted his entire family to be there, including you and his son.

However, the steps that Fernando and his team had taken so that you and Leon could enjoy the race in peace was all for naught when journalists began to speculate who the woman and child were who were accompanying the Alonso family around the paddock. In the end, the plan to watch the race from the McLaren garage went down the drain and you ended up hiding away in a small room inside the McLaren motorhome, trying to calm down a screaming four-year-old boy because he wanted to see his father on the track and not on a screen.

— Fernando…

— I know Abu Dhabi was a disaster, I know — he interrupted you — But it was stupid of me to take you to a place where I would be the center of attention, but this time it's different.

— Different how? As far as I know, your season has been brilliant.

The shadow of a smile appeared on his face.

— Are you watching it?

— Leon keeps me updated. He’s watched every single race. Six podiums in eight races, right? — you said, leaning against the doorframe. 

— That's right — Fernando said — The last few races weren't so good, but I believe we can recover, and having you and Leon at the track would be wonderful.

— That's why he told you to ask me, right?

He pursed his lips before letting out a heavy sigh.

— Yes, Y/N — he replied — But, like I said, this time it will be different. My parents and sister won't be there, so it will be easier for you to blend in with the rest of the team’s guests…

— Look, Fernando, I would really like to…

— I asked for normal credentials, without my name, so that you can enjoy the weekend — the driver continued — Please, Y/N, it will be so good to have you there with me, and on my birthday...

— Fernando…

— He even told me what he's going to wear, it's going to be that lime green Kimoa sweatshirt...

— Fernando! — you exclaimed, interrupting him — I know you love Leon, that you want him around but, as you said when I got pregnant, we have to protect him from the media circus.

— I know…

— So you understand that taking him to the middle of a paddock for a race is not the best way to do this, right? I know you both love Formula 1, but we can't risk his safety and privacy because of this.

— But I want him to watch me race…

— And he watches you, Fernando, every weekend. He loves watching you on television, he screams every time you make an overtake. But we have to face the reality of it, and you know that it’s too much of a risk to his safety and privacy. You know that more than anyone.

— I know, which is why I took so many extra steps this time — he replied, running a hand through his hair — Forget about it, okay? When I get back from Spa, let's see about doing something together, okay?

— As long as it's not on a go-karting track — you said, laughing a bit.

— I can't promise that — Fernando said, putting his hand back in his pocket — See you, Y/N.

— See you, Fernando — you replied, as he turned and headed towards the elevator. After a few seconds of staring at his back, you finally closed the door, letting out a long sigh.

It was hard to be the person who said no. However, it was often necessary to curb the impulses of both Leon and Fernando and bring a rational view of the situation to make decisions. Of course, you wanted them to have the most normal coexistence possible, to be able to do normal things that fathers and sons did, but, above everything else, you needed to protect him, even if it meant having to deny what would probably be an amazing experience for the boy.

— Are we going? — Leon's voice broke you out of your thoughts. You turned around to see him in the hallway, looking hopefully at you.

— What?

— Are we going with papá to the race?

— Leon…

— Come on, mamá, it'll be nice. I swear I will behave, I will stay only with you...

— My love, you know it's not just that. There are other things…

— Is it because of Andrea? — he asked.

You swallowed hard, feeling your shoulders tense. It wasn't like Fernando's love life was any of your business, after all, your romantic relationship with him never went beyond the night Leon was conceived. However, you couldn't help but feel a certain distrust every time he showed up in the paddock with a new girl on his arm.

His most recent girlfriend was Andrea, a journalist who covered Formula 1 for an Austrian broadcaster. Even though Leon thought she was kind, and loved playing with her dog, a yellow Labrador named Bodhi, you always felt uneasy in her presence. There was something in the way she looked at you that made you uncomfortable, as if she was studying you, trying to understand your relationship with Fernando and Leon, if there was something more.

— No, it has nothing to do with your father’s girlfriend…

— Papá said she's just his friend now.

— What? — you asked, confused.

— Bodhi wasn't at papá's house when I got there, so I asked where he was and papá told me that he went back to Austria with Andrea — the boy explained — I asked if he was going to Austria too, and papá said no, because he and Andrea are just friends now.

