#waves hands vaguely at whatever this is supposed to be
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sunday morning snippet!! it's 12AM so it counts for sunday!!
“My mum would have a fit,” Sirius said sort out of nowhere.
He was listening, he was. But then his mind had half-drifted off, thinking of conversations at dinner tables where he was forced to wear the dress robes with the too-tight collars and well, okay, maybe Sirius had lost track of all of the words a little while ago.
Remus stopped reading aloud immediately, looking up. “What?” he asked, lacking his usual irritation when interrupted.
Remus wore a rarely open expression. One that drove Sirius to continue, saying something he otherwise might not have. Maybe if the sun was in a different position or if it was a Wednesday instead of a Saturday, or maybe if it was James instead of Remus, or maybe if it was two o’clock in the afternoon instead of five o’clock. Maybe if any single thing had been different Sirius might not have continued the thought, which pressed at his ribs with a steady ache — a bruise begging to be pressed.
“Queers, poofs, whatever.” Sirius waved a hand dismissively. “My mother would throw a fit knowing we’re reading a novel by one of them.”
Remus’ face remained as blank as ever, if not for the slight crease in his forehead.
“She thinks they’re about as bad as mudbloods,” said Sirius, getting to his point after a bit more time had passed. That was about all there was to his point, but it felt significant for some reason. His heart was thundering loudly in his ears. Sirius wondered vaguely if Remus could hear it with his freaky hearing, then realised he probably could.
“What about you?” Remus asked quickly, watching Sirius intensely.
Sirius found looking at Remus to worsen the state of his rapidly beating heart as nervousness, or something, worked its way up his throat. Sirius swallowed, finding Lupin’s gaze too intense. He preferred the sight of his already half-picked thumbnail. He scraped at his thumb a bit more, swallowing again.
“Well, y’know, I don’t think mudbloods are all that bad. Evans is alright when she takes the quill out of her arse for three seconds, I guess.”
Sirius heard a snort of laughter that helped him relax his shoulders some. He continued speaking to his torn thumbnail.
“So… how right could she be about the rest of it, y’know what I mean?” Sirius said it quickly, as though it was a secret he wasn’t supposed to tell. It felt like a secret, in some odd way.
He was met with a silence that immediately made his heart lurch again. He forced himself to glance up, just enough to catch Remus’ eyes. Shockingly, Sirius found that they’d softened. They were far less intense, and even the crease between his eyebrows had disappeared. He was looking all, well, soft. It was a funny sort of look for Remus, Sirius thought. It suited him, yes, but not in the way his usual stoicism did.
“What?” Sirius asked after a while, feeling sheepish under the prolonged eye contact.
“Nothin’,” Remus replied immediately.
“No, no, what?” Sirius shuffled closer on the couch cushions, so close their knees were centermetres from touching. “You have to tell me now. You know how I get when you keep all your little secrets.”
Remus huffed. “Insufferable,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Exactly! Insufferable.”
“This is classic manipulation, you know, threatening poor behaviour like this?”
Sirius shrugged, quirking a smile. “Yes, well, I did have to learn some things from my mother, didn’t I?”
Remus shook his head again, pretending not to laugh in that way he did. “I was just thinking,” he said after a beat.
“About?”
“About how you’re brilliant.”
Sirius’ throat immediately felt thick. “What?”
“Dunno.” Remus somehow managed to avoid and catch Sirius’ eyes simultaneously. They were caramel in the afternoon sun, his favourite kind of sun for Remus’ eyes. “Just… dunno how someone so awful made you. And– and you’re so good.”
Sirius blinked rapidly, swallowing once then twice then a third time to try and rid himself of the lump in his throat. His cheeks burned, his throat, his eyes. He ducked his head.
“Oh,” he said stupidly. And then, “You’re not so bad yourself, Lupin,” he coughed out, having to first compose himself enough to do so.
“Shove off.”
“Go on,” Sirius said, wiping at his eyes as surreptitiously as he could manage. “Read more of the book written by the poof. Maybe I’ll write a report for good ol’ Walburga.”
tagged by my abosolute darling @fiddleleafedfig ! it's a bit longer than a snippet, but i was scrolling through my docs for something and stumbled upon it. it was too cute not to use.
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Papa is too far gone to remember, now.
Papa, with soot on his clothes, coal-dust lungs and smoke-stained teeth; with his stiff-canvas collar tickling her chin and sunlight in his hair and his hands so warm—
Hey, sweet girl. Did'ja sleep okay?
She remembered his voice the clearest. It was all she could remember. Slurring and soft and centuries old.
And Papa was gone. Snuffed like a flame. Vi was burning. And Vander was there.
Vander, with his smoke-stained teeth and stiff-canvas collar. Vander, whose voice didn't sound right—
Hey, sweetheart. Hotcakes for breakfast, right?
The boys liked him—Vi liked him—Powder refused to call him Dad—
(Because he wasn't wasn't never would be—)
And Vander was gone. Burnt up in blue and fire. Vi was burning out. And she was gone, too—a blot of ash, swept back to the shadows; Vi was gone, and—
Never been fond of tea, myself.
A new voice. New face. Not Papa, not Vander, not Vi—
But he frowns like her. Has scars like her. Papercuts on his fingers and burn spots on his thumbs. Smoke-stained teeth and soft-silk collar, and a whole drawer of shirts that still smell like soot.
His hand is cold, so cold in hers—but he squeezes her fingers back, lightly, and it feels like—
Which jams do you prefer, child? Blackcurrant, or raspberry?
Dunno. We never had any of those.
Well. Snide, like a secret: Most the lot of us hadn't.
And he makes her toasted bread and butter, the way Papa used to. Lets her pick the jam jars by the color, the way Papa let her pick her juice by the prettiest shade. And she sits at the counter, stares at his scratched up hands and the night in his hair and his mismatched eyes, centuries old, and wipes her crumbs on her sleeve.
Powder would have refused to call him Dad—so Jinx does, too.
But he sets a coffee on the varnish, lights up a cigarette, and asks, Did you sleep well, little dove?
And it's almost—
Almost enough.
powder/jinx, on father figures / what you never said.
#haha cries#this kid#ugh#lil jinx just has my heart okay#at it again with the emotions#waves hands vaguely at whatever this is supposed to be#arcane#arcane fanfic#ficlet#prose#powder#powder arcane#jinx#jinx arcane#silco#silco arcane#also vi and vander#things i'm headcannoning that I can't get away from:#1) pow and vi's dad was a miner (and just...a lot. heartbreakingly adoring of his children. also completely self-absorbed and dysfunctional#(think glass castle)#2) pow/jinx never called silco dad even though he was the closest next best thing and hA post-end of s1 implications of all of that ya feel#also the PARALLELS#ghlksfHGHGH#writing
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thinking about you and daryl having matching tattoos..
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut under the cut, light dirty talk, oral sex (fem receiving)
a/n: this was supposed to be fluffy and sweet, but i genuinely can't help myself. enjoy anyway!
the conversation comes up in the prison a few months after the governor had ran off. things had calmed considerably and the group was gathered at one of the tables late one evening. planning for a run had dissolved shortly into telling stories and cracking jokes.
glenn, who turned towards you and daryl with an easy smile, mentioned it first, announcing, "you know, i always wanted to get a couple of tattoos, but i kept chickening out in college."
daryl scoffed playfully, "prob'ly for tha best. needle woulda made ya cry."
you laughed beside him, "like you did?" daryl nudged your shoulder, his grin teasing,
"musta got us mixed up, girl. you was the one doin' all tha cryin'.”
carl piped up before you could respond, "you have tattoos too? i've seen daryl's, but i've never seen yours!"
you laughed, nodding your head. carl was still a young boy, so you weren't surprised at his interest. he wasn't the only one, though, you noted, as rick, glenn, and maggie stared at you in shock right alongside him.
you smiled indulgently, reaching down to tug the hem of your shirt up, exposing a small tattoo of a rabbit on your ribcage when you twisted to the side.
"¡ have a few more," you released your shirt, waving your hand in a vague gesture, "they're all pretty small, though."
"you and daryl have matching ones," carl stated, his smile wide, "that's really cool."
carol, who was seated on daryl's other side, nudged the hunter with a teasing smile, "how sweet."
"whatever," daryl grunted, shrugging carol off him, but the the redness warming the tips of his ears and the smile he couldn't quite keep away betrayed his false ire.
laughs rang out around the small table, the conversation continuing on past tattoos to other musings about the world before. you leaned into daryl's side, jumping in occasionally, but otherwise content to sit in good company.
and when daryl's hand crept over and started moving slowly up and down your thigh, you just turned to hide your smile in his shoulder.
you already knew what he was thinking about.
later, after everyone had called it a night and made their way to their cells, you found yourself spread over you and daryl's shared cot.
daryl laid between your thighs. he'd tugged your jeans down and off as soon as you'd dropped the privacy sheet, leaving you in a small pair of black panties.
his eyes were trained on your lower hip bone, where another tattoo, this one of his name, sat scrawled in black, loopy print.
daryl pressed kisses to your thighs, mumbling,
"ain't tell 'em 'bout this one, girl."
you hummed quietly, trying not to shift as you felt yourself start to heat up at the tone of his voice,
"didn't need to."
daryl didn't respond, instead brushing his finger over the tattoo before following it with his tongue.
your answering whine made him grin. he didn't stop with his kisses, still peppering them over your thighs, but his fingers did hook under the hem of your panties, sliding them to the side just enough to expose you.
dary's groan was guttural as he took you in, glistening from your own wetness, "damn right you didn't. 's just for me, ain't it?"
"yeah, d," you mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed with the proximity, his unrelenting gaze on you,
"got it just for you, baby."
daryl's eyes were glazed when they flicked up from your wet cunt to meet yours. he loved that fucking tattoo, had since you got it way back when. it made him a little crazy, seeing you branded with his name, and all just because you wanted to.
he descended onto you with fervor, moans coming from you both as he licked broad strokes up your slit. your hand slid through his dark locks, holding him to you as he did.
through the haze of pleasure, your mind drifted back to the tattoo. you'd get a hundred more if you could, if it meant seeing daryl light up at the sight. that was everything.
your head cocked back when daryl's lips closed over your clit, sucking hard. you could feel his fingers swirling around your entrance as well, but you were acutely aware that his other hand hadn't moved from where it rested over your hip bone.
you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his, content to fall back into the bliss he was giving you once more.
your man, your daryl, a lover through and through.
and you knew this because, just as his name sat immortalized on the skin of your hip, yours was stamped permanently over his heart.
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Eddie goes shopping with you.
eddie munson x gn!reader, ~900 words
“Okay, now what do you think of this?” You hold out a crisp white button-down shirt.
“I think that’s great,” he says automatically.
“Eddie,” you sigh impatiently, “you’ve said that about every article of clothing we’ve seen today. I need like, an actual opinion.”
“That is an actual opinion.” He sounds offended that you might suggest otherwise.
“C’mon, I’m trying to look professional! You gotta help me.”
“I am helping!” Eddie holds up both arms to emphasize his point — he’s laden with bags from the stores you hit earlier in your shopping venture, weighed down with the new clothes you’re purchasing so as to better look the part for your new job.
A small giggle escapes you in spite of your exasperation. “I told you you don’t have to carry any of those,” you remind him, folding your arms across your chest.
Eddie scoffs. “And what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you haul this crap around all day?” He shakes his head, dark curls tumbling about his soft face. “No way. Wayne raised me right, thank you.”
“Well, that he certainly did,” you admit, a rush of affection warming your chest. Unable to help yourself, you reach out and pinch his little cheek between your thumb and index finger.
He pouts at the gesture, pretending to be annoyed; but really, a thrill shoots through him at the brief moment of contact. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for you to be touching him always.
But it’s not like that. Not for you two.
Eddie tells himself that it’s okay, that he’s accepted it, he’ll content himself with daydreams and fantasies as he always has —
“Do you think black looks classier, though?” You’ve turned back to face the clothing rack again, thoughtfully fingering the silky fabric of a dark shirtsleeve. Your eyes narrow. “Or is it almost too formal?”
Eddie blinks dazedly, then shrugs. “I dunno. I wear black all the time, no one’s ever put me up for best dressed.” He frowns. “I suppose it’s a little different when it’s a Metallica t-shirt, though.”
You poke him playfully. “Or ripped jeans.”
Eddie swats your hand away, heart leaping.
You snicker in response, then soften. “For the record, I do like the way you dress. It goes with your whole thing, y’know?” You motion towards him vaguely, hands waving up and down his figure.
“My thing?”
“Mmhmm,” you hum. “The hair, the attitude, the music. Even your name. The whole thing.”
“What does my name have to do with any of that stuff?”
You shift your weight from foot to foot as you think about how to word your answer, tongue poking ever so slightly out of your mouth — an unconscious imitation of the face Eddie often makes when he’s focusing. He swoons a little when he realizes that you’re picking up some of his habits.
“I mean, if I didn’t know who you were, and someone told me to pick out the guy named Eddie Munson from a crowd of a hundred people, I could do it like that,” you tell him, snapping your fingers on the last word. “No one has ever looked more like they should be named Eddie Munson than you.” Your eyes cut over to his. “Does that make sense?”
Bewildered, Eddie’s eyebrows have shot up so high they’ve all but disappeared under his bangs. “…kind…of?”
You pat his shoulder, amused. “Don’t worry about it. Just look at the shirt.”
Obediently, his gaze flits back to the top. You smile expectantly, and he works to offer some sincere judgment.
“Um, it looks comfier than the white one? Not as starchy.”
You nod sagely. “True.” You examine it more closely, a flicker of uncertainty clouding your features. “Do you think it’d look okay on me?”
Of course he does. He thinks you look nice in everything. In your pajamas, in your dressiest formalwear — it doesn’t matter. He never wants to hold you any less. To him, you’ve always the most beautiful person in the world. Whatever you happen to put on your body is irrelevant.
But this is the whole point of him accompanying you; he practically begged for you to let him tag along, swearing that it would be fun and that he’d help you. You’d been a smidge embarrassed at first, certain he’d grow impatient with your indecisiveness and bored with the constant vanishing into dressing rooms, but you seem comfortable now, letting him tote your bags around and asking for his advice. He hopes you’ll take him again next time, and then the next time, and then again after that…
“Yes, I do. I think you’d look really wonderful,” he finally answers. “You look incredible in everything you wear. Honest. You don’t need to worry about anything you buy today.”
Your eyes shine, a bashful smile spreading across your lips. “Really?”
“Of course,” he replies, face reddening. “You — you could wear a potato sack and make it look good, frankly.”
You laugh. “Yes, I’m sure that would be very flattering on me.”
“Hey, I think you could rock it.” He knows you think he’s teasing you, but he means it. And he’ll tell you again, and again, and again, until you believe him.
He’s got nothing but time.
#just a quick lil thing here :^) kinda just jotted this one down#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson reader insert#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x gender neutral reader#eddie munson x gn!reader#lovesick!eddie#eddie x you#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic
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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
#ateez x reader#like the moon#poly!ateez x reader#poly ateez#ot8 x reader#ateez au#ateez x oc#poly ateez x reader#ateez angst#ateez fluff#ateez x female reader#kim hongjoong x reader#park seonghwa x reader#yunho x reader#kang yeosang x reader#mingi x reader#choi san x reader#wooyoung x reader#jongho x reader#ot8 ateez x reader#ateez scenarios#ateez imagine#ateez fanfic#woosan x reader
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wait and see ✴︎ cl16
genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst barely, other drivers appear
word count: 2.5k
The grid recounts the evolution, nature, and many ups and downs of your and Charles' vague relationship.
auds here... req'd, this was p fun to write i hope u guys like it! :) short bec if it was any longer it wouldnt have been as nice to read i think? anyway... i love u guys. title from this.
