#i barely even know what i'm saying half the time and that's. terrifying

[thepinkpanther83]

And They Were Roommates (Pt.14)

Chapter Fourteen: “All Tangled Up”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

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Chapter Thirteen: “Walk of Triumph (And Slight Shame)” Chapter Fifteen: “Costumes and Catastrophes” (Link Coming Soon)

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Fourteen: “All Tangled Up”

The house was heavy with the golden weight of a late afternoon slowing into evening.

The kind of sticky heat with cool breezes that made the air lazy, made the body ache for stillness, for skin against skin.

The living room window was cracked open, letting in the cool breath of late autumn, and the faint sounds of a radio warbled somewhere in the distance- some lazy classic rock ballad that matched the way time seemed to ooze around them.

Naked except for a pair of panties, you were half on, half off the couch, tangled up between his sprawled limbs and some old, ratty bed sheets that smelled like Eddie’s cologne and a little like cigarettes.

Eddie's fingers trailed lightly along your bare thigh, mindless, hypnotic, leaving a shivery path in their wake.

Neither of you had said much for the past twenty minutes. You didn’t need to.

Every brush of his fingertips, every little shift of his weight to pull you closer, every sigh into your hair said it all-

I want you here. I want you like this. Always.

"Baby," Eddie said suddenly, his voice lazy and rough from a full day of making out, half-heartedly fixing things around the house, eating greasy burgers, and doing a whole lotta not much else.

You hummed against his chest, where your face was happily smushed.

"You know you could set me on fire and I'd thank you for the warmth, right?"

You barked out a laugh, lifting your head just enough to give him a look.

"What the hell does that even mean?" you teased, grinning, cheeks hurting from how much he'd been making you smile today.

"It means," he said, tapping your nose with the back of one calloused finger, "you're so fucking amazing, I'd say 'thank you' even while you burned me alive."

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He said it like it wasn’t terrifying at all.

And something twisted sweetly, painfully, deep inside your chest.

You dropped your face back against his skin, trying to hide how much the words shook you.

Maybe he felt it. Maybe he just knew you too well.

Because his hand slid up your back, slow and firm, anchoring you against him.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, quieter now. Serious.

You didn’t answer right away. Didn’t trust your voice.

Instead, you pressed a kiss over his heart, feeling how wild and steady it beat for you, and whispered into his skin:

"I spent so long convincing myself you were safer as a friend. That if I didn't ask for more, I'd never lose you."

Eddie’s arms tightened instantly, fiercely, like he was scared you’d vanish if he let you go for even a second.

"You never had to ask, baby," he murmured, voice low and full of a fierce, aching tenderness. "You had me. Always."

You closed your eyes, breathing him in. Leather and smoke and sweetness and Eddie.

"I'm still scared," you admitted, so softly you weren’t sure if you meant for him to hear it.

But he did. Of course he did.

He always heard you.

His voice rumbled against your ear, solemn and full of a reckless, unshakeable devotion.

"You could beat me with my own guitar and I'd ask for an encore."

You let out a watery laugh, a hiccup of feeling, and he rolled you over under him like it was nothing, smothering your face in kisses- silly, earnest, greedy.

"No crying naked," he said sternly against your mouth, nudging your nose with his, grinning when you laughed again, helpless.

"It's illegal. Look it up."

You curled your arms around his neck, clinging, feeling like your heart was too big to fit inside your chest.

"I love you, Eddie Munson," you whispered, breathless.

"Yeah, you do," he grinned cockily, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"And you're fucked now, sweetheart," he added, nosing his way down to your throat, voice smug and fond and a little broken, "because I’m so gonna make you say it again… and again."

His lips trailed lower, teeth grazing the delicate skin just above your collarbone- not hard enough to mark, just enough to make you shiver. His voice was a rough murmur against your skin, warm and teasing.

"And again."

A kiss pressed to the frantic pulse at your throat.

"And again."

His hands slid down your sides, fingers splaying possessively over your hips as he settled between your thighs, his weight deliciously familiar.

"Until you forget there was ever a time you didn’t."

You arched into him, breath hitching as his mouth found yours again- hot, insistent, hungry. His tongue swept against your bottom lip, coaxing, demanding, and you opened for him with a soft sigh, fingers tangling in his thick mass of hair.

Eddie groaned into the kiss, one hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your head back just so he could deepen it, just so he could ruin you a little more.

His mouth was hot and relentless, kissing you like he was trying to rewrite your DNA, like if he could just press hard enough, he could fuse himself into your skin.  

You gasped when his teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just enough to sting, just enough to make your thighs clench around his hips.  

Eddie chuckled against your mouth, low and dark.  

"There she is," he murmured, dragging his lips down your throat, tasting the frantic flutter of your pulse.  

His hands slid under your shirt, calloused palms rough against the softness of your stomach, your ribs, the tender undersides of your breasts.  

You arched into his touch, nails scraping down his back, and he groaned, pressing his forehead to your collarbone like he was praying.  

"Fuck," he breathed, voice wrecked. "You're so perfect."  

You laughed, breathless, tugging at his hair. "You're biased."  

Eddie lifted his head, eyes wild and hungry.  

"Yeah," he agreed, grinning crookedly. "And?"  

You swallowed hard.  

His thumb brushed over your nipple through the thin fabric of the sheets, and you whimpered, hips jerking against his.  

Eddie's grin turned filthy.

"Say it again," he demanded, voice rough.

You bit your lip.

He pinched lightly.

"Eddie-"

"Say it."

You exhaled, shaky.

"...I love you."

He kissed you like it was the first time all over again- desperate and sweet and needy.

"Again," he murmured against your lips.

You laughed, breathless, and he swallowed the sound, hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you harder against him.

The world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the weight of his body, the way his fingers dug into your skin like he was afraid you'd disappear.

And when he finally pulled back, panting, forehead pressed to yours, his voice was raw with need-

"Again."

You smiled, dizzy, and whispered it against his lips.

And he kissed you like he'd never stop.

Because he wouldn't. Not ever.

Your hands were suddenly everywhere- greedy, desperate… tugging at his shoulders, sliding under the tangled sheets to get to his bare skin, dragging blunt nails along his spine just to hear him growl against your skin.

Eddie was trembling, whole body shuddering with the effort to slow down, to savor this, but he was losing. Fast.

"Fuck, sweetheart-" he gasped, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your throat, "-you're gonna kill me. You're actually gonna kill me."

You laughed, breathless, writhing under him, feeling him hard and hot grinding against the soft, soaked cotton of your panties.

"Not before you finish me off first," you panted back, yanking at the sheets with frantic fingers.

Eddie chuckled low in his throat, wicked and thrilled, a sound that made your thighs clench around him.

"Gonna make you feel so good, baby," he promised roughly, voice cracking with it, hands fumbling to push the tangled sheets out of the way. "Gonna make you forget your own name."

He kissed you again, hard enough to bruise, and when he finally pulled away, he dragged the tip of his nose along your jaw, murmuring in that ragged, half-crazed voice-

"You'll only remember one thing."

You arched up into him, half-dazed, needing him like you needed air. "What's that?"

He grinned against your skin, wicked and wild and worshipful.

"That you're mine."

You barely got the blasted tangled sheets off before Eddie growled low in his chest- impatient, needy- and shoved the sheets down just enough to free himself, not even bothering to get them all the way off.

You gasped, body arching up instinctively at the feel of him, hot and heavy against your thigh, leaving a wet smear on your skin.

He hissed, rocking against you once, twice, grinding the thick length of his cock through the soaked fabric between your legs.

"Christ, baby," he panted, forehead dropping against yours. "You're dripping. Fuckin’ ruin me."

You whimpered, nails digging into the flex of muscle in his arms as you tried to hook your legs around his hips, tried to pull him closer, harder, more.

But Eddie- sweet, wicked, reckless Eddie- pulled back just enough to grab the hem of your panties, the elastic snapping lightly against your skin before he tore them off like they offended him.

"You don’t need these," he muttered, tossing the ruined scrap somewhere behind him without a second thought.

You shivered under the heavy weight of his gaze- hungry, reverent, wrecked.

He pushed your thighs open with rough, calloused hands, spreading you wide for him, and then- Oh, fuck- He dropped to his stomach between your legs like a man dying of thirst, and you were the last drop of water on earth.

"Eddie-!" you gasped, hips jerking up off the couch as his mouth latched onto you, tongue flattening and dragging through the wet heat of you like he was starving.

He groaned against you- a deep, desperate, filthy sound, and his hands pinned your hips down like he was afraid you’d escape if he didn’t.

"You taste like fucking heaven," he rasped against your cunt, breath hot and shaking. "Gonna eat you ‘til you forget how to fucking breathe, sweetheart."

You were already half there, gasping, babbling his name like a prayer as he worked you over- tongue licking, circling, plunging, teeth grazing just enough to make your whole body seize up with a frantic whimper.

You fisted his hair, tugging helplessly, but he only groaned, deeper, rutting his hips into the couch like he couldn't help himself.

"That’s it," he growled. "Fuckin’ ride my face, baby. Gimme everything."

You were sobbing his name by the time he slid two fingers inside you, crooking them just right, just perfect, and when he sucked your clit between his lips and moaned low in his throat- it was over.

You came hard, shaking apart under his mouth, thighs clamping around his head, trying to shove him away and pull him closer at the same time.

But Eddie wasn’t done.

He licked you through it- messy, greedy, not letting up even as you writhed and gasped and pleaded, until you were whimpering from over-sensitivity, hands shoving weakly at his shoulders.

Only then, only when you were trembling and broken and soaked through, did he finally lift his head.

His face was wrecked- mouth shiny, chin slick, eyes dark and wild and full of possessive triumph.

"Goddamn," he rasped, voice thick with pride and want. "I love to watch you come apart."

He shoved the sheets further down, finally freeing himself completely, and you barely had time to blink before he was fitting himself against you, thick and hot and bare.

You felt the blunt head of him nudge against your entrance, and you choked out a breathless moan, grabbing at his shoulders.

"No teasing," you managed to whimper, already desperate for him, aching, empty. "Please, Eddie-"

His mouth crashed into yours, hot and messy, swallowing your plea as he pushed inside in one slow, agonizing thrust.

You both cried out, bodies locking up, breath stolen by the sheer feel of it.

"Fuck- fuck, sweetheart, you’re so tight… so perfect-" Eddie babbled, forehead pressed to yours, hands braced on either side of your head like he was afraid he might break you if he wasn’t careful.

You were clutching at him, nails biting into his skin, gasping into his mouth as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours.

You were full, stretched to the brink, every nerve ending sparking like a live wire.

"Move," you whimpered against his mouth, rocking your hips helplessly. "Eddie, please-"

He snapped, hips jerking back and then slamming forward with a rough, desperate thrust that made you cry out.

And then he was fucking you.

Hard. Deep. Like he was trying to carve himself into your bones.

Each thrust drove little gasps and whimpers from your lips, and Eddie swallowed every sound greedily, murmuring against your mouth-

"Mine. Mine. Mine."

You clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, taking everything he gave you and begging for more.

"Say it again," he demanded, voice wrecked and raw, slamming into you so deep it felt like he touched your soul.

You sobbed his name, nails raking down his back again and clutching his ass.

"Say it, baby. Say you love me."

"I love you," you gasped, breaking apart under him. "I love you, Eddie… God, I love you-"

He groaned, deep and guttural, thrusts growing erratic as he buried his face in your neck, mouthing at your skin like he could devour you whole.

"Fuck, fuck… I'm close-" he rasped, fingers digging bruises into your hips. "Cum with me, sweetheart. Come on, baby, please-"

You felt the coil inside you snap- saw stars behind your eyes as your orgasm flowed through you, raw and shattering, pulling a hoarse, broken scream from your throat.

Eddie followed with a loud, desperate cry of your name, spilling inside you with a violent shudder, hips grinding against yours as he emptied himself inside of you, fucking it deep with shallow, frantic thrusts until he was utterly spent.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your harsh, panting breaths, your hearts hammering against each other’s chests.

Eddie collapsed onto you with a heavy, boneless groan, still buried deep inside, clinging to you like a lifeline.

"You’re really fucked now, sweetheart," he rasped, voice slurred with exhaustion and awe.

"You’re stuck with me forever."

You laughed, breathless and giddy, wrapping your arms tight around him.

"Good," you whispered against his hair. "Because I’m not letting you go either."

He smiled against your throat, lazy and sated and so in love he could hardly breathe.

"Smart girl," he mumbled.

And if either of you were still capable of moving, you would've gone another round right then and there.

As it was, you just held each other, sweaty and tangled and utterly wrecked, while the golden light faded into dusk around you.

The apartment was quiet again, except for the hum of the old refrigerator and the distant chirping of crickets outside. The air smelled like sweat, sex, and the faintest hint of the cheap incense Eddie had lit earlier to "set the mood", which had mostly just made the place smell like a head shop.

You were sprawled across Eddie’s chest, tracing lazy circles over the fresh marks your nails had left on his skin. His fingers were tangled in your hair, occasionally tugging just enough to make you lift your head and meet his gaze- dark, satisfied, smug.

"You’re staring," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

Eddie grinned, unrepentantly. "Can’t help it. You’re ridiculously pretty when you’re all fucked out."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the flush creeping up your neck.

He noticed, of course.

"Oh my God," he gasped, delighted. "You’re blushing."

You smacked his chest. "Shut up."

Eddie caught your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm before tucking it against his heart. "Nah. I like it. Makes me feel like I actually did something right for you for once."

You frowned, lifting your head to study his face. "You do a lot of things right, Munson."

He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah? Name three."

You didn’t hesitate.

"One- you make me laugh harder than anyone else."

Eddie blinked, clearly not having expected you to actually play along.

"Two- you listen when I talk. Like, actually listen."

His throat bobbed.

"Three-" You leaned in, brushing your lips against his. "-you love me like it’s the easiest thing in the world."

Eddie’s breath hitched.

For a second, he just stared at you, eyes wide and vulnerable, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Then, with a shaky exhale, he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice thick. "You can’t just say shit like that, sweetheart. I’ve got a reputation to uphold."  

You laughed, cuddling into his side.

The room was warm, dim, and lazily spinning around you both like some slow, hazy carousel. You were still draped across Eddie's chest, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the dark ink of his chest tattoo- a black widow spider, the skin around it very faintly raised. He shifted under you, making a soft grunt like he was thinking real hard about something. You tilted your head up to catch his expression- brows furrowed, mouth twisted in concentration.

"You're scheming," you said, voice thick and lazy.

Eddie’s lips curled into a sly grin. "Guilty, sweetheart." He tapped a finger against your shoulder. "Tomorrow’s Halloween."

You groaned dramatically and let your head fall back down. "So?"

"So," he said, drawing the word out, "Steve and Robin are throwing a party."

You lifted your head again, squinting at him. "You hate parties."

"I hate most parties," Eddie corrected, holding up a finger. "But apparently this one’s at Steve’s big stupid house, and apparently someone-" he poked you lightly, "- really wants to see his place."

You rolled your eyes. "I never said I wanted to see his place."

"You didn’t have to." He waggled his eyebrows. "I could feel it in my bones."

You snorted. "Your bones are full of shit."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But also? First Halloween together? We gotta do it right, babe."

He shifted, suddenly way too energized for a man who had been thoroughly wrecked less than an hour ago, and grabbed a notebook off the coffee table. It was bent and covered in doodles, pages curling at the edges. He flipped it open, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in focus.

"I have ideas."

"Oh God," you muttered, flopping back onto his chest.

"Just hear me out!" Eddie said, laughing. He scribbled furiously for a second. "Option one: Grim reaper and his tragically beautiful victim."

You wrinkled your nose. "That's just an excuse to wear your stupid cloak again."

"It's not stupid, it's metal," Eddie said indignantly. "And I look hot in it."

"Debatable," you teased.

"Option two," he said, ignoring you. "Vampires. Classic. I already have the boots and the attitude."

You considered it. "Actually kinda into that."

"Knew you would be, minx." He shot you a wink. "Option three: Slashers. Freddy and... sexy Freddy."

You burst out laughing. "That’s the dumbest idea I've ever heard."

"Or," Eddie said, undeterred, "we go full chaos. Zombies. Blood everywhere. You in ripped fishnets and fake scars. Me pretending to eat your brains in front of Harrington just to make him uncomfortable."

You grinned, imagining the look on Steve's face. "That's... tempting."

"Or," Eddie added, voice dropping into a teasing drawl, "we could go as matching fallen angels. You know. Leather. Wings. Black eyeliner. Real devilishly hot vibes."

You blinked at him. "Where would we even get wings?"

Eddie beamed like you had just challenged him to build a bomb in the backyard. "Leave that to me, baby."

You shook your head, laughing into his chest. He set the notebook aside and pulled you closer again, pressing a kiss to your hair.

"I don't care what we end up being," he murmured. "As long as I get to show up with you on my arm."

You lifted your head just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw. "You’re such a sap."

"Yeah, but I’m your sap," he said smugly.

You smiled into his skin, feeling that warm, dizzy rush again, like you were falling for him all over again for the first time.

Outside, somewhere in the cooling darkness, a lone car rumbled down the street. Inside, everything smelled like home- incense, leather, him.

Tomorrow would be Halloween.

Tonight, though, was just yours.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be tagged! And to which fandom. (Bayverse TMNT, Vegeta, Eddie Munson).

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55

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[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 1)

TW: Mentions/allusions to cannibalism, death, and violence.

Three years had passed since that fateful day and your life had only gotten more miserable. Whatever hopes you had for being a part of a family were thwarted as soon as you stepped foot in the household. Bruce doesn't care about you, Dick was straight up mean, Jason (as the pack protector) was aggressive, Tim found you annoying, and Damien simply loathed your existence and would join Dick with his cruelty.

Both Stephanie and Barbara were civil with you, but neither really cared about what you did. Cassandra was nice, sometimes signing to you and giving you scented clothing, but she still didn't really go out of her way to engage with you. The only person who you felt truly cared about you was Alfred.

The first two years you tried your hardest to fit in and get the others to like you. You did whatever they wanted, made sure to learn their interests so you could talk to them, never complained, and made sure to respect the pack's boundaries.

You hoped that eventually, you’d all move past this hurdle and soon you would get along and be allowed in the pack den and other pack activities. Unfortunately, you realized that you would never be considered part of the family or the pack. Which as heartbreaking as it was, was the least of your worries.

You see, there was an ancient custom in werewolf culture concerning new pack members and pack initiation. When a new werewolf is introduced to a pack and their territory, the new werewolf has a certain amount of time to be accepted into the pack; if they’re not, well, they're killed and eaten. 

Yeah… quite terrifying and barbaric if you think about it, but mostly only the old lineages still continue this practice. Which is why you’re absolutely fucked. See, typically when children come to a pack they get accepted immediately, pups were (usually) considered precious.

In your case, being a half-blood severely reduced your chances and well, you guessed the Wayne family just didn't like you. Which sucks because you only have until your 18th birthday to get them to accept you, and considering your 16th birthday was coming up, your time was coming to a close. 