You couldn't help but notice that Leon looked a little upset. You knew he loved dogs, but the fact that you lived in a small apartment prevented you from having a big one, which were his favorites. It also didn't help that Fernando had plenty of space to have a big dog, but wasn’t home often enough to care for one. 

You brought a hand to your son’s face and stroked his cheek.

— You liked him, right?

— Bodhi was nice, mamá — he said — He was always happy to see me. Did you know he liked to lick my face?

You laughed, lifting the hair that fell over his forehead.

— And you loved letting him lick your face, didn't you?

— Yes — the boy said with a mischievous expression — I also liked playing ball with him and Andrea...

— Did he bring you the ball? — you tried to keep up the conversation, ignoring the mention of the woman.

— Yes, he would look for us and ask us to play. I always managed to throw it further than Andrea — Leon said, until his face lit up — Mamá, what if we go to the race and ask Andrea if we can visit Bodhi?

You paused, unsure of how to answer your son’s question.

— We’ll see, my love. Now, go take a shower.

With a hopeful smile on his face, the boy obeyed.

His smile was what made you want to kick yourself. Leaving the possibility of going to the race open was fueling the expectation that Leon had already cultivated within himself for a long time. Doing that just to break your son's heart made you feel like a terrible mother.

“Would it really be so bad if we went to a race?”, you thought as you dropped onto the sofa, looking at the photo on the end table. It was a photo of you and Fernando holding Leon when he was just a few months old, both of you looking at the boy with pure admiration and love. It was as if it was impossible to believe that you had been able to create something as beautiful and pure as Leon. It was precisely that innocence that you wanted to protect from the media monster that prowled the circuits, sniffing out stories and devouring its prey without mercy.

Leon couldn't become another victim. You wouldn’t let it happen.

Over the next few days, you managed to avoid talking about the race, dodging the question any time Leon asked. However, your efforts were in vain when Fernando made a video call with the boy, directly from his room in Budapest. He had no restrictions on seeing Leon, quite the opposite. There were very few days that Fernando didn’t speak to his son somehow. Most of the time it was through calls or text messages, and you were proud of them for managing to become close in spite of Fernando’s insane workload.

During the conversation about what Leon did during the week and in his football practices, your son asked the question you were most afraid of.

— Will I see you next week, papá? — Leon asked.

— Ah, well — Fernando stammered, his eyes seeming to search for your image on the phone screen — You know I'd like to see you, but it's your mom who decides that.

The boy turned to look at you, his face full of hope.

— Can we, mamá?

— Leon…

— Please, mamá, I'll behave, I promise!

You sighed. Something inside you told you that this wasn't a good idea, that it was too risky for his privacy. However, what kind of mother would you be preventing him from seeing his own father? What kind of mother would you be if you kept him trapped in a bubble? What kind of mother would you be to deny something so simple?

— Do you want to go see your papá race?

— Yes, mamá!

— Are you going to stay by my side the whole time and not talk to strangers?

— Yes.

— I mean it, don’t talk to anyone other than me, your papa, and your uncle Alberto. 

— I won't talk to any strangers, I promise, mamá — he said, while Fernando smiled on the device's screen.

— Then we can go, my love — you said to Leon, who immediately looked at the cell phone screen with a giant smile on his face.

— Papá, I'm going to the race! — he exclaimed.

On the other side of the call, Fernando laughed at the boy's excitement, but the way his dimples framed his smile indicated that he was overjoyed with the news.

— Yes, you are! And we’ll have that waffle filled with chocolate sauce I told you about instead of the birthday cake.

— With candles for us to blow out?

— Yes, we will find some candles to put in it, okay?

The boy talked about what he would like to take with him and whether he could sit in the car, which Fernando was happy to confirm. At the end of the call, he blew several kisses to his father, telling him he would see him in five days.

Those five days that seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

On the private flight that Fernando had hired to take you and Leon to Belgium, you couldn’t help but feel restless. Even with all the assurances that you wouldn't have any problems, you couldn't reassure yourself. Terrible scenarios came to mind, unprompted, each one worse than the last. By the time the plane approached the small airport in the region, your anxiety had reached a fever pitch.