Lando takes a seat. “Is this the thingy for…? Yeah? Okay. What am I supposed to do again?”
“Just describe the two of them.”
“Easy. She was always pissing him off.” He rubs his chin, lost in thought. “But… in a good way?”
—
“I told you a hundred times I didn’t want this to be the soundbite you published.” Charles chases after you, his footsteps quickening like a lost puppy as you wrestle your way into the media pen. “A hundred times, and you said okay, and you still published it. Che succede?”
You turn, crossing your arms over your torso. “Look. I said yes, but when I looked it over, nothing else you said was really worth it. It was all just repetitions of the same PR bullshit that makes you look good on camera.”
He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling with frustration, watching his biting comment on Iñaki rack up hundreds of thousands of views. “This was not a good idea!” He repeats, the same sentiment he’s been telling you in the half-hour he’s known of this video’s publicity.
“But it happened.” You adjust your mic and gesture to Lando, who’s awkwardly waiting for the cameras to roll so you can start the post-FP2 interview and he can talk about his shit car. “I’m busy, so deal with it. Your fans will appreciate you not riding Ferrari’s dick all the time.”
Charles opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, shoving his way back outside and into the motorhome so he can cooperate in damage control. He doesn’t admit it—to you, to Carlos, to anyone—but the PR that comes of it is more good than it is bad in the end. He doesn’t admit it because it means admitting you’re right, and God if that’s the last thing he’ll ever do.
—
“They were always butting heads,” George says, laughing as he soaks in the memories of it. “Always fighting over something. Anything. Whatever there was that could be disagreed on—they’d be disagreeing.”
—
It started harmlessly enough. Seb walked in with two swatches of color—a blue and a purple—and addressed the room with a light tone, asking what color would best suit the tablecloths at his wedding. And then, as it always did with you and Charles, chaos ensued.
“Blue suits green better.” You wave the blue in his face. “You’re busy thinking of red all the time so you don’t understand color theory.”
“It’s not about coordination! It’s about creating a highlight!” He gestures with his hands, aggressively gesticulating to try and get his point across. “Highlight!”
“Oh, bullshit! Blue!”
“Purple!”
“Are you crazy?!”
Across the room, Seb and George watch in mild horror at the two figures caught in a needlessly intense argument over colors at a wedding that isn’t even theirs.
An AlphaTauri engineer comes in to refill his coffee for the third time, finds the two of you still fighting and is genuinely stupefied. He turns to the two onlookers, asks, “Bridezilla, huh? Happened to me once, too. I swear the grooms always try to weasel their way in to seem more involved but their choices never make sense.”
“Oh, no. They, uh, they’re not together.” George clarifies quickly.
“They’re not?!” The engineer and Seb ask at the same time.
They all watch the argument, bemused, but secretly they all wonder just how correct George is.
—
“We have a saying in Spanish. Del amor al odio hay un paso. Neither of them will understand it—it’s in Spanish, obviously—but I think that applies to them. One minute you think they hate each other, and the next…” Carlos lets himself taper into silence, smiling softly.
—
Being around Charles feels like karmic retribution, a constant eternal push and pull. But it makes the both of you better, even if neither of you admit it in the end. You can’t really grasp why, or how it started—it might take ages if you do so much as try—but you’re content with letting things happen the way they do.
Or maybe you’re not. “You ruined my fucking broadcast, dickhead!”
You toss your earpiece at his chest, body welling up with annoyance. Your segment was being casted live until Charles insisted he take up your airtime to do whatever-the-fuck, you honestly don’t care. And yeah, sure, he’s way more relevant, but the less airtime you get, the less easily you get the exposure you need.
“It happened one time.” He sounds amused, and it patronizes you, sets you on fire. He clutches your earpiece to his chest and hands it back to you.
“Fuck you.” You tug it toward yourself, and suddenly you’re closer, noses almost touching. You step back, but it’s not enough. “You have no idea how much that mattered to me.”
His eyes flit toward your lips, your bodies melting together. “If it really did…” he says, inhaling, “you would’ve just ignored me.” And damn, he’s right.
Charles does not like you. He just knows you well. But then one might argue—isn’t that the same thing?
—
“They have trouble not calling the shots, is the thing,” Lewis offers. “So put them in a team, in a room together, and boom.”
—
“…We didn’t agree on this script.” You underline the problematic lines and toss it onto Charles’ lap from where you stand in front of the sofa. “You want your fans to hate you?”
“The questions were clumsy. I asked you to reword them, but you didn’t.”
“You didn’t ask, to be clear. You demanded.” You click your tongue.
Lewis is in the middle of posting on Roscoe’s Instagram account and manually making typos, but he looks up, interest piqued by the increasingly heated conversation.
“I asked,” Charles insists stubbornly. “Plus, this is a Ferrari segment. You get hired to write on Ferrari, you follow Ferrari.” He points to the yellow logo on his shirt. Ferrari, he mouths. Lewis stifles a chuckle at the sarcastic exchange.
“Jesus.” You reread the script. “Fine. I’ll reword this and this.”
“And that.” He points, tapping the paper.
“Only if you edit this and this. Oh, God, and this.”
“Fine. Wait, that?”
“Are you serious? It’s the corniest statement ever. Edit that or I edit nothing.”
“Okay, bossy.”
Lewis exits Instagram in favor of texting Seb to ask if you two are dating. The response he receives is equally unhelpful: Nobody knows mate.
—
“You know, for all the disagreeing they did, they actually agreed on so much of the same stuff. If they stopped fighting for two seconds they would agree on most things.” Alex muses. “But they never did, so. Or maybe a few times.”
—
Media is a tricky thing. It’s either on your side, or it isn’t.
And this weekend, Charles has drawn the short straw, subjected to bouts of backhanded journalists and tweets for his strategy during quali. You know this especially well—you’re media, for Christ’s sake—and you’ve seen your colleagues hound Charles for how he chose to tackle the session.
Alex is in the middle of a FaceTime call with Lily when he hears it. “Wait—I think they’re talking,” he says to his girlfriend when he hears you approach him, carefully maneuvering himself into optimal eavesdropping position.
“Is this the right thing to do?” Lily’s voice comes through like static.
“I know it’s wrong,” Alex confesses. “But—”
“No, I meant I can’t hear properly. Move the phone closer, you dick.”
So he does, and the two of them listen intently to your talk. You go first, a few shuffling footsteps and an adjustment of your media pass, then. “Will’s been all over you today.”
“Yeah,” comes Charles’ voice, tired if anything. “I, uh… I just hope I can understand where I went wrong and, uh. Well, uh.”
“No, I…” There’s heavy silence. “I think you did the right thing. You didn’t get pole, but it was a good strategy. Better than what was being proposed, anyway. I think that would’ve landed you at the back of the grid, to be honest.”
You both laugh. “Thanks,” he croaks.
“You did great. Don’t, um… don’t let them tell you otherwise. I’m proud of you.”
Alex never tells anybody what he heard. But it inspires many long-winded conversations with Lily about the nature of your relationship. Each time, though, they never arrive to a solid answer.
—
“Hey, listen. I always knew something was there with those two. They had the kind of dynamic you only find once in, like, a million instances.” Daniel says firmly. “But I also kept thinking… poor Charlotte.”
—
You’re half-sure Pierre was the one who bought you all shots. Or a quarter-sure. Okay, you’re not sure at all. Your mind’s cloudy, your inhibitions lowered, tongue loose and laugh contagious. Around the table everyone is laughing, some others have gotten up to dance, but you, Daniel, Lewis, and Charles are all conversing about work, albeit while drunk.
“Is… tequila… plant-based?” Lewis grimaces as he throws another shot back and you all laugh mindlessly.
“Danny,” you say, tapping his shoulder. “Any plans once you’re out of the paddock next season?”
“Ah,” he hums. “Self-discovery and a shit ton of shrooms.”
You all cheers to the epiphany, shots once again entering your system. “And a party again tomorrow!” Daniel adds half-jokingly, much to your delight. Charles, right beside you, throws an arm over your shoulder as he laughs. You’re unfazed.
Daniel’s gaze lingers on his arm a little too long, especially because your own hand reaches upward to wrap around his wrist, to make sure he doesn’t pull away. But you’re both drunk, he reasons. And plus, you can’t usually stand each other’s guts.
“I’ll pass, mate, if it happens,” Charles says, his tone clearly inebriated.
“You’re no fun,” you say lightly, laughing and turning to him. Your eyes are on the other’s, dark, lips almost touching as if you’ve forgotten Daniel and Lewis are even around (though the latter is as good as dead, honestly.)
“Invite Charlotte instead,” Daniel says with a smile, to try and test your reactions. “How long, now? Three months?”
You clear your throat, looking away with a faux smile.
“Oh. We’re not doing so well, to be honest.” Charles smiles, tight-lipped. He hopes Daniel doesn’t ask why. He can’t think of a lie quickly enough to cover how Charlotte told him I love you, Charles, but this is over. I hope you end up with her someday.
—
Seb takes some time to think about it. “Those two always fought. Everyone said that, didn’t they? All the time, disagreeing.” He hums. “I could tell very early, though, that they were also the only two who could truly understand the other. Figuratively, obviously—but as a result, also literally.”
“Elaborate?”
“When you understand someone that well, inside and out, you end up understanding everything they say.” Seb smiles. “That was them, I think.”
—
“It’s impossible to transcribe your interviews,” Will says to Charles. It’s that hour on the paddock where everyone’s waiting for the pre-race bustle to start, so small talk is what’s keeping them busy.
You’re reviewing a few clips from practice on your phone and Seb is chipping into the conversation, which has moved from Mick’s future to F1 into Sky Sports into this.
“What do you mean?” Charles asks.
“You’re always sliding in and out of your three languages!” The Englishman laughs. “I have to consult a native speaker of both Italian and French each time. And you’re always going I, I, I, or we, we, we… but hey, the fans dig it, innit?”
“I think I sound perfectly understandable.” Charles smiles. You’re still busy, unfocused on the conversation at present.
“Like, okay. Look at this.” Will retrieves his phone, opens his voice memos app, and plays one of the audio recordings there. It’s a scratchy one of Charles describing his quali session, and sure enough, even if he’s speaking straight English, the adrenaline and exhaustion have him sounding totally indecipherable.
We—we had gasjdhfhs and I, I, I… I think we need to rejshdhs and thijsjsh about the hsfhdh, yeah? And, and, uh, we ajhshajs. And
Will closes it. “Sebastian, can you tell me that said?”
He shrugs, amused. “Sorry, Charles. I genuinely can’t.”
“See?!” Will makes a voila motion. “Nobody understands this.”
“He said we had good traction and I think we need to recalibrate and think about the boxing strategy, yeah? And we need that mindset.” You’re still going over your phone, busy and not 100% invested. “You two just aren’t listening.”
Charles doesn’t take his eyes off you, or the smile off his face, the whole hour.
—
Pierre comes last, clearing his throat. He’s ready. He knows exactly what to say, so he says it. “Those two are fucking soulmates.”
—
It’s three-thirty when somebody knocks on your hotel room.
But your body still feels like it’s five in the evening, your brain’s stuck at two in the afternoon, and your sleep schedule thinks it’s nine in the morning, so you’re not asleep but instead rewriting notes from the weekend prior.
You’re horribly disoriented when you grab your pepper spray and unlatch the door, and even more disoriented when you see Charles on the other side of it.
“Am I crazy?” He asks, breathless, like he’s been waiting for you all his life. Maybe he has.
“You’re at my hotel room at three a.m., so… a bit.” You rub sleepiness and jetlag out of your eyes. “Charles, what’s going on?”
“I love you.” There it is. “It sounds so stupid. But I love you. And it’s almost—I can’t bear it. I woke up this morning? You, on my mind. Lights go off after a race? You. I go to sleep? You. It’s always you. And I know, I know it’s—I know, with Charlotte, and—but it’s true. I, I, I—I think about you every minute. And usually this happens accidentally. Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s’agit d’amour... moi y compris.
“But this was… I knew I was falling in love and I let it happen. And so I thought, why keep waiting? Why let it drag on and on and fight over and over when I can just come and tell you how much I—and maybe, hopefully, see if you feel the same?”
He pants, tired from his clearly rambled and unplanned confession.
“I love you, too,” you say, struck. Oh God.
“Can I kiss you, then?”
“It’s may,” you breathe. “May I kiss you.”
“You may,” he whispers.
“Right now?”
“Anytime.”
“So now.”
“It’s now or next Tuesday,” he jokes.
“Now is… the best. Now would do.”
“Now would do.” So you cross the threshold and let him scoop you into his arms so he can well and truly kiss you.
—
“Is that all?” The interviewer asks Pierre. “Just… those words? We need a bit more for the article on this event.”
“Oh, yeah.” He gets up, straightens his tie. “Don’t worry. You’ll hear the rest during my best man speech.”
Del amor al odio hay un paso – From love to hate, there is one step.
Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s'agit d'amour... moi y compris – We are all fools in love... me included.
#f1#leclsrc2000#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc smut#f1 x reader
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*ੈ✎ everybody talks!
"it started with a whisper, and that was when i kissed her!" —neon trees
note: fun fact this was supposed to be titled friends by chase atlantic but then i started going for a cliche hs romance vibe cause i went and listened to a 90s playlist um ANYWAYS @hopelesslyromanticshark HEYYY TWIN SURPRISE MAYBE?? IT WAS ME ALL ALONG 😈😈 ps this doubles as my apology for the pronunciation confusion FORGET I EVER STARTED THAT
content: leo valdez x reader, childhood best friends to lovers, mortal au; oneshot, 4.3k words
warnings: jealousy, little bit of angst (typical teenage drama 🙄), like one mention of not wanting to live, cursing, google translated spanish, lots of pov switches (my bad 😓), vague spoilers for the ballad of songbirds and snakes (like two lines abt it), clumsy confessions, denial (is it really denial if you just suck at feelings??)
"that was supposed to be my ice cream!" you marched up to a curly-headed boy, face scrunched up in childish anger. your parents were too busy catching up with friends to notice that you had strayed off.
said curly-headed boy turned to the sound of a shrill voice, his eyes meeting a pouty face with cheeks red in the summer heat. he raised the cone in his hand a bit higher. "this one?"
you nodded eagerly, hoping he was going to give it to you. "yeah!" you stretched out your hand to grab it from him, but the boy pulled it away at the last second.
he smiled mischievously, dimples flashing as he stuck his tongue out and licked a stripe up the stacked swirls of ice cream. "too bad!"
you gasped at the utter audacity of the other child, your bottom lip starting to tremble. one sniffle. two. soon, you were downright bawling on the sidewalk. the boy’s jaw dropped, his feet taking panicked little steps in place as he looked around.
"hey! hey, you can't cry! i'll ask my mama to buy you one!" he squeaked, trying to comfort you. he patted your back, which was quite hard to do with him bouncing around and holding an ice cream cone.
your sobs were quickly reduced into a sniffle as you blinked at him. "..really? and you're not gonna steal it this time?"
he nodded enthusiastically. "yep! i mean, no! i won't steal it!" he took your hand and ran to his mom, dragging you along.
you ran behind him, your tears replaced with excitement at the newly promised ice cream.