Or, you could always just run away. Hey! It was an option, one that you weren't sure the Bats would even let happen. Still it was worth a try. Which leads to your current situation in Bruce's office; you were trying to cut your losses a little early.

~~~~~~

“Look, I just feel as though this is the best course of action for your pack’s and my own safety.” Came your exasperated and desperate voice.

“Safety?” Bruce questions, causally flipping through some Wayne Industries documents, as if he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about.

“Considering Damian’s tried to kill me five times, two of his attempts almost being successful, and Jason's pit aggression that has him ready to rip my throat out, you can see why someone would feel unsafe.” You state, voice raising slightly in pitch.

He hummed noncommittally, his eyes still focusing on whatever paperwork he was going over.

“I'll think about it.” He replies, still disinterested.

“There’s nothing to think about! I should be allowed to leave if I want to, and if anything I'll finally be out of your pack's way.” You say, finally letting your frustration show through.

Why couldn't he just let you leave? Did he seriously want to keep you here just to kill– sorry, eat you in another two years?

“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from his work, his blue eyes meeting yours. He was unimpressed, you could tell that much at least, coupled with a dark look of simmering anger.

Okay, so maybe you should tone it down a notch.

“Come on, I'm not an idiot. I know me being here is simply a public formality, good fluff bits for the press y'know. But I'm not part of your family, and I'm certainly not part of your pack. You and the others have made that very clear. So please, allow me to do us both a favor and get out of your way.” You add.

“Where would you go?”

“Huh?” You blink in surprise.

“Where would you go?” Bruce repeats again.

“That–that is honestly none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? Aren't I entitled to know where my kid is?”

“No, you’re not. Sure you're biologically considered my father, but we all know I'm not really considered your kid.”

“Is that what you think?” He questions.

“Am I supposed to think any differently?”

“You carry the Wayne surname do you not?”

“I do.”

“Then you belong to the Waynes. To me. Which means that I decide what happens to you.”

There was the familiar darkness that you saw pooling in Bruce’s eyes, the type that left the Joker a tortured mess, the type that disemboweled Ra’s Al Ghul, the type of darkness that reminded you that Batman doesn’t kill. Oh no, he maims and tortures instead.

You unconsciously take a careful step back. 

Bruce’s stare felt like ice, and his words hung in the air, thick and heavy with an authority that was absolute. You wanted to argue, to say something, but every instinct in your body screamed for caution. There was a darkness in his gaze that you had seen glimpses of before, but never directed at you, and now it was there, unblinking, cutting through any hope you’d harbored for mercy or understanding.

Your heart hammered, yet you forced yourself to stand straighter, swallowing down the instinctive fear. 

“With all due respect,” you began, your voice smaller than you intended but steady, “staying here for another two years just for you all to—to follow through with that—custom, doesn’t seem fair.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t soften, but his posture shifted slightly, his gaze piercing through you like he could see every thought you tried to hide. 

“Belonging is earned. It isn’t granted because of blood,” he stated coldly. “If you truly wish to belong somewhere, you work for it.”

“I’ve tried,” you said, voice thick with frustration. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve followed your rules, I tried with everyone, and stayed out of everyone’s way. But nothing I do is good enough.”

“You assume that acceptance is given on your terms,” he replied, voice as controlled as ever. “Pack structure doesn’t bend to anyone’s whims. Least of all a half-blood who hasn’t proven their loyalty.”

The words stung, tearing open a wound that you thought had scarred over. You clenched your fists, feeling the sharp ache of your own nails digging into your palms. “And what exactly does proving myself look like here? Surviving Damian’s attacks? Letting Jason rip me apart every chance he gets?”

“Watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low, cutting through any retort you’d planned.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to take another step back from his desk. Challenging him wouldn’t help. He’d already decided where you stood, and nothing you said would change that. Maybe it was better to save your energy, conserve your strength for the day you’d finally slip away.

“Understood,” you said, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. “If that’s how it is, then I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”

 But you’d still leave when the time comes.

Bruce’s gaze hardened, like he knew what you were thinking. “Your place is here until I decide otherwise,” he said, a finality in his tone that told you any further argument would only worsen things.

He dismissed you with a look, returning to his papers as if the conversation were over, as if you were no longer there. Every step you took out of the office felt heavier, like the manor itself was holding you down, binding you to this place that was never truly a home.

As you closed the door behind you, the cold emptiness of the hallway wrapped around you, and you knew then—you were on your own. If you were to survive this, it would be on your own terms.

It's like clockwork when Alfred calls you down for dinner. The same time, the same routine.

You show  up to dinner, hands still shaking and mind still reeling from your disturbingly cryptic conversation with Bruce. But, never mind that you’d just eat quietly and leave like you always do. You moved to your normal seat only to find that all the chairs near the end of the table had disappeared. What the actual fuck. Was this some type of powerplay? Something to imply that you didn’t even have a seat at their table anymore? 

You mean, you wouldn't mind eating in the safety and comfort of your own room. With an exasperated sigh, which had a couple of heads turn their attention to you, you grabbed an empty plate and started loading it up with food. You were about to head back to your room when you heard an outraged growl from behind you.

The kind of growl that had you tensing, ready to submit and roll onto your back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jason growled out from behind you.

You freeze.

“To my room?” You responded meekly, curling in on yourself as much as you could.

“And pray tell, why do you think that’d be acceptable?”

“Uh–um, ‘cause my seats’ gone?”

Jason only smirked, the feral kind that almost always promised pain to his enemies.

“Oh, but your chair isn't gone, it's right here.” Jason says pointing to a chair right near the head of the table.

You blanked. That's not right. Only pack was allowed that close to the head of the table, where Bruce sat, where the pack leader sat.

“B-But, I can’t–”

“Did that sound like a suggestion?”

You shook your head no, swallowing down a whimper that almost escaped your lungs.

“Then sit your ass down,” Jason growled.

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Immediately you shakily sat down in your new seat, on the left side of Bruce’s seat at the head of the table with Jason sitting at your left shoulder and Dick across from you. Not good, not good at all. You could feel the acidic, green gaze of Jason burning into the side of your face whilst Dick languidly sipped his wine, a sickeningly sweet smile (with way too many teeth to be considered anything but malicious), plastered on his face as he stared at the new seating chart. You let out a shaky breath, trying to get your heart rate back to normal; you were so gonna die tonight.

Thankfully, Bruce arrived and sat himself in his seat at the head of the table; right next to you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on getting air in your lungs and slowing your racing heart. Unbeknownst to you, Bruce shot a knowing stare at the rest of the table. As much as you tried to conceal it, they could all hear your rapidly fluttering heartbeat and your poorly hidden breathing. Tim and Jason both watched you amused; you looked so darn pathetic, sitting there trembling like a leaf. 

You glanced down at your plate, picking at the food without really tasting it, hoping that staying silent would help you melt into the background.

Bruce, however, remained still and silent, his presence looming over you, radiating the authority that seemed to keep everyone else in check. But even that felt like a facade; the way his gaze lingered on you for a split second too long told you he was watching closely, assessing.

You forced yourself to take a bite, trying to steady your hands enough to appear somewhat composed. But the sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in your ears, loud and unrelenting, as if amplifying the anxiety that twisted in your gut. They could hear it too; you knew that much from the way Jason’s smirk deepened, from the way Tim’s lips twitched with barely-contained laughter.

As the dinner dragged on, every clink of a fork, every quiet murmur, felt like it was directed at you. The food turned to ash in your mouth, each bite only reminding you of the eyes trained on you, dissecting you with every chew and every breath.

The rest of the dinner passed in strained silence, every second an endurance test as you forced yourself to stay seated, to keep your head down. When Bruce finally pushed his chair back and dismissed everyone, the wave of relief was almost enough to make you lightheaded. Quick as a whip, you practically ran up the stairs towards the safety and solace of your room.

When you make it, the locks on your door are immediately fastened (not that it would do much if anyone wanted to actually force their way in). You exhale in relief as you try to collect your thoughts. Fuck, everything was going to shit; the worst part being you had school tomorrow (which thankfully you did not go to Gotham Prep; you'd kill yourself if you did). You groaned at the thought, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to relieve the ache shooting through them.

Looks like another night of shitty sleep.

Taglist!!: @lostsomewhereinthegarden, @the-rouge-robin, @confused-they

[moonlightspencie]

don't want you like a best friend

Description: James is nervous about his inexperience with girls. Luckily he has a best friend who's more than willing to help. (based on an idea formed in part by @amiableness. check out the post)

Pairing: best friend!James Potter x fem!Reader

Warnings: DESPERATE!james, inexperienced!james, blowjob (m receiving), porn with barely any plot

Word Count: 2.5k

a/n: kind of muggle!au? doesn't really matter in the context of this though lmao

You walked into James's flat, quite pleased he'd given you a key. It was much easier to bother him whenever you pleased when you could just waltz in any time.

"James!" you called out, toeing off your shoes.

"In here!" he shouted back.

You followed his voice to his room, seeing him laying on his tummy watching tv. You ran up to his bed and flopping down on it next to him. He laughed in that squeaky, joyful way he only ever seemed to do around you.

"Hi," he greeted with a cheeky smile.

"Hi," you replied with an equal grin, then glanced at the television. "What are you watching?"

"Nature documentary about penguins," he responded simply.

You glanced up at him with a quirked brow. "Why?"

"Cause I like penguins," he shrugged.

"...we need to get you a girlfriend."

He went a little quiet, prompting you to look at him again. You tilted your head.

"James?"

He chewed his lip. "I– I do kind of have a date. Tomorrow."

"What?" you exclaimed, suddenly sitting up straight. "Who? Since when?"

His cheeks went a little pink. "Sirius set it up for me."

"Oh my god! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I'm nervous!"

You chuckled softly, still in a bit of disbelief. The boy had been single for far too long in your opinion, especially considering how much girls threw themselves at him in school. He always said that it was just because he had high standards, but part of you was half-convinced he must be terrified of girls. Or commitment. Maybe both.

"I just... I can't believe it. Is she cute?"

He almost grimaced. Not a great sign.

"Uh oh," you snorted a laugh.

"It's not that she's ugly! She's... she is pretty, its just," he sighed, shrugging a little, "she's not really my type, I guess."

"At this point, I'm beginning to believe you don't have a type."

He frowned. "Hey."

"Just saying, James. You never date, and it's not for lack of girls who like you."

"I kind of have to like them back for that to work."

"You sure you're not scared of girls?" you asked with a laugh.

He chuckled a little, shaking his head. "No."

"Commitment?"

"No."

"...Sex?"

"Ugh, don't say that," he groaned, dropping his face against the mattress.

You laughed again. "Sounds like a yes. It's really not that scary."

"It's kinda scary," he mumbled against his comforter.

"James," you called quietly, resting your cheek on the mattress to look at him.

He turned his face towards you, his cheeks pink and his hair even messier than usual. His lips were slightly pouty. Frankly, it was absolutely adorable.

"Everyone but me has done it at this point. The furthest I ever got was touching a boob over clothes in fifth year."

You couldn't help but to laugh at that, causing him to whine your name in protest.

"Sorry..." you said, not all that apologetic. "It's just... cute. You get so flustered. It's really not a big deal."

"It is a big deal to me."

"Aw. I'm sorry, Jamie. I just mean that nobody's going to fault you for being inexperienced."

"They might!"

"No they won't."

"You don't know that."

"At any rate, I think it's sweet."

"But I'm not having sex with you," he argued, then snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks going even darker. "That sounds... I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," you ran a hand through his hair, and he leaned into the touch. "I just mean to say that I'm sure if I think it's sweet, other girls would also probably think it's cute."

"I'm a man. I shouldn't be cute, I should be... strong and masculine. Hot."

"You're very hot, James."

He sighed, still pouting a little.

"Put that lip away," you muttered, tapping his bottom lip.

"You're being mean."

"No, I'm not."

"You're teasing me," he pouted again.

"What? How?"

"You're very hot, James," he mocked in an overly-high-pitched voice.

You snorted a laugh. "Heaven forbid I tell my hot best friend that he is, in fact, hot."

He fell quiet for a moment. "You really think so?"

"Of course I do."

"Mm," he hummed softly, then sighed. "Why can't there be more girls like you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, smiling curiously.

"You're always so sweet to me. I just wish there were more girls who act like you, cause then I could just... do it with them and not be so worried about it."

You raised your brows, trying to hold back another laugh. "Oh, really?"

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not. Just, why don't–" you stopped abruptly.

He looked at you with wide eyes. "What?"

"If you're so worried about getting your first time over with, then why don't you just do it with me?"

He looked like he got the wind knocked out of him in that moment, blinking a few times as if he was trying to wake up from a dream. He opened his mouth a few times, though no sound came out.

"I just mean that... you said you'd do it with a girl like me, so why not me? You trust me, I know what I'm doing, you know I won't judge," you listed off some reasons. "It could work, you know?"

"Cause you're... you're my best friend."

"And?"

"And friends don't do that."

"Friends do that all the time," you replied with a shrug.

"What?" he asked, looking totally mortified.

"Friends have sex all the time."

"Since when?"

"Since forever," you chuckled a little. "I'm not saying we have to. Just putting it out there, since you're so nervous about it and all."

"I–I don't..."

"You don't have to say yes."

"I know," he nodded, looking a little uncomfortable. "It's just... I don't think I'm ready to do all of that right now."

You smile a little. "I'm not saying I'd take you to pound town right now..."

"Ugh," he groaned.

"Sorry. I just mean to say that, if you wanted to, we could start slow. Work you up to the main event."

He chewed his lip, looking away from you. You sighed softly, then stood from the bed.

"Alright. Let's go and grab a snack or something and take your mind off all this. Stop stressing so much," you said, trying to grab his arm to pull him up.

He shook his head. "Can't."

"What? Yes, you can."

"No, I can't," he emphasized, his cheeks still dark.

"Why not."

He stared at you for a moment, then whined, dropping his head into the comforter again. He mumbled something into the fabric, causing you to groan in annoyance.

"What are you saying? I can't hear you when you mumble."

"You don't understand," he said, looking at you again with a pouty face. "You're not a guy."

"What the hell is that supposed to... Oh," your eyes widened. You let out a disbelieving, delighted little giggle. "Are you–"

"Please don't talk about it. It'll make it worse," he said quickly in his whiny little voice.

"Aww. Poor baby."

"Stop it."

"Let me see."

His eyes widened comically. "What?"

"Let me see. Come on, turn over," you giggle, trying to turn him.

"Lovie, no, I..."

"Please?" you pouted, knowing he could never resist it.

He whined. "Please don't. It's embarrassing."

"It's hot."

He gulped. "...It is?"

You nodded. "Yeah. It's kind of flattering, too. The fact that I barely suggested it and you got all excited."

"It's not my fault. I just... my brain started thinking..."

"Yeah, brains tend to do that," you joked, relishing in him being all flustered. It was so unlike his usual demeanor. "Come on, Jamie. I just want to see."

He swallowed, nodding a little awkwardly before he turned onto his back. You smirked a little to yourself at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants. You sat back on the bed right next to him, glancing back at his nervous face.

"Can I touch?"

"I... I don't know."

"Just over the pants right now."

He considered it for a few moments, before taking a deep breath, nodding.

"Okay," he said quietly, his hands balling into fists.

You smiled. "Relax."

You let your hand rest on his thigh first, watching him as his eyes trailed your every move. You slowly slid up his leg, teasingly, just so you could see him sweat a little at the thought of being touched for the first time. He was generally quite confident, but somehow missed out on anything and everything intimate outside of kissing.

He sucked in a breath as you reached his hip, looking as if he could pass out.

"Hey," you said gently, trying to catch his eye. "Take a deep breath. Relax. It's supposed to feel good."

He sniffed, nodding shakily. "Y-yeah. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Jamie. Just... relax. Okay?"

"Okay."

You let your hand move again, barely ghosting over his bulge, the tips of your fingers touching the fabric of his sweatpants. You looked up at his face. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were wide and almost glossy. His pretty, pouty lips were just barely parted as he waited in anticipation for your next move.

You lowered your hand, gripping him gently through his pants, forcing a shaky gasp through his lips. You smirked to yourself a little, stroking him through his pants.

"Feels good, huh?" you asked in a quiet voice.

He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a pathetic little moan. You chuckled at the sound, stroking him again. He was bigger than you expected him to be, but not terribly massive. His hips bucked into your hand, another soft whine coming from him.

"Aww. You like it, huh?"

He nodded, breath coming in short.

"Can I do a little more?"

"Uh..."

"I think you'll like it."

"M-maybe," he gasped out, looking utterly wrecked already.

"Can I take off your pants?"

He looked at your face again. "Huh?"

"Can I take them off? I wanna touch you," you stated simply.

He whimpered. "Um... For... for what?"

You furrowed your brow. "So I can feel you. I just want to touch your skin. It'll feel better for you, too. You touch yourself, right?"

"I... Y-yeah. Yeah, sometimes."

"And I assume you don't do it through your pants, right?" you laugh a little.

He merely swallows, nodding dumbly. "Right."

"So... Can I touch you like that? I won't do it unless you say yes."

"Oh..." he sucked in a shaky breath. "O-okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

You smiled, hooking your fingers in his sweatpants and underwear. "Hips up, please."

He followed your instructions easily, lifting his hips for you. You tugged everything down in one go, leaving it all pooled at his ankles on the bed. You nearly moaned yourself when you saw him, hard and leaky and ready. You traced his dick softly with your fingertips, impressed with him, and drawing another moan from his lips.

"So pretty, Jamie. Look at you."

"Don't... fuck," he gasped. "Don't say that."

"I mean it. Your cock is perfect."

He whimpered again, sounding like he could cry. You wrapped a hand around him, stroking him softly as hips bucked into your hand, soft moans and squeaks leaving him in utter desperation.

"P-please," he begged, staring at you as if you hung the stars.

"Please?"

"I... I don't know," he shook his head, his lip quivering.

"You need more?"

He sniffled, nodding quickly. "So bad. Please."

"Can I suck your cock, love?"

The sound that left his lips was utterly pornographic, his chest heaving like he'd run a marathon.

"God..."

"That's not my name, baby," you stroke him again. "I need you to say yes if this is what you want."

"Y-yes. Fuck yes," he said, his hips still shifting under you, trying to get more friction from your hand.

"So needy," you chide jokingly, moving to settle between his legs.

He whined watching you climb between his legs, nearly hyperventilating at the sight and feeling of you kissing along his stomach with your hand pushing his shirt up.

"So pretty," he groaned, stroking your hair.

You smiled against his stomach, licking nearly up to his chest just to hear him make that sound again. You kissed back down his stomach, barely ghosting over the tip of his cock at you looked back up at him.

"Ready?"

He nodded, in a trance as he watched you. You kept his eye contact as you darted your tongue out, tasting him for the first time. He practically sobbed in pleasure, pulling on your hair slightly.

"Told you it would feel good, baby," you mutter, licking from base to tip as he squirmed under your touch. "Isn't this nice?"

"Mmmm..." he nodded, chest heaving.

"Good boy," you kissed his tip.

You stared up at him, smiling to yourself at his sweet little reactions as you started stroking him. He looked so adorable totally wrecked. Like he could pass out at any moment. You couldn't help but to want more.

You wet your lips, figuring you could probably fit most of him into your mouth in one go: so you decided to give it a go. You licked him once more, then shoved his cock down your throat, letting it hit far enough to make you gag.

He shouted, gasping for air before he fell into a puddle of moans and desperate praises of your name. You pulled off of him, but only for a second before you went back down, sucking on him as if your life depended on it. It felt like it did.

He gripped the fabric of his comforter, sobbing in pleasure as his hips jutted up into your mouth. You were about to pull off to make some sly remark, when he whimpered loudly, shooting his cum down your throat. You hummed around him, swallowing everything you could despite your utter surprise that he had finished so quickly. He whined and kept his grip tight in your hair until he was done, his seed dribbling past your lips as you couldn't quite swallow everything. You weren't sure if you'd ever witnessed someone cumming so much before.

You did your best to clean him off without making him overly-sensitive, and finally pulled off.

"Mm... Holy fuck, Jamie. You cum that much every time?” You ask, chuckling a little despite being wildly aroused.

He shook his head, sweaty and still whimpering.

"Awww," you cooed softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "You okay?"

"That... that felt..."

"What?"

"Best thing ever," he managed breathily.

You laughed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he uttered, a small smile on his face as he opened his eyes. "I... you're really good at that."

"Apparently too good," you snorted.

"Maybe," he nodded, then hummed softly in pleasure. "Sorry for cumming so fast."

"It was sweet."

"It's not sweet," he shook his head.

"I think so. You're so sensitive," you kissed his cheek.

He hummed again, then sighed softly. You watched him as he took a few steadying breaths before he moved his eyes back to you. He let his eyes linger on your form for several moments, then chewed his lip. He looked up at you, clearly debating something in his mind.

Then he smiled a little.

"Can I return the favor next time?"

[ceesimz]

Reverie - Part 1

Autistic Reader x Barça Femení - Part 2

Hey, I have some things to say before you start reading. ASD is a very vast spectrum, no two people with it experience the same stuff on a day-to-day basis. This story is written with my knowledge from people I know, and also from my own experiences living with autism too. So don't take this as 'the' perspective, this is a drop in the ocean and this most definitely isn't a handbook on autism. If anyone has any questions or thoughts about this, or ASD in general, you are more than welcome to message me or drop something in my inbox! This is just part one, if you like this first half of the story (because I have no idea how this will go down), let me know if you wanna see the second part, it's ready to go whenever.

Big big thanks to @copper-16 for editing it and leaving such lovely comments on it, I wouldn't have the confidence to post this if it wasn't for your words. Thank you for taking a chance on this story and opening yourself up to learn more, the world needs more people like you and we're all much better off that you're here🫶🏼🫶🏼

This is my favourite thing I've ever written, and I kinda feel like I'm giving away a piece of my heart by posting this (dramatic much), let me know what you think, hope you like it :)

“Are you ready to go in?”

Are you?

Are you ready to walk into a new setting, head held high, and show your teammates you are worth it? 

Or are you going to back out? Reverse right out the parking space, speed off to the airport, and catch a flight to god knows where?

That's simply not a possibility. Even if the thought of walking through those reception doors that stare tauntingly at you from across the car park perturbs you more than anything else, there's no backing out now.

Barcelona, the pride of Catalunya, the dominants of Europe, doesn't accept quitters. And that fact glares at you, along with all of its history and values held in the iconic badge that countless legends had adorned, and with it came a legacy you weren’t sure you had the strength to bare on your back. The new number nine, born and raised in Norway but made into the player you are now in Germany.

Here you were, after five years playing for Frankfurt, where you had grown accustomed to a comfortable routine with familiar faces and the same surroundings for so long, now in a new country that held so many unknowns. For someone with so many disadvantages ever present in their life, living in three different countries is a pretty impressive achievement.

Please, let it all be worth it.

After a few frustrating years in the Frauen-Bundesliga, you had signed for the best team in Europe and, arguably, the rest of the world too. Frankfurt had been a beautiful experience, one that had changed your life, but as a result of many, many long discussions with family and friends and psychologists, you had come to the terrifying realisation that it was time for a new challenge.

Why was that absolutely petrifying? Because you and life changes did not get along. Even after 26 years of living, it just wasn’t meant to be. But, such is life, and chances had to be taken.

You'd always be thankful for Frankfurt. Moving to play there was the first time you took such a huge leap of faith, and it had worked out well, eventually. In your eyes, the first season there was a disaster, but your mother would say it was the proudest year of her life. It had been difficult for her to see at times just how much you struggled at points, sure, but you made it to the light at the end of the tunnel and, by the end of it, you were a completely different person in the most incredible way possible. From then on, you continued to grow.

Yet, that was the thing with the German side. When you joined, they were a club with a legacy most teams would envy, but they never amounted to anything more during your time there. You fell in love with the staff, your teammates, and just about everything else during your time there. The only problem, which was pretty damn big in the grand scheme of things, was that you fell out of love with the football you were playing.

You were able to grow and survive at Frankfurt. You wanted to flourish and thrive at Barcelona.

Except, in comparison to the average human, there were a lot more obstacles ahead that could prevent you from accomplishing that aspiration. Over your life, you had overcome many bumps in the road, some leaving a harsh imprint on your self-worth and others hardly affecting you. For example, talking to the girl you were roomed with at 16 at the Norway Football Team camp had turned out to be one of the best things you could have done. Yet, in the same breath, playing for the national team had left you in a broken state, and as a result, you haven't played for them in a few years. 

The back and forth travel was too much, and opting out of playing for Norway, as much as it broke your heart that you weren’t strong enough to represent your country on the international stage, it allowed you to rest and recuperate so that you were at the top of your game for your club. Did you dream of wearing your country’s crest one day? Yes, all footballers did. But you weren’t in a place to do that, and you’re not sure you ever will be again.

Signing for Barcelona could be life-changing, but it could also be world-shattering in the worst way imaginable. This was a pretty sizable leap of faith, and the only way that faith could form into something incredible is if you made that happen. You, no one else. That thought filled you with both determination and crushing anxiety. This just could not be another failed attempt. There was no way you could come back.

Ultimately, it would have been downright psychopathic to turn down such an amazing offer from Barcelona. Two years playing for a club that's won three of the last four Champion's League finals? A team that had just completed the quadruple for the first time in their history? Yeah, nonsensical.

However, like always, there were a number of doubts that spiralled from those incredible stats. Did they need you? If they had a mostly flawless season, did they really need a 26 year old woman whose mind hardly functioned like every other person? Did they really need someone who couldn't even play for the national team anymore because they were too overwhelmed with their life? Did they need someone who needed their hand held through every life event, big or small? Did they-

“Hey, you ready?” 

That voice had some kind of magic to it. It was like clock-work, this always happened when she was around; that voice in your head consuming you with unwanted thoughts was erased as soon as you tore your eyes away from the doors and looked at the woman beside you. 

Ingrid. The one person that had single-handedly convinced you to come here. To Barcelona, playing in a hot country, with people you don’t know, speaking a language you can’t understand- oh my God, what have you done?!

“I… god, I don’t know.” You breathed out in a whisper, hardly intelligible. 

The world around you honed in on this one moment here, the peak of your career so far. Apart from Ingrid and the doors to the building and what was in store behind them, there was nothing else that could grasp your attention. There could be a blazing fire behind your car, a lion running full speed towards your car door, or a thief in the back seat for all you knew. Nothing else mattered. The two sides of your mind, the devil and angel on your shoulders were battling it out again, as they always were, whilst your hands fidgeted anxiously in your lap.

“You have to go in at some point, snuppa. You can’t stay in the car forever.” Ingrid softly reminded you, moving to take hold of your hand to comfort your stimming. “It will be a really good day, I promise. My years here so far have been the best of my life, everyone is so nice and welcoming. I never thought I could enjoy training as much as I do now. You will be fine, I have no doubts.”

“I’m not sure about that one.” You laughed nervously, eyes back on the building before you, now slightly glazed over and blurred. 

“I am certain about everything I just said.” Ingrid stated definitively, squeezing your hand. “Plus, not everyone in there are complete strangers. You have me, Mapi, you know Caro and you’ve met Jonatan and some other staff members. You know Loren, the team psychologist who you can go see any time you want. We’ll get you past this part of today, and then you have the whole afternoon to do whatever you’d like.”

You nodded at her words, desperately trying to remind yourself of them over and over so that they stick, and you can get through those damn doors. 

“You know how much easier my life would be if I knew how everything was going to play out?” You blurted out a moment later, Ingrid smiling in amusement. “It would be a breeze, Ingrid.”

“It would also make your life very boring, min skatt.”

“For you, it would be. For me, I'd live freely.”

Ingrid just laughed and shook her head, squeezing your hand once more before looking at the time on her watch.

“Come on. We have to do this one way or another, and I'm not letting you go in on your own. You want to make me late to training?” She teased, targeting your weak spot. Evil.

“That's cruel, Ingrid. So cruel.” You rolled your eyes but nevertheless stepped out of the car once you'd turned it off.

You didn't make it far though. Once you had gotten your kit bag from the boot of the car, you closed it and froze. Eyes unmoving from the daunting building in front of you.

“Would you like some company after training? We can stay at home, or go out for food, or do anything you'd like.” Ingrid offered, snapping you out of your anxious trance.

Even after… god, ten years now, you were still sometimes left dumb-founded by how well Ingrid knew you. A lot of the time, you yourself are in the dark about what you need, but your fellow Norwegian just gets it, even when you don't. It's pretty safe to say that your life, your whole career, would look a hell of a lot different if you had never met Ingrid.

If you put her characteristics into a different section when it comes to your favourite things about her, the thing you love most about the defender beside you is how she treats you. Sure, the majority of people treated you with respect and kindness, but the defender's love and care was on a whole other level. Like in this scenario now, when she knows you're too overwhelmed by the situation that confronts you to be able to think clearly. But here she is, giving you clear and thought-out options that off-kilt the tunnel vision you have on this one miniscule event, and now gives you something to look forward to. 

It reminds you that the world won't end if this training session doesn't go how you want it to, that life goes on afterwards. It makes the road clearer, the journey easier, and allows solace to be found in a down-right terrifying moment.

The funny thing is, however, is that your new home is actually Ingrid's home. No, you weren't living with her, but you were indeed staying in her apartment. She basically lived at Mapi's apartment anyway, so the second she caught wind of your transfer, she immediately offered her disregarded apartment up to you. It was a huge item checked off the ‘things that need doing after uprooting your entire settled, content, perfectly routine life’ to-do list, but you couldn't quite relish in the relief yet.