— Mamá? — Leon's voice bringing you to reality — Are we there yet?

— Not yet, my love — you replied, looking at him — There’s still a little bit left.

— Is papá going to pick us up at the airport? — your son asked, as you took off the hood of the sweatshirt he had chosen that morning to fix his hair.

— Yes, along with Alberto and Fabri. And we will go straight to the circuit.

The joy on Leon’s face when learning that information was only exceeded by the joy on his face when he saw Fernando waiting for him on the landing strip, a slight smile beneath the hood of his black Boss sweatshirt. The hug between the two made something warm fill your chest, and so did seeing them laughing and joking like any other father and son.

— Thank you for agreeing to come, Y/N — he said, as Leon pulled his father's credential from his sweatshirt pocket and showed it to Fabri.

— It's the least I can do, Fernando — you replied, crossing your arms — And, considering he's your biggest fan...

You both looked at Leon at the same time. The boy was questioning Alberto relentlessly, wanting to know where his credential was and if it was the same as Fernando's. When your eyes met again, you knew that your concern was more evident than you would have liked.

— Look, I — you started, only to be interrupted.

— I know you're scared, especially because of what happened in Abu Dhabi. But rest assured, nobody will bother you.

— Are you sure? — you asked.

— Absolutely — Fernando said, before being interrupted by his son clinging to his arm.

— Let's go, papá! — Leon exclaimed, anxiously — I want to see the track!

The trip to the track was fairly short, with Leon excitedly talking about playing games on the Nintendo Switch in his backpack. 

At the entrance to the paddock, you decided to separate, in order to avoid unnecessary attention. Giving Fernando one last kiss, Leon made him promise that they would meet inside so he could show him the car.

— Your passes are inside — Alberto said, handing you an envelope — I'll send you a message when Fer is free, ok?

— Perfect — you replied, before getting out of the car with Leon, as he waved to his father one last time before Fernando disappeared through the turnstiles. 

The last time you’d come to a race, the paddock was incredibly crowded, but the fact that this was not the final race of the season and the weather was cold and dreary seemed to be keeping the crowds down.

— Where is everybody? — Leon asked you softly, gripping the pass around his neck.

— Well, there's nothing on the track today, so there aren't many people around here — you said  — Which means we can make the most of it.

The boy nodded, holding your hand as you both walked past the rows of paddock buildings. However, when you were passing the structure set up by Red Bull Racing, you felt your phone vibrate in your purse. You let go of Leon’s hand to paw through the contents of your purse in search of your phone. 

— Where, where… Here! — you said, as you unlocked the screen and saw that the call had gone to your voicemail.

However, that became a secondary concern when you realized Leon had run off somewhere. You felt your heart pounding as you started looking for the boy’s brown curls and gray coat. You had only let go of his hand for a second…

— Leon, Leon, my God, Leon — you stammered, about to scold him for not staying by your side even though he promised to do so on the phone call with his father...

— Mamá! — you heard Leon calling out — Here, mamá!

You turned around and found the boy waving at you a few feet in front of you. He was next to a woman wearing a pink coat and her hair in a ponytail, who was sitting on a bench. You walked toward him briskly, your words for him dying on the tip of your tongue when you realized who he was standing next to.

— My love, why…

— Remember I said I was going to talk to Andrea about Bodhi?

You blinked, looking up at Andrea, who had an embarrassed smile on her face and a cup of coffee in her hand.

— Good morning, Y/N — Andrea said softly.

— Good morning, Andrea — you replied, trying to mask your apprehension — I hope Leon isn't bothering you.

— No, never. Leon was just asking me about Bodhi…

— Can we go visit him, Andrea? — the boy asked, expectation shining in his eyes. Placing a hand on your son's shoulder, you were thinking about the best way to say that it wouldn't be possible to go to Austria to visit a dog when the woman gave a warm smile.

— Of course, I can talk to your father and we'll see a day for you to go play with Bodhi — Andrea said, looking up at you. As if she sensed your hesitation in the air, she added quickly — If your mother agrees, of course.

— Let's see, maybe during your school vacations, right, my love? — you replied, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, forcing a smile.

— Yes!