"mama!" the boy called out, stopping in front of a kind-looking woman who looked just like him. "meet my new friend!"
you smiled a bit shyly at the lady, giving her a wave.
she returned the gesture with a smile of her own, before facing the boy with a slight frown. "leo! sus padres podrían estar buscándola! did you ask her parents if she was allowed to go with you?" she chided, pinching his ear lightly.
leo cried out as his mother pinched his ear, even though he barely felt it. "no..! but le debo un helado!" he whined, shaking your interlocked hands for effect. "can you buy her one mama? pleaseee?"
she sighed in defeat, giving into two pairs of puppy eyes. "alright, alright. but we find her parents first, okay? what's your name?" she gave you a little wink, taking your other hand.
"i'm y/n!" you said with a bright smile as she agreed to get you a new ice cream. "my mommy and daddy are over there!" you pointed to a spot not too far from where you stood.
leo's mom nodded, leading your little trio in the direction you said. soon enough, you were reunited with your parents, who gave you a gentle scolding and thanked her. she explained the situation between you and leo, at which all the parents laughed at, much to your confusion. what was so funny about getting your (well, not exactly yours but you had your eyes on it, so, it was technically yours) ice cream stolen?
whatever, at least you got it at the end of the day—and a new friend!
ever since then, the two of you stuck together like glue. if elementary school teachers tried to separate you? either of you would throw a hissy fit. if your high school teachers tried to separate you? either of you would make up some elaborate bullshit about how well you guys work together and how productive the two of you would be (you were sure they never believed it, but they paired up the both of you anyway).
"like i know she probably didn’t get enough love as a child or something but does she have to take it out on her students? why even be a teacher?” you waved your hand in the air, the mess of papers on the desk long forgotten.
"exactly, like she really needs therapy." leo took his bite-ridden pencil out of his mouth to add a point.
"totally,” you agreed. “too bad it’s so expensive, otherwise-“
a cough behind you made you and leo turn around, already dreading the punishment about to befall you. you smile sheepishly at your history teacher, who had her arms crossed. "another word and i'll send you two to detention, you hear?"
the both of you shut your mouths and nodded in sync, waiting until she turned around to whisper. "she's feeling merciful today."
"detention!"
guess not.
you slumped against the desk, resting your head against your arms and sighed loudly. the teacher in charge of detention for the day gave you a glare, turning the page to his boring book about finance or something. you rolled your eyes once he looked away, and looked up at the clock. five more minutes.
you tapped a message on the desk, the morse code leo forced you to learn coming in handy once again. i'm so bored.
leo's head perked up from the similar slouch he was in. me too.
i'm coming over. you rapped your finger against the smooth wood. you were hungry just thinking about him and his mom's tacos. if you didn't know how much leo wanted to be a mechanic, you'd probably beg him to open a restaurant.
a little forward aren't you? he drummed his fingers back, raising his eyebrow.
just as you were about to reply, you were cut off with a "shh!" from the teacher, who then looked at his watch. he gave it a scowl, but motioned for the two of you to leave. "you're free to go."
the two of you raced to the door, eager to get out of the stuffy classroom.
"oh my gosh i thought he was never gonna let us leave!" you groaned, tugging on your backpack straps as you walked home with leo.
"i know! can't believe he wasted our precious hanging out time like that!" leo scoffed, nudging you with his shoulder.
you laughed, shoving him back. "exactly!"
the two of you walked in peaceful silence, up until leo tapped you on the shoulder and shouted, "tag, you're it!" and ran off ahead.
who runs with a backpack on? you didn't care, chasing after him and trying to get him. "not fair!" you yelled.
sprinting all the way, you made it to his house, panting and out of breath. as he leaned against the doorway, you smacked him upside the head. "you're it."
you didn't want to spend your friday afternoon doing extra work, but leo wanted the help and who were you to deny him? you knew it'd probably end up with the two of you on the couch, curled up next to each other and watching a (usually) pirated movie.
"so," leo started. you two were sprawled on your stomachs, doing homework on his wooden floor.
"what is it now?" you exhaled with exaggeration, not looking up from your book. your english teacher had said to read two chapters, but was that really enough? you were too invested, completely forgetting that you were supposed to help him analyze it.
"..wanna take a break?" he was already getting to his feet, looking down at you with a cheeky glint in his eyes.
you pretended to think. "hm, i don't know... shakespeare's getting really interesting..." you shrugged and turned back to your book.
leo pouted. "seriously!? he just spews random bullshit and everyone thinks its poetic!"
you kicked his foot, not letting the insult slide. "you know what? now i'm really not gonna take a break."
"oh come on! if i make you birria tacos will you come with me? my mom's been simmering the meat since earlier," he bargained, waggling his eyebrows.
"..maybe."
"holy shit." you moaned in bliss as you took a bite of one of the tacos leo had so kindly prepared. he chuckled at your reaction, it was the same every time he made it.
he grinned proudly, taking his plate from the coffee table and setting it on his lap. "good, right?" he switched on the tv, resting his other arm on the back of the couch.
you let out an unintelligible noise of agreement, mouth stuffed. you swallowed. "can we watch the new hunger games movie?"
he hummed, taking out his laptop and searching for it on some illegal website. "again? we already watched it in the theaters."
you rolled your eyes. "yes, again. it's my turn to pick."
his lips quirked up the slightest. "yeah, yeah." he clicked on the movie, connected his laptop to the tv and pressed play.
the two of you were watching intently as coriolanus snow kissed lucy gray like a starved man.
"goddamn," you breathed out.
"i know." leo nodded, his eyes flicking to you for a moment. your legs were folded under the blanket you guys shared. during the duration of the movie, the two of you had somehow huddled closer together, probably due to the cold, he thought. his arm was now over your shoulder, your knees touching his.
he felt something stir in his heart. maybe it was the kissing scene, maybe it was the underlying feeling of sadness that came with winter, but god did he suddenly get overwhelmed with the feeling of wanting a girlfriend. he'd probably flirt with every girl in the world if it meant he could find true love. he suddenly felt hyper-aware of the way you were nestled in his arms, of the casual way you two touched each other. leo would love to do these things in a romantic sense. but, not with you, of course. i mean, you were his bestest friend, it'd be weird to think otherwise.
your heart fluttered wildly as you played it cool, not letting the way his legs were intwined with yours affect you. you didn't know exactly when you started feeling this way, all you knew was that something about his touch never failed to send you sparks of fire.
but fire burns.
you heard leo suck in a breath. "you know your friend alicia?"
you froze, the butterflies in your stomach turning into ash. "yeah, she's my friend, 'course i'd know her."
"great, so you wouldn't mind setting me up with her, right?" he winked at you, tugging at the ends of your hair.
you bit your tongue, mood dampening. why did he always have to ruin the moment by asking about some other girl? i mean, am i not enough or something? "..i'll think about it."
he frowned. usually you'd agree right away. "is that a yes?"
"i told you i'd think about it, now can we just watch?" you turned back to the tv, eyes looking but not seeing.
leo didn't seem to get the hint, still pushing the topic. "why think? it's not like you haven't done it before! are you really not gonna help your best friend out?"
"maybe i'm really not," you said sarcastically. it was getting more and more difficult to keep the irritation from your voice, and he was already starting to notice.
"whoa, okay, what're you so mad about?" he took his arm off your shoulder, turning to face you directly. "did i say something wrong?"
"nope."
he took your sardonic tone as your usual sarcasm and kept prodding. "okay... so you'll help me then? i mean, that's all you're for! you don't wanna be my best friend and do your job?" he laughed, poking fun at you like usual. but the feeling in your gut twisted his offhand comment in a way that hurt.
"if you're just gonna keep me around to set you up with a bunch of girls then maybe i don't want to be your friend anymore!" you snapped, agitation finally breaking the thin mask of patience you had.
leo set down his empty plate on the table, needing to give his hands something to do. "i was just- you know that's not why you're my friend!" he chuckled incredulously.
you stayed silent, letting his words dissolve in the air.
his eyebrows furrowed at your lack of response, as if trying to decipher the finality of your words. "you don't.. you don't mean that do you?"
"maybe i do." you stood up, the blanket falling off your legs. you grabbed your backpack, a reminder of what you guys were supposed to be working on.
leo quickly followed suit, springing to his feet and speeding after you as you walked towards the front door. "wait! i was just kidding! c'mon we can talk about this!" a hint of desperation seeped into his voice as he grabbed your wrist.
"we already did." you shot him a glare over your shoulder. he froze. he'd never seen that aimed at him. playful irritation, sure, but never that. not to him. his hand dropped your arm in shock, and you took your leave.
"i said, are you trying to kill me!?" the tv was still on.
the walk to school was quiet without leo, that you'd admit. you even got up a half hour early just so you wouldn't see him. yeah, it was a little petty, but you weren't exaggerating in your words. he had other friends, you had other friends—you're choosing to ignore the fact that half of them were mutual—you guys would be fine without each other. especially you.
except you forgot the fact that you guys were seated next to each other for nearly all your classes. that was awkward. everyone around you sensed the tension in the air, with you pointedly looking away from leo, at the board, and him trying to do the same. you could feel his leg shake the table as he bounced his knee, as well as the side glances he gave you.
even so, you continued to ignore him and the stupidly cute way his lips pursed into a frown. you weren't getting over it that easy.
leo fucked up. like, seriously fucked up. he hasn't fucked up this bad since.. well, since his invention quite literally blew up in his face. but this? this was like your friendship figuratively blew up in his face! and it felt even worse. he took a deep breath, rolling over in his bed with his blanket half-off. he brought the fabric up to his nose, inhaling the faint scent of your perfume that had stayed since last friday. without you, his thoughts felt louder than usual. they ran free in his mind, ranging from what should i eat for dinner? to god, did i mess up our whole friendship? was i taking her for granted when i kept asking her for relationship advice? why did i even do that? i didn't even really like any of those girls. what's wrong with me?
he curled up into a ball, squeezing the blanket to his chest and burying his face in it. leo willed himself to cry, but no tears would come. the overwhelming feeling in his chest had no way to escape. his heart thumped heavily, each painful beat reminding him of why he should've never been allowed to live.
"...and that's why you should- hey! are you even listening?" piper frowned, raising an eyebrow at leo, who was picking at his food.
he didn't answer, too busy moving the gross cafeteria food around his tray as he drooped against the table.
"okay, i know that you've got your little lover's quarrel with y/n, but you've gotta stop sulking and start doing." piper crossed her arms, eyeing him with a very unimpressed look. "did you seriously not hear a word i said? talk to her! apologize! it's been a week already!"
leo groaned, his head resting in his arms. “i know! and- wait did you just say ‘lover’s quarrel!?’” his head shot up, face feeling warm all of a sudden. “pipes, she’s just a friend! like you!”
piper gave him a disbelieving hum. “‘just a friend’ my ass! everyone can see how you look at her!” that’s why all the girls you make her set you up with never go on a second date.
leo genuinely looked confused. “what? i look at her normally, what are you talking about?”
jason, who was silent throughout the whole exchange, chortled a laugh. the two whipped their heads to him, the sudden noise from him surprising. "are you serious? leo, i don't think even i'm that oblivious!" he shared a look with piper that only the two would understand. ugh. another couple thing leo feels he'll never get.
leo's eye twitched. "oblivious about what? y/n's my best friend, i don't see what's so weird about that!"
the pair sighed. "you'll get it one day," jason said firmly, clapping him on the shoulder with solemn resolution.
"okay..?"
a whole week. leo had never gone without talking to you for a whole week! this was driving him insane! yeah, he knew you were mad at him and by default, he was supposed to be mad at you, but it was too much! next period, leo thought resolutely. i'll get her to talk to me next period. which just so happened to be his last period because although he had been thinking of this the whole day, he was too nervous to confront you earlier. he took a deep breath in and walked into chemistry class.
fate must hate him. or maybe his science teacher. right when when he slipped into his seat beside you, she clasped her hands together and cleared her throat. "class! today were going to be switching seats!" leo swore he saw her look at him as he said that. what did he ever do to her!? his heart sunk as he realized he might not sit next to you anymore. surely the teacher's gonna keep us together? i mean, they've all done that since like, the start of the year! she won't be any different.. right?
oh he was so wrong. leo pouted in his spot at the back of the class, watching you from across the room as you chatted it up with some jock. why is she being so smiley!? isn't she supposed to be mad? i mean, yeah, she's only mad at me, but doesn't that mean she's supposed to be grumpy in general!? why am i the only one who looks affected by this!?
the girl next to him cleared her throat, snapping him out of his thoughts. "uh, we need to start the experiment," she said without emotion, as if the mere action of talking to him was boring. seriously, why did everyone hate him today? it's not like they know anything that happened!
"oh.. right." leo took his notebook out and set it to the side, moving the vials to the center of the desk. he felt the girl's stare dig into his side, like she was looking at him with disdain. leo sighed. this was going to be a long period.
how did leo even end up here? parties weren't really his thing. he only came because he heard that you'd be here, but you were nowhere to be seen. leo leaned against a wall, trying not to look like a complete loser as he stood by himself. he took out his phone, navigating to his trusty weather app. where were you? if not you, then jason and piper? even percy or annabeth would do! they're probably each hooking up in a bathroom or something.. he thought with a grimace, trying to get the mental picture out of his head. leo wandered around with a cup of fanta, hoping to see you in the crowd.
you sipped from your red solo cup, the bubbly taste of soda delightfully stinging your tongue. this party's kinda boring... it'd be more fun with- you cut off your thoughts with a shake of your head. whatever. you had girl friends you could hang out with. as you made your way to them, a tap on your shoulder got your attention.. is it..? you turned around. it wasn't. you ignored the feeling in your stomach and smiled at the familiar—but not familiar enough—face of your new seatmate.
"oh hey! i didn't know you were coming!" you greeted with a smile.
he laughed, raising his eyebrow. "you think i'd miss this? i mean, look at me!" he gestured to himself quite vainly. "i throw these kinds of parties!"
you chuckled, nodding along to be polite. "uh, yeah, for sure!"
the both of you fell into an awkward silence that seemed to stretch out for forever.
leo spotted you across the room, the chatter around him seeming to die down as he saw you with that guy. i mean, seriously, he wasn't even your type! and, he'd know your type! like, weren't you guys just talking shit about jason's football friends? you could do so much better. like.. like me. leo's eyes widened. holy fuck. that's it! the feeling in his chest was akin to tightening the last screw of his project. the words his two friends had said to him earlier came rushing back with sudden clarity. they day he finally got it was sooner than expected. with a determined blaze in his heart, he slipped through the crowd and made his way to you.
you took the lull in your conversation as a sign to go to your other friends. "so, i'm gonna-"
"hey, i was going to-" he started.
the both of you stopped mid-sentence after speaking at the same time. you guys laughed it off, with you waving off his muttered apology.
"you can go first," you said, dipping your head at him to continue.
he cleared his throat, looking into your eyes intently. "well, i was wondering if you'd wanna go ou-"
"y/n!" leo strode up to you as if the fight between the two of you had never happened.
your face scrunched up in confusion, too perplexed to remember that you were supposed to be ignoring him. "leo? what are you-" he cut you off, directing his words to the other guy.