That's because, though it went unsaid, another factor of Ingrid's offer of letting you stay was so that, if all went wrong and you couldn't make a life for yourself in Barcelona, there was no tenancy to rip up and ultimately it would be a lot less hassle than if you had rented an entirely new place. Ingrid's excuse of not changing your name on the tenancy for now was so that you could settle in with as little stress as possible, but you knew the underlying meaning. Basically, it was a giant get out of jail free card.

“I think I would like that a lot, actually. Thanks.” You said to the taller girl next to you, whose arm had come to wrap around your shoulders.

“Perfect! María has some things to do but I'm free all afternoon, so we can figure something out. For now though, we have to train.” 

Taking in a deep breath, you nodded once more.

“That's all it is. Just training.” You told yourself, physically shaking the anxiety off of your chest and marching forwards. You got as far as those damn doors before you froze on the spot again. “Fuck, this is so scary.”

“I know it is.” Ingrid sympathised, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “We've got this though. It's just training, right?” 

“It's just training. And a few introductions. And about a million new people.” You sighed. “Will you stick with me the whole time?”

“Like glue, søster.” Ingrid said firmly, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Let's go.”

And just like that, you did walk into the building with your head held high, disregarding the burdening nerves and replacing them with a deep-rooted determination to prove you are worth it. Maybe your teammates would think otherwise if they knew the secret you were keeping from them, but for now, you would put up a front and act just like them. Your best bet at succeeding here is to fit in, and that's what you'll do. 

Ingrid wasn't impressed with this tactic of yours, not in the slightest. Jonatan and other senior staff members knew about you, Loren the psychologist knew about you, and Mapi knew. Besides that, everyone else was in the dark. There was only so long Ingrid could last before she had to tell someone at least, like Alexia or Irene or Marta, because she wanted the best for you and the best couldn't be given if your needs weren't catered for.

Like now, as she watched your whole face change in a split second as the mask came down so fast that, had she blinked a second later, she would have missed it entirely. The tension to the way you held your shoulders was all the evidence she needed that your whole nervous system was wracked with dread, and though she should expect it by now, it didn't stop the jab of sympathy she felt for you.

Of course she knew how difficult this would be for you, she just had really high hopes. Sometimes, even after all these years, it slipped her mind how much you still struggled with things. You'd gotten a lot better at dealing with various different circumstances and that mere fact could bring tears to her eyes if she thought about how far you had come, but moments like these were a snap back to the reality you still lived.

You lived so beautifully, you were so strong now, that your struggles were hardly visible anymore. Yet, when one knows a person for so long, they come to learn the signs. Ingrid knew you like the back of her hand. It still amazed her how quick you put the mask back up, normally being so care-free and light around her. But here, outside of the room everyone was due to meet in for the morning, a feigned smile on your face and a falsity to your posture signified all that Ingrid needed to know.

Even despite your dawdling in the car park, you and Ingrid were some of the first to arrive at the meeting, only a handful of unfamiliar faces scattered around the room. Jonatan looked up at the door upon your arrival and his face lit up, immediately dropping what he was doing to come and greet you with a beaming smile. He offers a gentle handshake, also being sure to speak in clear English so that your mind wasn’t overloaded more than it already was. All of it was reassuring, especially as he kept you off to the side as the room slowly began to fill up, before guiding you to the last chair on the front row beside Ingrid so that the meeting could start. Thankfully, to your relief, he gave you a short introduction to the rest of the squad, you only briefly turning and giving the room a general wave before allowing Jonatan to move onto more pressing matters.

From then on, you were rushed off your feet with introductions and training, all of which weren’t half as bad as you’d expected. During the short walk from the meeting to the changing room, a few others came along to properly greet you, all whilst Ingrid stayed close to your side. Mapi had also come bounding along after you the second you left the first room, Ingrid wincing at the excitement her girlfriend met you with but instantly that worry was erased as soon as you turned to Mapi with a matching overjoyed smile. 

By the time you actually got onto the pitch, you had spoken to almost all of the team already. And like Ingrid said, they were just as amazing as you had hoped they would be. Every single one, in their own ways, welcomed you to the team and made small talk with you for a few moments before letting whoever next came by to have their own chance at greeting you. But, it wasn’t until you were about to join in with the warm-up that the person you’d been most nervous about meeting came along.

Your new captain, Alexia. The powerhouse of the Barcelona team, the one you had to leave the best impression on.

A few days prior, amidst a conversation in the corner of Ingrid’s favourite cafe, you had sheepishly demanded that she give you a run-down of each and every single member of the team. There had been Ona, who Ingrid described as a lightning fast defender whose jestful clapbacks were even quicker than her sprint bursts on the pitch. Then Cata, the new number one goalkeeper whose cheek was sometimes too much for even the younger members of the team. Jana, a surefire future talent who was often found beside her quieter, more reserved but equally talented counterpart, Bruna. Patri and Pina were much the same, as were Vicky and Salma. Ingrid gave you a short but detailed profile of all of them, leaving the most important for last. Alexia, who initially came across as slightly cold due to the stoic, focused expression she usually wore. But, to her teammates and those closest to her, she was a world class leader, an even better player, and most importantly, a defiantly caring person with a personality that had more sides than a kaleidoscope. 

Upon hearing the exit door slamming shut, you turned your attention to the direction of the sound, only to be met with her. Casually strolling over, squinting in the face of the sun, she came over to you with a… a smile on her face?

“Hola! You must be the novota, nice to meet you.” She beamed, inviting you into a quick, polite hug before standing back. “Happy to be here?”

As always with new people, especially someone like the woman before you, you floundered internally for a moment, so many replies flitting around your mind with so little time to react.

“Y-yeah! Really happy to be here, thank you, Alexia.” You landed on, and judging by her reaction, it was the right thing to say. 

“Good, I am glad to hear that. Sorry I was not here for the meeting, you’ve met everybody already, sí?”

“Yes, Jonatan introduced me in the briefing.” 

“Good. Bueno, let’s get started. I am excited to be working with you.” The Spaniard smiled brightly once more, before gesturing loosely for the pair of you to join the rest of the group.

The rest of the day, as they say, is history.

It honestly went by in a blur, and if Ingrid was at all surprised by the way you literally fell into your bed when you arrived home, not surfacing from the newfound safe haven until about an hour later, she didn’t show it. This was Ingrid after all, and every quirk of yours, new or old, still brought a smile to her face. Ten years later and she couldn’t help but love you more each time she saw you.

—

The first week goes a lot smoother than you could have dreamed of to be honest - it’s only the start of preseason after all. But, there is still plenty of time for cracks to show. It only takes two days for all your progress to tear at the seams.

On the first day of your second week, you’re walking into training on your own for the first time since you joined. Shouldn’t be a big deal, right? Wrong! Big fucking deal actually, because now it’s like walking blind, heading straight for what feels like danger. Unguided, no one by your side, only joined by the weight of an elephant seated right on your heart.

With the help of Ingrid of course, who else, you had established somewhat of a routine that made the transition so much easier. But it wasn’t quite clear until now, just how much easier it had made showing up to training everyday. Because, without your Norwegian counterpart who would be absent from training, you were left to show up all alone, and suddenly everything became ten times harder. 

Ingrid was more than just your friend, she was the one constant in this new life you lived that was always present. Anything you needed, one glance from you in her direction and she’d be with you in an instant. She, as stupid as it may seem, was the foundation of your routine, and now that she wasn’t here, all the hard work you’d made to settle in seemed to crumble under your feet. 

Three weeks of living in Barcelona, one week of training successfully completed, just for you to end up back at square one. And that meant you were trapped in your own body, limbs acting entirely on autopilot as your legs carried you over to those stupid doors that once again stood intimidatingly in front of you. Just like last week, except this time there was no one to coax you out of your shell, no one to mindlessly guide you over to one of the tables in the canteen, no one to walk you out onto the training pitch. You were all alone.

An unfortunate tactic hadn’t left your habits after all these years: avoidance. What better way to deal with something, then to not deal with it all, right? Right? 

Obviously, you couldn’t miss the whole day, you still had commitments and expectations you needed to live up to. If there was one thing that you couldn’t handle (apart from almost everything in this neurotypical world) it was letting people down, disappointing them.

So, if you opted out of breakfast for the day and beelined straight for the changing rooms instead, what business was it to anyone else? You were here, that’s all they could ask for. The plan was to get dressed into your training kit as fast as physically possible, before heading out onto the pitch for some time alone before everyone else came along. 

…Except, just as you were lacing up your boots, hand trembling at an embarrassing intensity as you did so, the door opened prematurely. And, really, out of everyone, did it have to be her?

“Oh. I did not expect anyone to be in here. Bon dia.” Alexia smiled at you, heading to her cubby just a few seats away from yours.

“Bon dia.” You muttered sheepishly, keeping your head down and tying your laces at a wildly uncontrolled speed. If Alexia noticed, she didn’t mention it. Thank god.

“I was just going to get some extra practice in, if you wanted to join me.” She offered, swapping her trainers for her boots since she was already in her training gear.

Great minds think alike..?

“Yeah, I was going to do the same thing. Thanks.”

“Ay, it's nothing. It's great that you're so hard working, you’re already fitting right in.” Sorry, could you say that again, or write it down even? “Ready?”

“What? Oh- sorry, yes, I’m ready.” You gave her a tight-lipped smile before slipping past where she stood in the doorway and heading towards the pitch.

“How are you feeling about your time here so far?” The captain asked kindly, the beating sound of boots clicking against the floor echoing far too long in your ears.

“Um, good. It’s an honour playing for this team, so.” You shrugged, offering an almost robotic, rehearsed answer.

“And what about how you actually feel? Not what you’re supposed to feel?” Alexia inquired lightly, an earnest and sympathetic look across her face. Slightly suspicious.

“Well… still good. It’s just different, isn’t it. Yeah.” You mumbled, cheeks flushing bright red as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

“Of course it is different. You were in Germany for five years, right?” You nodded affirmatively. “So it is a big, big change. I haven’t been anywhere else but here for twelve years, I cannot imagine adjusting to anywhere else.”

Oh, Ingrid. Seriously?

“I’m here though, I have to leave Germany behind.” You stated in a flat voice, honestly quite done with this topic but it’d be rude to voice so.

“If that is how you want to think, then do it like that. You have transitioned very well, we are all impressed.” Alexia shrugged with a soft smile, punching in the code for the storage cupboard and opening it soon after. “Grab the footballs, I will get some tiny goals. The others can get the rest when they’re done filling their faces.”

Thank god for that.

Alexia ended that conversation there, directing her focus on training from that moment on, much to your relief. All that you learnt from this day was that you needed to have a conversation with Ingrid. Your sixth sense was strong, even if to others it seemed like Alexia was just being an averagely kind person, you just knew. 

The good thing was, you couldn’t quite call that day a disaster. In the end, you got through it, even squeezing in a few jokes and laughs here and there throughout the day.

It’s the next day that the first incident occurred. It happened like this; Ingrid isn’t in again, you learn she’s got some kind of stomach virus, so you turn up once more on your own. This time, it wasn’t quite so scary, but like yesterday you skipped breakfast again. And just like yesterday, Alexia met you in the changing rooms to do some early practice again. Except, there was one fatal flaw to your routine this day. It came back and bit you in the ass pretty harshly.

“Ale, what are you doing after this?” Mapi wondered from your right as she stood up after Jona had ended training for the day.

“Eh, nothing.” She shrugged, going to ask you the same thing as she reached her hands out to help you up.

For all you knew, the Spanish pair you were sandwiched between could be speaking absolute gibberish, nothing was registering. As soon as you stood up, everything went hazy. And then… your vision had gone, your body felt unbelievably heavy, and had it not been for Alexia’s tight grip, you’d have fallen back there and then.

“Hey!” Alexia called out in concern, feeling you go limp in her hold. “Mapi, she’s fainting!”

“What!?” Mapi cried, immediately falling to her knees as Alexia safely guided you to the floor.

“I don’t know, she just collapsed!” 

Her voice dripped with worry as Mapi frantically looked around, only to find most people had headed inside already. Meanwhile, you were still awake, not totally out cold, but your eyes ached unbearably and you’d lost all control of your movements. Alexia’s hands flitted over your body, looking for any obvious problems but she couldn’t find any. She repeated your name over and over, only receiving somewhat of a whimper in reply.

“Mapi, go find someone, now!” Alexia demanded, the defender instantly rising to her feet and heading for the door. The captain turned back to you, her hands gently coming up to cradle your face where you lay on your side. “Hey, I need you to listen! Can you hear me?”

“Mhm.” You whined, providing the woman before you with an ounce of relief.

“What’s wrong? You need to tell me so we can help you, cariño, you just fainted on us.” She said frantically, her wide eyes boring into yours when you opened them.

Identifying the problem, even in your state, was quite simple. It was a common problem, something you were well versed with, though you rarely ever let it get this bad.

“Forgot to eat.” You mustered up your remaining strength, which really was very little, to answer her and quell her worries.

Thinking back to this moment in probably an hour’s time, you’d laugh at Alexia’s face when you said those three words, because she looked utterly perplexed.

“You forgot to eat?” Alexia repeated with a frown, but she couldn’t dwell on it much longer because Mapi came running over with the medical team hot on her tails.

“Is she awake?” The brunette woman asked desperately, opting out of kneeling back beside you so as to not overcrowd you.

“Yes, and she said she forgot to eat today?” Alexia looked up at her friend, refusing to shift out of the way and instead choosing to stick by your side. 

“Oh, that would explain it.” Mapi sighed in relief, only puzzling Alexia more. Was this… normal for you?

The medics fussed over you, asking you questions and ultimately overwhelming you way too much, something Mapi notices quickly.

“Oye, basta, slow down. Her blood sugar is low, she needs something quickly. Get her an energy gel.” Mapi commanded them, now joining you by your head and smiling her bright smile down at you, combing back some of your hair. “Hola preciosa, we'll get you back feeling better soon.” Just as she said that, a member of the medical staff pulled out one of the energy gels the team used for games. “Can you have this for me? It will make you feel better, I promise.”

With a nod, the people around you helped you to sit up as Mapi tore  open the gel packet, with Alexia still almost frozen in confusion. The defender noticed, grinning in amusement and quickly flicking her ear to bring her back down to earth.

“Ah! What's that for?” Alexia winced, watching on as Mapi shook her head and handed you the gel pack.

Your hand trembled as you raised it to your mouth, hardly possessing the strength to squeeze it enough to get anything out of it, but just as Mapi went to help you, Alexia got there first.

“It’s okay, here.” She does it for you, one hand on the packet and the other on your elbow that shakes under her hold. She seemed to be grounded now, knowing that it isn't the right moment to be wrapped up in her own thoughts when you're here in front of her, needing security and comfort whilst it takes a couple minutes to come back to yourself. “Easy with it. You'll feel better soon.”

And you did, literally no less than two minutes after having the energy gel, your nausea and dizziness and whatnot near enough disappeared. Though, your physical symptoms gave way for a barrage of anxiety, because this situation would consequently lead to an unwanted and challenging (but most likely necessary) conversation with Jonatan and the rest of the staff. They had also seen you, on the floor, near enough passed out, as a result of your own actions. You could only imagine the things they were thinking right now, and that unknown was scarier than the actual situation that had occurred beforehand.

“Feeling good now. Thanks everyone.” You said shyly, rising to your feet and avoiding everyone's gaze.

“You sure?” Alexia checked, giving you a look that tells you that you shouldn't even try to bullshit her.

“Well, a little bit… woozy, I guess. But much better than before, I swear.” You nodded, hating the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you. 

“Let’s go inside, I’ll ask the catering staff to make up some food for you, if you want?” Mapi offered as her hand hovers against your back, not touching but guiding you back inside the main building.

“Okay.” You shrugged.

Meanwhile Alexia trailed behind, trying to figure out how, as captain, she could help this situation. It’s in her best interest to care for her team, and given what she had learnt, it was now clear that there was a lot more she could do than sit back and watch. She didn’t want to come across as overbearing, something Ingrid had warned her about, but she realised it was time to step in.

“Why don’t we go to one of the office rooms rather than the canteen?” She suggested just as Mapi went to open the door heading into said room. The defender should have thought of that sooner, but she’s glad her friend mentioned it, realising it’s most definitely the better option right now for you. 

You were taken to an empty office, followed into the room by Alexia and Mapi and some of the physios, and if they weren’t overcrowding you outside, they definitely were now. In all honesty, as much as you were grateful for their care, you wanted to burrow under your duvet in bed at home and not surface for probably about a week. You wanted to grab a tray of cookies, eat them whilst seated on the edge of your bed so you didn’t get crumbs everywhere, and crawl under the sheets safe in the darkness of the four walls you had struggled to leave the past two days.

But no, you were here, stuck in a reality that in no way felt real at all. What were you doing here? Sat at a round table, surrounded by medical staff chatting between themselves, not really bothered about your blip anymore, whilst two of Spain’s greatest players stand off to the side, both pairs of eyes trained solely on you.

You, a no-name off the back of an unsuccessful run in Germany that had just collapsed after training. Them, Champion’s League winners and well-established in the sport for years already, and decades to come.

“Preciosa?” Mapi appeared beside you suddenly, speaking softly as her hand fell on your shoulder. “Is it okay if I leave now? Ingrid is still sick at home, I promised I would get back to her as fast as I could. If you need me to stay, I can. They won’t keep you here for much longer, they’re just making sure you eat before you get back home.”

She should be with Ingrid, her girlfriend who is much worse off at home. Not with you, who simply made a foolish mistake and was now wasting everyone’s time.

“Go home.” You told her as your own hands squeezed anxiously at your upper arms where they sat crossed on the table.

“Okay.” Mapi smiled pitifully down at you, giving you a light forehead kiss before backing off. She pulled Alexia to the side, giving her a warning glare. “Look after her, for me and for Ingrid. Protect her, too. Don’t let them overwhelm her, she just wants to get home.”

“Sí. Of course.” Alexia replied firmly, a solid look in her eyes that Mapi knew to trust immediately. 

The defender slipped out of the room with no further fuss, leaving you alone with Alexia and the medical staff. Not for long, though.

“Guys, could you give us a moment? And can someone go collect her food from the canteen, please.” 

They nodded and stepped out of the room, Alexia closing the door softly behind them. She turned back to you, watching as you kept your head down and focused on the shapes you traced on the wood of the table. Your shoulders were visibly tense, so uptight they’re basically touching your ears, and she noticed just how intensely your leg was bouncing up and down.

“Do you need anyth-”

“Did Ingrid tell you?” You asked bluntly, gulping back the lump in your throat that really had no place making itself known at this moment - now was not the time for a meltdown. Save it for later, in the safety of your flat.

Alexia blew out a breath, coming over to perch on the edge of the desk a few seats away from you.

“If you’re talking about what I think you are, then… yes. She did tell me.” She answered cautiously, trying to gauge your reaction but you didn’t give her much, just a single nod. “She did it with the best intentions though. It wasn’t to… purposely go behind your back. She just wants the best for you, and the more people that know, the more support you can have here.”

“I guess.” You murmured under your breath, clearing your throat after and moving to rest your chin atop your arms.

“Why… why didn’t you want anybody to know?” The midfielder wondered in a soft tone, trying hard not to scare you off or go over the top. If she wants to help you and understand you, which she desperately does, this is the pathway she has to, albeit reluctantly, go down.

“Wanted people to get to know me, not a label.” You frowned, hastily wiping the tear that slips out with the frustration slowly bubbling inside of you. “Didn’t want to be a problem for anyone. Wanted to fit in.”

Just like that, it all clicked for Alexia.

The feigned smiles, sometimes forced laughter, the troubled look on your face whenever you thought you were alone, all of it adds up. You had repressed parts of you so that things went as smooth sailing as possible, so that people didn’t think any differently of you or immediately feel drawn away like they often did. The biggest part of you, what makes you you, is the one thing you didn’t want people to see, out of nothing but complete and all-consuming fear. And Alexia would be damned if she let you go on like this.

“Can I take a seat next to you?” She said quietly, a hint of a smile on her face when you nodded again. She did exactly that; without making too much noise in the still room, she pulled up the chair next to you and sat down, her eyes raking up and down your face.

“If I told you that I don’t think any differently of you at all, would you believe me?” She began with. 

You just shrugged dismissively, not having moved a single muscle in the past few minutes apart from breathing and blinking. If you don’t move, if you don’t draw attention to yourself, perhaps this whole thing will disappear. A girl can dream.

“Because I don’t, cariño. I really don’t. You are not a problem for any of us at all. You face different struggles than us, but nobody thinks of you as anything less than a great player and an even better person. We are all glad you are here. I and others on the team will face different struggles than you, and I can bet you would never think any differently of us. Am I right?” 

Her words break through the defensive wall you’d put up to protect yourself from anything else around you. A common feature of the start of your meltdowns, except it’s quite possible that your captain had just stopped it from going any further.

Hesitantly, you sat up from your slouched position and wiped tiredly at your face.

“No, I would never.” You told her, slumping back against your chair and fiddling with the drawstring on your shorts.

“Exactly. You don’t need to worry about any of that at all, I promise. You are one of us now. A culer. We will take care of you.” She smiled brightly, you can hear it in her voice. So for the first time since you’d entered the room, you turned to look at her, only to find her eyes were filled with earnesty and kindness. And… perhaps for the first time since you’d arrived in Barcelona, you truly did feel like you belong here. Like you could make a life for yourself here, against all odds.

“Thanks.” You sniffled, feeling the remnants of your outburst fade away, only to leave overwhelming exhaustion in its wake.

“It’s okay. You can come to me anytime for anything. There will always be someone here for you to talk to, and I’ll be the first to fight for you if that’s ever necessary.” Now, you were actually smiling. A genuine one, too.

“I think Ingrid might beat you to it, actually.” You teased her, watching as she grins.

“You’re probably right.” She chuckled, before pausing. You already knew what she was about to say before she opened her mouth. Neurotypicals are just way too predictable. “How did you know Ingrid told me?”

“You can just tell when someone knows. They treat you differently.” Alexia frowned anxiously at that.

“I didn’t… did I treat you differently?” She questioned, along with a poor attempt at disguising the undertones of fear in her voice.

“You haven’t, not really, but… I don’t know, I can just tell instantly. It’s hard to explain. You haven’t treated me differently, but I could tell you knew compared to when you didn’t know. The look on your face too. But thank you for… just everything so far. You have helped a lot, so.” You shrugged. She smiled, a little in relief, but nodded nevertheless.

“You don’t need to thank me. Now, can I ask some more about what happened today? You said you forgot to eat?” 

“Yeah. It’s just because my routine was messed up, that’s all. Yesterday morning I ate before training because Ingrid had baked me some pastries, but today I had none left and then genuinely forgot. It happens sometimes, it’s just part of it.”

“Part of what?”

“Autism.” Duh.

“Oh. I did not know that.” Alexia stated simply. 

“Yeah, well, most people don’t.” You told her. Alexia nodded understandingly, a plan of action already formed in her mind.

“I’m sure you already know this, as an athlete, but it’s important for your safety that this doesn’t happen again. So I have a solution in mind that could help.” You hummed to tell her to continue. “I can ask either the catering staff here, or find a private chef, to start meal prepping for you. We can organise it on the club’s behalf so that you don’t have to pay anything. I will go with you, or for you if you’d like, to Jonatan and help sort it out for you. You can meet with a nutritionist to figure out what food you need and tell them what you do and don’t like, we can sort it all out for you. It wouldn’t be a problem.” 

Oh. You’d never thought about that before. 

“I guess that could work.” You decided after a few moments of consideration. 

That would actually be a really helpful solution. Certainly one less thing to worry about, and it could add a secure layer to your routine. An important one too.

“Would you be okay with that?” Alexia wondered, smiling when you nodded. “Good. Leave it to me, I will get it sorted for you.” 

She paused again, clearly hesitant about something. You raised an eyebrow at her, trying to coax it out of her with a look, but you couldn’t help the amused smile on your face at the sudden, faint blush that landed on her cheeks.

“What is it?” 

“Uh… there is no way to ask this without coming across as… very forward, to say the least.” She started, shaking her head at her own ridiculousness. “May I get your number? For captain’s reasons, of course.”

“Right.” You smirked, watching as she shakes her head, this time at your teasing, and grabs a pen from the stationary pot in the centre of the table. “And what shall I write it on?”

“Well… just use my hand, I guess.” She suggested, offering the back of her hand out for you. You grinned and gently took hold of it, jotting down your number for her. 

“There you go, Capi.” You smiled, clicking the pen and putting it back.

Not long after that, one of the staff members came in with the food Alexia and Mapi had organised for you. So, leaving your captain with a promise that you'll eat it the second you walked through your apartment door, you went home. It was a great meal, and if it'd be the catering staff at Barcelona that would do your meal prep, well, it'd be a great deal.

That night went just like the others; you relaxed for some time to decompress after training, until you eventually started feeling somewhat human again, and arose from bed to do one of any of your hobbies that you felt like doing that night. Reading, watching movies, drawing and painting, listening to music, or any others that pique your interest that night. 

On some occasions, you'll be so mentally exhausted from your day that none of them seem at all appealing, and it takes a lengthy period of time to feel yourself again. An hour, the rest of the evening, or sometimes even the whole week. After especially hard times, it could take weeks. Fortunately you hadn't been through such events in years, but the fear of falling into that hole ever again was always present in the back of your mind.

The thing about having this disorder is that some things never change. Most things never change. You learn to cope, you can heal from past experiences, but in the grand scheme of it all, things never change. Certain events, people, even words can still be triggers. No amount of therapy or coping mechanisms or whatever, can help. You were born this way, and you would die this way. 

You would live a life and still struggle with even the most mundane things. Washing dishes was a no-go, the sensory issues were way too intense for that one. A day without showering first thing in the morning was automatically a write off. Bad performances in matches could still lead to a meltdown on certain days. One wrong look from someone can send you spiralling.

Autism was a blessing and a curse. It made you who you are; you have no idea who you would be without it. Yet, at the same time, it could debilitate you to such extreme degrees that… at night, when you were alone under the disguise of darkness,  you can't help but wonder what you could have done with your life had you not been born with this burden.

And with the day you'd had already, well, the only way you'd learnt to get over these things were to move on from them. That's what you had to do. If you become too concentrated on them, analysed every detail that went wrong, thought about every opinion those who witnessed it could hold, you'd suffer for it more than you needed to.

You couldn't move on if others couldn't move on though.

Unknown: Did you get home safe?

There was most likely only one person it could be, but where's the fun in that?

You: Depends who I'm talking to…

Alexia: It's Alexia??

Too easy.

You: I knew it was you, dumbass. Yes I got home safe, thank you. Food was great too :)

Although, when a few minutes went by after that last text, the doubts came flooding in. Did you take it too far with her? It was a bit ballsy to say that, she's just checking in on you. Captain duties.

Then again, who was it calling you?

“Hello?” You frowned, and this was another instance where you're cursing yourself, because why was your heart racing and cheeks burning at one random phone call?

“Dumbass, huh?” Came a smug voice, and then your heart was racing for another, more light-hearted reason.

“Yeah, sorry about that… apparently I'm a bit of a keyboard warrior.” You blushed sheepishly, relieved beyond belief when the woman down the line laughed.

“Don't worry about it. You're feeling okay now, sí?” 

“Yes, fine. You know, I didn't plan for today to happen. It just did.” You mumbled, still embarrassed by it all.

“I know, no one blames you for it. I just wanted to check in with you.” 

“I'm good, thanks. I've only ever had that happen like once before, I guess training on an empty stomach isn't the greatest idea in the world.” You joked lightly, Alexia humming in agreement.

“How does it happen? You said your routine was messed up, how did that lead to you forgetting?”

“It's a long story.” You sighed, but Alexia doesn't care.

“I have a free evening.” She said simply. This woman.

“Well… every training session so far, Ingrid has met me in the morning at my apartment beforehand so we can travel in together. She normally checks in with me, asks how I'm feeling and if I've eaten and whatnot. But she was ill, which I obviously don't blame her for, by the way. So not having her with me these past two days has terrified me quite a bit. She's basically the thing that holds my whole morning routine together. I guess, because she wasn't there, everything just flew out the window.” You explained, but things still weren't quite adding up in Alexia’s mind.

“So how does that relate to you forgetting to eat? Do you not get hungry?”

“Not like normal people do. One of the things with autism is that… we're not really in tune with our bodies? Like, I don't often get hungry or thirsty, I have to force myself to remember to eat and drink. And when I don't, I only realise I haven't done either of the two when I start feeling ill, like today. But food and drink feel like a chore, which is another reason I forget too. It's different when it comes to football though, being an athlete has taught me to be in tune with my body in terms of injuries, but not for anything else. It's weird.” 

“Wow, I never knew that before. That's interesting.” She commented. She's got a lot to learn.

“I prefer… inconvenient.” You said with a shy smile, glad to hear Alexia chuckle at that.

Unexpectedly, for quite some time after that, the pair of you just… talked. A lot. Like, for an hour. About everything - from what pastries Ingrid baked you, to a few more facts about yourself and your ASD, and everything in between. 

It's unnervingly natural. Fun too, but also a little odd. Is she doing it out of pity, or..?

“I almost forgot the other reason I called you.” She said out of nowhere, the smile on her face audible once again. “We have our pre-season dinner this Friday, the whole team is going. You should come.”

A dinner? At a restaurant? Oh god.

“Oh, I… it sounds good, but I don’t know, I-”