— Perfect. Now let’s go, we have a long day ahead of us and so does Andrea — you said, looking at the journalist with the hope that she would follow your lead.

— Yes, media day is always busy for me — she said, smiling — See you later, Leon.

The boy waved goodbye to Andrea and allowed himself to be led toward the Aston Martin motorhome as you gripped his hand extra firmly. During that short journey, you tried to focus on your own breathing and not on the anxiety that took over your chest and made your stomach turn.

— Mamá…

— Not now, Leon — you replied, trying to remember what color the facilities of the team Fernando was racing for that season were.

— Mamá, you're crushing my hand — your son protested, making you stop suddenly and bend down in front of him.

— Why did you do that?

— What?

— Why did you leave my side?

— Because I saw Andrea and you said we could talk to her...

You let out a long sigh.

— My love, you said you wouldn’t leave my side, remember?

— She wasn’t far from us…

— I know, but you can't run off alone here — you said, placing a hand on the boy's face — Imagine if it were a day with more people, how would I find you? You know that I love you more than anything and that losing you would be the worst thing in the world for me.

Leon pursed his lips, looking upset about what had happened.

— Sorry, mamá — he murmured.

— It’s okay, my love — you replied — Now let's go to the motorhome.

The rest of the day was divided between watching the activity around the track and catching glimpses of Fernando as he circulated around the paddock giving interviews, checking the car's assembly and meeting with the engineers. The highlight of the day was the trip to the garage with Alberto, who introduced you and Leon to the mechanics and allowed Mikey, their leader, to explain the car to the boy.

— Can I get in? — he asked with his eyes shining.

The red-haired man looked at Alberto, who gave a positive nod.

— Of course you can — Mikey replied.

With Leon settled in Fernando's seat and with his hands on the steering wheel that had been positioned just in front of him, the boy seemed completely ecstatic. It felt like he was finally in the right place, where he should have been all along. It was no wonder his grandfather, Luis, was so insistent that they consider getting him into karting as soon as he was old enough.

— You can't see anything from here — he said, looking at you. The mechanics working on Alonso’s car chuckled.

— The drivers are a little taller, so they can see the track — Alberto explained — But, when you're a little older, you’ll be able to see just fine.

Leon smiled, before looking ahead again and pressing his fingers on the steering wheel. It was impossible not to notice how much he looked like the pictures you���d seen of Fernando as a child, so much so that you made a point of taking a picture of him to show Fernando at dinner later.

However, you didn't have that opportunity.

Leon was already lying in bed, watching a cartoon on Netflix. Despite what you had agreed on, Fernando hadn’t been able to leave his meeting with his engineers in time to have dinner with you. His message fell like a bomb on his son's mood, and he barely touched the ice cream that Alberto had offered to share with him. 

— Mamá?

— Yes, my love?

— Is papá coming?

You swallowed hard. The last message you had received from him stated that he was leaving the circuit, and it had been right after you arrived at the hotel suite. At that point, you had no idea when or if he would hit there, especially after that day.

— I don't know, my love — you said, running your hand through his hair — You know that this is still papá's job and he's very dedicated...

— But didn't he say when he's coming? — the boy questioned.

— He texted — you started, only to hear the sound of two knocks on the door. Looking back at Leon, you found his excited expression — Wait here.

You got up from the bed and went to the entrance of the room, feeling relief take over your chest when you saw that it was Fernando.

— Can I come in? — he asked softly, running a hand through his hair.

You nodded and stepped aside so he could come in. Smiling, the driver walked by you, kissing you on the cheek as he passed, before walking over to the bed. Leon had an enormous smile on his face. 

— Papá! — he exclaimed, as Fernado lifted him up into an enormous hug.

— Hola, mijo. I came as soon as I could. Did you have fun today?

— Yes!

— What did you do? Tell me everything.

— Yes, it was really cool. Mamá and I stayed with Melina in the morning and she showed us everything inside. She even got us waffles!

— Does that mean you got the waffles? I always ask them, but they always say they don't have any waffles — the driver said, as you walked around the bed and sat on the other side of Leon — I think I'm going to have a serious talk with them.

— Maybe the waffles are just for the VIP guests, right, my love? — you suggested with a wink, which made your son laugh.