"hey, sorry if i interrupted something, but i gotta talk to y/n for a sec," leo flashed his teeth, mischievous dimples showing.
the jock's eyes widened as he took a step back. "oh.. oh, my bad man! i didn't think you guys were- are you really?" he laughed with obvious embarrassment, shaking his head as he retreated. "guess so.." he muttered under his breath as he faded into the crowd.
leo's hand slipped around your waist as he weaved the both of you in between people. his jaw was clenched, a sight you've only seen when he was concentrated on one of his many inventions. "what the hell are you doing?" you repeated your question, ignoring the way his touch sent familiar sparks down your spine. you shied away from it, half to push away your feelings and the other to keep up your fight out of pure pettiness.
his hand twitched as you moved away, his eyes narrowing as he stared straight ahead. but leo made no move to grab you again, ever the gentleman. "just come with me. please."
his tone itself was enough to make you listen to him without question. never had you seen him so.. serious. you found yourselves in an empty guest room, music thumping softly behind the walls.
"y/n," leo murmured, finally speaking as he turned around. his eyes were shifty, looking everywhere but directly into yours. you could see the way he chewed on the inside of his lip, as if rehearsing the words he had yet to say.
"i- i don't want you to talk to that guy." he blurted out after a beat of silence. his cute face wasn't enough to distract you from his words, however.
"excuse me?" you stared at him, your rose-tinted glasses shattering immediately.
leo shifted on his feet, realizing how off-putting he sounded. "not- not like that! sorry, i mean like-" he swallowed thickly, his leg starting to bounce.
"fuck i really suck at this, huh?" he muttered under his breath, before daring to look into your eyes.
"i mean i want you to talk to me instead because.. i like you. i want to be the one you talk to, like we used to. but- more than that because i like like you." he fumbled over his words, trailing off at the end as his eyes dipped down once again.
what? you opened your mouth to answer but he beat you to it to continue.
"i'm really sorry for how i acted like a jerk. and taking you for granted and making you set me up with practically every girl you knew. to tell you the truth, i don't know why i did that, 'cause i never really like any of 'em. or i thought i did and then i just, didn't and-" he would've rambled on forever if you hadn't cut him off with a kiss.
you heard him squeak in the back of his throat, hands tensing at his sides before gingerly wrapping around your waist, as if he was scared of messing up again. the both of you pulled away after a soft minute, his disbelieving eyes staring back at your playful expression. boy, did he miss the way you looked at him like that.
"took you long enough." you laughed, hitting his shoulder lightly. "better not make me set you up with anyone ever again."
his face broke into a wide grin, never faltering even as you punched him. he brought you back into his arms, hugging you tightly. "the only person i'd want to be set up with is you." he drew back only slightly, his hands trailing up your body until he cupped your face, squishing your cheeks gently. "so? will you let me take you on a date?"
your smile was one that rivaled the sun, one he'd like to center his world around forever. "are you kidding? obviously!"
the kiss he gave you after was one you'd remember forever.
("twenty bucks jason, pay up!" piper whispered, peering through the crack in the door.
"..fuck.")
#leo valdez#leo valdez x reader#hoo#heroes of olympus#hoo x reader#heroes of olympus x reader#pjo#percy jackon and the olympians#*ੈ✎ stories
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" even the sun is soft on the eyes "
✧ swimming with them at different times of day
✧ lyney, lynette, arlecchino ; fluff; it was supposed to have childe and freminent but i ran out of steam T.T
lyney has a pyro vision, you know that; so his affinity for water must be nothing more than yet another magic trick. it doesn’t help that the golden sun, hanging high in the sky, practically blinds you with its light. when he flicks his hand and a spray from the river goes flying into your eyes, you consider dunking him if he likes it so much.
“stop splashing me,” you protest, swatting him on the arm. “aren’t you supposed to be looking for rainbow lilies, or whatever?”
“rainbow roses,” he corrects, wading through the river. his boots are on the bank and his pants are rolled up to his knees, but the vaguely expensive-looking fabric is already drenched, the stain spreading. he barely seems to notice, turning to you as he steps backward. “and if you aren’t gonna get in the water, then i’ll bring the water to – ”
and then he’s gone with a massive splash, and you start laughing as you watch the flailing mass that’s his not-quite-able-to-swim self sink to the bottom of the river. and then you stop laughing and remember that oh yeah, he’s not quite able to swim. and then you start panicking and dive after him.
the water is freezing. it’s the hottest day you’ve had in ages but the deeper you swim, the colder it gets, goosebumps pricking up your arms that you’re barely able to see. you blink the blurriness from your eyes, chasing after lyney, who’s kicking furiously but still sinking with the weight of the heavy cape-thing trailing from his waistcoat.
he doesn’t look nervous or even slightly concerned yet. in truth, he could probably snap his fingers and magic himself back onto the riverbank. it’s ridiculous, but you can’t just swim away. at the very least, lynette would kill you.
he opens his mouth and a bunch of bubbles stream up towards the surface. his teeth gleam in the pale blue light. he seems to be able to see the scowl on your face, eyes crinkling; a school of gleaming silver fish whirls between you, and when it disappears, he’s on the bottom of the river, scraping into a gently waving anemone.
you want to shout what are you doing? but your voice won’t make any noise, much less travel to where he is, while in the water. you punch the water wildly, connecting with a fish exactly as lyney looks up. it squeals, darts away, and he looks at you like you’re a monster. you throw your hands up, floating in place for a moment, before paddling towards him again.
he’s still pawing through the fronds of a glowing mushroom-looking thing. you can see the shining blue powder collecting under his fingernails from where you are. he looks like he’s walking along the bottom, one hand clapped over his mouth and the other clenched on a rock to keep him anchored. you scoff, bubbles escaping your lips, and kick towards the bottom.
“hey!” you hear him exclaim, though it’s more like a garbled shout than an actual word as you link one arm through his, tugging him away from the plants. this deep, it’s like you’ve plunged into a bathtub full of ice cubes. you have no idea how he’s dealing with the cold. “i’m – ”
the rest of it is lost in bubbles as you brace your legs against the sandy floor, pushing downwards as hard as you can, and you go rocketing towards the sky. he makes some protesting noise, trying to wrestle out of your grip, but you hold on tightly. he would sink like a rock, and then you would have to fight him to come up again. you want to roll your eyes, but… you can’t force yourself to be annoyed. not really.
you realize his vision is emanating heat. the longer he clings to your arm, the more warmth spreads through you. the river feels less like an ice cube, more like a hot spring. under his puffy sleeves, you can just barely feel his skin, as hot as a fire. if you held on for too long, you might get burned.
but right now, it’s okay. right here, when it’s just you and him.
“i was doing fine,” is the first thing lyney says when his head breaks the surface. you let him go and swim a few feet away. he shakes droplets out of his hair, spraying in a circle; you can’t complain this time since you’re soaking wet too. it’s all you can do not to push him back under. “and i got a bunch of them!”
“your sister would steal a gardemek and run me over if i just let you sink down there.” you glare at him, crossing your arms as you find a place to stand, feet barely scraping the underwater grass. “i’ve seriously had enough of you – how can you possibly live in fontaine and not know how to swim? and a bunch of what?”
he digs in his coat, opening his mouth then closing it, a look of panic passing over his face. “w-wait – there’s no way i dropped it as i was coming up, right? after all that work?” he pats down his pockets, eyes going wide as plates. “i think i really did… oh, how could this happen! and i was so proud of myself, too.”
despite yourself, your face softens. even if you’re annoyed, you have to feel bad at his rapidly mounting dismay. “what did you lose? i can go get it for you, if it’s that important.”
his gaze whisks to you and you see the corner of his mouth turn up. he reaches towards you, scanning the water and the air around your face as you tilt your head up. “just – wait, i think i see it… aha!” he flicks the wet hair away from your temple and pulls a rainbow rose, shimmering and delicate, from behind your ear. “there it is.”
“you – ” you’re speechless, heat creeping up your neck. “where the hell… ”
“a magician never reveals his secrets, etcetera etcetera.” lyney winks at you, peeling back his sleeve, and a whole pile of flowers falls into the water, bobbing there. the colors are iridescent, gleaming and fantastical. they looks like magic. though, maybe it’s not fair to compare them to magic, not when he’s right there.
you search for words for a long moment. it’s harder than you would think, with his eyes on you. he shifts his weight forward, displacing the roses in the water. “... you know, you’re supposed to do that trick with a coin.”
lyney clicks his tongue. “i thought you’d have figured out by now that i don’t do things the conventional way, my lovely.” the name makes your heart beat a bit faster. you swallow. he offers you the first rose and lifts his eyebrows. “go on, you can have it. put it in a vase and think of me whenever you see it.”
“as if i need a reminder to think of you,” you mumble, taking it and rolling it between your hands. he seems not to hear you, humming as he turns, dragging the tips of his fingers through the surface. the petals are soft, yellow stamen dripping with a thick, sweet scented nectar. “but this is nice too, i guess.”
you sit on the beach, gazing at lynette through your sunglasses as she skips through the grass a little while away. her boots don’t sink into the ground, moving like she’s lighter than air, despite the sun-softened, slightly damp earth; the tides washing up gently on the sand don’t seem to have any effect on it, either. or maybe she’s not really touching the ground at all.
she bends, scoops a glittering silver shell out of the water and pockets it. the water drips through the gauzy fabric of her leotard, and she twirls in place, skirt spinning out. water droplets spray in a circle, carrying through the air in a sudden breeze. she looks towards the horizon, seeming to watch the grass and trees sway in the wind.
“hey,” you call out. “come here a second.” her ears twitch in your direction and she approaches you, tilting her head down. her hair blows gently back and forth, carrying the sweet scent of peaches and mint towards you, like a fragrant tea. you wouldn’t be surprised if that really was a flavor of tea she had been drinking earlier; you need to tell her sometimes to quit overdoing the caffeine. too often you’ve found her after midnight, reading with bags under her eyes and a teapot emptied ten times over.
she sits down and you slide your sunglasses onto her head, pushing them down over her eyes. her tail twitches. “what are you doing?”
“you shouldn’t look directly at the sun,” you admonish. “i know a boy who went out every day without glasses or anything and one day he went blind just like that.” you snap your fingers on the last word. her expression doesn’t change and she doesn’t make any noise, but you feel like you can feel an aura of disapproval radiating from her. you wilt, pouting at her. “huh, no reaction?”
“you’re obviously lying,” she says plainly. “i can tell from spending so much time around lyney.”
“oh, of course,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. you get to your feet. “come on, we’re here, so why don’t we go in the water? you know a lot of tricks, so you should show me!”
you can’t quite see lynette’s eyes through the dark sunglasses, but she shifts her weight to one side, leaning on her hip and unbuckling her boots hesitantly. “... they’re nothing special, but if you really want to see, then i guess – ”
“great!” you cheer, pumping your fist and tugging her over the ground to the shallows by the arm. you can’t help but shiver at the sudden chill, but she barely looks bothered, moving like the water doesn’t even exist. her steps are light, sending pale gold sand billowing through the waves, and she whisks away from you in an instant as though she’s dancing.
she reorients herself, facing a marble pillar edged in gold that sticks out of the water. in a matter of moments she’s submerged up to her chest, and your view of her lower body is distorted as she heads towards the pillar. you clap your hands delightedly, scanning the beach and then racing towards a nearby boat a couple feet from the shore. you scramble onto it, heaving your frame up and over the side to sit with your legs dangling into the lake.
“go, lynette!” you shout, cupping your hand by your lips to project your voice towards her. she leans her head to the side and looks at you, bright purple eyes glinting as brightly as the inside of an iridescent clamshell. the side of her mouth ticks up in a half-smile. she has your sunglasses clasped in one gloved hand and tucks them into another unseen pocket as she propels herself to the pillar.
the marble is wet and slippery and from where you’re sitting, you can’t see any cracks or bumps in the smoothly polished stone that could possibly allow her to have such a steady grip, but she climbs easily, scrambling up the side to prop her legs on the top. lynette stares out over the lake, over the city; she feels miles away, coils of hair fluttering around her face. she looks picturesque. she looks like a painting.
in a heartbeat, she’s on her feet and raising her arms over her head. you’ve seen synchronized swimmers before, with their elegant movements and expensive costumes, and her silhouette against the sun isn’t so far from theirs; with her frilled leotard, gaze sharp as needles and hands reaching towards the sky, she could be one. just another one of her many talents.
she leaps from the pillar, fingers stretched out before her, and you want to applaud. applaud before she’s even done anything. then again, being with her always feels like a performance. like a dance. here you are, barely a few meters away, and – her eyes are closed. she doesn’t see you as she plummets from the sky to the sea. it feels like there’s something between you, like if you held out your hand you would meet something solid. a wall. or a curtain.
there’s barely a splash as she plunges through the surface, tumbling into the water. she disappears in a mass of glittering white bubbles. you lose sight of her, and then she reappears, and you want to jump too, duck underwater to see her fully. to take in every bit of her.
her tail flicks behind her, hands pushing through the depths as she goes deeper, less like she’s sinking and more like she’s falling through a clear blue sky. her hair flutters like a bird soaring in the air. she looks so gorgeous, so graceful. someday she will flap her wings and fly away from you. you know that as well as you know anything. when the inevitable deadly winter comes – she will be gone.
but not yet. you can still keep your eyes on her, floating in the water. you can cup this moment and keep it close to your heart until it’s all you have left.
lynette surfaces, pushing wet hair out of her eyes, the platinum color darkened to silver. she looks exhilarated, cheeks filled with color, breaths coming fast for a moment before they slow down, returning to her usual impassivity. she looks at you, barely kicking to stay afloat. “... what’s with that look?” she asks, one eyebrow arching.
you blink, lean forward to see your reflection. it’s slightly distorted by the soft ripples, but you’re smiling, eyes sparkling. eyes wet.
“did something happen?” she asks. her tone is slightly laced with concern. it makes your throat tighten. “you look… emotional.”
you lift your head, brushing one hand over your face, avoiding her gaze. “just looking at something pretty,” you say, eyes on the horizon. “that’s all.”
arlecchino’s face is cold and stony as always, like her features have been carved out of porcelain, but you think maybe you can trick yourself into seeing a hint of affection in her dark eyes. at the very least, she hasn’t drowned you yet, though her hands have twitched a few times towards your throat when you splashed her “by accident”.
“it’s so cold,” you complain, dragging your feet through waving strands of seaweed. “it feels like winter.”
“i don’t feel anything,” arlecchino says, hands laced behind her back. her voice is even, unbothered by the temperature. her suit’s train trails through the surface of the water, silken cloth fading in and out of ice-white, bloodred and gleaming silver. she’s tired today, unable to muster any more words than what’s strictly necessary.
you tilt your head, smiling wryly as you step towards her. “probably because you’re the reason it’s cold.” it’s true, though she only blinks slowly at the remark; the water cools several degrees around her waist. you’ve made remarks before that she resembles a statue when she stands still, and now is no different – rising out of the lake with the sun setting behind her, hair gleaming like snow.
“why are we here again?” she questions. her heels are caught in the murky sand. “we both know that i’m not a swimmer.”
“just wait for a bit, until night.” your arms are wrapped around yourself, but you still manage an excited smile, an i-know-something-you-don’t smile. you’re the only person who ever looks at her like that; she’d bite the head off anyone else who dared, but… she just inclines her head. “fine. after that, i’m going home.”