“Hey, why not?” She questioned gently.

“Just, they’re not really my scene.”

In a split second, Alexia attempted to think back on all she knew about anxiety to combine it with the very little information she knew about autism, hoping the two overlapped somewhat. Luckily for her, they do.

“The club rents out the restaurant so it’ll just be the team and a few senior staff members. It shouldn’t be too loud. It’s more like a celebratory dinner before the season starts, so there's no partying or anything like that at all. I really hope you come, but I understand if not. There’s no pressure.”

Damn you, Alexia.

“Okay. Okay, I'll go.”

—

Normal order resumed for the rest of the week; Ingrid recovered from her short 48-hour bug and returned to training like she hadn't even had a day off. Her being back also meant your mind was a hell of a lot more at ease, even if Alexia had offered to see you every morning. 

There was one other thing you were blessed with: obliviousness. Because, during the car ride to training the day after your phone call with the captain, the smirk that Mapi greeted you with in the rearview mirror after you tell her what happened once she headed home, is definitely not confusing at all. Definitely not.

That smirk made a comeback far sooner than you'd like. 

“Say that again?” Mapi asked with a squint to her eyes, forcing down the laughter she so desperately wants to let out.

“Alexia is driving me to the team dinner.” You repeated the sentence you'd just said for her, looking to Ingrid for help. “Ingrid, tell her to behave please.”

“María, come on. Alexia is just doing her a favour, you know she's not a fan of driving.” Ingrid said whilst nudging her girlfriend, though secretly she's hiding some intense excitement levels under her very good poker-face.

“Exactly! Screw you, Mapi.” You sighed dramatically, turning back to the mirror as you put your earrings in.

“So you're sure you don't need us to drive you there?” Mapi asked suspiciously, and there was that stupid smirk again. 

“Ugh, yes! I am making friends, you should be happy!” You groaned, fixing the shorter defender with a dagger-like glare in the reflection.

“More than fr-”

“Okay! Are you ready, snuppa? When is Alexia coming?” Ingrid interjected, discreetly stomping on her girlfriend's foot.

“She's on her way, she'll be here any minute now.” You answered after checking your phone. “You know, I can't rely on you guys forever like you're my parents or something. I love you, but I don't love you that much. And I'm sure you feel the same.”

“No!” Ingrid cried out in a way that's entirely too theatrical. She came over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I do love you that much, it's María you need to worry about.”

“I do worry about her sometimes. You should too, Ingrid.” You murmured, Ingrid humming in agreement as you watched her Spanish counterpart… busy herself in your fridge?

“María, out of there! We are literally going for dinner right now!”

“Ingrid, princesa, you need to work on your English- we're not at dinner ‘right now’, that is why I am in the fridge.” 

“Guys! Alexia is here, let's go. I'll see you at the restaurant.” You kissed Ingrid’s cheek and flicked Mapi’s forehead as you ushered them out the door, locking it behind you and making your way down to the ground floor.

Alexia was there, waiting for you whilst leaning against her car, and a smile tugged at her lips the second she saw you. You heard some commotion behind you, most likely Mapi being scolded by Ingrid, but you shut it out as you headed over to the midfielder, fighting back a ridiculously cheesy grin.

She greeted you the same way she did on the first day she met you - enveloping you in a warm hug that really shouldn’t be as comforting as it was. Not a big deal. Regardless, you both clambered into the car and made your way to the restaurant.

Thankfully, the evening went surprisingly well. It was a very low-key evening, just like Alexia said. In fact, you might even go as far as to say you enjoyed it, that’s a welcome revelation. And it seems you weren’t the only one that had discovered something new.

“Can I ask you something?” Alexia said on the drive back to your apartment.

“Sounds like there’s no stopping you.” You replied, smiling when she teasingly rolled her eyes.

“At dinner, when Patri asked why you don’t drink, you said ‘long story short, I don’t like it’ so I was just wondering what you meant by that?” Alexia asked, before almost immediately regretting it. “I mean, you don’t have to answer, it’s your business, but… if there’s anything we should be mindful about, then let me know.”

Who needed alcohol when you had a tendency to lose your inhibitions whenever you got too exhausted?

“No, not really any problems. I don’t have any issues with people drinking around me, I just have a bit of a history with it but it’s nothing big. It’s fine.” You shrugged, trying to keep your eyes open as the streets of Barcelona passed by your window. 

“What… what happened?” Alexia pressed gently.

“Well, when I was about seventeen, I started going through a really hard time. I had just dropped out of school, I’d had some trouble with friends, I was basically struggling quite badly. I started partying and drinking a lot, way more than I should have. Then I began to rely on it too much, just to get me through really basic stuff. It made me feel normal, it got rid of the voice in my head and it made me feel like a functioning person of society because it was what everybody else did. One day I decided it was best that I don’t drink at all, and it’s easier to tell people I don’t like it but actually I’m just scared of drinking because of all it reminds me of. So, I avoid it.” You explained, rather nonchalantly. 

The mental exhaustion was hitting hard that night, it was evident in the way you spoke. There was one explanation; dissociation. Dinners were not your favourite things in the world, they were a challenge to get through even when you were in the best company. Small talk, food, the sound of people eating, the scrapes of cutlery against ceramic, and the attention on some occasions being entirely on you? Yeah, a big no go. Which is why you were so tired, so distant, because your mind was in protection mode to keep you running until you got home.

Talking about your past was difficult, you’d come a long way and it felt counter-intuitive to talk about the bad times when you’d worked so hard to come to a good place. Yet, here you were, baring your soul about a topic you normally kept to yourself. You don’t even feel at least a little bit anxious at the fact you’d just spilled that secret. Alexia takes all the concern you normally feel and keeps it for herself.

“I’m sorry you went through that, cariño. Thank you for telling me.” She smiled sadly over at you, an ache growing in her heart at your defeated demeanour where you sit in her passenger seat. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t seem like yourself.”

“Tired. So tired.” You sighed. Even just talking felt like a chore in that moment. “Wanna get home, s’all.”

“Okay, we’re almost there now.” She said, “I’m proud of you for coming today. I know you weren’t a fan of the idea initially but you came, and everybody was so glad that you did. I am really proud of you, and so are Ingrid and Mapi too.”

The woman to your left surprised you everyday with each act of kindness she was showing. She hardly knew you, she hardly knew of your struggles, but she was adamant to learn and show just how deeply she cared. You were beyond grateful for her and all she’d said and done, even if you couldn’t verbalise that just yet.

All you could do was offer a simple nod, almost entirely mute as a result of how utterly overstimulating the day had been. You had loved it, sure, but sometimes when days like today left you in such a dejected state that you could hardly talk, there were still times if you wondered if fighting for a somewhat normal life was worth it. 

From then on, the rest of the drive home was silent. Alexia dropped you off, made sure you knew to contact her or Ingrid or whoever you felt comfortable speaking to should you need them, and that was that. You got inside, were barely able to get yourself changed, before passing out as soon as you got into bed.

—

A few weeks went by and it was more of the same. After that dinner, the team really clamped down and focused on getting everybody ready for the start of the new season. Training at Barcelona was different to anything you’d ever experienced before; it was intense, but light-hearted. There was competition, but it was healthy, everybody egged each other on even if they wanted to win. Ingrid was right, you had never found training this enjoyable before. You had to put that down to the people though, if it wasn’t for them then you’d never feel as comfortable as you do now. 

There were blips, there were still obstacles, but apart from that time you fell ill after training , there hadn’t really been any meltdown-inducing moments. Just a lot of burn-out and exhaustion, but you were near enough a pro at dealing with that now. 

The environment was… perfect for you. And one factor of that outcome is definitely down to the help of the famous three you had near enough attached yourself to since your arrival.

But the main factor to how well you had settled in was down to you. At some point along the way, not that the exact date mattered or anything (at exactly 12:02 on Monday the 26th of August), you hit a milestone that you had never managed to reach before. 

It was unplanned, but once the initial shock had worn off and the anxiety left, you teared up in the arms of Ingrid at the pride you felt towards yourself. Then Mapi joined in with the hug, and so did Alexia, then… so did the whole team too. 

For the first time, you were honest with your team. For the first time, you told them that you had autism. And for the first time, you weren’t suffocated by that prospect. When they all came together to hug you, it wasn’t just a physical embrace, it was them fully accepting you even with this burden you held and championed every day of your life. Though, with the support of others, it was hard to think of it as a burden. The gravity of a secret this big had weighed you down for years, but… now, your chest had never felt so light.

They supported you when you arrived, but the extremes this Spanish team took didn’t quite register until the week before the first game of the Liga F season. Fortunately for you, the first game of the season was at your new home of football, the Estadi Johan Cruyff. So, to help settle the rising nerves you were feeling as game day got closer, the club had organised a training session for you at the stadium a few days before. The more familiar you were with your surroundings, the less you had to worry about on the day. And, as everybody knew, the only thing you needed to worry about for your debut would be how well you did on the pitch.

What you didn’t know though, was that every member of your team was waiting in the stands for you to walk out. And the second the sound of boots hitting the floor echoed from the tunnel through the empty stadium, Mapi was up on her feet to cheer and encouraged her teammates to do the same. The only person that hesitated was Ingrid, but when she saw the look on your face as your te- your friends outwardly rallied behind you so openly and so freely, she became the loudest one of them all. That was the perfect way to prepare for game day, you really couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to work with everyday.

Were you jittery and wracked with nerves as you waited on the sidelines to be substituted in at the 70 minute mark? Yes, but the second you took your first step on the grass with the crowd’s applause as your welcome, you fixated on the game and everything else was just background noise. 

From a young age, before you had even heard of the word autism, football had very obviously been your special interest, otherwise known as the one random topic out of everything in the world to take over your life. 

You would spend hours in your backyard, kicking a ball against the side of your house, driving your family crazy. The walls of your bedroom were covered, corner to corner, in posters ranging from your favourite players, to clubs from all over the world. Christmases and birthdays as a kid were, to you, all about what from your presents you could add to your collection. Kits, boots, scarves, match-day programmes, magazines, even trading cards. Back at your childhood home in Norway, all these things were stored away in the attic, still items you cherished. 

As you got older and life got a bit more difficult, football became your escape. School was exhausting, people were exhausting, but football was something you could do on your own. No one bothering you, no one expecting anything from you, it was a time you could forget the world and all its misdemeanours, and just relax. And honestly, that’s all you planned for it to be. It was hard to imagine it being anything else than just a hobby.

All it took was one game to change the whole trajectory of your life. A game of girls against boys at your school at the age of only eleven, and the next day your sports teacher had gotten you a trial at the local academy. You passed it with flying colours, and flourished in the sport from there.

…Until one random day when you were fourteen, your mother sat you down for a conversation you never could have expected. But once you'd had time to dwell on her words, everything made sense. 

You had autism spectrum disorder. 

It wasn’t made official until the assessment process was over and you received your diagnosis, but that was the day it felt like your life had been irreversibly changed. Your view of the world changed with one conversation, and it was as if everything you thought you knew was wiped completely. Like you had been thrown into the ocean with no one and nothing around to help. 

All the tantrums, the bad behaviour at home compared to being a model student at school, the fussy eating habits, and the endless list of out-of-the-norm habits you had - it added up to this one, new label. The tantrums became meltdowns, the reasoning behind your behavioural differences were from spending the whole day surrounded by people and masking to fit in which led to you being so overwhelmed and overstimulated, your mind went into overdrive and didn’t know what to do. The fussy eating turned out to be sensory issues, with the textures and tastes of certain foods making you physically ill.

There was so much to learn that some days it felt like too big a challenge to tackle. Then there would be the days where you were up all night, the light of your family laptop kept hidden under the blanket you draped over yourself, as you researched this life-changing disorder until the sun rose.

It’s funny, really, how quickly your life can change with just three words.

For years, you had been defeated by it, succumbing to the assumptions that you could never amount to anything more than the label forced upon you, but look at you now. Providing a world class through ball to the most recent Ballon D’Or recipient to tie off a 3-0 win in the first game of the season.

You had learnt at some point in the last twelve years that the only choice you had was to live with it. Make the most of it. This was your one life, you had to make it work. You were adamant to thrive for the others that couldn’t, for the 1 in 13 women that didn’t believe they were strong enough to fight back, and to prove to the world that this disorder didn't hold you back.

They wouldn’t know that your mind could be your own worst enemy, or the self-deprecating thoughts you could have whilst your face gave away no hints, or that sometimes you didn’t believe in yourself and the anxiety was so intense that you could be stuck in bed for days, even weeks, at a time. All they saw right now was your team, FC Barcelona, rushing over to celebrate you rather than the goal scorer because they knew what it meant to you. The world would only ever see your victories, because they had no business to strike you when you were already down. You were strong, you were worth it, and most importantly, you had done it. You’d made it to the exact point you dreamed of. That’s all that mattered.

Unfortunately, it only takes one bad thing to set you down an unwanted path.

Part 2

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 3

(Part 1 | Part 2)

I had jacked in. Unauthorized. Unbidden.

When I finally disconnected from Morrigan's tender embrace, the reality of my situation had come slamming into me.

I had used my access to a multi billion dollar war machine for my own personal ends. I had risked my job, my career, my fucking life maybe... and for what? A bad dream?

I returned to my quarters, mechanically showered and ate breakfast and reported to my station, all but certain that security would arrive at any minute to quietly escort me out of the facility to a hole somewhere no one would ever see me again.

But they never came.

Despite the anomalous access logs, they never came.

Burning the midnight oil? one of the techs had asked jokingly.

Fuck.

They all fucking knew I had been there, but it never crossed any of their minds what I was really doing.

Once that initial panic abated, a whole new kind of terror set in.

Command might be fooled. Security and the techs might be fooled. But there's one person who knows. There's one other person who has the kind of access to Morrigan that I do.

Fuck fuck fuck.

No. She doesn't have the same access I do. I'm the fucking interloper here. It's her fucking machine. She has deeper access than I ever could. Morrigan was tailor made for her pilot. All the while, the pilot was broken and remade to forge connections I could only ever dream of. They're two halves of a whole. They can't hide anything from each other even if they wanted to.

It takes three days before the moment I have been dreading finally crystallizes into sharp reality.

I sit alone in a corner of the cafeteria, as I always do. I poke listlessly at something that I think is supposed to be fruit cocktail. I have read the same paragraph on my datapad three times already. I have just started on my fourth attempt when a figure slides onto the bench across from me.

I know exactly who it is before I glance halfway up to see the long slender fingers, one hand tapping restlessly, the other clenching a spoon as she surveys the mess of nutrient gel that they serve pilots. The sleeves of her sweatshirt are rolled up, revealing the skinsuit over skeletal arms.

I can't bring myself to do more than that quick glance at her hands.

I remember those piercing ice blue eyes… jesus fuck, it's only been three weeks since that moment we passed in the access corridor, when those eyes had pinned me in place.

I imagine those eyes boring into me now.

I know she's been to see Morrigan. The two of them had a training sim yesterday. They have another one in a couple of hours.

Her spoon scrapes against the cheap plastic of the bowl. The nutrient paste makes a sickening wet sound as it rises.

I am frozen in place. I can't leave. I can't read my datapad. I can't even pretend to eat any more.

The thing they never reveal in the propaganda vids is just how frail pilots are. The training, the conditioning, the hours and hours jacked into the machine being pumped full of a cocktail of artificial stress and reward hormones, they all ravage the body. The figure seated across from me can't be more than half my weight. In a stand up fight, I could probably break her in half.

I'm fucking terrified of her. I can barely breath as she takes another spoonful of gel.

The skin around the ports on my rig itch. Like my rig itself knows how inadequate it is in comparison to hers.

The spoon comes to rest on the tray alongside her bowl. She says nothing. Even in silence, she's a creature of action, unable to remain still. Her leg bounces just slightly. Her fingers tap out a complicated rhythm.

I force myself to look up, to meet her gaze.

The eyes are sharp. Sharper and clearer than I remembered when they wheeled her past me. But it is that same intensity that I remember.

She isn't smiling. She isn't frowning either. Her expression isn't doing much of anything, like she's forgotten how to express like a human being. Beneath the restless energy, she looks tired, all sunken cheeks and shadowed eyes, with a sickly pallor to her skin.

She looks like a pilot. If I hadn't broken, if I hadn't washed out, it is what I would have looked like.

An image flashes through my mind unbidden. I see us swapped. Me: hard, broken, tired. Her: soft, muscular, healthy… lonely.

The feeling washes over me, that horrible familiar, desperate loneliness.

She twitches, head cocking slightly as she sees something in my expression.

Oh… oh fuck.

She knows.

I had been so fucking scared of being caught out that I never considered how much had actually been revealed, how much of my aching soul left its mark in that cockpit like so many greasy fingerprints.

I have dreamed Morrigan's dreams. I have caught myself humming snatches of her song.

Neural bleed.

It always comes back to fucking neural bleed. Limited as my rig is, Morrigan has been in my head just as I have been in hers… and Morrigan is half of a whole.

The woman sitting across from me doesn't just recognize my face, she has seen the very core of me.

I let out a ragged breath that I hadn't realized I had been holding.

When she finally does speak, her voice is husky murmur, hoarse from disuse.

“We should talk,” she says.

(Next)

I nod weakly.

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |3|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Three: Skinning Survival

warnings: hunting/animal death, blood and gore (animal butchering), suicidal ideation (subtle), survivor's guilt, past death, and grief/loss

taglist: @morganismspam23

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

The woods are different in winter. Everything feels closer, more compressed without the buffer of foliage. Sound travels strangely—sometimes swallowed completely by snow, other times carrying with startling clarity. You feel exposed and hidden simultaneously, a contradiction that suits your fractured state of mind.

Natalie moves ahead of you, her steps purposeful yet silent. She holds the rifle with a casual confidence that you've come to recognize as part of her armor. You follow behind, knife strapped to your thigh, the weight of it both reassuring and terrifying.

"Travis usually spots while I shoot," Nat says without looking back. "You good with that arrangement, or you wanna switch it up?"

You just nod, then remember she can't see you. "Spotting's fine."

Your voice sounds wrong in your ears—brittle, unused. You've barely spoken to anyone except Shauna in weeks. Even then, your conversations are more silence than words, an unspoken language of grief that only the two of you understand.

"Cool. Your eyes are probably better anyway. Mine are fucked from the pills."

Natalie doesn't sugarcoat things. It's why you agreed to come with her today when Shauna suggested it. No pitying looks. No careful dancing around Jackie's name. No suffocating concern.

The rabbit is small—too small, really—but it's the first thing you've seen in hours. You point, a quick gesture that Nat catches immediately. She raises the rifle, breathes once, twice, then pulls the trigger.

The crack echoes through the trees, and somewhere far away a flock of birds takes flight. The rabbit doesn't move again.

"Nice shot," you say, and mean it.

Nat's mouth quirks up. "Don't sound so surprised."

You retrieve the animal, its body still warm through your gloves. Something shifts in your chest—not quite pain, not quite relief.

"We should keep moving," Nat says. "Daylight's burning."

By mid-afternoon, you've added two more rabbits and a scrawny squirrel to your collection. Not the bounty you'd hoped for, but better than returning empty-handed. Food has become precious, portions smaller with each passing day.

"Let's head back," Nat suggests. "Before it gets too dark."

The walk back is mostly silent. You're both conserving energy, saving breath in the cold air. But as the outline of the cabin appears through the trees, Nat stops suddenly.

"I didn't say it before, but... I'm glad you came today." She doesn't look at you directly. "Travis gets too in his head sometimes. Makes too much noise."

You understand what she's not saying: You know how to be quiet. You know how to disappear.

"Thanks for asking me," you reply, the words feeling strange on your tongue.

Nat gives a quick nod. "Yeah, well. Someone's gotta make sure you don't sleepwalk into a fucking ravine."

You stiffen at the mention of your nighttime wanderings. "Shauna talk to you about that?"

"She's worried. We all are."

"I'm fine."

Nat snorts. "Yeah, sure. We're all fine." She pronounces the word like it's poisonous. "That's why we're starving in the middle of nowhere. That's why we've already lost almost half our team. That's why we wake up screaming. That's why you're digging up graves in the middle of the night."

Her bluntness hits like a slap. You feel your defenses rising, that familiar anger bubbling up. "Fuck you."

"No, fuck you," Nat says, but there's no real heat in it. "You think you're the only one who lost someone out here? You think you're the only one who feels guilty?"

You start walking again, faster now, wanting to escape this conversation.

"Look, I'm not trying to be a bitch," Nat continues, keeping pace. "I'm just saying... we're all fucked up. But at least some of us are trying."

"And I'm not?" The words come out sharper than intended.

"Are you?" Nat's question hangs in the cold air between you.

------

In the cabin, you don't wait for anyone to ask. You take the animals outside to the makeshift table—a flat rock Shauna normally uses for butchering—and pull out your knife. Your hands are steady as you begin to work, stripping fur from flesh with methodical precision.

You feel Shauna's eyes on you from the cabin doorway, but she doesn't approach. This is something you need to do alone.

The work is gruesome but straightforward. There's a simplicity to it that calms your racing thoughts. Blood stains the snow at your feet, vibrant against the white. You remember other blood, other snow—Jackie's blue lips, her still chest. You push the memory down, focusing on the task at hand.

I can do this for us. I can provide this.

It's the least you can do, after everything. After the things you said. After failing to bring her inside that night.

By the time you finish, your fingers are numb despite your gloves, and the light has faded to a dusky gray. You gather the meat—pathetically little when laid out—and bring it inside.

The cabin falls quiet as you enter. You feel their eyes on you—Taissa's curiosity, Van's surprise, Shauna's cautious hope. You hand the meat to Misty without meeting anyone's gaze.

"Protein," you say simply. "Not much, but it's something."

Later, as the meager stew simmers, Shauna sits beside you, her shoulder touching yours. She doesn't speak, but her hand finds yours under the blanket you're sharing, fingers intertwining with quiet understanding.

"Nat said you did good out there," she finally murmurs. "Said you have a steady hand."

You don't respond, but you don't pull away either. It's the closest thing to peace you've felt in weeks.

That night, you dream of Jackie again. But this time, she isn't walking away. She's sitting beside you, those perfect fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"You've got blood under your nails," she says.

"I know. I can't get it out."

"Did you kill something?" There's no judgment in her voice, just curiosity.

"To survive," you tell her. "We have to eat."

She nods, as if this makes perfect sense. "Are you angry with me still?"

"Yes," you admit. "I'm so fucking angry. And sad. And lost."

"I know." Jackie's smile is gentle. "You were always so good at feeling everything all at once. I envied that about you."

"I thought you hated it."

"I never hated anything about you," she says. "Even when I said I did."

You reach for her, but your hands pass through her like smoke. "I miss you so much it's killing me."

"Don't let it," Jackie whispers. "Please don't let it."

You wake with tears freezing on your cheeks, Shauna's arm around your waist anchoring you to the present. Outside, the wind howls through the trees, carrying secrets and sorrow in equal measure. But for the first time in weeks, you don't feel the pull to follow it, to dig your hands into the frozen earth where Jackie lies.

Instead, you turn into Shauna's warmth and close your eyes, allowing yourself to drift back toward sleep. Tomorrow, you think, you'll ask Nat if you can go hunting again. Tomorrow, you'll try to stay among the living for a little while longer.

[ma1dita]

BABEEE happy birthday!! (i'm so terribly late i'm so sorry) congrats on 23💖

🐥 so i'm having thoughts right now about luke x reader and physical affection. like maybe one of them being touch starved and always craving the other person's touch and the other person noticing it and doing it more? maybe from platonic (i will go down with best friends to lovers) to romantic, i'm just on this brainrot tonight

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x reader

a/n: back from the klerb but here with a classic 4am post 🥂 but the hangxiety wont let me rest until this is out! ill edit this in the morning... or not 😗

wc: 1.1k

—

It’s hard to miss what you’ve never had.

Luke Castellan was never a touchy guy. Sure, he’ll hold a new camper’s hand during welcome tours (especially the little ones who can barely keep up with his long legs; if they’re lucky they get a piggy back ride), and he won’t shy away from a clap on the back when his strategies for capture the flag bring his team to victory (they always do, mind you), and when he feels like it, he’ll even shove Annabeth playfully to show her he adores her (but she packs a punch now that she’s older).

It never really goes past that, and he’s never had to think too hard about it—physical touch.

He’s the one who takes care of others—a part of his nature like it is for Hermes’ cabin to take in unclaimed demigods. But something changed in the months that he’s gotten closer to you. At first, he’d bite his tongue at the way you’re so open to patting his cheek when he does something funny (which he doesn’t try to make a show of, but now…), how you choose to sit so close to him during bonfires that your knees touch (the Apollo kids could be singing about the heavens falling down on them for all he cares but he zeroes in on every word that leaves your lips), and the way you’d lock your fingers with him for a pinky promise after every little thing ‘to make sure it’s real’ (Luke didn’t understand the merit of a pinky promise over whether you could have his dessert for the next week if you took over arts and crafts with the kiddie campers for him; truthfully he’d give it to you anyway). It was unusual for him to have someone comfort him, to show care without a true reason. But he didn’t realize how much more it bothered him now that you wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

Silena and some of the other Aphrodite children had asked you the very defining question of, “Do you like Luke Castellan?” and having never thought of it that way, or being able to put your feelings for him in words instead of fingers in his belt loops or in the muss of his curls—that shit was terrifying!

You spent all Saturday afternoon at the docks with them belly down under the glare of the sun’s rays as they explained to you what the five love languages are. By the end of it, sunburn wasn’t the only reason you felt hot.

“Your love language is physical touch,” one of Silena’s older half-siblings—Connelly, says like he’s explaining that the sky is blue, “And Luke’s not that type of guy! Think he’s more acts of service…”

“Ooh, or words of affirmation….” another one of them muses, but the sound of your heartbeat tunes it all out. Well shit, have you been sending him the wrong signals? Or are there even any signals you want to send him? 

Nevertheless, in the matters of love or even the tiniest whisper of it—maybe there’s no one else you can trust with this stuff besides Cabin 10.

Wrong.

Absolutely wrong. Whatever the hell you’ve been convinced or whatever’s changed since last weekend—Luke just knows he hates it, and he’s angry. He’s angry at how you gasp in surprise every time you brush shoulders during archery practice when you used to let him fix your form, he’s angry at how you’ll squeeze campers’ shoulders to tell them they’re doing a good job carrying the strawberry crates—and all he gets is a mumbled ‘Thanks, Castellan’ when he stacks them up and takes your load.

Luke’s so terribly angry that Travis told him he’s been walking around like a big strawberry, face red and irritated—but not at you. 

He realizes he’s also angry at the fact that he can’t protect you from the onslaught of a rain cloud—or maybe it was the fact that you’re so okay with the rain touching your skin and seeping through your orange shirt like he wishes you’d let him. He’s angry at the way the wind blows your hair into your face and your fingers brush the strands away like he wishes he can. Most of all, Luke Castellan is angry that he didn’t know how good a simple touch could be until he lost it—before he even really got to appreciate yours.

You’re sitting on the opposite end of the row in the amphitheater laughing with your friends and the furrow in his thick brow is a tell-tale sign of his discomfort. Luke doesn’t dare to remember what it’s like before you to be honest—he’d rather give up Elysium instead of having you ignore him like this. He calls your name, a tinge of both anger and desperation until you look over at him, eyelashes kissing your cheeks. The hold you have on him transcends the physical touch of your fingers but he wants, no—needs you next to him.

“C’mere! Why are you so far away?”

Luke hopes it doesn’t sound pathetic, but a crooked grin splits across his face as soon as you make your way over, sitting down and crossing your legs away from him. It’s still too far, even if he can feel your breath on his shoulder.

“Did I do something to make you angry? I…” The words escape his mouth in a jumble—quick wit from his father escaping him, though he knows not to rely on that asshole, god or not. You mutter words that almost escape him too, and he leans in, chasing your hands and putting them in his own until they’re gentle and soft in his lap.

“No, no…. I just… don’t want to push your boundaries. I know you don’t like it when I’m too touchy,” and he thinks his heart clenches a little like how you’re squeezing his hands. Luke shouldn’t feel instant gratification from a subconscious action. He wants to know you mean it with him—that’s what he can’t put into words.

“I….like it when you do.”

You notice the way his fingers tangle tighter with yours, pinkys interlocking with yours. When he lets go, Luke wraps his arm around your shoulders until you’re able to laugh in the crook of his neck. He chooses to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth when your head sways to face him at the silly tune about centaurs and then you realize that Luke loves the way you love him. You wonder if he accidentally missed meeting your lips, but then the noise in your head quiets down when he pulls you closer, lips locking tenderly, intentionally—as they were always meant to.

You both hear a giggle that sounds a lot like tinkling bells belonging to children of Aphrodite. 

For once they were wrong about love. 

Luke’s tongue parts through your lips and meets your own like they’re in a long awaited embrace, dancing and devouring you from the inside out but this, you— are what he can rely on. This, your touch, and how he chooses to let it consume him, never letting go.

[gayforolderwomen]

The hands that cradle me are drenched in blood

Inspired by this post

!!this is still an 18+ blog minors DNI!!

Pairing: Dark!Agatha x Dark!Rio x fem!reader

Summary: Agatha and Rio are obsessed with you, in their minds you're already theirs they just have to break you a little bit to make you realize that too

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of stalking, kidnapping, torture, brutal death of r's gf, gore, blood, breaking of bones, grief, non-con kissing, manipulation, choking, stabbing, r tasting blood, kind of Stockholm syndrome?, lmk if I missed anything!

A/N:Uhh so this turned out a lot longer than expected but my brain really liked the idea apparently lmao I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! Also yes I made a shitty edit for the image cause it needed to fit the vibes perfectly wjejsj