— Yes, only for special guests!

— But I'm their driver! — Fernando exclaimed, in mock indignation — I deserve waffles too!

— Don't you have a weight to keep, Fernando? — you asked.

— Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't eat waffles, especially with my son — he replied, before pouting — But I don't think he likes eating waffles with me...

Almost immediately, the boy laughed.

— I like eating waffles with you, papá…

— You mean we can eat waffles together?

— Yes! — Leon exclaimed.

— With chocolate sauce or honey?

— Hm — the boy thought for a few seconds — Mamá, could it be chocolate?

— Don't you think you ate too much chocolate today?

Leon looked away from Fernando, looking embarrassed.

— It wasn't that much...

— Yes, it was. And I have a photo to prove it.

— You do? — Fernando asked, raising himself on one elbow.

— Yes, I do — you replied, taking the phone that was on the bedside table. A few taps later, the plate of waffles was on the screen in front of Fernando, who seemed somewhat impressed.

— Did you eat all of that? — he asked looking at Leon.

— Yes, every last bit  — you replied — He didn't give me any.

The driver laughed.

— I can imagine the sugar rush you had afterwards…

The conversation between you continued for some time, until Leon began to slowly close his eyes while his father stroked his hair. It wasn't long before he was fast asleep, with his face against Fernando's chest and one of his arms resting on his waist in a hug.

— Y/N? — Fernando asked softly.

— Yeah?

— Was Leon very upset that I couldn't have dinner with you?

You pursed your lips.

— Well, a little. He was really looking forward to seeing you and telling you everything but…

He snorted, looking at the boy.

— I didn't want to stay late — Fernando murmured — But tomorrow there's only one practice session before qualifying for Sunday, so I couldn't avoid it...

— He knows that — you said — I told you that, as much as it's fun, it's still your job and you're very dedicated to it. And you can't win if you don't dedicate yourself, so we have to understand and support you, even if it means you're far from us.

The driver looked up at you, his expression completely unreadable.

— Do you think I'm dedicated?

— That's a stupid question, Fernando.

— I just want to know your opinion — he smiled.

You rolled your eyes.

— Yes, I think you are dedicated and I admire you for that.

— You admire me, huh? — the driver asked in a suggestive tone.

— Professionally speaking — you said, the emphasis in your words causing a giggle to escape his lips.

— I also admire you a lot, Y/N.

— Professionally speaking?

— Personally speaking.

You stared at him in silence for a few seconds, trying to read between the lines of his words. However, the smile on his face made you completely lose your train of thought. It always did.

— Well, thank you — you managed to say, before your eyes found the face of his watch, which indicated that it was already past 11 o'clock at night — But I think it's past your bedtime

— No problem, I can stay a little longer…

— I'd like to rest, since I've had to deal with your son all afternoon.

Fernando laughed.

— He's also your son, in fact, he has a lot of you in him — he said, as he carefully got up from the bed, placing Leon's arm close to his body.

— I know that. But I prefer to highlight your participation so you can understand why I need a good night's sleep.

— And you will have it, I'm sure — Fernando replied, before heading towards the door of your suite. However, before leaving, he turned and smiled at you — Good night, Y/N. See you tomorrow.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Shirt Swap II

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get a package

When you and Momma get home from the park, there's a package outside of your door.

You scamper up the front steps and kick at it.

Momma sighs. "Princesse, what have I told you about kicking boxes?"

"Not to," You huff," Because they might be fragile. But! But, it's got my name on it! Is it stuff for the new house?"

Momma and Morsa have been busy packing a lot lately. They say it's because you're going back to Germany and they're getting stuff ready for the new house.

They've got the World Cup first though so the summer is going to be very stressful and busy, which is why they're packing everything now.

"If it was stuff for the new house," Momma says fondly as she picks up the package and opens the front door," Then it wouldn't be addressed to you."

"But it is for me!" You insist, pointing at the label," See, it's got my name!"

It has got your name but it's also got a bunch of other labels on it too.

Momma gets a box cutter and opens it. "It looks like it's come from abroad," She says, cutting through the layers of tape and pulling the flaps up.

"Ooh," You say, kneeling by the coffee table as you peak inside.