“okay, okay.”
the time passes leisurely. you float on your back, showing arlecchino rocks and shells that you’ve plucked from the sand. she doesn’t respond beyond a nod to most of them, but your pockets grow heavy with the ones that receive an appreciative blink. you snatch up a hermit crab and place it in her hand; when it pinches her palm, she threatens to crush and eat it, prompting a cry of outrage from you.
the sun slowly drifts below the horizon; golden bleeding to red, then to dark orange, then a sedated gradient of blue. wind whistles through the trees surrounding the lake, and the cries of birds grow quieter and quieter. this secluded pocket of fontaine – far away from the city, the aquabus and anyone who could interrupt you – is somewhere arlecchino has never been. somewhere you’ve been begging to show her for a while now. so far she’s seen nothing remarkable about it, and if it was anyone else, she’d go home, but…
but.
the sun is completely gone by now, and the sky is velvet black and speckled with stars. you’re shivering, the shoulders of your gauzy shirt soaked through as you bemoan your decision to wear such thin layers. her face is cold, her eyelids are drifting shut; exhausted from days and days of nonstop work. a thousand duties for the tenth harbinger.
and yet you want so badly to show her, whatever it is that you’ve been waiting all day for. so she can stay at least a moment longer.
the sky dims a bit more, and you push yourself up and onto the riverbank. arlecchino follows a moment after, and as the water laps at her boots, it feels like a shadow passing over her. she tilts her head up and sees that a cloud has drifted past the moon, dimming its silver glow; the air is cold and crisp like a peppermint. you’re sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest.
she sits beside you feeling like a child awaiting instruction, legs stretched out in front of her, and looks up at the sky. there’s a few heartbeats where the sound of your breathing fills her ears, shivering and frosty puffs escaping your lips, and then you make a delighted noise. “look, look,” you say, pointing at the water. “it’s glowing.”
arlecchino glances at you, blinking slowly as if you’re playing a trick on her. but your eyes are riveted to the scene below. she tilts her head, looking down at it, and sees the bright blue sparkles, glimmering in the water like a thousand stars, fallen down from the night sky to rest in the sea. her breath catches in her throat. the river glitters as though it’s filled with gems.
“isn’t it amazing?” your fingers twitch, like you’re going to try and reach out, touch it. she inches her hand forward inconspicuously, ready to catch you if you lean just a bit too far. you’re not looking at her, transfixed. “it’s beautiful. it looks like a dream.”
she peers at it. the azure gleam reflects in her black eyes, the red x-shape of her pupils standing out like fire in a field of flowers. she reaches out, stretches as far as she can, brushes her long, sharp nails through the surface of the water; blue light blooms wherever she touches it. her lips curve up slightly, then press into a flat line again.
“it’s… ” she stops and blinks fast. “it’s just algae. it’s science. plants. it’s not… a miracle, or anything. there’s no need to fawn over it like that.”
you pull your knees up to your chest, touch the top of her hand. her skin is cold, dry and without pores, no marks in her skin anywhere. smooth and empty. you trace the silver lines threading over her fingertips like veins. “even if it’s not magic, it can still be a miracle. you know that, right?”
she lets you run your hand over her fingers for a moment longer, then pulls it away. “... maybe. but it’s nothing exceptional. it’s a plankton. we could come back here tomorrow night and see it again. it’ll never go anywhere.”
“that doesn’t change anything,” you say. arlecchino can feel your gaze on her. she looks down into the water, sees the fish swimming through the luminescence, tries to ignore your eyes burning like flames into the side of her head. it’s too pleasant of a feeling to her, who doesn’t understand pain. “just because it’s always there doesn’t mean it’s any less beautiful. maybe that makes it more special.”
“absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she hums. “you’d probably appreciate it even more if it disappeared for a while.”
“i don’t think so.” you lean into her, slowly, tentatively. she doesn’t push you away, tucking her hands into her pockets. you shift your attention back down to the sea, as if you’re speaking to it when you say, the radiance of the water illuminated in your irises, “i’d rather have you here with me.”
© lumiconic ; please reblog and follow if enjoyed
#bonus points if you can guess where the title is from!!#<3.writing#lyney x reader#lyney imagines#lynette x reader#lynette imagines#arlecchino x reader#arlecchino imagines
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wedding bells
honestly I wasn't planning to post this because I thought it was too silly but @nymika-arts said I should so. if you like it you can thank her <3
[Read on AO3]
Buck’s feet are up on the coffee table, his head tipped back against the couch, eyes closed but not sleeping when Eddie sits beside him, mentally apologising to Hen and Bobby as he puts his own feet up on the coffee table and makes himself comfortable. The cushions bounce a little, tipping them towards each other, and Buck grunts at being displaced, then tips himself fully against Eddie’s side. It’s late. They should both be in the bunks trying to get some sleep like everyone else, but Eddie came upstairs for a glass of water and found the glow of the TV and his best friend on the couch instead, a lure impossible to resist.
“What are you watching?” he asks. The scene that is playing out is vaguely familiar but not enough that he can recall the name of the movie or even the actors starring in it.
Buck opens his eyes, head lifting just slightly to squint at the TV. “Um, something about wedding dresses? I don’t know, it was already on when I got here.”
They watch in silence for a few minutes, TV light playing across their faces, but soon Buck’s eyes are closed again, his head back on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie tips his own head back against the couch, too tired to figure out the movie’s plot when it’s already halfway through. Girl meets guy, falls in love with guy, denies that she’s in love with guy, guy wins her over in the end. Something like that, probably. Everyone lives happily ever after.
The background noise of the movie and the warm weight of his best friend against his side is lulling Eddie towards a nap when Buck breaks the silence.
“Do you want to get married?”
“Sure,” Eddie answers sleepily. “Fall wedding?”
“What?” Buck frowns, and Eddie realises: oh, he meant do I want to get married generally not to him specifically. Then Buck is asking, “Why fall?”
Eddie waves a hand: why not? “The leaves are pretty.”
“The leaves—” Buck stops, shaking his head. “We live in LA, Eddie, we’re not exactly swimming in fall vibes.”
Vibes, Eddie mouthes at the ceiling. He blames Ravi and whatever influence he’s had on Buck’s vocabulary. Then he stops, thinks about it some more, and mentally apologises to Ravi for blaming him. He’s pretty sure Bobby is the one who brought vibes into the firehouse.
“Fall has good weather too,” he says. It was summer when he married Shannon and a low pressure system brought down biting, heavy rain that soaked them through as soon as they stepped outside the church. “Not too hot, not too cold, less chance of rain…”
“Doesn’t that happen in a movie?”
Eddie’s turn to frown. “What?”
“There’s a movie where it rains during the wedding,” Buck says. “I can’t remember if it’s supposed to be a good sign or bad sign, though.”
“I think it’s just a sign that it’s raining.”
Buck rolls his eyes. “In the movie, Eds. Like a sign that she’s marrying the right guy or the wrong guy, you know?”
Eddie thinks about fat drops of rain smacking him in the face, his hair sticking limply to his forehead, Shannon shivering against his side, not noticing or not caring as the hem of her wedding dress turns black from the mud.
He thinks about Shannon, pregnant, and the way it felt like a sign. The way it felt like a sign the second time too, but was just the universe mocking him for believing in something like signs.
“I think Hollywood makes rain seem a lot more romantic than it actually is,” he says, shrugging the melancholy away.
“Yeah,” Buck agrees, something distant in his eyes like he’s remembering some awkward relationship moment of his own in the rain. “And snow. It’s like they forget how cold and unpleasant it gets.”
He shivers as he says it, some phantom memory attached to that too. Eddie thinks about asking, but Buck’s past is a patchwork of old bruises and anything he doesn’t willingly share is usually one he doesn’t want poked at. If they were at home, on the couch or in the kitchen, nursing a six pack between them—maybe then Eddie would poke anyway, ready to soothe any hurt it uncovered. Now he just nudges Buck with his elbow and says, “So, fall wedding. No rain, no snow, we won’t sweat through our tuxes before we get to the end of the aisle.”
He catches it a beat too late—we—and braces himself for rejection, for laughing it off, for fumbling through an explanation. His heart is torn, hoping Buck will think he just meant they’d both be in tuxes and walking down the aisle because he’d be Eddie’s best man, and half dreading that that’s all Buck will think when he pictures them at the altar together.
Except—
“We could have a destination wedding,” Buck suggests, his fingers idly pulling a loose thread on one of Eddie’s buttons. Eddie swats his hand away before he can unravel it completely.
“Destination weddings are expensive,” he counters. “We should just get married at the courthouse and save all our money for the honeymoon.”
Buck snorts. “You want to pull a Bobby?”
“I didn’t say we wouldn’t invite anyone.”
He wants to say all I need is you, me and Chris but everything this conversation has become already feels too dangerous. Too close to serious. They’ve always been good at blurring the line between friends and whatever else they could be, but this feels too blurry even for them. Eddie wonders if he should pinch himself, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming.
“And we’ll have a party too,” Buck adds. “Do you think Hen’s cake guy could do a wedding cake?”
“I think Hen’s cake guy can do anything,” Eddie replies, his mouth somehow still working while his brain is spinning, spinning, spinning. He doesn’t remember a lot of the time he spent under the influence of the LSD brownies, but he’s pretty sure it would have felt like this: everything heightened, one step to the side of reality, this unrelenting gravitational pull towards Buck even back then.
“I don’t know what everyone complains about,” Buck says, head tipped back to smile at him. “Wedding planning isn’t so hard.”
Eddie smiles back, like it’s just another inside joke between them. Like this conversation isn’t happening in the middle of a bubble, thin and wobbly and liable to pop at any moment. He wants to say you make everything easy but the edges of the words are too sharp, too real, and he’s not ready for the bubble to pop just yet. He wants to enjoy it, even though he knows it can’t last.
The music in the movie swells as the girl finally gets her Big Damn Kiss and the start of her happily ever after. Buck smiles twists into something wistful as he turns back to the screen and Eddie wants to hold him tighter, but he’s not even holding Buck so it doesn’t make sense.
“I miss kissing,” Buck tells him, quiet enough that it feels like a confession. “Not—I mean, I like sex too, obviously, but kissing just for the sake of kissing, you know?”
It’s late. Everyone else is asleep downstairs. The glow of the TV and the dim yellow light left on above the stove make the shadows feel deeper around them, the night fuzzy around the edges. The movie’s final scene is rolling into the credits, another love song playing quietly through the loft. Their bubble hasn’t popped yet.
Maybe it’s all of those things, or none of those things, that makes Eddie say, “I could kiss you.”
Buck goes still.
Eddie wonders if he could bite clean through his tongue so he can never speak again. Human teeth are crazy strong so it’s definitely possible, right?
Buck would know if it’s possible, he thinks, and then he really does have to bite his tongue so he doesn’t laugh hysterically. God, why did he say that? Just because he was thinking about kissing Buck—has been thinking about it for months going on years—doesn’t mean he should have said it. He’s halfway to an apology—an excuse, maybe, some way to laugh it off as practice for their hypothetical trip down the aisle—when Buck sits up, pulling Eddie upright with him.
“Okay,” he says. “Show me what you’ve got, Diaz.”
His grin is all bravado, but Eddie knows him well enough to see the nervousness at the edges. It soothes him, somehow, knowing Buck is nervous too. Not that this isn’t still a completely stupid idea, the kind of idea that they can never come back from and will probably regret in about two minutes, but—
He cradles the back of Buck’s head, holding him steady while Eddie tilts his own head to fit their lips together. Gentle at first, growing bolder when Buck’s hands curl in the front of his shirt to pull him closer, tongue running along the seam of his lips until they open to welcome Eddie inside. Buck tastes like coffee, a little bit sweet like the vanilla syrup he keeps hidden away at the back of the cupboard in the kitchen. His breath is warm against Eddie’s chin when they break apart just long enough to breathe, lips lingering together, noses bumping, one kiss made up of a dozen smaller kisses.
Eddie pulls away first, forehead resting against Buck’s just for a moment before he drops his hand from the back of Buck’s neck and makes himself sit back. His hands are shaking, he thinks, and he doesn’t know if it’s fear or desire.
“Oh,” Buck murmurs, reaching up to touch his lips, an absent kind of movement like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.
Eddie swallows, the taste of Buck still on his tongue. He should—say something, do something, probably not lean in and kiss his best friend again (and again and again).
They both jump when the bell rings.
“Eddie—” Buck starts, but there’s no time. Eddie’s fingers are tingling, his heart stuttering in his chest, but his feet are already moving, muscle memory carrying him while his brain buffers trying to catch up.
“We have to go,” he says, and he’s as grateful as he is irritated by the interruption of the alarm.
“Eddie,” Buck says again, catching his hand to halt him before he can climb into the engine. They’ve got seconds before Bobby sticks his head out the window to ask them what the hold up is, but it only takes a handful of seconds to say, “October.”
“What?”
Buck smiles, “Let’s get married in October.”
He ducks in close enough to kiss Eddie on the corner of the mouth, quick and lop-sided, and then he’s climbing into the engine with a bounce in his step, and—
Oh, Eddie realises, he did mean he wants to marry me specifically.
(“Soo.” Chimney draws the word out awkwardly, looking around at everyone crammed into the engine together. “We all saw that, right?”
“Oh yeah,” Hen answers, her eyebrows raised above her glasses. “We definitely all saw that.”
Eddie just shrugs, his knee pressing against Buck’s thigh, their eyes catching and holding, unable to help smiling at each other while everyone else looks on. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
There’s a round of “uh huh”s and “sure you don’t”s and a half-muttered “at least I’m not finding out about this one four months later” from Bobby.
“By the way,” Buck adds when it’s quiet again, “you’re all invited the wedding.”
They’re still smiling at each other like lovesick fools when the engine explodes into a cacophony of exclamations around them.)
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that old black magic
prompt: magic au (@steddieholidaydrabbles)
word count: 1,000
rated: t
tags: fortune telling, witch/appalachian eddie, post-season 2
welcome to Day 20 (!!!) of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!
The cards don’t actually do anything.
See, he waves his hand around and says some fancy words over some very old looking cards with very old looking art on them, and people assume that’s where the magic is – and the cards are old! And so is the art! But they just don’t actually do anything.
No, the magic sits in him. It always has. That’s always been the secret.
His mother had it, and his grandmother before her and her father before that and on and on, all the way back as far as the eye can see, right up the family tree to that one person at the top who made a deal with something in the woods one night, something as old as the hills themselves, that lurks behind trees and makes offers to desperate passing travelers.
But all that was hundreds of years before Eddie’s time.
These days, there are psychics on TV and people who do tarot readings in over-perfumed salons while they sit on a throne made of cheap velvet and clatter around with their bracelets and bangles and shawls. There are people who read palms and sell incense and run little bookshops that sell mass-produced spellbooks. Crystals and incense and moon charts, the whole world awash in fake magic. All of it, all of it, noise.
But Eddie’s one of the rare real ones. He doesn’t exactly go around advertising it, but give him a set of cards and enough money? Sure, he’ll do a little fake fortune telling for you, maybe even give you a real answer or two, nudge something in the right direction so you feel like you got your money’s worth.
All that to say, the first time Steve Harrington finds him after class, one day right before winter break, and takes a furtive look over his shoulder, Eddie’s fully prepared to do the usual song and dance.
“Um, hey man,” Steve says in a low voice. “I heard you uh –” He clears his throat, shuts his eyes like he can’t actually look at Eddie as he says it. “That you can sort of see the future? Or tell people what’s going to happen or whatever.”
He opens his eyes, and Eddie studies him for a moment, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “And?”
Steve makes a face, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder. “There’s some really weird shit going on,” he says, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “It’s kind of hard to explain but basically… there’s something that I really hope is over, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to ask or whatever but –” He lets out a breath. “Is it actually over?”
“Harrington, that’s –” Eddie shakes his head, running a hand back through his hair. “So fucking vague. How the fuck am I supposed to know?”