"I'm getting sick of seeing that bitch all over our girl" Rio snarls, her eyes glaring hellfire into the back of your girlfriend's head- Rio being death herself cannot kill mortals as to keep the balance but she's just about ready to make an exception- her body coiled like a predator about to strike.

"Patience dear we have to wait for the right time" Agatha replies keeping a cool calm exterior as they sit on their porch watching you and your girlfriend garden. Rio however sees the small twitch in Agatha's right eye, a sign her lover is just as ready to rip apart the one obstacle between them and you, a knowing smirk gracing her lips for a moment.

You only recently moved into the house next door but all it took was one small, fleeting interaction to have them hooked. You were perfect, so young, so innocent, so pretty and so very pliable. They've bided their time- waiting- watching. Everything has to be perfect and soon it will be, all they need is to get rid of your girlfriend.

She's a sweet enough girl- you're clearly madly in love with her, but to Agatha and Rio she is an infestation needing to be exterminated- and they're both getting impatient. It's difficult for them, seeing her all over you, seeing you drink it up, being so head over heels, it's wrong. You're theirs. It doesn't matter if all the interaction you've had with them is polite conversations in passing- they know everything about you. Your routine, your favorite meals, what shows you watch on repeat, your adorable habits- they know more about you than anyone could.

It's been about half a year of careful planning when all the pieces finally fall into place, you've just lost your job under mysterious circumstances, your girlfriend is overworked at hers due to ten people quitting out of the blue, she's barely around, she's stressed and you're starting to hit a low point. You're vulnerable.

It starts with a gentle knock at your door, you open it, bags under your eyes and stress wracking your body. Agatha and Rio both put on their warmest smiles, only slightly wavering when your girlfriend appears beside you.

"Heya neighbours! We were just wondering how you're settling into the neighbourhood" Agatha says in a cheery tone, acting as if it's a bright and early morning and not the dark hours of the night.

You look puzzled at the question but before you can even mumble a polite response the sight of your girlfriend's arm resting around your waist makes Rio snap and within an instant your girlfriend is on the floor and Rio is inside.

Agatha tuts but quickly follows suit, the door closing behind her with a thud, purple magic starting to swirl between her fingers. You gasp, your eyes wide, your body trembling and your mind frozen in shock.

"Remember to hold her back dear" Agatha says with a laugh of amusement at the terrified and confused look on your face, finding it more adorable than she would have originally thought.

Rio is behind you in an heartbeat, one arm tightly around your waist holding your back to her front in a vice grip- her other hand gently stroking your head in an almost soothing manner, yet it does nothing to stop the trembling in your body, the fear and uncertainty of the situation making you shake like a leaf, your mind racing with questions, your neighbours seemed nice enough from the little times you interacted with them- you at least never would have thought they'd be barging into your home with seemingly sinister intent.

"W-what's going on-" you stutter, your voice almost too small to be heard. Rio just shushes you like you would a child, her hand still gently stroking your head.

"Hush baby, Agatha's just gonna show you how dedicated we are to you. To having you all to ourselves, like it should be" Rio gently whispers in your ear as if the words are supposed to soothe your fear and not spike it.

Purple magic swarms around your girlfriend's body, suspending her a few feet off the ground, she opens her mouth to scream but no sound escapes her. A dark chuckle reverberates through the room, Agatha taking great amusement in your girlfriend's fear.

"Ah, ah, ah" she mockingly sings "don't want you waking up the neighbourhood do we?" Agatha coos with fake sympathy.

With a strange movement of Agatha's hands your girlfriend's body starts to contort, the sickening crunch of bones echos through the room, your girlfriend's mouth open wide in a silent scream, tears drenching her cheeks. You writhe against Rio's grip, a sob leaving your mouth as you frantically try to reach your girlfriend.

Rio shushes you, her vice grip around your waist unwavering, her other hand now gently holding your head back against her shoulder, making you fully lean back into her cold embrace.

"Shh it's okay little dove, I've got you" Rio hums into your ear, her tone gentle and loving. Her lips pressing against your neck in a reassuring kiss, her lips much warmer than her hands but the sensation makes you shiver in disgust- your girlfriend is the only one who kisses you like that and she's being brutalized in front of your very eyes.

Bones crack and grind, some protruding out of her skin with sickening pop, her body bending and twisting in ways too grotesque to describe, hovering in the air helpless and at the complete mercy of Agatha Harkness.

"No! No stop! Please! You're hurting her!" You yell, your voice breaking into a sob as you see the dread in your girlfriend's tear stained eyes, the unmistakable look of primal fear, the look of someone who knows the end is here.

"It's alright darling it'll be over soon" Agatha says in a velvet smooth voice, walking to you for a moment and gently wiping away the tears you hadn't even noticed were adorning your cheeks.

"Please- please stop she didn't do anything wrong-" you beg between broken sobs, your body already feeling heavy and weak as Rio easily keeps you against her chest.

Agatha gives you a gentle and genuine smile "but she did, she's keeping you from us darling and we can't have that" she explains, her tone as if you were a child unable to grasp the necessity of the situation. Rio presses another comforting kiss to your neck, her other arm now pressed across your chest, effectively pinning you to her body, immobilizing you will ease.

You try to struggle against her, try to fight her ensnaring grip but the fight quickly leaves your body as Agatha turns back to your girlfriend- her body still contorting and writhing in pain. Agatha flicks her wrist and a gut wrenching snap fills the room. The purple magic vanishes, your girlfriend's now lifeless body falling to the floor, bones jutting out of her in various places, blood coating her once perfect skin and her head now forever snapped to the side.

The air becomes stagnant as you stare at her lifeless broken body, your hands tremble at your side and a heavy numbness overtakes your body. You're silent, no more sobs escape your lips just the sound of your shaky, shallow breathing. All you can do is stare at her. You had planned to spend the rest of your life with your girlfriend and now she lay dead in a gruesome display in front of you, in the home you bought together.

Agatha then makes her way back over to Rio and you, gently cupping your face in her hands and tilting it up so you're looking at her. She has a look of genuine empathy and care on her face, a soft sad smile on her lips.

"I'm sorry my darling it had to be done, but you have us now and we're not going anywhere" she says in a soft comforting voice, Rios arms loosening a fraction around your body but still holding you close, her grip feeling less like a cage and more like an anchor.

You don't say anything, a vacant look across your face as Agatha keeps your gaze on her, Agatha's hands feeling warm and soft. Rio's eyes drift between you and the body of your girlfriend, a small smile of satisfaction on her lips. She's eager to collect her soul, to see the obstacle finally leave this plane.

"I've got her my love, deal with that" Agatha says as she replaces Rios arm around your waist with hers and gently guides you to lean forward into her neck. Rio obliges checking that Agatha is holding you up before fully letting go, she's reluctant to leave your side but she has a job to do and her eagerness beats her reluctance most times.

Your arms hang limp at your side, your body feeling so heavy and yet so empty at the same time, your entire world has just been destroyed, you should be screaming, yelling, running, anything. But you're not, you let yourself sink into Agatha's embrace, your head guided to rest on Agatha's shoulder, her arm gently but firmly around you, her other gently rubbing your back in a soothing motion- it's the same thing your girlfriend would do to comfort you after a tough week...

Rio soon is back behind you, pulling the both of you to her, sandwiching you between the two older women. You don't react, you should but you don't, too drained to fight and almost grateful for their comfort...almost.

"We should get you home little dove" Rio softly says, her lips returning to your neck to pepper soft kisses across it. Agatha now gently stroking your side, their touch feels caring, loving. Safe. You're almost willed into that false sense of security but Rio's words snap you out of it. The term of endearment. That word....Home.

The numbness vanishes and your body is instead filled with panic, fear and anger. You start to thrash in an attempt to break free from the two women's grips, but as if they expected this to happen, that same purple magic that held your girlfriend in mid air as she was killed, now envelopes your body.

Agatha and Rio both step back, Agatha tutting in disappointment as if you were just a small child misbehaving, Rio however lets out a low growl, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

"Oh my dear I was hoping we didn't have to resort to this but, you leave us no choice" Agatha chastises, her voice more cold, tone disappointed but not lacking empathy like it did when she talked to your girlfriend, almost like she genuinely didn't want to use her magic on you.

A small mutter of what sounds like Latin and a movement of Agatha's arms twists the scenery around you, walls and colours distorting around you before it settles. You blink a few times, your body is no longer restrained, you're not in your house, at least you don't think you are. The walls around you are stone and sturdy looking, there's no windows, no natural light. Only a soft glow coming from somewhere but at least it's enough to vaguely see your surroundings.

You squint trying to adjust your eyes and manage to make out what looks like a staircase, you scramble to reach it, the cold stone floor sending a small jolt through your skin as your hands frantically feel for each step. The soft glow growing as you ascend the staircase of what you're guessing is a basement.

You reach out for the door handle but startle as it suddenly flies open, revealing Rio standing in the door frame, a dark glint in her eye. You freeze, you don't know where you are, Agatha is nowhere to be seen and you're reminded of the threatening growl that Rio produced when you tired to escape their grip seconds ago. Every fibre of your being is telling you to run.

"Don't" Rio lowly warns as she sees your eyes darting around, clearly trying to think of what to do in your panicked state. "Just relax baby. You're home now, you're safe" she says, her voice taking on a more gentle tone, yet there's still a lingering threat in her dark eyes.

Your body starts to tremble, fear rising like a growing wave in your body, you know less about these women than you thought, they're dangerous, Rio isn't even the one that killed your girlfriend but she holds a threatening and powerful presence- she was able to easily restrain you before, you don't want to think about what else she's capable of.

"I-I....I don't understand...why did she...m-my girlfriend...Agatha killed.." your voice cracks, it's still so fresh, you're confused, scared and feel utterly helpless. You don't know what to do, you want to run, scream, anything that would get you out of this situation, away from the women responsible for your girlfriends horrific demise.

"Oh sweet girl we've already told you" Agatha's voice suddenly rings out from behind you. You quickly whip around to see Agatha standing at the bottom of the stairs "She was a problem. An obstacle. She was distracting you, making you believe she loved you" Agatha takes a step up the stairs.

"She made you think the likes of her was all you deserved" She takes another step up. "We are what you deserve darling" another step. "We are the only ones who truly understand you, truly love you" She's now only a few steps down from where you stand, Rio still blocking the doorway.

Agatha's voice is soothing, soft but with her closing in you feel utterly trapped, running back into the room would do nothing, Rio is blocking the only exit, you could try running past Rio but with her apparent strength and Agatha's ability to hold people mid air without touching them....you might as well be an animal in a cage.

Both Agatha and Rio seem to pick up that you've realised how helpless your own situation is, a soft semi triumphant smile dancing across their faces. Agatha closes the distance and gently wraps her arms around you, pulling you in to a warm embrace.

"I've got you darling, we've got you, everything will be just fine" Agatha says, her voice, gentle, calm and reassuring reminding you of how a mother would comfort her child.

"You'll learn to love us as much as we do you, just let us" Rio muses in your ear, making you aware she's directly behind you. You know your best bet is to play along, to try and feel the comfort despite how wrong, at least before an opportunity arises for escape- but as Rio starts to kiss your neck like she did before you can't stop yourself from tensing, you felt disgusted the first time but now it feels worse- knowing she did this as your girlfriend was being killed, kissing your neck just like she used to-

Rio takes notice but doesn't seem to mind, continuing to place soft loving kisses up and down your neck, her cold hands resting possessively on your hips Agatha is still holding you close in a warm hug, her arms wrapped comfortingly around you. She buries her face in your hair and inhales, humming softly.

"Hmm we've been so patient you know darling, waiting for the right time. These things can't be rushed, but oh it was worth it my dear. You're here and we're going to take such good care of you" Agatha says, pulling back to admire you, your eyes are red and puffy, your lip quivering slightly, your eyes full of fear, heartbreak and a hint of anger but that does nothing to quell your beauty to Agatha.

She leans in closing any distance left and presses her lips to yours in a gentle almost careful kiss, as if she's testing your reaction. You immediately recoil but don't get too far as Rio is still directly behind you. You already felt repulsed by Rio kissing your neck, but now the woman who just killed your girlfriend in front of you is kissing you- it makes your body fill with more disgust and anger.

Agatha frowns, looking almost upset that you felt so disgusted at her kiss. Rio of course immediately recognizes her lovers reaction and her anger flares, she didn't care that you felt disgusted by her advances but you being disgusted by Agatha...

Rio's fingers dig into your arms painfully. You yelp and tense, breathing becoming slightly panicked, your anger quickly quelled by fear once again.

Rio then spins you around, her fingers digging harder into your arms, her long nails starting to draw blood. "I know this is new to you but this- we are your life now. And you will learn quickly" Rio growls through gritted teeth, always the defensive one when it came to Agatha.

Agatha's hands quickly cover Rio's and she gently pries them from your arms, you've not been too disobedient yet so she stops Rio's anger lead movements. She carefully leads the two of you up the stairs out of the basement, pushing you to the side with gentle caution, giving you a small smile with just a flash of warning in her eyes before turning back to the seething Rio.

"Be calm my love, as you said she's still new to this, she'll adjust. She'll be our perfect girl in no time" She gently reassures her lover, holding Rio's hands with a firm gentleness. Rio grumbles something in another language but takes a breath and her body seems to relax.

Agatha smiles lovingly and leans forwards to meet Rio's lips, pulling her into a loving kiss. Rio returns it eagerly, deepening the kiss with an almost desperation to feel as much of her lover as possible, quickly forgetting about any anger she held.

They both seem lost in the kiss and you see an opportunity. Your chances are slim for actually getting out, its the dead of night, most people will be fast asleep...but if you could run out, yell...get someone's attention, even if it means Rio and Agatha catching you again, it might mean someone would investigate. Find your girlfriend's body....see that you're missing. It has to be worth a try.

Before you can talk yourself out of it you make a sprint for the front door. Your hands shake as you grasp at the doorknob and a small sob of desperation escapes you as it doesn't budge. You know you're not strong enough to break down the door so you quickly run into another room, locking the door behind you even if you know it'll do nothing to stop either Agatha or Rio.

Your eyes dart around the room looking for any kind of escape, they land on a window and you rush over, attempting to open it but like the door it doesn't budge. Your breathing is fast, shaky, panicked. Adrenalin pumping through your body trying not to think about the consequences of trying to escape, you need to try, something, anything, just some way of alerting anyone.

The window is big enough for you to fit through, you could break it, Agatha and Rio must have noticed by now, you don't have time, you need to act now. Your eyes focus on the near by bookcase, spotting a sturdy looking decoration you grab it and will all the strength you have, hurl it at the window.

It doesn't break. The ornament just bouncing off the glass harmlessly. Your heart sinks....it should have worked....you scramble to find something else but stop dead in your tracks as you see the now open door, Rio and Agatha standing in it with fury on their faces.

Gone is the gentleness in Agatha's eyes, replaced with anger, disappointment and is that hurt? It makes you feel almost guilty but as you look at Rio you're quickly filled with immobilizing fear, her eyes dark, swimming with deep rage.

"You really think it'd be that easy?" Agatha mocks, her voice dripping with distain. "I thought you were a smart girl, surely you knew your efforts where fruitless?" She questions with a dry laugh. You don't dare respond, not even confidant you could speak coherently right now.

"You shouldn't have done that" Rio's voice resonates through the room, filling you with impending dread. She then looks at Agatha beside her almost as if seeking permission for something, Agatha gives a small semi reluctant nod and in a flash Rio has you by the throat, dragging you back down to the basement. Her hand is tight around your neck, almost completely cutting off your airway. She then roughly throws you to the hard stone floor releasing the grip on your neck.

You cough and splutter, trying to get sufficient air back into your lungs, clutching your throat, half in natural response and half in trying to protect it from another attack.

"You need to be taught a lesson little dove, I think I'll start by clipping your wings" Rio says with a low menacing growl. She starts slowly walking forward, the air growing colder as she does. You quickly scramble backwards until you hit the wall, looking like a terrified prey animal being cornered by an apex predator.

Rio looms over you, her dark eyes observing your fear. Your mind is racing almost as fast at your heart is, you knew that trying to run would have it's consequences but the existential fear and dread that's consuming your body is nauseating.

"I-I'm s-sorry- I- it wont happen again" you plead, your voice shaky and pathetic, trying to dig yourself out of the grave you dug knowingly, curled in on yourself, looking as small as you sound.

"No it won't. I'll make sure of that." Rio snarls before yanking out one of your legs from your curled up position, you open your mouth to plea once again but it's interrupted with a scream, ripped from your lungs as Rio stamps down hard on your lower right leg, searing pain shooting through your body as the bone snaps in half. Tears quickly blurring your vision.

"Oh I know baby it hurts doesn't it?" Rio coos "But this is what happens when you run little dove, you have to learn your lesson" She explains with a small sympathy but you hardly pay attention, the agonising pain in your leg consuming you whole. Broken sobs wracking your body, your eyes tightly shut as tears flow from them, hoping this is somehow all a dream but as you feel a sharp blade press just below your shoulder your eyes snap open again, meeting Rio's piercing gaze.

"Eyes on me" She demands, her voice low, cold, angry. "You need to pay attention or you'll learn nothing" Rio snarls before pushing the blade into your shoulder, breaking the skin, blood starting to stain your shirt.

You yelp, the cut relatively shallow but with the excruciating pain from your broken leg it's like adding fuel to an already raging fire. You try to get away but you're already sat against the basement wall and the small movement makes jolts of pain shoot up your body, an anguished sob leaves your lips.

Rio growls as you try to move away to no avail and she harshly thrusts her dagger into your shoulder, burying the blade to the hilt. You scream so loud that your throat burns, in fact it feels like your entire body is made of molten lava, blistering pain ravaging your every sense.

"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! P-please make it stop! Please I'm sorry Rio, Agatha- I'm sorry" You plead between sobs, the pain too much to bare, suddenly craving the gentle moments before you tired to run, as disgusted as you were you just want to be held again.

Rio's eyes soften at your broken pleas, you even used both their names despite Agatha not being in the room, it's clear she's manged to break you for now and all her anger vanishes, her softness returning in her face. She gently and very carefully pulls her dagger out of your shoulder, causing a whimper from you.

"Shh baby girl I've got you, I'll make you feel better my little dove" Rio coos, her voice now soft and loving. She places an open-mouthed kiss to your stab wound, your blood smearing her lips. You feel the wound close, the pain in that area coming to a screeching halt, you don't bother questioning it, grateful that it's gone but you soon whimper again as the flaring pain in your broken leg makes itself apparent once again.

"I know, I know baby just breathe for a second okay?" She softly sooths, gently wiping the tears from your face, you want to question why she isn't healing your leg but as you open your mouth to speak she leans in, pressing her bloodstained lips to yours, the coppery taste of your blood filling your mouth for a moment before Rio's tongue slips past your lips, calming every part of your mouth in a dominating but loving kiss. You let it happen, trying not to think about how your girlfriend would kiss you like this- it actually feels slightly nice.....it's clear through the kiss that Rio does love you despite her actions seconds ago, you're at least grateful for a positive distraction to the horrible pain in your leg.

Rio smiles against your lips as she feels you not resisting and after a little while longer of her enjoying finally getting to kiss you like this she pulls back, her cheeks ever so slightly flushed and a loving smile gracing her lips. She then carefully moves herself so her face is hovering above the bone she broke in your lower leg.

"Hold still my little dove" She says softly, any hint of anger or coldness gone, completely replaced with gentle and caring love. She then leans down, placing her hands on either side your leg, a soft green glow emitting from them. Rio places a soft kiss right above the area of your broken bone and a comforting warmth spreads through your body, eliminating any pain left. You let out a sigh of relief, slumping against the cold stone wall.

"There we go, all better sweet baby" Rio says, gently wrapping you in her arms, having you sit in her lap. You lean into her, your body exhausted from all the pain you experienced and craving gentleness, not currently caring about who it's coming from.

Rio coos sweet nothings into your ear as she cradles you in her lap, gently playing with your hair in a motion that's almost enough to make you drift to sleep. It's then that Agatha walks down the basement steps, her face softening as she sees you curled up in Rio's lap, eyes red and puffy but leaning into Rio's touch willingly.

"Is our girl finally being good again?" Agatha questions gently as she approaches. You look up at Agatha, the woman who killed your girlfriend, you should be feeling utter rage at the sight of her but after everything today, the pain you just endured...all you want is for her to hold you too.

"She's learned her lesson my love, come, see how much see needs us" Rio invites, Agatha doesn't hesitate to join Rio on the cold basement floor, Rio helping Agatha gently guide you to lay across the laps of the two women, your head in Agatha's lap. You happily let it happen, the new position feeling so comfortable, so safe, Agatha's hands gently massaging your head, her fingers weaving though your hair occasionally. Rio's hands gently caressing your body, feeling significantly warmer than before. It doesn't take long until you're asleep cradled in both women's laps, it's wrong, you know it is, but you feel protected, comforted and after all that's happened today that's what you need, even if it's from the very hands that caused that very pain....

[xlatiwritesx]

Serious, serious | CL16

A/N: an F1 imagine 🏎️ !!! Yes, yes, I’m into F1 finally, so I of course had to write something and who else would it be than THE Charles Leclerc. Ngl, this isn’t my best work but I just had to get this idea out of my system 😵‍💫. Hope you guys enjoy it !!

Words: 1.6K

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: after your first serious scare being an F1 girlfriend, you’re rewarded with a new found emotion.

…

Time is a funny thing. Humorous, at times. It goes fast or slow as it pleases. Chooses its pace to get on your weakest nerve.

For instance, the past three months flew by. Meeting him, texting for the first time, your first date, your first kiss, attending his first race, getting to know his friends.

It felt as fast as blinking an eye. Or as fast as you were falling for him.

"A Ferrari car is off the track!" The commentator's voice boomed through the TV speakers. You jumped to your feet from the leather couch you were sat on.

"Oh no" the commentator said soon after. Soon after Charles' car crashed into the concrete wall alongside the track.

Your heart fell, your breath quickening at a dangerous rate. You shut your eyes, reminding yourself of what Charles always said to you.

"Crashes happen. All the time. These cars, though, they're meant to protect us. So, crashes aren’t as dangerous as they seem in F1"

"He's okay" you whispered to yourself. However, when you opened your eyes, everyone's face didn't confirm that, though.

"Right?" You asked, looking around the Ferrari unit. Everyone was frozen, eyes glued on the screen that showed smoke coming out of the crashed Ferrari car.

Charles' car.

Your legs moved before you even decided. You ran so fast. Faster than any car still racing out there even though the world seemed to crumble and break into pieces.

You gasped for air, the wind making it colder than usual. You reached a half empty Ferrari station. All those screens deserted. You barely held yourself up. You wondered how bad was it that half the team had to go to the scene.

"Crashes are normal in Formula One. Almost inevitable"

Not when it's the guy that you were realizing meant much more to you than you thought. The thought terrified you. So much terrified you all of a sudden.

"How do I get there?" You didn't realize how panicked you were until you heard yourself speak. The man stared at you in confusion.

"How do I get to the crash?" You urged. You couldn't believe you were saying that.

"Ma'am, you can't just go-“

"No, no! I have to!" You could feel your eyes well with tears.

"It's Charles Leclerc! Hurry!" A group of paramedics ran to their veichle. You ran after them.

"Ma'am this is not allowed-"

"Please!" You begged them.

"I'm sorry, this is for authorized-"

"Y/n!" You turned around, desperate to believe what you were hearing.

"Carlos! Carlos, please tell me he's okay" you ran to the only person that you felt would care enough to tend to your worries.

"They're taking him to the hospital" he sighed, bowing his head, his fingertips barely holding his helmet.

"W-why?" You stuttered. He finally looked at you.

"Let's just go"

You silently followed Carlos to his car after he quickly changed out of his suit. The drive to the hospital drove you insane. So many questions. Wondering about so much, too much at once.

As soon as Carlos parked outside the emergencies, you ran out of the car and through the glass doors, not caring about all the chaos going just outside of them.

"How serious is it?!"

"Do you think Leclerc will be able to go back to racing?!"

"Will he be there for the next race?!"

It was a lot. Too much, even. You wanted to scream them away. Tell them that this wasn't the time to ask all those questions with bright cameras and microphones everywhere. To respect the other patients' and their families' privacy. But you care more about Charles right now. So you kept running until your hands hit the edge of the counter.

"Charles Leclerc just came in" you breathed. The nurse widened her eyes at your state and just pointed to where he was.

You got to his bed in no time, him just lying there, unconscious. You immediately held his hand and the waterworks began. Carlos walked into the curtain closed space and stood in front of the bed, leaning on the edge.

"Hey" he called so quietly. You just kept crying.

"I don't recommend dating a Formula One driver if you'll cry this hard every time he crashes" he said casually. You stopped sobbing and looked up and to your left. You glared. Carlos shrugged.

"Just saying" he said, looking away.

"Carlos!" You whined. He looked at you, but you just went back to looking at Charles.

You noticed some bruises already forming on his hands. You held it tighter. You felt like time was not moving. It just dragged on and on. Carlos stood there. You sat there. Charles laid there. Just like that. For eternity.

"You didn't eat anything. What do you want?" Carlos' voice reminded you of his existence. You slowly turned to look at him, your tears barely dried on your face.

"How can you be so…chill?" You asked. Not in annoyance. Just out of pure curiosity. Carlos frowned at you for a second, before breaking into a fit of laughter. You stared at him blankly, your hand still holding Charles' tightly.

"I'm telling you! This sport is not for the faint of heart!" He waved a warning finger at you and you frowned at him. This time in annoyance.

"We just" he sighed when he stopped laughing, only a smile left behind from it.

"We get used to this. To seeing it. To being victims of it" he said ever so casually that it terrified you. It was terrifying the things passion makes a person do. How far people would go for what they love.

"I'm getting food and you will eat it. Charles would kill me if he woke up to a starving you while I was just hanging here. Deal?" He raised a brow at you. You hesitated, but Carlos kept his gaze. You finally nodded.

"Good. I'll be back in a bit" he said before leaving. You watched him go and something warm filled you. Gratitude.

You were grateful for him staying with you. With Charles. Not all drivers care enough to do that, unfortunately. You didn't notice the smile on your face until a few minutes later. When Charles spoke.

"What's so funny?" He mumbled. Your eyes shot to his and you stood up in an instant.

"Charles?!" You exclaimed, tears filling your eyes for the millionth time today. He just blinked, wincing.

“Who won the race?” He asked, still trying to find his voice.

"Oh my god" you covered your face, walking away from his bed in disbelief.

“Seriously?!” You spun around, crying. You wanted to fight even harder when a smile slowly took form on his tired face.

“Charles do you know how terrified I was?! And all you’re worried about is who won that race?!” You kept scolding. He placed one arm behind his head, still watching you in amusement. You breathed heavily, not bothering to wipe your tears as you crossed your arms over your chest.

You watched him laying there, smiling with his arm under his head, giving him better view of your tear-stained face.

“You know what?” He spoke. You had to walk a step closer so you could hear him clearly.

“I don’t want to know who won the race. I want to know how on earth did I get this lucky” he started.

“Yeah! I’m so glad it just cane down to some bruises. And, and, you’re awake, and you’re talking, and you seem okay!” You rambled, now sitting by his side on the edge of the bed. He chuckled softly at you missing what he meant, raising a hand to wipe your tears, then tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Right when I realized what was happening, there was one thought that kept echoing in my mind” he whispered, suddenly all serious. Your heartbeat quickened, not enjoying the memory of watching him crash and not knowing what he was feeling or if he was going to be okay.

“I just kept thinking ‘fuck. I didn’t get to tell her I love her’” he confessed. You raised your brows slightly, surprised at the sudden confession. You’ve been together for three months now and neither of you had said it, yet.

But there it was. And it felt like the world that crumbled after the race was patched and stitched back to perfect, pristine condition.

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips. Charles smiled as well, his heart monitor exposing how important this moment was to him.

You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck carefully, holding him tightly to make up for all the fear of losing him. For all the fear of him not feeling the same way.

“I love you, too, Charles” you whispered.

You held each other for as long as it took for your flushed cheeks and racing hearts to quiet down, giving your new found feelings some sense of privacy.

Once you pulled away, your faces met, less than an inch apart. Charles leaned in. You were grateful there was no heart monitor on you, or that would’ve been the end.

“So, I didn’t know which is your favorite, so I got all flavors-“

Carlos’ voice sent you flying to your feet. Charles sat where he was and pierced his lips shut, staring at nothing in particular.

Carlos’ eyes danced between the two of you and he broke into a grin when he realized.

“I think it finally happened?” Carlos asked, hinting at what you both just confessed to one another. You glanced at Charles just to catch him glancing at you. He cleared his throat and you held back a smile.

“So now it’s serious, serious?” Carlos asked excitedly.

“Serious, serious” you both answered.

[kykyonthemoon]

Hello, i've read your work recently and i'm in love with your writing! If you mind can i ask where the reader somehow remember their past life and saying sorry to the love and deepspace character? I wonder about their reaction where mc feels really guilty at them. Thank you <3

Dear lonely-dreamer,

Thank you so much for the request. It took awhile but I finally managed to finish it. Since we know too little about Sylus (or even Caleb), I wrote for only the 3 first MLs. I might write something else for Sylus and Caleb later :3

Hope you like this piece. Have a wonderful day!

Lost. Found.

When you suddenly find the memories of the past lives, which you once lived with him.

── .✦ Character x Female Reader|MC

Included parts in order: Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne.

♡︎. Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, short, myths related.

♡︎. Word count: 2k1

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - currently closed.

Roam on, my love

down life's

long road

we will

be lost

and found

a thousand times

before

we meet again.

— ATTICUS.

Rafayel