There's a little letter at the very top but you're more interested in the many jerseys underneath it.

You grab at them, pulling each out carefully. You recognise a lot of them as Barcelona jerseys - the blue and red design recognisable easily.

Momma reads the letter as you go through them.

Most of them are Barcelona shirts like you thought but there's a white shirt too with blue accents and the crest of three lions on it.

"Momma!" You gasp as you hold it between your hands," It's a Keira Walsh shirt! Momma, look!"

You hold it up triumphantly, a look of complete awe on your face.

Momma's smiling at you. "I can see that," She says, waving the letter at your face," It's signed too. Have you noticed?"

You hadn't at first but, as you look at your little pile, you notice that all of them are signed.

"Wow."

"They're from Aitana," Momma says as she reads you bits of the letter," She hopes that you're doing well and she's sorry that it took so long. Please enjoy the collection of club and national team jerseys she's gotten from her teammates."

You take little time to think before you're tearing through the box again, throwing jerseys around as you dig through it.

You've got two Keira Walsh jerseys - her England one and her Barcelona one.

You've got another Caro one too, her Norway shirt this time instead of an old Wolfsburg one. You get an Engen shirt too. You vaguely recall Engen in your memory, at your last year at Wolfsburg with her and Auntie Frido (who had also encased just her Barcelona jersey because you had so many of her Swedish ones).

You brush your fingers over the fabric of the red Caro and Ingrid Norway shirts. It's red. You like red. It's not quite Arsenal red but red is red and you think the Norway shirts are really cool.

You tell as much to Momma.

She laughs. "You know, technically, my Denmark jerseys are red too."

You roll your eyes. "They're red-pink," You tell her," This is proper red. Not Arsenal proper red but still more red than red-pink."

You close off that line of argument by digging through the box again. You stop at a Barcelona shirt. You run your finger over the number eleven on the back and the name too.

You're very good at reading in all four of your languages so you spell it out quickly.

"A-lex-ia," You sound out slowly," Alexia." You frown. You think you've met someone called Alexia a few times before but never someone with a surname like that. "That's a weird last name."

Momma laughs again. "It's her first name, princesse. Sometimes, when you get very good and very famous, you get to put just your first name on your shirt."

You think about your keeper gloves, hanging out on your desk. You haven't packed them yet, not when you still have time to go to practice with Zećira and Ann-Katrin.

You look back at the shirt in your hands.

"I want to have my first name on my jerseys," You say softly, not exactly to Momma but you know that she can hear you," I want to be really good like that someday too."

Pernille smiles at you, not saying anything as your stare down at Putellas' jersey with a little crinkle in your brow. You keep looking at it for a moment longer, completely in awe at the singular first name on it before grasping for your England Keira Walsh shirt.

Momma helps you put it on just as the front door opens again.

Morsa appears in the doorway, hopping on one foot as she lifts the other in the air to take off her shoe. She looks at the carnage with one brow raised.

"Did a bomb go off?" She jokes," I don't remember ordering any new jerseys."

"Aitana Bonmatí sent them," Momma replies," Remember, I told you that we met her during the friendly against Spain? She was quite taken with our princesse." She pulls the jersey over your head. "So much so that she rounded up enough jerseys for maybe two extra teams."

"I've got two Keira Walsh jerseys, Morsa!" You exclaim excitedly. "And-And Caro and Ingrid's red Norway jerseys! They're so cool! Norway's so cool!"

Morsa looks a bit horrified at that. It seems that she can take you wearing Denmark jerseys but a line has definitely been crossed when you start chattering on about how cool Norway is.

"Alright," Morsa cuts you off right before you launch into a tirade about how cool Caro's dribbling skills are," Well, you've got new jerseys. So, what does that mean?"

You gasp. It completely skipped your mind and you scamper over to the hallway wall to stand against it, smiling proudly as Morsa snaps a picture of you wearing every new jersey Aitana sent you.

"Alright," Momma says once she's helped you back into your Keira Walsh England shirt," Now, Aitana also attached her number so how about we send her a little video?"

You grin at the camera, little fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. "Thank you, Aitana!"

"For?"

"For my new jerseys! Thank you!"