“Okay, just –” Steve lets out a breath. “If you could like… I don’t know, just give it a general look, see if I’m…”
As he continues rambling, Eddie tunes him out in favor of flipping through his timeline like a mental rolodex, just to see what he’s working with. Just to see what he can spin out of King Steve’s future, but –
“What the hell did you do?” he asks abruptly, cutting across Steve halfway through blabbering about something to do with someone named Justin or Dustin or – “There shouldn’t be blank spots, Harrington. Why do you have blank spots?”
Steve blinks at him. “I –” He frowns. “Blank spots?”
“Past and future, you’ve got these weird –” Eddie flaps a hand around in the air, lost for words, because – “Blank spots. I’ve never seen that before.”
Steve’s face goes blank with surprise. “Wait, like… you can actually see my future?” he asks. “Like right now, you’re seeing it? What are you seeing?”
“I’m… just –”
Eddie shakes his head, shuts his eyes to block out the feedback loop his brain seems to be caught in, because alongside the blank spots – and there are blank spots; what the fuck – he keeps seeing himself standing with Steve, which must be his brain trying to fill in the weird gaps?
Maybe?
How the fuck is he supposed to know? He’s never seen anything like this before.
“Did something happen around Halloween?” he asks finally, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath. “That’s where the first gap is, and then the next one is in like… a year or two from now? It’s kind of hard to tell.”
Steve’s expression drops, and his shoulders slump.
“The tunnels,” he says. “That’s – Halloween. I was in the tunnels at Halloween.” He says this as if it explains anything, but Eddie honestly feels twice as lost as he was thirty seconds ago. “So it’s going to happen again, then.”
Eddie makes a face, sort of aiming for – sympathetic? That seems like what Steve needs right now, probably.
“If it’s any consolation, you’re going to survive.” He shrugs. “There’s stuff after, a long life. I keep –” He takes a breath, considering not saying the rest, but Steve is going to ask for more details if he doesn’t. “I can’t really see a ton of it, because I think the blank spots are messing with me. I keep seeing myself there in your future stuff, but I’m sure my brain’s just filling in the gaps. It’s not like –”
“Like you’re part of my future.”
“Right,” Eddie says. He laughs. “Yeah, that would be –”
“Yeah.” Steve lets out a relieved little breath, and – sure. Fair enough. “Anyway, um – thanks, man. This is… not exactly good news, but I feel a little better, you know?”
“Yeah,” Eddie echoes. “Uh– anytime.”
Steve starts like he’s just remembered, and he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. “How much do I–”
“No, just–” Eddie shakes his head. “No charge. Just get home safe, okay?”
Steve nods, smiling a little. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
[also on ao3]
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Butter Him Up
🎁 Merry Christmas to @eddiethehunted who asked for nasty feral linecook!Eddie smut - props to you for answering smut questions in front of your grandma
Steve/Eddie • rated: E • vague timeline, no UD, inappropriate use of a staff bathroom, come and Steve’s uniform tie 🫠 now on ao3
When he’d applied for the job at the restaurant, he assumed it would be like working at Scoops or the movie theater, people order food and he gave it to them. He could handle that. Steve wasn’t a stranger to an embarrassing outfit, either. This one wasn’t even embarrassing, really. He actually liked the button down and tie, the half apron with big pockets.
The real issue was Eddie. The line cook.
Eddie made him feel like he was doing everything wrong, always asking him questions about his tickets or confusing him about sides and substitutions. He leered at him and made comments about his uniform like every other server wasn’t wearing the same exact thing. It made him crazy.
But when he walked into the kitchen, Eddie wasn’t there.
“Hey Jon, where’s Eddie tonight?” He asked, trying to keep his voice casual as he punched in.
“Their band had a gig, out in Indy, I think Gareth said. You’re going to have to make do with the rest of us tonight,” he sent him a wry smile.
Steve huffed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jon threw a towel over his shoulder and came closer to the counter, still giving him a sly smile. “We all see you two dancing around each other, man. It’s entertaining. Be careful there, he’s not known for his, uh, tenderness,” he chuckled.
Steve blinked. “Um. Okay? I’m not interested in anything with Eddie, alright?”
“Sure, Steve, whatever you say.”
It wasn’t until a few hours later that it hit him.
He did like it. Liked Eddie ‘dancing around him,’ like Jonathan said. He’d always been sort of an attention whore and tonight he felt off, unsteady without Eddie infuriating him with his comments and constantly feeling his eyes on him. On his ass.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath as he filled up water cups. What was he going to do about this?
“Heard you missed me yesterday, big boy,” Eddie jeered at him.
He took a moment to really look at him, a wild smile all teeth and tongue, metal shining from his lips and eyebrow and nose, tattoos across his throat and down his forearms where his own white button down was rolled up. Steve wanted to yank his hair out of the pile on top of his head. Oh.
“Sure did, Eds,” he replied with a quick wink.
He watched with satisfaction as a shock wave went though Eddie’s features, not expecting the pushback.
It didn’t seem to stop the comments or all the eye fucking, which Steve was now expecting and then maybe encouraging.
“Doll face, if they have an egg allergy they can’t have the Caesar dressing. Go see what they want.”
“Hey sweet cheeks, this appetizer for table 23 has been here longer than you’ve worked here, can you go take it to them?”
Steve put a swing to his hips as he took the plate with a smile and headed back to the front. He thought maybe there was a crash behind him as the door swung shut. He smirked to himself.
After the big dinner rush, he punched in his own shift meal and stood watching as Eddie got the ticket.
“You going on break, babydoll?”
“Yeah, you gunna come?”
There was a cut off sound and Gareth snickered next to him at the line.
By the time he was shoved into the staff bathroom, Eddie seemed to have recovered his attitude.
Big hands grabbed at his ass, and Eddie groaned into his ear. “Shit, Stevie. You’ve been teasing me with this ridiculous ass of yours forever.”
“Uh huh,” he gasped as he was pulled forward roughly and their hard lengths rubbed against each other, a hot mouth finding his neck. Eddie already had him wound so tight and he felt like he was going to explode. “Please-“
“I know, sweets. You’re already so desperate, huh?”
Steve whined as his apron was untied and thrown, his shirt rucked out of his pants so hands could work their way down the back of them to grab a handful.
Then he was quickly pushed away as Eddie ordered, “Down on your knees, I think, darlin’. There’s a good boy. Need those lips around me. Shut you up good, huh?”
Steve was quick to comply, just as ready to sink down onto his knees for him. They both fumbled with his belt and zipper, Eddie finally slapping his hands away and yanking his boxers under his balls.
Eddie’s dick was big, and already so hard, precome beading at the head. His mouth watered and he immediately opened it and stuck his tongue out.
“Such a cock slut, aren’t you, pretty? Yeah, you need it so bad, don’t you?”
He nodded, tongue still out as Eddie held his cock just out of reach for another moment before tapping it onto his tongue. Steve went up on his knees, trying to push further down on his length and received a few inches for his trouble. Hands came around the back of his head to rake through his hair and he moaned around him. Suddenly the hands pulled him roughly up, shoving his length down his throat. He gagged and tears sprung to his eyes.
“That’s it, shit, the mouth on you. Ah-”
Steve tried to suck in breaths through his nose as Eddie pulled him back and forth, licking around the head and keeping his teeth out of the way while his throat was fucked open on his gorgeous cock.
Suddenly he needed something else. He slid back and looked up, gasping out, “Fuck me, Eddie, please-“
“Jesus Christ, Stevie. Of course. Get up here.”
Eddie yanked him to his feet and pushed him against the sink. He made quick work of his fly, letting his pants slide down his legs.
“So wet for me already, pretty. Turn around. That’s it.”
When he found himself bent over the sink, some small semblance of sense sparked in his brain. “Lube,” he gasped. He couldn’t string a sentence together to save his life right now. “I-“ he shook his head.
“Got it, sweets. Been carrying it around since your second day here. I’ve fantasized about you spreading your legs for me every day since then.”
“Fuck,” he breathed. Why was that hot?
“Yeah, dreamed about bending you over the bar and letting the whole place watch.” Eddie grabbed handfuls of his ass again quickly before yanking his underwear down. They both groaned when he pulled his cheeks apart and spit directly onto him.
“Oh, holy shit,” he whined as fingers rubbed the wetness around his rim. “C’mon, Ed-“
“You gunna let me in this tight little hole?” Eddie taunted. He must’ve added some lube before he pushed a finger in roughly, Steve raising up on his toes with a squeak. “That’s it, gotta stretch you out for this big cock.”
“Oh my god.”
“Just Eddie works, sweetheart,” he chuckled darkly.
Steve shuddered, the condescending tone sending him further to the stratosphere. He arched his back as he added another finger. “You are- ah- such a dick!” He said between clenched teeth.
“Sure am, baby. And you love it. Think I’m gunna come all over this ass. Rub it in and let you walk around with me all over you as you finish your shift. How’s that sound, my little slut?”
He, naturally, decided then to press solidly against his prostate and Steve lost the plot of the conversation again, only able to gasp and groan as another finger was introduced to his entrance. He pushed back against it, trying to hurry him up. For someone ‘not known for their tenderness’ he sure was taking his time in his preparation.
“Such a little slut, Stevie. I know, I know, we’re getting there. Hold your horses.”
Finally, there was a blunt wet head pushing against his rim and he moaned as it popped in.
“Mmm, you gunna be loud for me, baby? Let the whole place know you’re getting what’s coming to you?”
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that wasn’t ideal for his job or reputation, but the rest of him thought that was a great plan. Nodding and whining since he couldn’t get any words to come out, Eddie chuckling at him.
Now he realized the prep he’d thought was excessive was necessary and almost cursory, as Eddie continued to press forward and his dick stretched him impossibly. He whimpered and gasped, Eddie pulling him upright and he got to watch them in the mirror as he finally bottomed out inside of him.
“Holy fuck,” Steve breathed. Thankfully Eddie took pity on him and gave him a moment to adjust, mouthing down his neck to his collar.
With a smirk, he pulled out, looking pointedly down between them, probably knowing Steve was watching in the mirror.
“Your greedy little hole is sucking me right back in, darlin’- oh fuck- so fucking tight,” Eddie rambled.
He shoved back in and rubbed over his prostate, making Steve shake and arch his back for more. His head dropped forward and he heard a tsk from behind him.
With a grin, Eddie grabbed the tie around his neck, spinning it around and wrapping it around his fist, using it to keep him from falling forward. The threat and the tightness around his throat made his dick twitch and he automatically wrapped a hand around himself.
His arms were suddenly pulled back and Eddie held onto his wrists in the small of his back.
“Uh uh, greedy. You’re gunna wait. Think you can come just from my cock? Huh?”
Steve wailed as the angle changed and his prostate was nailed again and again, pulled around like a rag doll as Eddie held onto his wrists and his hip. He didn’t know how he was even still standing, his legs shaking under him.
“Christ, I knew your ass would be magnificent, doll face,” Eddie huffed into his ear. “Look at you, so drunk on my cock you don’t even know which way is up, poor baby.”
Steve cracked an eye open and tried to make sense of what he was seeing in the mirror, his own flushed cheeks, mouth open, tear tracks and drool making a mess of his face. His hair was stuck to his sweaty forehead and sticking up where Eddie had raked his hands through it. He looked completely fucked.
The heat in his belly coiled tighter and he gasped out, “Cl-close, Eds!”
“Me too, sweetheart. C’mon, come for me and I’ll decorate this perfect ass of yours.”
Something must’ve shown on his face or Eddie just instinctively knew what he needed but he watched as the tattooed arm left his hip and his hand wrapped around his neck, pressing just right on the sides.
His eyes rolled back and he may have screamed as his orgasm shot through him, his hips rolling forward and back through the aftershocks. Eddie growled in his ear as he continued fucking him through it as he clenched around him.
“So fucking good, Stevie,” he hissed before pulling out roughly.
His wrists were released and he miraculously caught himself as he dropped forward onto the sink, able to see just Eddie’s face as he jerked himself off above him.
“Oh fuck, can’t wait to see you shaking this ass around for everyone, knowing it’s covered in me, ah- all mine.” He grunted lowly and Steve gasped again as he felt the hot splashes against his back and down his cheeks. Big hands immediately started rubbing it in, making sure to cover every inch and down his crack.
“Pull your pants up, slut,” he growled.
After barely making it through the rest of his shift, he wasn’t surprised when Eddie met him at the back door. “Your place or mine, baby cakes?”
Gareth ran to Jonathan’s car as he pulled in for his shift the next afternoon, “You owe me fifty bucks!” He held out his hand with a wide smile.
“Fuck!”
#steddie#steddie smut#line cook!Eddie Munson#eddie munson#Steve Harrington#stranger things#stranger things smut#mine#steve/eddie
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*drums my fingers on the table* so… weretiger zoro angst, anyone? (happy ending tho bcs. always happy endings) [cw: slight gore]
Zoro is on the hunt. There is something in the back of his brain snarling protect them, protect them, chase it down—
“—arimo!”
He’s so hungry. Hell, he doesn’t even need to chase— His prey is right there in front of him, fresh blood racing through its veins as its tiny heart works overtime. He can taste its fear at the back of his throat, and he bares his fangs in a grin; the poor thing screams, a sharp, high keen of terror as it scrambles backwards, and Zoro pounces.
“—arimo!”
He is kind enough to give it a quick death. Its throat rips out easily, trachea crushing between his jaws as he slits its torso open with his blades. Blood sprays across his body. Why hadn’t he shifted? He spits out a mouthful of bone and cartilage, pierces his fangs through a forearm and yanks, feels something pop and hears a wet tear. This would be so much easier with his claws—
“Zoro!”
Oh. His human is calling for him.
Sanji looks scared. Why, though? He drops the arm in his mouth, lets it hit the deck with a wet splat as he croons a soothing apology at not replying sooner. Gore is sticky beneath his boots as he stalks forward and he holds in a growl of irritation, nimbly avoiding the guts strewn across the wooden planks.
Rumbling his reassurance does nothing. Sanji still looks vaguely afraid, and so Zoro tries again; safe, he purrs, and the tip of his tail does not swish through the blood puddled on the ground like it’s supposed to. He cannot feel it at all.
The cook doesn’t budge. Zoro can smell his apprehension, his nerves, the slight sour tang of fear that makes him want to go hunt down whatever’s causing it and make it hurt. He smells it on the rest of his crew, too, and he doesn’t get it. The threat is gone, no? He senses no danger. Scanning their surroundings on the enemy boat yields no answers; all the men around them are still very, very dead. Zoro had made sure of that, so what was the problem? They should be back on the Sunny right now, sitting in the galley debriefing and having dinner—
Something clicks into place in the recesses of his mind, and dread starts to prickle through his body.
He had been so… He’d almost eaten—
Oh, no.
Zoro tries to shift the shape of his soul and fails. He does not feel his body changing. His shadow is, has been, in the shape of a man’s, and the blood on his skin suddenly feels disgusting.
In the span of a moment he becomes hyper-aware of it all, pouring down his front, dripping off his chin, salty-sweet-metallic on his tongue. He turns to the side and spits multiple times, tries to get the cloying taste out of his throat as he raises a hand before realising that it, too, is coated in red. Zoro almost retches as he swallows instinctively, nausea slamming into him in a wave so strong that his stomach churns. He tastes bile. He’s thankful for it— It’s better than blood.
Anything is better than blood.
“Zoro?”
His head snaps around so fast that something cricks in his neck. His eyes are saucer-wide. Sanji takes a step forward and he is rooted to the spot, frozen statue-still; he is sure his heart stops beating for a second. Fitting. He knows he should step back— Knows now that he had been the threat, and yet he cannot move.