Talia came to find Rafayel in the middle of the night, while you were still half asleep, feeling his warmth slowly fade from the space next to you in bed. You sensed a major event had happened, which was why Talia hurried here alone at such a dark hour, looking so terrified. 

You had intended to go downstairs and make some tea for the guest. But as soon as you reached the stairs, Talia's voice echoed through the half-open door. 

"He will not be the last Lemurian to be slain... You know that, don't you, Rafayel? That we don't have any time left..."

Your bare feet paused. The cold air from the stone stairway touched your palm, waking you up. Yes, you were no longer dreaming. This was real. As real as everything you had seen since touching that protocore. During a mission last month, you happened to resonate with a strange protocore. It caused you to perceive illusions, but not quite so. They were like recollections from your past lives, fragmented and sewn together in front of your eyes.  The feud between you and Rafayel from a long, long time ago.

So you were aware that your tale and what Talia had said were related. Rafayel’s silence made her even more impatient. She added:

“They want her, Rafayel. They will come for you. I can’t convince them anymore… They will find her sooner or later. You already know the price…”

Time passed slowly in the dark corridor. You understood everything Talia had said, that the girl was you. What the Lemurians desired was inside your chest. You remembered, not everything, but vivid dreams told you what you had done to the Lemurians, to Rafayel.

But it wasn’t you. It was a completely unfamiliar version of you. 

A moment after Talia left, you entered the room. The warm firelight from the enormous fireplace filled the room and illuminated Rafayel's slumped back. When he heard your footsteps, he turned around with a feeble smile and asked: 

“Why are you out here, my princess? Did I and our unexpected guest awaken you?” 

You gazed at him for a brief moment. After all, you understood that every time he called you princess, it was not just a loving pet name.

You moved closer and hugged Rafayel. You had not told him about your dreams or what you had recalled. That night, you were determined to tell him everything.

Rafayel was astonished. The warm firelight in his eyes blurred, and pure white pearls began to tumble to the floor.

“I’m sorry… Rafayel… I’m so sorry…”

Rafayel seized your hands, drew them closer, and kissed them with his lips.

"To be loved, it's not a sin."

His fingers tenderly wiped the tears from your face. He had waited so long for you to discover who you really were, and at the same time he hoped you would never know. That way you could live your days freely, not bound by the hatred of the past. Yet you still remembered everything.

Your breathing became heavy with each sob. You said: 

“Rafayel… If you want my heart…”

"I want it to stay there," Rafayel said. "Within your chest. It's yours. Across the past, present, and future. I have never once regretted giving it to you. If you remember, you know I always try to rewrite our story, right?”

“But the Lemurians…”

“They are losing faith in me. I understand. But all I need is your faith. We will get through this and never be apart again. Do you understand?”

You did not dare to believe that there might truly be a happy ending for you and Rafayel. But in that moment, as you gazed into his resolute eyes, you realized that you would do everything just to stay with him.

Xavier 

Lately, you had a hunch that Xavier was going to leave. 

Ever since you returned from that mission, there appeared to be an unseen divide between you two. You knew it was not him, it was you. The mysterious protocore you accidentally came into contact with during the mission caused you to see things. The dreams were fractured, with no beginning or end. However, you comprehended them as if they were recollections from your former lives.

You kept it hidden from Xavier. He merely thought you were acting odd since you returned, but he would not compel you to say anything against your will. You secretly searched for evidence to back up what you suspected. And you found it.

You knew about the Backtracker fleet. You knew about Philos. And you knew about Lumiere.

Xavier kept everything hidden for your safety. And yet, you kept this a secret because you did not wish for him to suffer. Again.

You still did not know what to say to him, or how to compensate for his loss. He had sacrificed so much, for you. But somewhere inside, you still felt a little resentful that he had left you all alone. You knew he was ready to make the same decision as when he abandoned you at Philos.

“Go to bed early.” Xavier stroked your head gently. “In a few days, when you wake up, I’ll be by your side.”

Lie.

“Do you really have to go?” You hesitated. “I mean… You could have refused this mission.”

You could have stayed. You could have told me the truth.

"I have to go." Xavier responded. He gently squeezed your cheek. "But I'll be back shortly. Do not worry too much. Remember to eat well and skip any meals. Don't stay awake too late. It's getting colder; remember to stay warm. If you are bored and miss me, you may play the video games I recently purchased or watch the unfinished movies..."

It sounds like you're not coming back! You held back the tears and replied:

“If you don’t come back soon, I might have to watch them all by myself.”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to tell me the plots.” Xavier smiled. He lightly kissed your forehead. “I’ll leave now.”

You sat on the sofa, listening to his footsteps as they slowly walked away. A slight "click" was heard as the door closed.

His mission was only an excuse. A few days back, you overheard him and Jeremiah talking. He intended to use this expedition to stage a phony "missing case" to distract those who had betrayed him. With Jeremiah, he would lead them away from Linkon, away from you.

He chose to leave you. Again.

Warm tears streamed down your cheeks.  All alone, what should you do? You recalled the scene in the past, in which you sat on the throne with the blessings of so many people, yet absolutely on your own. You had counted every star waiting for the day Xavier would return to you as promised. But he had completely disappeared.

This time, he pledged to return to you. This time, he would also break his promise.

You brushed the tears away. You had been thinking a lot in the last several days. You still blamed Xavier, but you understood why he had done so. And you had distanced yourself from him since you were unsure how to confront him. But, at this point, none of that mattered when you might lose Xavier again. Forever.

You raced out of the home. You did not care about the past. You had no concern what the future held. The most important thing to you right that moment was Xavier alone.

Unable to wait for the elevator, you decided to run. You caught Xavier standing outside, likely waiting for Jeremiah. You hurried over to embrace his back. To Xavier's amazement and your weeping, you stated:

“Don’t go… Xavier… Don’t leave me alone again… I’m sorry that I assumed you left me to find your true star… I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, that ever since I touched that protocore, I started remembering what happened in Philos… I know who you are. Who I am… So don’t think you can fool me again… This time, I’ll go wherever you go. Let me face it with you, okay?…”

Xavier did not have time to respond. You could feel his entire body shudder as a burning tear fell onto your hand, which he had just squeezed so tightly.

Zayne 

"Doctor Zayne is out of danger. You can come in." Greyson's voice sounded out. Yvonne stood alongside him, relieved. You nodded at each of them and entered the hospital ward.

How strange, since in all the previous cases, it was Zayne standing here, and you were the one lying on the bed.

There was an attack on the outskirts of Linkon. You were sent to investigate, and Zayne had accompanied his team from Akso Hospital to treat the injured. While fighting the Wanderers, you encountered a peculiar protocore. It had drawn you into a bizarre realm where you appeared to glimpse the lives you had once lived, with Zayne.

You were not sure how long you had been there. It was like a dream, with no sense of time or who you were. You were lost down there, so deep that Zayne had given up everything to find you. The real Zayne, yours, in this timeline. 

The price of bringing you back was him lying there, fighting for every breath, body covered in wounds and almost completely frozen. 

The price of bringing you back was him laying there, battling for every breath, his body covered in wounds and almost frozen. 

You lightly stroke his frigid hand. Zayne did not respond but his heartbeat remained steady. He would live. That was what Greyson told you, and it was all you held on to that moment. 

Hope.

You stayed by his bedside all night, breathing life and all of your love into Zayne’s hands. When the first rays of the morning light woke you and the warmth returned to him, his eyes fluttered and gradually opened. You squeezed his hand.

“Zayne… Zayne… You're here!…” You cried out. You called for him and not completely him, but the Zayne of all the lives you had found.

Tears began to trickle down your pale cheeks. Zayne carefully wiped them away.

“Why are you crying?… I… did not go anywhere…”

You grabbed his hand and pressed your face against it. You kissed his hand aggressively, as if you were scared he would disappear again. 

“I don’t believe you anymore… You lied… You always said that I would live a happy life in the end… But then, you vanished without a trace… Did you think you could fool me again this time?” 

Zayne’s pupils widened. In an instant, his reaction shifted from astonishment to joy, then despair.

“I…”

"You know, right?" You dried your tears, halting whatever he was about to say. “You know that we don’t have just this one life. Right? You know that you disappeared in front of me in the jasmine field… You left me seeking for you among mountains and hills… This time, you really intended to leave me again… Do you believe that I could really live happily in a world without you?” You let out all your pent-up emotions through each word, each tear. Zayne stared at you with a mix of anguish and joy. You were aware of the same thing he was.

"I'm sorry…" Zayne spoke softly. His fingers cradled your chin and softly elevated your face. 

“Why should you apologize?… After all… The one who is most at fault is me… Because of meeting me, Zayne…” 

You trailed off. Choking. Your entire body trembled as emotions came to the surface. Zayne struggled to sit up, then drew you into his arms and embraced you hard. 

“Because of meeting you, I learned what it means to love someone. Because of meeting you, my world is no longer lost in ice and snow… I chose you. It will always be you…”

You let out another sob. You clutched to Zayne. “I’m sorry… I’m really… I’m sorry…” 

Zayne's weight was resting on your head as he kissed your hair. He rubbed your back to soothe you, like he always did. 

“It's alright now… It’s alright… When I came to find you and get you out of the protofield, I thought I wouldn’t have the strength to go back anymore… Yet I heard you calling my name all night long… You helped me find my way back. You found me. You saved me… This time, I have no intention of letting you go ever again.”

[profundcherrylady]

LATE NIGHT TALK WITH ISAGI:

Even though your eyes are open, everything's black. You found yourself hyper-aware and awake, surprisingly, but instead of trying to fall back asleep you stayed there; staring at the ceiling. To your right, the digital clock on top of the sidetable signaling 2:51am; to your left, Isagi lays fast asleep, unlike you. You know maybe talking to him might help, but he's had a long day and you don't wanna bother him, so you sigh quietly to yourself and resign. Perhaps you should get up and get a glass of water, or see if you got any melatonin pills left, so you slowly shift to get out of bed.

Yoichi, however, has other plans.

"Where are you going...?" you barely managed to sit up when you heard him mumble the question, sleepy blue eyes half-open like expecting you to just get back next to him.

"I'm just going for a glass of water." you whispered, trying to not interrupt his sleep even more. "I'll be a awake for a little bit; you go back to sleep."

"Are you gonna get the pills again?" you froze. How the fuck did he even know that? Now you can't play dumb because you know he'll notice. He always does. So you shift uncomfortably and try to soften the truth.

"Just one."

"You don't need that to sleep, y'know?" he insisted, and you sighed with defeat. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah..."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You consider it, but you figure your boyfriend has enough going on for you to add your stupid recurrent nightmares to his list of worries. But still, something inside of you does want to talk about it; it always does. The little unhealed child whose nightmares were ignored and sent back to sleep afraid wanted some reassurance even after so many years, and yet it felt so wrong everytime. They're just nightmares, after all; you're well aware that they're not real. So why do they FEEL so real, even when they're so dumb?

"It's kinda stupid..."

"I don't mind." of course, he doesn't. But that doesn't take away the nagging guilt on the back of your mind.

"Just... stupid zombie apocalypse again. I don't know why I dream so much about it. So... agressive."

"Zombies aren't real, baby."

"You don't have to make fun of me..."

"I'm not." he sits up on the bed, setting the covers to the side. "What I'm saying is you don't have to worry about it. There is no zombie apocalypse coming."

"...Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. And if it did, I promise I'd protect you."

"What if I was a zombie?"

"I'll lock you up until I find a cure. Easy."

"You're supposed to say you'll let me bite you..." he laughs at your comment, and then you add: "Oh, that reminds me. You were there in my dream, but... you were the zombie, and you tried to bite me, and I was freaked out because... how could I kill you? Even when you were trying to, I couldn't..."

"Pause." he stopped you as soon as he saw the genuine fear in your eyes "Don't even think about it anymore."

"I can't... the imagines keep flashing on my mind like a nasty memory of something that actually happened. I can't fall asleep..."

"Honey."

"What?"

"You don't need those pills to sleep, I promise. Come here." he plopped himself back onto the pillow, arms open and inviting for a cuddle. And hell, how could you ignore that? No amount on dependance on those pills would ever be enough for you to reject a hug from him. So crawl back to his sigh and exhale deeply as you let him envelope you with his warmth.

He plays with your hair, steady heartbeat serving as a lullaby to slowly coax you to rest. You can feel his soft breathing on top of your head, followed by a soft kiss.

"Sorry for waking you up."

"Come on, it's nothing." he peppers kisses on your face, making you giggle. "You feel better?"

"Yes, thank you..."

"I get why those dreams can be freaky. I mean, the concept of zombies is terrifying, but realistically it's not gonna happen. Ever. So don't you worry about it. You're safe in my arms, okay? And if you have more nightmares I'd wake up a hundred times to soothe you back to sleep. Whatever you want, and then-"

He's interrupted by the sound of your soft snoring, indicating you were already fast asleep. He chuckled, adjusting the covers over both of you before closing his eyes himself. Maybe he couldn't solve all of your problems, but he could help you deal with them.

And maybe that was enough.

A/N: Am I projecting? Why yes I am. Idk I'm tired and I wanted to write something quick. Bye.

[steviewashere]

Still Want You Tomorrow

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Mild Blood, Implied/Referenced Mild Violence (Eddie Slapped Steve), Use of the F-Slur (Steve Uses it to Refer to Himself) Tags: Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Dialogue Heavy, Love Confessions Gone Wrong, Love Confessions, Second Chances, Hurt Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Angry Eddie Munson, Scared Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Eddie Think Steve's Messing With Him, Resolve, Apologies, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, They Hug it Out, Forehead Kisses, Soft Steve Harrington, Soft Eddie Munson, They Still Take Care of Each Other Despite Eddie's Initial Anger This one came to me midday yesterday and I'm gonna be honest, I don't really know what it was or where it had initially been going. But it's here anyway.

🫂—————🫂 There are tight fists in the collar of his Members Only jacket. Wound hard, fingernails biting into the fabric—enough to make it all threaten to tear with the tension. He’s between Eddie’s widespread legs, knees bracketing either side of his own bent ones. They’re mere centimeters apart, if the ghost of stale breath over his nose is anything to go by; and up close, he can make out every tiny speckled freckle on Eddie’s face, every long eyelash brimming his big brown eyes, and every little line etched around his mouth as he frowns—as he bites into his bottom lip.

Steve’s back is slammed against the side of his car—again.

Eddie’s strong when he wants to be; that’s what he’s come to find.

The sun’s about to set—he’s ready to die in the melting orange, yellow, and violet.

“You gonna hit me again, Munson? You gonna…you gonna…gonna really give me a taste of my own medicine?” Steve asks cruelly. He darts his tongue out, striking his dried bottom lip, only drying it out further with the quick-to-dissipate moisture. His spit is metallic from where Eddie had split the bottom lip. It’s not the first time Steve’s come to notice that rings are a bitch against the face in a slap; but for it to come out of somebody usually so kind?

Steve swallows hard. Nausea turning over in his stomach like ever-stretching taffy. His hands are limp to his sides. He wouldn’t put his hands on Eddie even if he wanted to. Even if he wanted a loose arm over his shoulders…a thumb against the split…a hug.

All he wants is a fucking hug. But he’ll take this. He can take this.

A fistfight is manageable. It’s usual. Sometimes, it feels like that’s all he’s known.

The look that flashes across Eddie’s face is terrifying. The strength he has is worse.

Eddie’s angry. Angry in that nostril-flaring, red in the cheeks, growl in the voice way. It’s the strongest emotion, sans panic, that Steve’s seen out of Eddie.

He knows why Eddie’s angry.

Because of him.

It was a confession that tumbled half-sheepish and half-hopeful from his chest. Previously knotted tight, yet quick to unravel. He’d come over to Forest Hills under Robin’s advice—“Eddie’s safe, I know for certain. All you gotta do is tell him.”/ “And if it ends up bad, Robs? You gonna take care of me afterwards?”/ “You ask stupid questions sometimes. Of course I will, dingus. Now do it before you get cold feet.”

What a bunch of bullshit, he notes bitterly.

It’s all just bullshit.

Safe, my ass.

“Hit me, bitch,” Steve spits, low enough now the words are croaky, “your best buddy is a fucking fag and has a big stupid crush on you. Show me what I’m worth. Do it, Munson.”

Eddie’s eyes flame. Growing bigger, yet his eyebrows furrow deeper. And his grip grows stronger, grows tighter. If he moved his hands, he could choke Steve. Choke the life right out of him.

Steve would be thankful for it. Let the warmth of a human finish what the coldness of fear tried to do to him—he’d let Eddie kill him.

He’s not sure what that says about himself.

When Eddie doesn’t move, Steve wriggles further into the side of his car, barely able to shift from the hold on his collar. He could just slip the sleeves right off, duck down, and scuttle to the side; he could push Eddie away, beat him to a pulp, and get in his car—just go. But—

“You’re a fucking coward, Eddie. That’s all you are right now. Scared of a guy hitting on you. Scared of…of my stupid love so much. How gross, right? How fucking”—

“Shut up,” Eddie finally speaks, growls. He shakes Steve slightly, it’s gentler than he’d been expecting. Too soft. Too…intimate. “Just shut up, Steve. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Steve licks his bottom lip again. “The blood on my tongue says otherwise, dick.”

“You’re fucked in the head,” Eddie murmurs. Words slurred together with the intensity of his softness, with the equal hardness around the admittance. It’s an awful thing to say; it’s almost romantic to Steve.

“Yeah? Then why don’t you just end”—

“I said shut up.” Eddie’s eyes dart between Steve’s. His nostrils are still flaring, big and alive. But his grip begins to loosen, holding on just enough to keep them in place, but not so hard that Steve couldn’t escape.

He doesn’t want to. He never wants to leave this. Now what does that say about him?

Eddie takes a shaky, deep inhale. Then, “I don’t care that you…you can be into guys, Steve. I don’t care about that,” he talks softly, “but I don’t want…I don’t want…” And then he trails.

It’s hard to gauge where Eddie’s going. His voice is too quiet, but his hands are too hard. And his posture is wide, but his shoulders are hunched. His eyes are giant and soulful, yet the rest of him is carefully neutral. Like he’s hiding within a lie, a facade, a mask.

This is a mask, Steve realizes, it’s all just a ruse.

“You’re not mean,” Steve whispers, “why are you being mean to me?” He sniffs. Swallows. Lurches deep in his stomach. He could throw up. He could choke. It’d be the same anyway. “If you don’t want me, then tell me,” he continues at the same volume, though firm, “but…but I’m not gonna stop wantin’ you, Eds. Even though you…you could…could break every bone in my body and I’d still find my way back to you.”

The next breath that Eddie elicits is warbling. Shivering straight out of his lungs, darting fast through him—some live-wire activated. There’s something new in his face.

Deep, yet gentle. Sorrowful and lost.

Remorse.

Choking, “You scare me,” Eddie admits. His fingers flex again, releasing just as slow as the sun setting beyond them. It’s hard to chase the colors as they bleed, harder to navigate them through his own watery stare—a teary gaze that is mirrored in Eddie. “I think I want you too much.”

Steve’s lip trembles. Eddie’s gaze darts to it—it, right where he split the skin. “Why’d you hurt me then? Why do you—I don’t—I was being sweet on you and then…”

Horrified with his eyes still locked on that fresh cut, “I don’t know,” Eddie whispers, “I’m sorry.”

For the first time since the confession sprang loose—unwound and bent—Steve reaches for Eddie. His left hand marks a tickling path against the waistband of his jeans, fingers caught in the belt loop in his blind journey, and gently—ever so gently—he cups the right side of Eddie’s neck.

“You’ve gotta let go of me, Eds,” Steve says, “so that we can talk about all this. I’ll forgive you, but you gotta let go of me.”

Eddie mildly shakes his head. “You’re gonna run away from me,” he murmurs, “you…you know how fucked up I am now. You’re not gonna want me anymore”—his next breath catches like a sob in his chest, hard and bubbled and messy—“I’ve been wanting you, I just didn’t know…I thought you…”—his chest builds and falls rapidly, ready to collapse in on itself.

“Shh,” Steve tries to soothe, “I promise I won’t go anywhere, okay?”

“How can I”—

“You just have to trust me.” His hand smooths over Eddie’s skin. Up to his jaw and cheek. Instinctively, like an orphaned animal craving nurture, Eddie leans into Steve’s palm. “You just have to trust me,” Steve repeats in a whisper.

One slow finger at a time, Eddie uncurls his hands. Instead resting them on Steve’s shoulders. Holding on as if being led in a dance for the first time, unsure, yet willing. He can be taught, but it’s going to take a while. It’s all going to take a while.

“I’m sorry I hurt”—

“Eddie,” Steve murmurs firmly. “Don’t worry about that, okay? I—As much as it…as it scared me after…I get it, okay? I understand.”

Shamefully, eyes still wet with sorrow, “You shouldn’t have to.”

“But I do. I do.” Steve brings his other hand up finally, placing it over the patchwork scar on Eddie’s face—cupping him like water in his hands. Careful not to spill. “If you’ll have me, Eddie, you gotta know we’re gonna hurt each other over and over and over again. We just…we’re gonna get through it. Because I still trust you.

“And I still know you.

“And I still love you anyway. Okay? I would’ve pushed you away if I wanted to.” He drags Eddie closer to him, those centimeters gone as their noses gently touch. Eddie’s eyes are bigger this close, magnified in a way only telescopes know how—to be in awe of the stars; there are flecks of gold in Eddie’s eyes, and he knows he’s found his north star despite. “You hurt me, you did. And you scared me. But you…you’re not mean. You’re not a bad person. I don’t think you can be.

“The Eddie I know wiped my back when I couldn’t reach all my scars. And he made me a mixtape that I listen to everyday in my car. He held my hand when I had to get my blood drawn a couple weeks ago. And, Eddie, you’re just good. You’re everything I want and need. Endlessly charming and funny and loud and unforgiving; you’re intelligent and emotional and beautiful and caring. You”—

In a whirlwind, Eddie is wrapping Steve tight in an unrelenting embrace. His arms wound so hard he could break ribs. The hair on his head smushed, tangled in Steve’s own. He’s warm and firm and present.

“You’re too good for a world like this,” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear, “I’d take back what I did if I could. I’d…I’d be sweet. I’d cherish you from the get-go. Not…not whatever this was.” There’s a hand against the back of Steve’s head, cradling him in that soft way only Eddie knows how. He may be strong—more powerful than Steve could’ve figured—but he’ll always be gentle at the end of the day; it’s to be expected, typically, knowing somebody like Eddie. “I get scared,” he admits quietly, “and then I get stupid.

“But I care about you, Steve. Of course I fucking care about you. Of course I want you.

“I want you all the time. It just…I freaked out.

“I thought you…I thought you were fucking with me. That you knew. I thought you—But you aren’t like that! I don’t know why I thought”—

Steve turns his head against Eddie’s curls, enough he could nose against his temple. “I have a reputation that proceeds me, Eds,” he states, “I’m not offended. I know who I was. It’s okay.”

“It’s not”—

“But I’m saying it is. Eddie, I need you to just trust me. I need you to just listen. I need you to just…just take care of me the way you always do, okay?” There’s a lump building in his throat, sour and hard and tight. He sniffles and smears his lips against Eddie’s forehead, it’s not a kiss, yet it’s too soft to be anything else, and he knows that. “We’ll try again tomorrow,” he whispers, “because I’ll still want you tomorrow. I waited a while already. I’d wait forever if I had to. Just…just help me clean up?”

Eddie squeezes him. Squeezes him so hard his spine pops. It’s so Eddie. It’s so…endlessly warm. Endlessly lovely. It’s just what he expected. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

He gently wraps back as if his arms are long ribbons and Eddie is the big gift under the tree. His hands splay warmly over the fabric of Eddie’s own jacket—that same leather one, forever permeated with lake water and sweat, but again, so Eddie. Steve chokes on the lump in his throat for a moment, then a second, and a third.

His tears rescind mostly, still stinging in his waterlines. And he sighs into Eddie’s hair.

“I forgive you,” he mutters. And finds, surprisingly—under the shaky layer of his fear and the initial splinter of heartbreak—that he means it. He’d mean it even if he didn’t. “And I love you, Eddie. I still love you.”

Eddie startles with another sob, smearing his face against Steve’s shoulder, hands tight in the back of his jacket. It’s a different firmness than on the collar, something desperate and aching and seeking. Not to intimidate. To find relief. “I feel like you shouldn’t,” he mutters.

Steve kisses Eddie’s forehead with intent now. Just a single peck, lingering his lips over the sticky spot his pink-stained spit leaves. “I do, though,” he rasps, “and I know I always will.”

The cold, runny tip of Eddie’s nose presses hard against Steve’s pulse. But then it tips upwards. A warm, sloppy, yet gentle kiss lands over his skin. Eddie’s lips are chapped as if he’s been picking at them well before Steve even arrived; a nervous tic he knows, from seeing it before in some of their group hang-outs.

Then, the words he thought he’d never feel vibrating into his skull—

“I love you, too, Steve. I really, really love you, too.” Eddie blows out a short puff of air. “I wanna try again tomorrow. I’m gonna love you right. I’m gonna…shit…you’re going to be the pillar to everything when I’m done, Steve. Right at the center of it all. My heart and the podium holding it steady. Swear it. I swear on it.” He squeezes at Steve’s back one more time before he lets himself melt from his wind of tension. 

He’s warm everywhere they connect. Maybe their suns are kissing each other; but even then, Steve would view that as catalytic romance—it’d be the greatest thing he could live through, burning up from the sheer mass of Eddie’s love. It’d be the greatest gift, to have their course set right again, to have each other this way; forever, hopefully.

Forever, preferably. 

🫂—————🫂

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Things will get WILD from now on because I'm gonna change EVERY SINGLE THING I dislike in that series and I WILL SHORT THIS THING UP

I love my baby fae girl pls send help to her

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, Tamlin is trash, not 100% book following, a bigger level of degradation (not on the good side), Amarantha 🤢, Rhysand 🥵

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 4: Heavy Is The Crown

The days after Calanmai were tense. Tamlin barely spoke. Lucien walked around like he was waiting for the next disaster to strike. Feyre pretended not to notice, but you did. You noticed everything. Especially the way Tamlin's gaze would linger on Feyre when he thought no one was watching. The way Lucien shot him warning looks everytime a different sound was heard in the forest. The way the manor seemed heavier, as if the magic itself was pressing down harder.

You knew what was coming before he even summoned the two of you.

Tamlin stood by the window in his study, back turned, hands clasped behind him. The light filtering through the glass cast him half in shadow. The scene was fitting, for the cowardice about to leave his mouth.

"You'll leave tomorrow morning," he said, voice flat.

Feyre blinked, stiffening beside you. "What?"

"You'll go back to the human lands. Both of you." He still didn't turn around. "It's not safe here anymore. Not with him knowing you're here."

Rhysand.

Feyre's brows pulled together. "But... why would that matter?"

Tamlin's shoulders tensed. You could practically feel the lie forming on his tongue. His fae blood stopped him from telling a lie but it never meant he couldn't run away from answering.

"Because I said so. He is dangerous, and I don't wanna know what his next move is if I keep any of you here." Your nails dug into your palms. Coward.

Feyre stepped forward, frustration bleeding into her voice. "Tamlin—"

"I wished we could have had more time together." That was all he said. Final. Dismissive. As if the conversation was over.

Feyre's mouth opened, then closed, confusion flickering in her eyes. You stared at Tamlin's broad back, your pulse a steady thrum in your ears. He wouldn't tell her. He was breaking his time in half and still wouldn't say why he kept Feyre here, why he made her fall in love with him and why Lucien always seemed so terrified.

You would.

☆

The next morning, the carriage waited by the doors of the manor. Feyre sat stiffly beside you, arms crossed, jaw clenched. She hadn't said a word since you'd left the house. You could feel the storm brewing beneath her silence, all the questions piling up, all the things left unsaid. She deserved the truth.

She deserved to know. The curse had shackled your tongue for weeks. Every time you'd even tried to hint at it, your throat had closed up, the words dissolving on your tongue.

But now Tamlin has given you only one gift. Now you are leaving. The curse had never said what would happen if you broke it outside the Spring Court. You glanced at Feyre, then at the woods passing by through the window.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Do it. The carriage rattled down the dirt road, farther and farther from the manor. Time was running out. You gritted your teeth, reaching for the small knife hidden beneath your cloak. Without another thought, you banged the handle against the roof.

"Stop the carriage." The horses whinnied. The whole thing jerked to a halt.

Feyre's head snapped toward you. "What are you doing?"

You didn't answer. You shoved the door open and jumped down into the dirt, breathing hard. Be damned this ridiculous yellow dress Tamlin put on you. The driver barely glanced at you, already annoyed.

Feyre climbed out behind you, frowning. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Maybe." You paced a few steps away, your heart in your throat. "I think the time ran out—" You turned back to her, meeting her confused gaze. "So now I can explain it to you."

Feyre's brows pulled together. "Explain what?"

Your mouth opened... and the words spilled out. "Amarantha." Feyre only blinked. You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. "She's not just some faerie in the North. She's a monster. She's had Prythian by the throat for nearly fifty years, and Tamlin, Lucien... everyone that lives in the Spring Court... they're trapped under her rule. The other High Lords, they're all prisoners too. And there is Rhysand." You spat the word. "Whispers say he's on her side, he's her whore and her weapon. That's why the two bananas were so afraid of him." Feyre's face paled, but you kept going. "Tamlin was given one chance to break the curse. One loophole. He had to make a human girl fall in love with him, a girl who hated faeries so much to the point of killing one. And she had to tell him she loved him... without ever knowing why."

Feyre staggered back a step. "What—?"

You ran a shaking hand through your hair. "They couldn't tell you. And technically they couldn't tell me either. The curse wouldn't break if the human knew the truth. That's why none of us ever said a word."

Feyre's lips parted, horror dawning in her eyes.

You swallowed hard, throat tight. "They've been playing this game for almost fifty years, Feyre. And now Rhysand knows you're there. And if he tells Amarantha..."

You didn't need to finish. Feyre's face crumpled. “But I gave him a fake name…”

“Which name?” You tried to keep your voice from spilling pure horror at the thought.

“Clare Beddor.” She said in a voice smaller than usual. Fearing your reaction, apparently.

“Our neighbor?” You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to keep going. “Doesn't really matter, if Tamlin went there and gave himself out, Clare and possibly her family are already far away from being alive." Your cousin's eyes would have jumped out of her skull if it wasn't glued there. "Tamlin sent us away because he'd rather break this whole Court than let himself suffer from your loss. That's the kind of idiot he is."

A long silence stretched between you. Feyre's breath hitched. She pressed a hand to her chest, as if she could physically feel the weight of the truth settling there.

"But..." Her voice broke. "He didn't even try to explain—"

"Because he couldn't," you snapped, harsher than you'd meant. "He wanted you to hate him for sending us away. So you wouldn't want to come back. It was easier that way."

Feyre's eyes shimmered. Your chest ached.

You reached out, gripping her arms tightly. "But now you know. And you have a choice." Her breath trembled beneath your hands. "You can go home," you said quietly. "You can forget all of this. Or we can go back."

Her eyes snapped to yours.

"And we can fight."

Feyre stared at you — really stared. And then, slowly... She nodded. You let out a breath, your heart slamming against your ribs. The carriage driver was still waiting. You glanced over your shoulder, then back to Feyre.

"What will it be, cousin?" you murmured. "Are we running? Or are we breaking a curse?"