“Let’s just… go back to the ship, how about that?” Sanji says tentatively, wincing as he kicks aside something that looks like a liver to put his foot down again, and he’s so close. Too close. “Let me—”
“No,” Zoro rasps, and God, fuck, he sounds like a fucking death rattle and he wants to claw his own voice box out of his fool mouth. The cook’s expression is a twist between desperation and something else, something that makes Zoro want to gag and cry and scream. Sanji should never look like that and it’s because of him. “No,” he tries again, quieter. He looks away. He doesn’t think he can stand looking into those blue, blue eyes. “It’s my mess, I’ll clean up.” Sanji makes a noise like he’s about to protest, and Zoro pierces through his own heart as he turns his back. “Alone.”
A beat of silence, and then Sanji is walking away. His crew is walking away. Zoro stands, surrounded by bodies he’d ripped apart, and thinks that perhaps this is how everybody that has ever been under his claws had felt.
And that’s that.
*
The following days are hell. He breathes in and everything he smells is wrong; anxiety, worry, an undercurrent of tentativeness that makes him throw himself into his training with renewed fervour. He is torn between the urge to bare his throat, show his belly and prove to his crew that they will never come to any harm from him, and the pride that insists he will not go against his nature to make himself more palatable for anybody else.
He is all fang and claw and wickedly sharp teeth. He is a predator by nature, given humanity and a mortal form. This is the shape of his soul.
But they are his family. His nakama. And sitting here on the floor of the crow’s nest after running every kata he knows countless times, Zoro feels painfully, inexplicably sad. It is unfamiliar; he doesn't really do regrets, but it reminds him that at least some part of him is still human.
He lost control. He doesn’t do that, either. He never does that. But he did, and now none of his nakama can look him in the eye.
Somebody climbs up the ladder, and his nostrils flare.
“Zoro?” Chopper asks, peeking his head up, and the swordsman immediately tries to look like he’d been busy, which… is ridiculous. He is sitting on the floor and moping. The sigh that whooshes from his lungs is defeated.
“Hm?” he prompts, when the tiny reindeer doesn’t say anything else.
Chopper climbs up fully, rubbing his hooves together. “I’ve checked everybody over except you.”
Zoro can see the way he takes a fortifying breath and walks closer with a purpose. He stretches out his legs and allows Chopper to do as he wishes.
“…We’re all worried about you,” the reindeer says after a while, staring intently into Zoro’s eye and testing his pupillary reflex.
The swordsman gives a non-committal hum. “Scared of me, you mean.”
“No!”
Zoro jumps when a hoof whacks him across the forehead. “Wh—?!”
“We’re scared for you!” Chopper scolds, sounding dangerously close to tears. His distress turns Zoro’s stomach. “Do you know how scary it was to see you like that?! And then! You haven’t eaten in three days, and you probably haven’t slept, either, have you? Sanji’s been trying not to push because he knows you’re upset, but he’s been pacing a hole into the galley floor and chain-smoking like—”
“Wait,” Zoro interrupts. Replays that chunk of speech in his head. “You just said it was scary to see me like that.”
“Because we didn’t know what happened to you!” Chopper cries, huffing shakily. “And the look on your face when you realised—”
Zoro’s back bumps into the bench as Chopper grabs him in a hug, arms around his neck. His breath catches in his chest.
“Don’t do that again,” Chopper says firmly, shoving Zoro’s shoulder for good measure as he pulls back. “You seem okay, at least physically. Any pain?”
“No.”
“Any trouble shifting?”
“Haven’t tried.”
The doctor makes a noise, a cross between displeasure and something softer. “Well, try soon. Can Sanji come and see you?”
“…Yeah.”
“Okay.” Chopper stands, giving Zoro one last look. “For the sake of our cook’s lung capacity, come down to dinner.”
Zoro sucks down a breath and holds it until it burns. He smells worry-care-care-anxiety-care and pats a hand over Chopper’s hat. “Alright.”
He sits back against the bench as their tiny doctor leaves, and within a minute someone is climbing up again. Sanji stands, silhouetted by the late-afternoon light. Zoro’s chest aches.
“Marimo,” the cook says evenly, and Zoro resists the urge to scent the air.
“Swirly-brow,” he returns, neutral. Testing the waters. “Heard you missed me.”
Sanji is silent, and Zoro’s heart gives a sickening squeeze. Has he overstepped already? He opens his mouth to say something, anything, and nearly jumps when he ends up with a lapful of gangly limbs, his spine pressed hard into sanded wood.
There are hands on his face, in his hair, lightly callused and holding him in place as Sanji kisses him like he’s got a point to prove. Zoro freezes up at first, because even in his human form his teeth are sharp and he doesn’t know what he will do if he draws Sanji’s blood. Maybe run away to live out the rest of his life in well-deserved exile.
But then he smells salt, and something wet smears against his cheek, and Sanji’s lashes are clumped with tears as he pulls back and there is a slender finger jabbing hard into his sternum.
“Don’t you ever,” Sanji hisses, poking him again for emphasis, “do that shit to me again, you fucking bastard.”
He smells like bitter fatigue, acrid worry sharpened with anger and underneath all of it— love, lemon-bright and so goddamn sweet that it coats Zoro’s tongue like honey, wipes every memory of red iron and rust from his mind. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, eyes roving over Sanji’s face; the curled ends of his brows, the long lashes, the high cheekbones and strong nose and a sharp cupid’s bow, so familiar he could trace it in his sleep. “I thought you— wouldn’t want to see me.”
“Fucking bullshit,” Sanji spits, his face crumpling, and he goes easily when Zoro coaxes him to his chest. “Do you know how long I spent worrying about whether or not you were okay?”
“I know,” Zoro soothes, and his heart is beating so fast that his ribs hurt. “I’m alright.”
“Well, I’m not,” Sanji announces, digging his knee up into Zoro’s side with a vengeance until he gets a wheeze. “You owe me three packs of cigs. You owe the whole crew an apology. Luffy’s damn near lost his appetite; even Nami won’t so much as insult me when I try and get a rise out of her.”
Sanji’s glaring at him with the force of the sun, fierce and beautiful and golden-bright, but the dark circles beneath his eyes make guilt drag razor-thin talons across Zoro’s stomach. “You shouldn’t smoke so much,” he says softly, brows furrowing as he cards Sanji’s bangs out of his face and cups his cheek.
“You shouldn’t go berserk and then isolate yourself without considering the fact that your crew would be worried sick about you,” the cook fires back without missing a beat. He leans into Zoro’s touch anyway, and Zoro smooths a thumb into the hollow between his bridge and brow.
“Weren’t you scared?”
“More— unsettled, maybe. Marimo,” Sanji’s throat bobs, eyes flickering over Zoro’s face. “Your eyes were slits. Like you were expecting to get attacked. We didn’t know how to talk to you without you panicking and running away.”
“I do not run—” he begins, scowling, and then shuts his mouth. What has he been doing these past three days, if not running away? “I think…” He digs deep into the memory, lays everything out in his head and ah.
That man had crept up in Sanji’s blind spot, a wickedly long knife in his hand, and Zoro hadn’t thought. Hadn’t planned, just jumped. “He was gonna get to you,” he mutters, forcing himself to hold Sanji’s gaze even as the cook frowns. “I’m sorry, cook. I lost control. It won’t happen again.”
The words are clunky and unfamiliar in his mouth. He’d almost eaten a man in his human form. That had to have looked all kinds of fucked up; he really didn’t blame his crew if they—
“Oi,” Sanji scoffs, flicking him in the forehead. “Are you always so distracted even with pretty people in your lap?”
Zoro huffs through his nose. “Oh, I’m sorry, princess. Just contemplating how I nearly ate someone.”
The cook’s mouth twitches. “There are a great many jokes I can make about that, but I’ll save them for later. You’re a tiger, marimo. You were just protecting us. We really can’t hold it against you.”
“…You’re not scared of me,” he murmurs one last time, because he has to be sure.
“I’m not,” Sanji confirms easily, rubbing his thumb over the shell of Zoro’s ear, dragging through his earrings and making them tinkle like wind chimes. “Come down and the rest of them won’t be, either.”
Something in him gives. Shifts, releases, crumbles in his chest like a little collapsible galaxy as he pulls the cook down for another kiss. He feels Sanji’s tongue trace over the points of his teeth, utterly fearless— It steals the breath right from his lungs, this blatant, unwavering trust that he’s been allowed to hold cupped in his battle-rough palms. He gathers flaxen hair into his hand so that he can look the cook in both eyes, blue as the sky at high noon and crystal clear. Sanji leans into his chest with a ragged exhale and Zoro slides one palm up to the nape of his neck, one over his ribs, if only to feel him breathe, and the words slip out. “I love you.”
He doesn’t know why it feels like he’s never said them before. They must have crossed his tongue hundreds of times by now, his mind a hundredfold more. He loves Sanji, he knows; it aches under his ribs, next to his heart, woven into his soul. He loves his crew, he knows; he gives them leeway he would allow nobody else, and refuses to accept that he needs their affection as much as they want his.
But it feels new. Every single time, it feels brand-new. Like a freshly-minted coin that never tarnishes, pure, solid gold— So he lets himself be greedy and leaves his fingerprints all over it, goes to sleep with it tucked in his fist like a child holding on to a dream. “I love you,” he whispers into Sanji’s hair, and he feels the cook shift in his arms, feels the same words shaped against his throat, teeth to bone, fingers around his heart.
He purrs the words subsonic, over and over even when his crew cannot hear. He will put them out into the world until his nakama know and he will think them a thousand times more.
But for now, they have an hour left till dinner. Sanji is breathing slowly, his arms tucked against Zoro’s chest. The lines of worry between his brows are smoothed out.
Zoro thinks he’ll take a nap.
#zosan#one piece zosan#roronoa zoro#zosan au#black leg sanji#zoro x sanji#one piece sanji#straw hat pirates#one piece#weretiger zoro au#it’s like 4am im going to bed#goodnight zosan nation#waiting for my weretiger zoro anons to see this like hehehehehehe#ino writes
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Daddy/Dearest (Wade Wilson x M!Reader)
Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Alien!Cis!M!Reader
Rating: Mature (lowest I can go with a Deadpool fic)
Words: 1048
POV: Third
Summary: You matched with Deadpool on the intergalactic dating app Starcrossed. After exchanging many dick pics, you decided to visit Earth for your first date... and blow the planet up if the date sucked.
Note: Inspired by the song Party Tonight by Joe Hedourix and this prompt.
Tags: first date, fluff, idk who Nick Fury really is tbh, 4th wall breaks, romcom and reader’s appearance is a little vague but at some point I started imagining Megamind
“Deadpool! Open up!” Wade groaned at the insistent knocking on his door. He tried to rub his eyes, only to find out that he was still wearing his mask. A quick look down revealed he had fallen asleep on the couch in his PJs. The knocking at his door stopped, so he rested his body on the couch. He had barely closed his eyes, when the door was knocked down.
He raised his head with a groan, only to be incredibly surprised by his guest. “Wow, Nick Fury, I am not sure if I am even supposed to know who you are, because the writer has seen exactly one movie in which you had a cat, but he supposes you’re an important dude or whatever.”
“Shut it, motherfucker,” the man wearing a black trenchcoat barked back at Wade. He clearly took note of the dirty white shirt with a butt on it and the blue chequered underwear Wade was wearing, but he did not comment on it. “Do you know the app Starcrossed?”
Wade laughed, not reading the room that had been filled with armoured men and women because we are inclusive here and women can and will kick your ass if provoked.
“That app with all the metas on it? Why? Did we match? I’m sorry if I did not reply, but you’re not really my type and you must have been an accidental swipe.”
“Stop yapping! Does this guy look familiar to you?” From his pocket he unfolded a picture printed on an A4 paper. Wade leaned in and squinted at the picture. He did recognise the person on it.
“Oh yes that’s my daddy - not my father - but like a sexual daddy you know. You should see his dick.” Nick looked like he was gonna lose it. Wade could tell, but he frankly did not give a shit.
“Well, your ‘daddy’ is the leader of an alien race, whose armada is in orbit right now to drop him off for a ‘date’ with you. So get dressed, because whether we get blown up or not today is apparently up to you.” That was a lot to take in, but Wade was used to weird days and this was simply just another one of them.
Now it was common to be nervous for a first date, but the fully armed SWAT team dropping Wade off was not helping. He tried making conversation with them, but they seemed to blame him for possible annihilation before dinner time.
When he stepped out of the chopper, there was a masculine figure waiting in front of the former military base. He held a large bouquet of iridescent flowers. They seemed either fake or from an alien planet. “Wadey!” The figure called out, waving frantically with all hands that were not holding the bouquet. The inhuman coloured skin seemed to change colour wherever the late morning sun was directly shining on it.
“Hi daddy,” Wade called back in the same cooing tone. He skipped over to his date. “Are those for me?” He mused, knowing the answer as his date handed them to him.
“I heard flowers are quite common to bring to a Terran date, so I brought some rare flowers from my planet for you. I am afraid they will not survive as long as they would on my planet though. The sun here is weak.” Wade smelled the flowers. They smelled like butt. Could be worse. At least Wade was familiar with the smell of butt. Wade held the flowers close as he thanked the other for them. “Well then, shall we? Your government was so kind to help me set up an Earth-date.”
The atmosphere was… weird. There was a very extensive brunch on a beautifully decorated table, but they were surrounded by people keeping them at gunpoint. “You don’t seem bothered by being held at gunpoint,” Wade noted as he rolled up his mask just far enough to shove a croissant into his mouth.
“Likewise,” his date smirked back at him. He reached out and touched the edges of the mask. “Come on, I already know your dick and ass are covered in scars. Your face cannot possibly scare me.” Wade thought about it. Well, his identity was not really a secret right now anyway. They already knew where he lived. Wade lifted his mask off his face, trying to not show how insecure he was about his fucked up face. However, when he looked at the alien before him, he swore he could see a hunger in his eyes. “If these people were not around, I would fuck your face right now,” the man sighed dreamily, before continuing to clumsily trying to spread butter on a piece of toast.
Wade reached out and decided to help him. Their fingers briefly touched and Wade saw the other man smile at the contact. It set his body on fire with desire. “I frankly don’t care about the audience, but after writing all those kinktober fics the writer can really use a break from blowjob scenes, so let’s keep this from being E-rated.”
Wade sat back down after buttering his date’s toast. He watched as the alien’s facial features reacted to the taste of Earth food. “Fascinating,” he spoke softly. Wade chatted with his date and those mesmerising eyes and charming smile kept drawing him in. At some point he was sure even Nick Fury could smell his arousal from wherever he was keeping an eye on the situation. There was no more food left, when his date rose from his seat and offered one of his hands. “Let’s get out of here.”
Wade grabbed his mask and put it back on. “We’ll have to fight our way out of here if we want to do that.” A corona of blue light started surrounding the alien, a devilish smile appearing on his face. The sudden display of power got people loading their guns and Wade’s gun filling up with blood really quickly.
“Do not worry, dearest, that can be arranged,” the most powerful being that had ever held him spoke, before he blasted a hole in the line of armed people, lighting the way to their future in a flurry of blue. “Let’s have a good time, dearest.”
#deadpool#wade wilson#ryan reynolds#deadpool x reader#male reader#deadpool x male reader#wade wilson x reader#wade wilson x male reader#mcu#marvel#mcu x reader#MCU x Y/N#mcu x you#mcu x male reader#marvel x reader#marvel x male reader#marvel x you#Marvel x Y/N
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a lesson in romantics; lesson one
summary: a multi-part series where reader is the new art teacher at hawkins high and the history teacher, mr. harrington, takes a shine to the new girl. mutual pining ensues on their road to love 🥀
a/n: so here's the first part to the series! i hope you all enjoy <3 it takes place in the early 90s where steve and reader are in their mid-late twenties. disclaimer: i have very limited knowledge on the american school systems or how they work lmao so i'm sorry if it comes across as british-y sometimes but i'll do my best to be as authentic as possible :^) also special shoutout to @inkluvs who originally gave me this idea 1635272 years ago and @onceuponaoneshot who inspired me to actually start writing it hehe
characters: steve harrington x fem!reader, robin buckley
word count: 1.3k
warnings: none, just some introductory stuff, steve being a flirt
taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke
SERIES MASTERLIST
HAWKINS, FALL, 1992
September. Fall semester.
A new town. A new school.
Hawkins’ newest resident and Hawkins High newest teacher. You’d spent the last month settling into your new home - a small apartment, nothing extravagant but it was enough for you.
You looked forward to the new start, to get back into the classroom. You loved to teach but the prospect of a new bunch of kids always made you a little nervous.
Making your way into the teacher’s lounge, you quietly said your hello’s to the fellow teachers you had met at orientation a couple days earlier. You silently went about making your morning coffee when a bickering pair burst through the door, a petite girl with a dirty blonde bob who you vaguely recognised as the music teacher and a taller guy, with pretty brown hair and a patterned tie slung around his neck.
You caught his eye as you turned to see the source of the disturbance, a soft but cheeky smile donning his lips. He struggled to keep up whatever conversation he was having with the girl he strolled in with as he finally tore his eyes away from you.
The blonde followed his eyeline to you, she smirked followed by a roll of her eyes. She swatted your mystery co-worker on the chest, followed by a hushed, “Steve! Are you even listening to me?”
He wasn’t. She knew he wasn’t. But at least your mystery co-worker had a name now.
Steve. It suited him.
“You’re such a boy.” She groaned, waving him off before going off the mingle with some of the other teachers.
Steve responded with a laugh as he swanned his way over to the kitchenette where you were stood. “First day?” he asked calmly as he grabbed his regular mug from the cupboard above your head.
“Oh, uh, yeah—“ you stammered, caught a little off guard.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, “I never even introduced myself. I’m Mr. Harrington. History.” He said with much more candor, holding his hand out for you to shake.
You accepted the hand shake, making a mental note at how much bigger his hand was than yours. “I teach art.” You said, after telling him your own name, “Am I supposed to call you Mr. Harrington, then?”
Any confidence and swagger he was sporting crumbled, his cheeks flushed with a pink tinge, “I’m such an idiot,” he confessed with a chuckle, fingers combing through that pretty brunette hair, “I’m Steve. You can call me Steve.”
“Nice to meet you, Steve.” You grinned, a toothy smile that made Steve’s heart thump in his chest. A smile he would be thinking about for days to come.
“Well, I better get going. Minds of the youth to shape and all that but I’ll see you around, yeah?” Steve said, grabbing his coffee cup as he gestured to the door that led to the school halls.
“Sure,” you nodded, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, grabbing your own warm flask. You couldn’t help but let your tummy go all fuzzy at Steve’s kindness, a smile creeping its way onto your lips.
“Have a good first day, newbie.” Steve joked with a wink before he called out to his friend as he walked out the door, “Buckley! Are you coming or what?”
~
“You’re crushing on the new art teacher, aren’t you?” Robin blurted out.
Steve cursed his best friend under his breath, thanking whatever God was up there that school was yet to start and the hallways were empty.
“I’m in my late twenties Robin, I don’t get crushes.” Steve waved her off, “I mean, sure, she’s pretty cute but besides, we’ve only exchanged two sentences.”
“Oh, come on, Harrington!” Robin chortled, hand on her stomach as she bellowed in the hallway, “That has never stopped you before.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Steve hushed the girl with a roll of his eyes, “anyway, why didn’t you say hi to her? Not very nice of you, Buckley.”
Steve desperately tried to get the attention off of himself, his free hand perched on his hip as he brought his mug of coffee to his lips. His eyes narrowed at Robin over the rim. Like always though, it never worked. His friend far too persistent for his liking.
“Because, dingus,” her tone exasperated now, “I met her at orientation. You know, the thing you didn’t bother showing up for?”
They arrived at the door to Steve’s classroom which was one block over from Robin’s. He groaned audibly at Robin’s comment, “Come on, Robs! I told you I had a migraine,” he muttered as he fished his keys from his pocket, “you know, years of head trauma takes a toll on the ol’ noggin.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she began to turn on her heel to make her way to her own classroom, “it was your loss anyway, Stevie,” Robin teased, a playful undertone to her voice, “‘cause she looked way cuter the other day.”
Steve scoffed at the younger girl, simply not giving her a response, before he closed his classroom door behind him. He slumped in his desk chair as he wondered to himself how he was going to get through the day without his thoughts trailing to you and your smile.
~
You’d never been so glad to hear the bell ring in your life. You enjoyed your first day, sure, but it was a little overwhelming to say the least. A lot of new faces and names to learn and remember, a thick new syllabus you had to preach to these kids.
A sigh of relief fell from your lips as you gathered your things and locked your classroom door behind you. As you made your way towards the teachers parking lot, you dug through your purse for your car keys as you fell face first into someone’s firm body.
It was like a scene out of a movie. The papers and books that were clutched in your arms went flying across the hallway, your purse and the contents of it spilled all over the floor. A total cliche.
A string of curses tumbled from your lips as you apologised over and over to whoever it was you bumped into. You both knelt to the ground to gather your things when you finally looked into the eyes of who it was.
A pretty set of brown eyes were staring back at you with a coy smile on the lips of their owner. You could only laugh back at him.
Of course it was Steve.
“I’m sorry,” you giggled, scooping up the stray papers, “I’m a total klutz.”
“Don’t sweat it,” he reassured you, handing you back what he had gathered of yours, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Right.” You nodded.
You stood back up, papers and car keys safely in hand now. Steve placed his hand on your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze, “You good?”
Plunging the butterflies in your stomach back down to their depths, you squeaked out a reply, “Yeah, yes. Thank you for not getting mad at me.”
“You kidding?” Steve asked all shocked, tone light and playful, “Can’t get mad at the new girl on her first day. That wouldn’t be very ‘nice and welcoming co-worker’ of me, would it?”
You giggled as you nodded, eyes darting to the floor, unable to meet Steve’s inviting gaze. You gestured to the nearby door with your car keys in hand, “Well, I better get going.”
“Oh! Right, yeah, of course—“ Steve stuttered, waving you off as you made your way to the door, “Hey! A bunch of us get together at a bar downtown after the first Friday of the semester if you wanna join us?”
“Oh, um,” you pondered, “I guess that could be fun.”
“Great,” Steve spoke, “I’ll get you the address. See you tomorrow?”
You nodded as you felt a blush creep on your cheeks. It wasn’t a date. It was not a date, you knew that, but you couldn’t help but wonder what Mr. Harrington would look like in casual clothes.
“You betcha.”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington oneshot#stranger things fanfiction#teacher!steve#alir#k.fic
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Happy (incredibly belated) Birthday to mi amor, @disasterbuckdiaz 💙 thank you for your patience
honey, when you call my name | 12.6k | E (Buddie)
“I was at the bar, Buck.” Eddie’s voice is quieter now, dripping with uncertainty. “I walked in- and I saw the team. Then I saw you. At the pool table. Kissing someone.” Eddie inhales sharply and it feels like the air is being ripped directly from Buck. “And when I saw that I- I had to leave.”
The words play back in Buck’s mind in slow motion as he tries to piece them together. None of it makes any kind of rational sense. Eddie was there? He saw Buck and then had to–
“Did you have sex with her?” Eddie blurts out.
That is not at all what Buck was expecting. Ever since Shannon died there’s been an unspoken rule between them. A silent pact to never inquire about or interfere with the other’s romantic life. And sure, Buck broke that with Ana, but only because Eddie was having panic attacks. What else was he supposed to do? This is completely different in every way. Because his best friend, man he’s hopelessly in love with, and star of every filthy fantasy, wants to know if anything more happened with a stranger at a bar.
The implication clicks, allowing something bright and hopeful to flicker to life in his chest. A wish Buck never dared let himself believe would be fulfilled. “Would it matter if I did?”
Buck doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s nostrils flare slightly before he attempts to cover it with a mask of indifference. How he seems to be struggling not to look away again.
“It’s not like it’s really my business anyway.” Eddie shrugs and begins picking at the label on his drink with his thumbnail.
The flickering ember of hope draws from Eddie’s reaction, daring to glow the tiniest bit brighter. “I didn’t, you know. Do anything with her, I mean.”
Eddie pauses his fidgeting, just long enough for Buck to notice before starting again. The casual silence that had been there before is anything but now. It feels weightier, the ease replaced with tension and doubt, and Buck starts to wonder if he’s completely misinterpreted the situation.
“Did you want to?”
“No!” If this is going where Buck hopes it’s going he wants to be as clear as he can. He quickly adds, “Not with her.”
Eddie jerks his head up, staring at Buck with equal parts curiosity and disbelief. It pins him in place, leaving him helpless to do anything but stare back. He doesn’t risk moving, his breathing rapid and shallow, too afraid of severing this potential new thread weaving its way into their well established connection. Another anchor point in their root system, twining them together.
“And if it had been someone else?” Eddie asks.
Not that Buck is the most effective communicator, but he kinda wishes Eddie would just say what he means already. However, he supposes, two can play at that game. “I guess it would depend on who’s asking.”
Eddie hums, shifting to set his bottle down on the counter. It lands with a semi-hollow clink and a gentle slosh as he maintains his hold, tapping one finger on the neck. As if he’s contemplating, trying to sort out a complicated equation. He briefly squeezes his eyelids shut tight, pinching his lips together, something warring within him. With a loud exhale through his nose, his body finally relaxes again and releases his grip, letting both hands rest at his sides.
There’s something else, too, when Eddie faces forward again. A new aura of confidence rolling off of him in waves. It’s vaguely reminiscent of a different night in this kitchen when their roles were reversed and Eddie stood down, unyielding to whatever the fuck Buck thought he was doing.
Not now though.
Now he looks intently at Buck. He sees him. He sees him in a way that makes Buck feel stripped down and exposed. A raw vulnerability that intensifies as Eddie steps towards him, his boots echoing with each heel strike. Another and another until he’s standing in Buck’s space, effectively caging him in.
Eddie takes the beer from his hand, placing it off to the side. It seems like a hallucination, some sort of wild fever dream. But then Eddie’s fingers are tucked under Buck’s chin, his thumb sweeping across Buck’s bottom lip and making him shiver. Christ it feels so fucking real. Please let it be.
This close, Buck can make out flecks of green interspersed with warm golden browns. He can smell the oud and lavender cologne Sophia gave him two Christmases ago. Eddie swears up and down it’s not really his style, but Buck knows better. He only had to be tortured by it every time Eddie came home from a date. Maybe it can be his now. A scent from his person. A type of claim letting everyone know he belongs to Eddie. Even if it’s just this one time.
“And what if I’m asking?” Eddie inquires, low and husky in a way Buck’s never heard from his best friend before.
“Are you?” Buck responds, barely above a whisper.
read the whole thing here
#hippo writes#eddie diaz#evan buckley#buddie#buddie fic#fic: honey when you call my name#well look what finally arrived#it's only almost a year later...
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"Do you believe in the gods, Pix?"
The archeologist chuckles, and continues adjusting measurements on his hologram projector. "You trying to convert me, Joel?"
The god of Stratos waves his hand dismissively, and though Pix isn't looking at his face, he can almost feel an the eye roll as clouds briefly wink over the sun. "Obviously you believe in me. If you didn't, we wouldn't be talking right now."
"Ah."
"I mean the old ones. You know." Joel waves a hand vaguely the direction of the ruined capital. "The absent ones."
Pix pauses in his work to turn and look past the bridge. The burnished gold of the tip of one of the angel's wings is all he can see over the hillside gates, but he knows the goddess is there. He memorized every curve and angle of that monument when he'd found it. It was... An impressive statue. He turns back to his projector and keys in a few more measurements, trying to get the height of the road just right.
"I don't know."
"Oh. Well I suppose you wouldn't." Joel shrugs at Pix's questioning glance. "You're human."
There is a moment where they're silent. Pix works keys a few buttons, adjusting the placement of his projection, and Joel watches, arms crossed like a sentinel. He doesn't help Pix. Not really. Joel isn't really that kind of god. He bestows gifts and blessings, but he reserves his hands for his people and his whims. But Pix didn't invite the god here to build. He doesn't mind reconstructing this old capital by himself. Joel does, however, grunt disapprovingly every time Pix places the structure wrong, and flick his eyes a little to the left, and Pix takes the hint and adjusts the hologram in that direction.
"You wanna know what I think?" Pix says, setting the hologram in its final place and taking a few steps back to observe it.
"You think?" The god chuckles, and when he does, distant thunder rumbles.
"I think more than you."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"I think worshipping the world is the closest we can get to an omniscient god." Pix finishes the thought before they can devolve into ribbing each other. It's fun to bicker with Joel, but that's not where Pix is going with this conversation.
Joel cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. "You don't think I'm omniscient?"
"Would you ask me this stuff if you were, oh all-knowing god of storms and things?"
"Sky god," Joel corrected. "Touché, little history man. So, you worship the world, then?"
"Everything we do leaves a footprint," Pix tells him. He adjusts his hologram just a bit to the left again. Joel nods at him almost unconsciously. Pix stops fiddling and starts playing shulkers, preparing to build. He's going to finish this bridge today. "The earth records these footprints. It's the nature of things that change, that they hold impressions of what changed them."
Pix gestures to the rock slide that cuts off one side of his hologram. "This gate used to carve right through this hill. Even though this side has collapsed, and erosion has eaten the side, beneath that rubble, there are cobblestones someone laid by hand. Maybe they were slaves, or skilled craftsman, but regardless they existed. The lived a full life, whatever that meant for them, they spoke to people they loved, ate their favorite foods when they were sad, and one day, they died. Bones turn to dust, epitaphs fade, but that builder's hands still touched those cobblestones."
The god of Stratos watches the hologram with a new and open curiosity. He reaches out a massive hand and places it gently on the particles of light, as though he could touch the recreation. Instead, his fingers dip through the projection, making long flickering shadows in the light field, distorting the image like rain on a glassy lake. It's almost comical watching the massive god be so gentle and reverent, especially over something so inconsequential as a bridge piece.
"So is this how you worship the world, then?" Joel asks quietly. "By helping it remember what it's forgotten?"
There is something loaded in the words. Pix looks up at the god, and he remembers signs underneath a floating city as citizens gently remind their god they love him, and they need him. He thinks of temples to gods whose names have passed out of history, floating amidst a living city made by a god who has no temple built. Not yet.
Pix doesn't know what to say, so he opts to say nothing, instead reverently laying out his tools on the bridge like precious gifts on an altar. The two don't talk. Pix begins laying stones for a new foundation, and Joel watches thoughtfully, not seeing the world in front of him. They finish the bridge.
#the barking writer#joel smallishbeans#pixlriffs#empires s2#empires smp#empires stratos#empires the ancient capital
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