Feyre straightened her spine. Her eyes hardened. "We're breaking a curse."

A wicked grin curved your lips. "I was hoping you'd say that." You banged on the carriage again. "Turn us around."

The driver blinked, startled.

"You can't—"

"I said turn us around." With one final, wary glance, the driver clicked his tongue, flicking the reins.

The carriage jolted forward. Back toward the manor. Back toward Tamlin. Back toward war.

☆

The carriage creaked as it crossed the gates of the Spring Court. The manor stood in the distance — but everything was different. The gardens that once bloomed with endless colors were now twisted and withered, vines curling like dead fingers around cracked statues. The golden light that always bathed the place was gone, replaced by an eerie grayish hue. Faeries lingered around the grounds — not the few pretty, gentle creatures Feyre had gotten used to, but some sharp-eyed, other hollow-faced beings.

Feyre's breath caught beside you. "It looks... old," she murmured. "Rotten."

You glanced at her from the corner of your eye, pulling your cloak tighter around yourself. "It always did," you muttered. "You just couldn't see it."

Feyre's head snapped toward you. "You mean—"

"It was enchanted." You climbed out of the carriage, eyes scanning the ruined grounds. "Tamlin kept the glamour up to fool human eyes." You shrugged, moving toward the manor doors. "No matter how much I tried to tell you... you wouldn't have believed me if you couldn't see it yourself."

Feyre stood frozen, her lips parted. "But you saw through it." You paused, glancing at her over your shoulder. "Because you're half-fae, right?"

A bitter smile curved your lips. You pushed open the cracked front door and made your way inside, heading straight for your old bedroom.

"Being the abomination I am sometimes has its advantages."

The air in the room was stale — as if no one had set foot in it since you'd left. You ripped the wardrobe doors open, yanking out your worn hunting leathers. The soft, pastel Spring Court dresses you'd been forced into for weeks hung in neat rows beside them. Feyre hovered by the doorway.

"You're really half-fae?" she asked quietly.

You didn't answer. You just started stripping out of the ridiculous dress, letting the loose fabric pool at your feet. Feyre lingered for a moment longer before shaking her head, muttering under her breath as she crossed to her own room. When she returned a few minutes later, she was dressed in her simple human clothes — plain, practical and ready. You tucked a small dagger into your boot out of habit, but that was the only weapon you'd take. They'd find it anyway. Better to let them think you were weak. Better to let them think Feyre was even weaker.

The carriage wheels rumbled again as it carried you both toward the mountains. Neither of you spoke a lot. You kept your eyes on the road, the looming peaks of the Mountain that was keeping everyone prisoner kept rising higher and higher in the distance.

When the silence became unbearable, Feyre whispered, "What will happen when we get there?"

You didn't look at her. "You'll ask to bargain for Tamlin's freedom. And for the curse to break."

Feyre flinched. "She'll never agree to that."

"Not in normal conditions." Your voice was flat. "But she'll like the entertainment."

Feyre's hands curled into fists on her lap. You sighed, finally glancing at her.

"You need to play the part, Feyre." Your voice softened. "A helpless, stupid little human girl, desperately in love, with nothing to offer but herself. She'll keep you alive for the fun of it if you act like you're no threat."

Feyre's throat bobbed. "And you?"

A corner of your mouth curved upward. "I'll be the distraction."

Her brows furrowed, but you just turned back to the window. Let her wonder.

☆

The closer you got, the heavier the air became. By the time the carriage stopped at the rocky edge of the caves, the very ground seemed to pulse beneath your feet — as if the mountain itself was alive. The driver refused to go any farther.

"Last stop," he grunted, barely sparing you a glance.

You climbed out first, scanning the jagged, looming mouth of the cave ahead. Feyre hesitated behind you.

You glanced at her, eyes narrowing. "Leave the weapons."

Her head whipped toward you. "What?"

"They'll take them anyway." You tossed your dagger into the dirt. "Better to let them think you can't fight at all."

Feyre's mouth opened, then closed. Reluctantly, she pulled the small knife from her belt and threw it down beside yours.

You leaned in close, lowering your voice. "If they ask... you're just a human girl who fell in love with the wrong faerie and now you can't let it go."

Feyre swallowed hard, nodding. The fear in her eyes was a knife in your chest — but there was nothing you could do to spare her from what was coming.

You straightened, brushing the dirt off your hands. "If that little bitch still has the same pets we will meet a very ugly creature, so be prepared. Let's go meet the Attor."

You felt them before you saw them. The scrape of claws on stone. The rank, putrid scent wafting through the cave. Feyre's breath caught as the shadows stirred ahead — and then it emerged. The Attor. All rotting flesh and bat-like wings, its elongated mouth curling into something that might have been a smile.

It sniffed the air, yellow eyes flicking between the two of you. "The human girl... and whatever company she has... another human girl, perhaps." It crooned.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, hoping your fae blood would keep calm inside of you for at least a little while.

You forced your mouth into a slow, lazy smirk. "Wanted to meet us, sweetheart?"

The creature's nostrils flared, but it didn't rise to the bait. It only stepped closer, wings rustling. "And what... Do you bring to our Mistress?"

Feyre's voice was barely above a whisper. "I want to bargain. For Tamlin."

The Attor's head snapped toward her. Its mouth stretched wider. "How sweet."

Its claws twitched at its sides. It was enjoying this. It would enjoy hurting her even more. Rage coiled low in your belly — but you shoved it down. You had to play the part. You had to let them take you.

The chains were cold around your wrists. The Attor's claws dug harder into your arm as it dragged you through the winding tunnels. Feyre stumbled behind you, pale but silent. You didn't look at her. You couldn't. If you saw the fear in her eyes, you'd do something stupid. The mountain swallowed you whole, its endless dark pressing in on all sides. Everything feels like a cheap copy of what you once knew as the Court of Nightmares in Night Court. The recreation almost made you feel sick.

But you didn't have time to think about it that much if Amarantha was waiting. And if you played this game right... You were going to win.

The throne room was just as suffocating as you imagined. Dark stone stretched endlessly beneath your boots, the air heavy with the scent of rot and old magic. Feyre stood stiff beside you, her chin high despite the fear you knew was eating her alive. You kept your expression bored — uninterested — even when your heart hammered in your chest.

Amarantha lounged on her throne, eyes sharp and glittering as she flicked a finger toward the half-burned corpse nailed to the wall. Clare Beddor. Feyre's breath hitched beside you, but you didn't look at her. You couldn't afford to.

"You should have given me your name when I asked for it, girl," Amarantha purred, eyes never leaving Feyre. "But I suppose your little friend paid the price for your foolishness."

Feyre's fists clenched at her sides. You had to resist the urge to reach out, to press her fingers back open before anyone noticed.

Amarantha leaned forward, her red hair spilling over one shoulder. "But you're here now. Ready to bargain for your lover's freedom from what I heard."

Feyre's throat bobbed, but her voice didn't waver. "I'll do whatever it takes."

Amarantha's smile was slow and cruel. "Oh, I know you will."

She sat back again, tapping a long nail against the arm of her throne.

"I could kill you now," she mused. "But where would be the fun in that?" Her sharp eyes flicked between the two of you. "A challenge, then. I will choose how. Three trials, or a riddle. If you survive, I'll let him go."

The room was deathly silent. You kept your breathing steady and kept your heart from hammering louder.

Feyre's voice was barely above a whisper. “You will also free the other High Lords from your curse. Let them regain their powers and free their Courts. Let them judge you of what you've done”

“Now why would I do that?” Her smile was disturbing, the eye in her ring seemed to turn to Feyre, interested in the conversation.

“If you really think I can't win, you shouldn't be afraid of promising it.” The Queen's smile almost faltered from her face, before she flicked a hand in order to say she agreed to the terms. "You also have to promise not to touch or enchant Tamlin until I break the curse. Or until I lose."

Amarantha's smile sharpened. "Fine by me." Her eyes glinted. "I will have all eternity to enjoy him after."

Feyre's jaw clenched — but before she could speak again, you did. "Wait."

Your voice echoed through the throne room — louder than you'd meant to. Every head turned toward you. You raised your hand lazily — the same hand no one had noticed you'd slipped free from the shackles. A few murmurs rippled through the crowd.

You leaned your other hand casually against the cold ground, tilting your head. "This isn't fair."

Amarantha blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"I want a High Lord for myself too." A beat of silence. "You know? For motivation?"

Lucien — who'd been doing his best to blend into the shadows — choked on absolutely nothing. Amarantha's brow arched, and her lips curved into something dangerously close to amusement.

"Your willingness to stay alive isn't enough for you?"

"Absolutely not." You shrugged. "I came here after her, with absolutely no reason to save any of the people in this room. For all I care, you could chain Tamlin up and make him lick your shoes for the rest of his miserable life. The girl here—" you pointed lazily to Feyre without even looking at her, "is the one who is in love with him."

Feyre shot you a look like she might strangle you before Amarantha got the chance.

“Honestly, my life in the human lands was so boring that I came here to risk my life for nothing more than entertainment. I don't win anything if I get to survive this, and if I really wanted to just survive, I would've sent Feyre into that cave entry and said goodbye and good luck when I had the chance.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against Feyre's body — still chained up — like you'd just asked for a glass of wine.

"Well, Feyre here has an emotional support High Lord to fight for. What do I get? Lucien?" You glanced toward the red-haired male with mock disappointment. Lucien had the strength to look mildly offended. "It's not the same thing."

A few scattered chuckles echoed through the crowd. And Amarantha laughed — actually laughed — a high, euphoric sound that filled the room.

"Fine." She leaned back on her throne, waving a dismissive hand. "You can choose one of them." A ripple passed through the crowd as every single High Lord in the room shifted. "The High Lords should all rise," Amarantha called sweetly, "so the little girl can choose one of you to fight for."

The silence stretched. One by one, the High Lords stood from their places among the gathered faeries — some sneering, some barely sparing you a glance, some pleading.

Your heart hammered behind your ribs as your eyes flicked over the crowd.

Beron — cruel and uninterested.

Thesan — bored, already looking away.

Helion — shining and watching with a spark of amusement.

Kallias — fear and hope in his breathing .

Tarquin — tears in his eyes as he watched you.

You dragged out the moment, letting your gaze linger long enough to make them nervous. Then your eyes flicked to Amarantha's left — to where he stood. Rhysand. He hadn't moved, hadn't even flinched, had been thinking he wasn't an option. His violet eyes were already fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

Almost like a challenge. A dare. Your mouth curved slowly, eating up his fear.

"I want that one."

The entire room froze.

Rhysand's brows flicked up — the only sign of surprise on his perfectly bored face. Even Amarantha looked taken aback for half a second before she let out another sharp, delighted laugh.

"You want Rhysand?"

Rhysand's mouth curled into a lazy, wicked smile. Amarantha was still grinning, sharp and predatory.

"You want to fight for the whore of the Night Court?" Rhysand's smile didn't falter — but something flickered in his violet eyes.

You tilted your head. "Why not? He looks like he'd be more fun to save."

The room held its breath. Even Feyre was staring at you like you'd lost your mind. But you didn't dare break Rhysand's gaze. Amarantha's grin stretched wider.

"Are the terms the same?" you asked, voice light. "No touching him. No harm. Totally free for the duration of the trials, or after I win."

Amarantha tapped a nail against her chin, pretending to think. "Of course. It doesn't really matter."

You smirked. Rhysand's dark brows flicked upward.

You turned to him, feigning boredom. "Well, darling?" you purred. "Aren't you going to thank me for saving your life?"

His smile was razor-sharp. He stepped forward at last, hands tucked behind his back.

"I'm sure I'll find a way to repay the favor… little mouse." A shiver curled down your spine. You didn't let it show.

Amarantha clapped her hands, delighted. "Perfect! Two humans fighting for two High Lords in a challenge they can't win. How absolutely... amusing."

You felt Rhysand's power brush against your mind — just the lightest stroke. “What game are you playing, little girl?”

You locked him out with a flick of your mental shields. “Wouldn't you like to know, High Lord?”

His smile widened — but something dark flickered behind it. He still had no idea who you were. But you could feel the question thrumming beneath his perfect mask. He would figure it out eventually. You just had to survive long enough to make him care.

"You have three trials to win their freedom, one each turn of the moon" Amarantha announced, voice echoing through the throne room. Her eyes gleamed as she looked between you and Feyre. "And if you fail... you will both belong to me. I'll still have to decide if you're useful or not. That is, if you don't die during the challenges."

The shackles snapped back around your wrists. You didn't flinch. Rhysand's smile lingered as the guards dragged you both toward the dungeons. But before you disappeared through the dark archway, his voice whispered through your mind again — silky and amused.

“I'll be waiting right here, little mouse. Is your time to play the hero.” You smirked as the iron doors slammed shut behind you.

☆

The dungeons were colder than you expected. Dank, damp stone stretched endlessly down the corridor, the only light spilling from the faelight sconces flickering along the walls. The guards had shoved you both into different cells, sided with one another — each cell barely big enough for two bodies — before slamming the door shut and leaving you to rot.

Feyre hadn't said a word since they'd dragged you down here. She paced like a caged animal, arms wrapped around herself, face pale under the dirt and grime. You sat on the floor against the wall, knees pulled up, watching her with the calm patience of someone who knew the storm was coming.

It didn't take long.

"What the fuck was that?" Feyre hissed, whirling on you at last.

You raised a brow. "You'll have to be more specific, baby girl."

Her nostrils flared. "Don't call me that."

You snorted, having fun with the whole situation.

"Why him?" she snapped, stepping closer. "Of all the High Lords there, why would you choose Rhysand?"

Your smile faded — just a little. Because the truth was — you hadn't exactly meant to. You hadn't planned it. But the second Feyre told Amarantha she couldn't touch Tamlin for as long as this sick game was being played, your mouth had moved before your mind could catch up. As if something deep inside you had been waiting centuries for this moment.

You glanced at the wall, at the crack running along the stone. "I had my reasons."

Feyre let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Your reasons? You picked the most dangerous High Lord in Prythian, Tamlin's biggest enemy, literally the guy who put a head on a spike in the garden for everyone to see and is on Amarantha's side, and now you're tied to him for three trials with Amarantha herself watching. What possible reason could you have?"

You didn't answer. Because how the hell were you supposed to explain something you barely understood yourself?

Feyre's eyes narrowed. "You're doing that face. Thinking face. You know something."

You kept your face blank. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Feyre lunged forward, grabbing your arm through the bars of the cell. You winced as her nails dug into the bruises already forming beneath the shackles.

"You've been acting weird since we got here. Since before we got here." Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "You said you didn't care about the people in this land so why throw yourself in this nightmare with me? Why do this to yourself?”

You glanced at the iron bars — making sure no one was listening — before your eyes flicked back to her.

"You want to know why I picked him?" you murmured. Feyre nodded, breath shallow. You leaned in close — close enough that no one else could hear. "I think he's my mate."

Feyre froze. For a long moment, she just stared at you like you'd grown a second head. Then she laughed — loud and sharp — before clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

"You're joking," she whispered through her fingers.

You didn't blink. Her smile faltered.

"You're not joking."

You shifted against the wall, trying to find a position where the shackles didn't dig so hard into your wrists.

"You know what a mating bond is, right?"

"Lucien told me about it once," Feyre muttered. "It's... rare. Almost a myth."

You nodded slowly. "But not impossible."

Her eyes darted to the iron bars again — like someone might overhear. "And you think...?"

"I don't think," you interrupted. "I'm almost sure."

Silence stretched between you. Feyre's breathing was quick, uneven. "You've felt it? The bond? Are you supposed to feel it?"

You swallowed hard. "No. Not... exactly. Not yet."

Her brows pulled together. "But...?"

You stared down at your hands — at the bruised skin already healing beneath the shackles.

"I don't know how to explain it," you admitted. "It's just... something in me knew I had to save him. The second I saw him in Calanmai something inside me called for him. Like I'd been looking for him without even realizing it. That day I thought it was the magic of the rite pulling me to go there, but when he went away the feeling vanished too."

Feyre sank onto the cold floor across from you, her face pale. "And he doesn't know?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "Of course he doesn't. He won't feel it as long as I'm human."

Her brows furrowed. "But why would the Cauldron give you a mate? They are for the most powerful of the species and you're only—"

"Half?" you cut in, voice sharp. Feyre flinched. You looked away. "Yeah. I know."

Silence fell again. Somewhere down the corridor, a prisoner screamed. Feyre hugged her knees to her chest, staring at you like you'd just dropped some ancient, forbidden truth between you.

"So what now?" she whispered.

You leaned your head back against the wall, closing your eyes. "Now," you said softly, "we survive until she wants to play."

☆

Feyre was quiet for a long time during the next many hours you lost count. When she finally spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. "You could have picked anyone. Even with the mating bond"

You cracked one eye open. "Yeah."

Her throat bobbed. "But you picked him anyway."

Your lips curved faintly. "I didn't pick him," you murmured. "He was already mine.”

Taglist: @rcarbo1 @raisam @itsinherited @romantic1stories @nebarious @mystirica-blog

[greyskyflowers]

I have a lot of half thoughts about the hell scenes so I'm just going to ramble them out on here and hope they're semi coherent.

1.) I think it's so interesting that Edwin screamed for Charles while he was being taken to hell.

I would bet that Edwin cried for someone his his first trip down to hell too.

I really can't think of who he would have called for specifically. His parents? Maybe. I do think that there's something in everyone that wants the comfort of their mother when they're truely terrified but it doesn't seem like Edwin would have screamed for them. That goes for any siblings too.

He certainly didn't seem to have any friends that he could have cried for. Doesn't necessarily strike me as the type to be close to God but this situation would make a holy man out of anyone. Maybe he just called for every name that crossed his mind. Family, grade school friends, neighbors, teachers, etc.

Regardless, even if he had screamed for them, what would they have done? Who would have answered?

No one. No one answered. No one came. They were never coming.

He was completely alone.

He does scream for Charles though. Charles will always respond. Charles will always come get him.

I dont know, just seems like he screamed this time because he knew someone was listening. He said a name because he knew that person would come.

2.) I wonder if a very small, little sliver of Charles hated Crystal for just a split second when he found Edwin in hell and realized what exactly happens to him down there.

Crystal was very brave to want to come and that's important, she cares and wanted to help. I think that means a lot to Charles and Edwin.

However, she pushed back after she was told no, and that humans couldn't go to hell.

She argued with Charles and it might have been just a few minutes but how many times did Edwin get ripped apart in those few minutes?

That awful pile in the corner says many times.

3.) I'm curious what Edwin being taken back to hell would have looked like if we had followed him instead of staying with Charles.

Did the spider demon wait until it got to those horrid hallways before starting to chase?

Did it throw Edwin in there and muscle memory had him take off running the second his bare feet hit the ground? The demon already behind him and catching up quick.

Was he torn apart and back before he even knew what happened? How many times did it take before it hit him that he's really back?

This particular ones gets me. The idea that he was still in shock from being taken, was killed and back again while still trying to figure out what was even happening is heartbreaking.

If Edwin was torn apart and back before he even realized it, maybe that means it was a quick first death. Maybe the demon spider was too excited to have it's toy back.

I guess when the realization would have hit him that this was real, that he had already started the loop of runhurtagainrunhurtagain, that's what gets me.

Also, how familiar it probably was. How horrible to be so familiar with a certain type of pain that it would have immediately brushed aside all the scattered and chaotic thoughts in his head and narrowed it down to, he's back.

4.) Charles held it together pretty well in hell. Especially because I feel like he was probably furious. Everything in the past few days has been adding to his anger and what's a great way to piss him off even when he's not in a bad mood? Fucking around with Edwin.

The night nurse has made a liar out of him. She called that awful thing to Edwin, as accidental as it might have been, and it took him.

Charles promised that Edwin would not go back to hell. He said he was going to fight whoever and whatever he needed to in order to keep them together and Edwin out of hell.

Edwin is in hell. They're not together anymore.

It happened so quickly and unexpectedly that Charles wasn't able to do anything.

He has broken two promises in the seconds it took the demon spider to grab Edwin and disappear.

When he finds Edwin the second time and he gets the run down of what really happens here, he did this thing while Edwin's hand is still over his mouth where he kind of closes his eyes and nods a few times.

It's like he's telling himself to pull it together. Trying to passively take in the information and doing the equivalent of taking a few deep breathes while incredibly anxious or stressed and forcing yourself to focus on specific things one at a time.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

Swallow it all down, all the devastation and fury and fear.

Edwin needs him to be okay and calm because Edwin is absolutely not okay and not calm.

So even though Charles is probably feeling a lot things right now, he swallows it down and says Okay. Let's get you out of here.

Charles is a fixer. He's a protecter. He's a fighter.

He can do none of those things right now. Not really. The only thing he can really do is give Edwin enough hope to run though hell with him.

Add in the later stuff with Esther and Charles has got to be thinking 'how many times do we have to go through this before everyone gets the message and backs the fuck off?'

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her.Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

Authors note : my updates may be a little sporadic for a bit, but I will update as often as I can! Also we’ve made it to the beginning of the smut finally. It’s only mild in this chapter though 🔥

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Masterlist

Chapter 13

Scars

The medical bay was quiet in the early hours of morning. Most of the ship still slept, the gentle rocking of the ATEEZ creating a soothing rhythm that encouraged rest. Y/n sat in her now-familiar chair beside Mingi's bed, absently flipping through a book of sea charts she'd borrowed from Hongjoong's collection. She wasn't really reading it—just needed something to keep her hands busy during her self-appointed watch.

Mingi slept peacefully, his breathing steady and deep, a good sign according to Yeosang's latest assessment. The worst danger had passed, though recovery would still take time. In sleep, his normally guarded expression softened, making him look younger—closer to the quiet boy she remembered from The Crimson Serpent than the formidable gunner he'd become.

The door opened with a whisper of well-oiled hinges as Yeosang entered, carrying a small tray of medical supplies. He nodded to y/n, not surprised to find her there despite the early hour.

"You're up early," he said softly, setting down his tray. "Did you sleep at all?"

"A few hours," she admitted. "Woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Figured I might as well be useful here."

Yeosang's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Your presence is good for him, but you need proper rest too. Doctor's orders."

"I'm fine," she insisted automatically, the response so ingrained after years of pushing through exhaustion that it emerged without thought.

"That's what you always say," Yeosang replied, no real admonishment in his tone despite the words. "Even when you're not."

He moved to check Mingi's bandages, his movements practiced and efficient. Satisfied with what he saw, he made a few notes in his medical journal before turning his attention back to y/n.

"While I have you here," he said casually, though something in his voice suggested the conversation was anything but casual, "I've been meaning to ask... how's your back?"

The question caught her off guard. y/n stiffened, fingers tightening around the book in her lap. "It's fine," she said, the words clipped. "Healed a long time ago."

"Healed doesn't mean it doesn't still cause problems," Yeosang countered, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing Mingi. "The last time I treated those wounds was what... eight years ago? Right before Blackwell sold me."

Y/n’s gaze dropped to her hands, now still on the book in her lap. "Why bring this up now?"

"Because I'm your doctor again," Yeosang said simply. He met her eyes, his professional demeanor softening with genuine concern. "And because I know how deep those lashes went. Scars like that don't just disappear—they can cause pain, limit movement. There are treatments now I didn't have access to in Blackwell's household."

Y/n was silent for a long moment. The shared memory hung between them—Yeosang, barely a teenager himself, cleaning wounds on a child's back by candlelight, both of them terrified of discovery.

"I've managed," she said finally.

"You've survived," Yeosang corrected gently. "There's a difference between surviving and healing."

He carefully set aside his medical journal and pulled a chair closer to her, maintaining enough distance to avoid making her feel crowded but close enough for private conversation.

"Have you told the others?" he asked.

She shook her head. "There hasn't been a reason to. And I don't want them to..." she trailed off, searching for the right words.

"See you differently?" Yeosang supplied.

"To pity me." Her voice hardened. "I survived it. I don't need their pity."

"They wouldn't pity you," Yeosang argued quietly. "They'd be angry on your behalf."

"That's worse." Y/n looked up, meeting his eyes directly. "The last thing I want is for them to see me as someone who needs to be avenged or protected. Not after they've spent fifteen years searching for me already."

Yeosang studied her for a moment. "You're protecting them from your pain," he observed. "Just like you used to do with me in Blackwell's household."

The observation was unsettlingly accurate. Y/n had always tried to minimize her suffering, even as a child—not seeking help until the pain became unbearable, hiding injuries until infection made them impossible to conceal.

"Let me examine your back properly," Yeosang said, his tone professional but gentle. "As your doctor, not just your friend. There are treatments now—oils to soften scar tissue, exercises to prevent it from restricting movement. You don't have to just 'manage' anymore."

Y/n hesitated, unconsciously straightening her posture as if to prove she had no physical limitations.

"No one else needs to know," Yeosang added, reading her hesitation correctly. "This would be between us, just like before. Doctor and patient."

The reminder of their old dynamic—the careful trust they'd built during those years in Blackwell's household—finally broke through her resistance.

"Alright," she conceded. "But not here, not with Mingi—"

"Of course not," Yeosang agreed immediately. "We can use the private examination room. It's just through there." He nodded toward a door at the back of the medical bay.

Y/n glanced at Mingi, still sleeping peacefully, then back to Yeosang. After a moment's consideration, she stood. "Let's get this over with."

The private examination room was small but well-equipped, with a screen for changing and a treatment table positioned to catch the morning light from a small porthole. Yeosang moved around the space with practiced efficiency, gathering supplies and adjusting the lamp to provide better illumination.

"You'll need to remove the top part of your dress," he said, his clinical tone helping to normalize the situation. "There's a wrap on the screen you can use for modesty. I'll turn away until you're ready."

True to his word, he busied himself with organizing his supplies, his back turned as Y/n moved behind the screen. She changed quickly, wrapping the soft cloth around her chest before taking a deep breath to steady herself.

"Ready," she called softly.

Yeosang turned, his expression purely professional as she took a seat on the examination table, her back to him. For a moment, there was silence. Then she heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Y/n..." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Is it that bad?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light despite the tension she felt.

"Worse than when I last saw them," he admitted. "The later ones... after I was gone..."

"There was no one to help properly clean them," she said simply. "I did what I could."

She felt his fingers then, cool and gentle as they traced one of the longer scars. Despite herself, she flinched slightly.

"Sorry," Yeosang murmured. "Are they still painful?"

"Sometimes. When the weather changes, or if I strain too much during training."

His examination continued in silence for several minutes, his touch professional but careful, just as it had been all those years ago. Y/n found herself remembering those nights in Blackwell's household—the young medical apprentice risking punishment to tend her wounds, teaching her which herbs helped with pain, how to clean injuries to prevent fever.

"The tissue is tight here," Yeosang noted, his fingers pressing lightly near her shoulder blade. "And here. It's restricting your range of motion, especially on the right side."

"I've noticed," she admitted. "It makes certain movements difficult during combat training."

"I can help with that," Yeosang said, and she could hear the shift in his voice—from concerned friend to confident healer. "I've learned treatments for scar tissue that I didn't know back then. Special oils, stretching exercises."

He moved away briefly, and she heard the sound of bottles clinking. When he returned, the scent of herbs filled the air—something woodsy and clean.

"This might feel cold," he warned, before applying something to her back.

The oil was indeed cool, but his touch remained gentle as he worked it into her scarred skin. Y/n found herself gradually relaxing under his ministrations—the familiar routine bringing back not just memories of pain, but of care. Of someone trying to help when nearly everyone else in her world sought only to use or harm her.

"You still remember how I like the pressure," she observed quietly.

"Some things you don't forget," Yeosang replied. "Even after eight years."

They fell into companionable silence as he continued to work, the familiar rhythm of treatment creating its own form of comfort. Y/n found herself reflecting on how strange it was that this—having someone tend wounds inflicted during her captivity—could feel like coming home in a way that even reuniting with the others hadn't quite managed.

"Can I ask you something, Angel?" she said after some time had passed.

The childhood nickname made his hands pause momentarily before resuming their work. "Of course."

"Have you told them? About what it was really like there?"

Yeosang was quiet for a long moment. "Not everything," he finally admitted. "They know I was Blackwell's property, that I worked as a medical apprentice. But the details... no."

"Why not?"

His hands stilled again. "The same reason you haven't shown them these scars. Some burdens don't need to be shared to be carried."

The simple truth of his words resonated deeply. Y/n nodded, understanding flowing between them without need for further explanation.

"But Y/n," Yeosang continued, his voice gentle yet firm, "these scars are evidence of your strength, not your weakness. You survived something terrible. You didn't just endure it—you kept your humanity intact. That's not something to hide. It's something to acknowledge."

"Maybe someday," she conceded. "But not yet. Not until I'm ready."

"That's fair," Yeosang agreed, resuming his treatment. "It's your choice. Always."

As he worked the healing oil into her skin, Y/n found herself thinking about choices—how few she'd had during those fifteen years, and how significant even small ones felt now. The choice to reveal her identity. The choice to stay aboard the ATEEZ. The choice to show her scars to Yeosang, to accept his help.

"I'm going to wrap this with a special cloth that will help the oil penetrate overnight," Yeosang explained as he finished his application. "And I'll prepare a treatment plan—exercises to stretch the tissue, oils to apply regularly. It won't erase the scars, but it can ease the pain and improve your mobility."

"Thank you," Y/n said simply. The words seemed inadequate for what he was offering—not just medical treatment but a continuation of care that had begun when they were both children in a house of cruelty.

Yeosang's hands were gentle as he wrapped the bandage around her torso, his movements efficient yet considerate. "You know," he said conversationally, "the others would want to help if they knew."

"I know," she acknowledged. "But I'm not ready for their anger. For what they might do with it."

Yeosang secured the bandage with a small pin. "You're worried about Mingi."

It wasn't a question. Y/n sighed. "And Hongjoong, they seem the most protective. If they saw these..."

"They would be furious," Yeosang agreed. "They all would be. But that anger—it isn't pity, Y/n. It's love."

The simple statement hung in the air between them. Y/n turned slightly, meeting his eyes over her shoulder.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she admitted. "What they might do out of love. The risks they might take."

"That's their choice," Yeosang reminded her gently. "Just as keeping this private is yours. For now."

He stepped back, handing her shirt to her. "We're done for today. I'll have a treatment plan ready by this evening."

Y/n nodded, taking the garment with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Angel. Not just for this, but for understanding."

"Always," he promised, the single word containing years of shared history.

As she dressed behind the screen, y/n found herself thinking about the different forms healing could take. There was the physical treatment Yeosang offered—the oils and exercises that would ease her pain and improve her mobility. But there was another kind of healing happening aboard the ATEEZ, one more complex and perhaps more profound: the healing of connections broken fifteen years ago, the rebuilding of trust between people who had once meant everything to each other.

Maybe someday, as part of that healing, she would share these scars with the others. Let them see not just the marks Blackwell had left on her, but the strength it had taken to survive them. But for now, it was enough that Yeosang knew. That she wasn't carrying this burden entirely alone anymore.

When she emerged from behind the screen, Yeosang was waiting with a small bottle in hand.

"For your nightstand," he explained, offering it to her. "Apply it before sleep whenever the pain is bad."

Their fingers brushed as she took the bottle, and y/n felt a surge of gratitude for this friend who had somehow found his way back to her against impossible odds.

"We should check on Mingi," she suggested, tucking the oil into her pocket.

Yeosang nodded, his expression shifting back to professional concern. "Yes, it's almost time for his morning medications."

As they returned to the main area of the medical bay, y/n felt a subtle but significant change in herself—a loosening, as if some tightly held tension had begun to release. The scars on her back were still there, would always be there. But somehow, sharing them with someone who understood made them feel less like a shameful secret and more like what they truly were: proof that she had faced terrors and survived them.

The healing had begun.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

When y/n returned to Mingi's bedside, she found him awake, his dark eyes tracking her movement as she approached. Yeosang busied himself at the supply cabinet, giving them a semblance of privacy while remaining close enough to monitor his patient.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, settling into her chair beside him.

"Better," Mingi replied, his voice stronger than the day before. "Yeosang says healing faster than expected."

She smiled at his characteristic economy of words. "That's good news. Though I suspect you'll still try to get back to your gun decks before he approves it."

A slight upturn at the corner of his mouth acknowledged her assessment. "Maybe."

Yeosang approached with a small cup containing Mingi's morning medication. "I need to check supplies in the secondary storage room," he announced after Mingi had taken the medicine. "I'll be back in about half an hour. Try not to let him do anything foolish while I'm gone," he added to y/n with a meaningful look.

The deliberate withdrawal was transparent, but y/n appreciated it nonetheless. When the door closed behind Yeosang, a comfortable silence settled between them. Mingi's gaze remained on her, observant as always, though something different lingered in his expression – something smoldering beneath his usual watchful attention.

"Missed you," Mingi said simply, the admission unexpected from someone so typically reserved.

His directness caught her off guard. "I was only gone for an hour," she replied, a smile playing at her lips.

"Not what I meant." His eyes held hers with unmistakable intent. "Fifteen years of missing you. Every day."

The simple declaration sent warmth flooding through her. There was no artifice in Mingi, no strategic calculation – just raw honesty delivered with characteristic precision.

"I missed you too," she admitted. "Even when I didn't remember everything clearly, there was always this... emptiness. Like something vital was missing."

His large hand moved across the blanket toward hers, palm up – an invitation rather than a demand. The gesture was so like him – offering connection without requiring it, creating space for her choice rather than assuming it.

She placed her hand in his, warmth spreading from the simple contact. His fingers curled around hers, gentle despite their strength, calloused from years of work with weapons and tools yet somehow still familiar to her touch.

"Little shadow," he said softly, the childhood nickname transformed by the deeper timbre of his adult voice. "Still can't believe you're actually here."

"Sometimes I can't either," she admitted, meeting his intense gaze directly. "Finding all of you after so long... it seems impossible."

"Not impossible," Mingi countered, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles in a way that sent unexpected shivers up her arm. "Improbable. Different."

The distinction made her smile. "Very different. But then, we're all different now too."

He studied her face with the careful attention he gave to everything important. His eyes lingered on her lips for a moment before returning to meet her gaze, the intensity in them unmistakable.

"Core remains the same," he said, voice dropping lower. "Essential nature survives."

Without conscious decision, y/n found herself leaning closer, drawn by the quiet strength that had always been his hallmark. "And what is my essential nature, in your assessment?"

Mingi's free hand moved then, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face with deliberate precision. Unlike his usual careful distance, this touch lingered, fingers tracing the line of her jaw with exploratory intent.

"Resilient," he offered, his deep voice barely above a whisper. "Perceptive. Strong."

Each word was delivered with such conviction that y/n felt something shift within her – a barrier carefully maintained for fifteen years beginning to crumble beneath his unwavering gaze.

The raw honesty of his response broke whatever last thread of hesitation remained between them. Y/n closed the remaining distance, her lips meeting his with an urgency that surprised them both.

What began as tentative exploration quickly ignited into something far more demanding. Mingi's hand slid from her face to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her hair as he drew her closer. The careful restraint he typically maintained dissolved entirely as his mouth moved against hers with unexpected hunger.

Y/n responded in kind, her own hand moving to his shoulder, then sliding up to cup his face. His skin was warm beneath her palm, the slight roughness of stubble a reminder of just how much time had passed since they were children aboard The Crimson Serpent.

When his tongue swept against her lips, she opened to him without hesitation, deepening the kiss with a soft sound of encouragement. Mingi's grip tightened in her hair, not painful but possessive in a way that sent heat spiraling through her core. Their breath mingled, quick and uneven, as the kiss became increasingly desperate – fifteen years of separation and longing crystallizing into this single moment of connection.

Y/n found herself leaning further over the bed, her body seeking closer contact despite the awkward position. Mingi's free arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her half onto the narrow treatment bed with surprising strength for someone still recovering from injury.

"The wound," she murmured against his lips, a moment of concern breaking through the haze of desire.

"Don't care," he growled, the uncharacteristic roughness in his voice sending fresh waves of heat through her body.

He pulled her more fully onto the bed beside him, making room despite the narrow space. Y/n found herself pressed against the solid warmth of his uninjured side, their bodies aligned from shoulder to hip. The position should have been uncomfortable, even awkward, yet somehow felt more right than anything she'd experienced in fifteen years of calculated survival.

Mingi's mouth found hers again, the kiss deeper now, more consuming. One large hand spanned her ribcage, fingers splayed wide as if attempting to memorize her shape through touch alone. When his thumb brushed the underside of her breast, even through clothing, y/n arched into his touch with a gasp.

The sound seemed to ignite something primal in him. His kisses moved from her lips to her jaw, then down the column of her throat – deliberate exploration that left trails of fire in its wake. When his teeth grazed the sensitive junction where neck met shoulder, y/n's fingers tightened in his hair, her body responding with instinctive hunger.

"Mingi," she breathed, his name both plea and permission.

His hand moved higher, finally cupping her breast fully through the fabric of her dress. The weight of his palm, the deliberate pressure of his fingers, drew another soft sound from her throat. Their bodies shifted against each other, finding natural rhythm despite the constraints of their position and his injury.

Y/n's own hands became bolder, one sliding beneath the hem of his loose shirt to explore the warm skin and solid muscle of his uninjured side. Her fingers traced the ridges of old scars – testament to years of battles fought while searching for her – before traveling higher across his chest.

Mingi's breathing grew more ragged as her exploration continued. His own hand abandoned her breast to begin working at the fastenings of her dress, deft fingers making quick work of the first few buttons despite his usual preference for minimal speech over manual dexterity.

"Want to see you," he murmured against her collarbone, the simple statement somehow more arousing than elaborate declarations might have been. "All of you."

"Yes," y/n agreed, helping him with the remaining buttons until the top of her dress fell open, revealing the simple binding beneath.

Mingi pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes darkening further as they took in the newly exposed skin. There was something reverent in his gaze, appreciation mixed with hunger in a combination uniquely his.

"Beautiful," he stated, the word carrying absolute certainty.

His hand returned to her breast, this time with only thin fabric between his palm and her skin. Y/n closed her eyes at the sensation, surrendering to the pleasure of his touch after so many years of keeping others at careful distance. When his thumb brushed across her nipple, she couldn't contain the moan that escaped her lips.

The sound seemed to break whatever remaining restraint Mingi possessed. He captured her mouth again in a kiss that bordered on desperate, his hand working to unwrap the cloth around her chest. Y/n helped, impatient now for the barrier to be gone, needing to feel his touch without impediment.

As the fabric fell away, Mingi's exploration became more thorough, more deliberate. His calloused palm against her bare skin created sensations that had her pressing closer, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of everything he offered. His mouth followed where his hands led, hot kisses trailing down her throat to the newly exposed curve of her breast.

When his lips closed around her sensitive flesh, Y/n’s back arched, her hand tightening in his hair as waves of pleasure radiated through her body. The careful control she had maintained for fifteen years shattered entirely beneath the heat of his mouth, the deliberate skill of his touch.

Her own hands grew more urgent, tugging at the loose garment covering his torso, needing to feel more of him against her skin. Mingi shifted to accommodate her exploration, helping remove the barrier between them despite the awkward positioning his injury demanded.

When their bare chests finally pressed together, both gasped at the contact. The heat of skin against skin, the intimacy of nothing between them, created connection beyond merely physical sensation. Y/n found herself overwhelmed by the trust implicit in this moment – the vulnerability of allowing another person this close after fifteen years of calculated distance.

Mingi seemed equally affected, his typical reserve completely transformed into raw need. His hands explored every inch of her exposed upper body with meticulous attention, as if mapping territory he had dreamed of discovering for fifteen years. His mouth returned to hers in a kiss that spoke of possession, of claiming, of finding something precious once believed lost forever.

Their bodies moved against each other with increasing urgency, the narrow treatment bed creaking slightly beneath their shifting weight. Y/n found herself pressed beneath him as he carefully maneuvered to hover above her, supporting his weight on his uninjured side while his hand continued its thorough exploration.

When his fingers trailed lower, skimming her waist and pulled her skirt up, Y/n made no move to stop him. Instead, her own hands moved with equal purpose, seeking the ties of his loose pants with determined intent.

"Want you," Mingi stated against her lips, the simple declaration more powerful than elaborate seduction. "Need you."

"Yes," Y/n agreed, the word both answer and demand. "Now."

He pulled her skirt up, bunching it around her waist, her own hands having achieved similar progress with his garments, when the medical bay door swung open with dramatic flair.

"Good morning, my invalid friend! I come bearing Wooyoung's special healing broth, guaranteed to—OH SWEET MERCIFUL HEAVENS!"

The theatrical exclamation shattered the moment like glass. Y/n’s eyes flew open as Mingi's head whipped toward the doorway, where Wooyoung froze, tray in hand, eyes widening at the scene before him: Y/n and Mingi entangled on the narrow treatment bed, clothing in various states of disarray, both flushed and breathing heavily.

“GET OUT!" Mingi barked, the command carrying such force that Wooyoung actually jumped.

But the cook had already recovered his typical theatrical poise, a broad grin spreading across his face as he carefully set his tray down on a nearby table, making absolutely no move toward the exit.

"Well, well, WELL!" he announced, crossing his arms with obvious satisfaction. "Isn't THIS an interesting development! To think I was worried our wounded hero might be getting BORED during his recovery. Clearly, he's receiving the MOST attentive care!"

Y/n scrambled to pull the front of her dress closed and her skirt down, heat flooding her face for entirely different reasons than moments before. Mingi, showing remarkable composure despite the interruption, shifted to partially shield her from view while reaching for his discarded garment.

"Wooyoung," he growled, the single word carrying clear warning despite its minimal delivery.

"Don't mind me," Wooyoung continued, a mischievous grin spreading across his features though something wistful lingered in his eyes. "Just the ship's cook making his morning delivery. Though I see you've already found something far more appetizing to taste."

"Woo!" Y/n exclaimed, mortification battling with reluctant amusement at his characteristic cheek.

"What terrible timing I have," he lamented, though the twinkle in his eye suggested the opposite. "Or excellent timing, depending on one's perspective. Yeosang would certainly argue for the latter, considering he spent hours repairing our gunner's injuries. Imagine his reaction if certain... vigorous activities... reopened freshly stitched wounds."

Despite her embarrassment, Y/n couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. Trust Wooyoung to transform even this awkward moment into something approaching comedy.

"Are you going to stand there all day making comments, or are you going to give us some privacy?" she asked, having managed to mostly reassemble her clothing.

"That depends," Wooyoung replied, Sitting on a near by chair with theatrical flourish. "Are you two planning to resume activities that might require audience participation? Because I'd be devastated to miss my cue if so."

Mingi's expression darkened, though not with his earlier anger. "Wooyoung," he said again, voice low but carrying clear intent. "Out."

"So demanding," Wooyoung sighed dramatically, though he stood up and began backing toward the door. "I suppose I'll have to wait my turn, like a gentleman." His eyes met Y/n’s briefly, something genuine flickering beneath his playful exterior. "Though I hope you'll remember the rest of us are equally eager for... private conversations."

The implication hung in the air as he retreated, "Carry on, lovebirds! I'll just leave this nutritious breakfast here and be on my merry way. Though perhaps I should hang a warning sign outside? 'DO NOT DISTURB: Intense Physical Therapy In Progress'? Or maybe 'CAUTION: Healing Through Happiness Underway'?"

"Woo," Y/n repeated, her face burning despite years of practiced composure. "If you value your continued existence—"

"Say no more!" he declared, backing toward the door with theatrical movements, though his grin never faltered. "Your secret is safe with me! Well, mostly safe. Somewhat safe. Safe-adjacent, let's say."

When the door finally closed, Y/n buried her face against Mingi's shoulder, equal parts mortified and amused by the interruption.

"He'll tell everyone," she groaned, though without real distress.

"Probably already has," Mingi agreed, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in protective gesture despite the lingering tension evident in his body.

Y/n pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, finding them still dark with desire despite Wooyoung's theatrical intrusion. "Are you concerned? About the others knowing?"

Mingi considered this with characteristic thoroughness, his expression thoughtful despite the interrupted passion still evident in his flushed skin and quickened breathing.

"Not concerned," he decided finally. "But complicated."

The simple assessment contained volumes beneath its surface. Y/n nodded, understanding flowing between them without requiring elaborate explanation. The five officers of the ATEEZ had spent fifteen years searching for her, each carrying their own form of memory, their own version of connection. What happened between any two of them affected the entire delicate balance of relationships aboard the ship.

"They all care for you," Mingi continued, unusual verbosity revealing the importance of what he was trying to communicate. "Hongjoong. Seonghwa. Yunho. Wooyoung. Different ways, but same depth. Same commitment."

"I know," Y/n acknowledged, something warm unfurling in her chest at the simple truth. These five men who had once been boys protecting a little girl had grown into something extraordinary – not just fearsome pirates or skilled officers, but humans capable of maintaining connection across fifteen years of separation and change.

"And you?" she asked, her hand coming up to rest against his cheek. "What do you feel?"

Mingi's eyes held hers with characteristic directness. "Love you," he stated simply, the declaration delivered with absolute certainty despite its profound weight. "Always have. Always will."

The straightforward admission, unembellished yet containing depths beyond its minimal verbal presentation, affected Y/n more powerfully than elaborate declarations might have. This was Mingi – honest in all things, precise in his assessments, saying exactly what he meant without strategic calculation or unnecessary embroidery.

"I think I've always loved you too," she confessed, the words emerging with surprising ease despite fifteen years of careful self-protection. "Even when I couldn't remember exactly who you were, there was this space inside me that only you could fill."

Satisfaction settled across his features at her response, his arm tightening around her shoulders. "Good," he replied, the simple acknowledgment somehow perfectly adequate.

For several comfortable moments, they remained close despite their interrupted passion, Y/n’s head resting against his shoulder as their breathing gradually slowed to normal rhythm. Unlike awkwardness that might have followed such an interruption between others, their connection remained steady. 

"Wooyoung wasn't entirely wrong," Y/n observed eventually, reluctant humor warming her voice. "Yeosang would probably execute us both if we tore your stitches through... vigorous activities."

The ghost of a smile touched Mingi's lips. "Worth it," he stated, though his nod acknowledged the practical reality. "But can wait until healed."

"To be continued," she agreed, pressing a final kiss to his lips before sliding carefully from the narrow treatment bed.

As she straightened her clothing and helped Mingi adjust his position more appropriately for a recovering patient, Y/n found herself contemplating the complex constellation of relationships aboard the ATEEZ. Five men who had searched for fifteen years, each carrying their own form of devotion. Each important to her in ways both similar and distinct.

Hongjoong with his strategic brilliance and unexpected tenderness, remembering her as "Treasure" through fifteen years of searching. Seonghwa with his methodical precision and deep-seated guilt, arranging her quarters with careful attention while keeping emotional distance. Yunho with his gentle strength and endless patience, teaching her stars when surrounded by darkness. Wooyoung with his theatrical joy and perceptive understanding, making her laugh when laughter seemed impossible. And Mingi, quiet and watchful, creating beauty in wooden animals left like breadcrumbs across the maritime world.

Five different connections, five different forms of love, all directed toward her with unwavering commitment despite fifteen years of separation. The realization should have felt overwhelming, perhaps even frightening. Instead, it created unexpected warmth within her chest – not the heat of passion interrupted, but deeper contentment that transcended merely physical connection.

For someone who had survived fifteen years of captivity through strategic calculation and careful self-protection, this new reality represented unfamiliar territory beyond tactical assessment or practical evaluation. Yet somehow, aboard this feared pirate vessel with its mismatched family of determined souls, Y/n found herself open to possibilities she had never dared consider during those long years of isolation.

"What are you thinking?" Mingi asked, observing her expression with characteristic perception despite his continued recovery.

Y/n smiled, genuine and unguarded in a way she rarely permitted herself. "That finding all of you was worth fifteen years of waiting," she replied honestly. "Even with Wooyoung's terrible timing."

Mingi's answering smile – not the ghost of one or hint of one that occasionally appeared, but genuine expression that transformed his features completely – was worth every moment of interrupted passion.

"Agreed," he stated simply. "Though next time, locking the door first."

Her laugh echoed through the medical bay, the sound carrying freedom beyond mere amusement.

After helping Mingi settle back into a more appropriate position for recovery, Y/n smoothed her clothing one final time and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her lips still tingled from his kisses, her skin warm where his hands had explored.

"I should go before Yeosang returns," she said softly. "He'd never let either of us hear the end of it."

Mingi nodded, though reluctance was evident in his eyes. "Come back later little shadow?"

"Of course puppy," she promised. "Try to rest until then."

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Difficult now. Have better things to think about than sleeping."

His uncharacteristically playful response drew a laugh from her as she moved toward the door. With one last glance at Mingi – looking far too satisfied for someone still recovering from a serious injury – she slipped into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind her.

She had taken only three steps when she realized she wasn't alone.

Hongjoong leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed casually over his chest, watching her with unmistakable heat in his dark eyes. The captain's usual composed authority remained, but beneath it lurked something far more dangerous – and enticing.

"Captain," she acknowledged, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat. "I was just—"

"I know exactly what you were 'just' doing," Hongjoong interrupted, his voice low and rich with amusement. He pushed away from the wall with fluid grace, closing the distance between them in two measured steps. "Wooyoung was quite... descriptive."

Heat flooded Y/n’ cheeks. "Woo talks too much."

"Sometimes," Hongjoong agreed, a slow smile spreading across his features. There was nothing of the captain's usual strategic calculation in that smile – only pure masculine appreciation that sent fresh waves of warmth through her body. "Though in this case, I find myself grateful for his detailed reporting."

Before she could formulate a response, he moved closer still, his proximity forcing her back until she felt the corridor wall behind her. He didn't touch her – not yet – but the heat radiating from his body made her acutely aware of just how little space remained between them.

"Seems our gunner has been making excellent use of his recovery time," Hongjoong observed, his eyes dropping to her lips, lingering there before returning to meet her gaze. "I find myself envious of his... therapeutic approach."

Y/n swallowed, caught between embarrassment and an entirely different kind of heat that had nothing to do with being discovered and everything to do with the man now standing so close she could feel his breath against her skin.

"I didn't plan for that to happen," she said, the words emerging more breathless than intended. "It just... did."

Hongjoong’s hand finally rising to brush that same stubborn strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek in deliberate echo of Mingi's earlier touch. "I'm surprised any of us can maintain restraint at all, now that we've found you."

The simple acknowledgment – that all five of them felt the same powerful draw toward her – created fresh warmth spreading through her chest. Not merely desire but deeper connection that transcended physical attraction.

"And you, Captain?" she asked, finding unexpected boldness despite her position between the solid wall and his equally solid presence. "What's your excuse for cornering me in the corridor?"

Something dangerous flashed in Hongjoong's eyes – challenge recognized and accepted. "Perhaps I'm tired of waiting my turn," he murmured, his hand sliding from her cheek to cup the nape of her neck. "Perhaps finding you with Mingi made me realize how quickly things can change. How opportunities can be lost if one hesitates too long."

His fingers tightened slightly in her hair, not painful but possessive in a way that echoed Mingi's earlier touch while carrying Hongjoong's unique signature – deliberate control balanced with unmistakable intent.

"And what opportunity would that be?" Y/n asked, her voice dropping to match his hushed intensity.

Instead of answering with words, Hongjoong eliminated the remaining distance between them. Unlike Mingi's initially hesitant approach, the captain's kiss was confident from the first contact – claiming rather than exploring, taking rather than asking. His body pressed hers against the wall, one hand remaining tangled in her hair while the other settled at her hip, fingers digging into the curve with unmistakable hunger.

Y/n responded with equal fervor, her hands rising to grasp his shoulders, pulling him closer despite the voice of caution reminding her they were in a public corridor where anyone might discover them. The risk only seemed to heighten the sensation – the forbidden nature of being caught between wall and captain making every touch more electric, every sensation more intense.

When Hongjoong's teeth caught her lower lip in deliberate nip, she gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he deepened the kiss further. His hand at her hip slid lower, fingers splaying across her thigh in possessive grip that had her arching into his touch despite the public setting.

"Treasure," he breathed against her lips, the childhood nickname transformed into something far more adult by the hunger in his voice. "Do you have any idea what you do to me? To all of us?"

Before she could respond, the sound of voices approaching from an adjoining passage forced them apart – Hongjoong stepping back with visible reluctance while Y/n attempted to compose herself despite her racing pulse and flushed skin.

They had barely achieved reasonable distance when Yunho and Seonghwa appeared around the corner, deep in discussion about ship repairs. Both men stopped abruptly upon seeing them, their conversation forgotten as they took in Y/n’s disheveled appearance and Hongjoong's unusual proximity.

"Captain," Seonghwa acknowledged, his precise gaze missing nothing as it moved between them. "Y/n. I thought you were with Mingi in the medical bay."

"I was," she confirmed, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I'm just on my way to get some fresh air."

Something shifted in Yunho's typically gentle expression as his eyes moved from her flushed face to her slightly swollen lips. Unlike his usual warm concern, heat flared in his gaze – recognition of what had been happening moments before their arrival, and unmistakable interest in participating himself.

Seonghwa's response was more controlled, as always, yet even his precisely maintained composure couldn't entirely disguise the flicker of hunger that crossed his features before being carefully suppressed beneath quartermasterly efficiency.

"I see Wooyoung wasn't exaggerating for once," he observed, his tone measured despite the intensity in his gaze.

"Wooyoung has been quite informative this morning," Hongjoong agreed, not bothering to disguise the satisfaction in his voice. "Though I find personal verification significantly more... rewarding."

The implication hung in the air between them, Y/n playfully smacked Hongjoong on the arm. 

“Joongie!” She scolded with a laugh, earning a chuckle from the captain. 

Seonghwa hesitated before he began to ask, “Y/n if I could have world in private soon?”

Before she could respond, another voice joined the increasingly crowded hallway.

"Am I interrupting another private moment?" Wooyoung asked, appearing in the corridor. "Or is this particular encounter intended as a group activity? Because I must say, I'm delighted either way."

Despite her embarrassment, y/n couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. Appreciating his ability to lighten any mood. 

"You've been quite busy this morning, haven't you?" she observed, finding her voice despite the overwhelming awareness of being surrounded by five men whose gazes all held varying degrees of unmistakable hunger.

"Just fulfilling my duties as ship's intelligence officer," Wooyoung replied with an exaggerated bow. "Ensuring all relevant parties are appropriately informed of significant developments."

"And embellishing those developments with your characteristic flair, no doubt," Seonghwa added dryly. 

"I merely reported what these eyes witnessed," Wooyoung protested, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "Though I admit, had I arrived a few minutes later, I suspect there would have been considerably more to report."

Hongjoong's low chuckle – a sound that contained both amusement and something far more dangerous – drew all attention back to him. The captain's natural authority reasserted itself despite the unusual circumstances, his strategic mind clearly working through implications and possibilities even in this most personal of situations.

"I believe we should continue this discussion elsewhere," he decided, his gaze returning to y/n with unmistakable intent. "Unless our newly discovered crew member has duties requiring immediate attention?"

Y/n found herself surrounded by five pairs of eyes, each containing unique variation of the same fundamental desire. Hongjoong's calculating heat, Seonghwa's precisely controlled hunger, Yunho's gentle but unmistakable want, Wooyoung's theatrical yet genuine interest, and through the closed door behind her, Mingi's quiet but absolute claim.

Five men who each carrying their own form of devotion, each important to her in ways both similar and distinct. The realization should have felt overwhelming, perhaps even frightening. Instead, it created unexpected thrill within her – not merely physical desire but deeper recognition of possibility beyond anything she might have imagined during those long years of captivity.

"No urgent duties," she replied, finding unexpected confidence despite the intensity surrounding her. "Though I do need to check back on Mingi."

"Mingi has had his turn," Wooyoung observed cheerfully, though something more serious lurked beneath his theatrical delivery. "It seems only fair the rest of us have equal opportunity for private conversation, wouldn't you agree?"

The implication – that what had begun with Mingi might continue with any or all of them – hung in the air with unmistakable clarity. Y/n looked between them, seeing not competition but shared understanding flowing beneath surface tension. These men had built lives around searching for her; there would be no petty jealousy or possessive demands, only mutual recognition of connection that transcended conventional limitations.

"I believe that's for y/n to decide," Hongjoong stated, his captain's authority tempering the heat in his gaze. "Without pressure or expectation."

"Of course," Seonghwa agreed immediately, his quartermaster's precision bringing structure to potentially chaotic situation. "Personal agency remains paramount regardless of... mutual interest."

"Always your choice," Yunho added, his gentle nature reasserting itself despite the continued warmth in his eyes. "In all things."

"But should you find yourself inclined toward exploring these newfound possibilities," Wooyoung concluded with characteristic flair, "I believe I speak for all of us when I say we would be delighted to accommodate your curiosity. Individually or collectively, depending on your preference."

Y/n felt heat rising to her cheeks again, though not from embarrassment alone. The power of their collective attention, the certainty of their unified desire, created intoxicating awareness of possibilities she had never permitted herself to consider during those long years of careful survival.

"I think," she said carefully, finding surprising steadiness despite the intensity surrounding her, "that we should take things one step at a time. Though I appreciate knowing where everyone stands."

"Or could potentially lie," Wooyoung quipped with exaggerated eyebrow waggle that broke some of the corridor's tension, drawing reluctant smiles even from Seonghwa.

"Perhaps we should allow y/n some space," Yunho suggested, his typical consideration prevailing despite the heat that still lingered in his gaze.

"Agreed," Hongjoong nodded, though his eyes held promise of continued exploration when circumstances permitted. "We can manage a few more hours without overwhelming our newest crew member."

“As I was saying before, I would like to speak with you privately little dove?” Seonghwa said, a slight blush creeping his face at his slip of using the nickname. 

A whistle come from Wooyoung, earning a playful scowl from Seonghwa before he turned back to Y/n. “I assure you my only goal is to speak with you, not to do..other activities.” He blushed again. 

Y/n smiled brightly, joy overtaking her now that Seonghwa was speaking with her again. “Of course Hwa, we can speak privately whenever you wish. No formal invitation required.”

As the impromptu gathering dispersed – Seonghwa and Yunho returning to their ship duties, Wooyoung heading toward the galley with theatrical backward glance, Hongjoong moving toward the upper deck after one final heated look – y/n found herself alone in the corridor, her heart still racing from the unexpected intensity of the encounter.

Something had fundamentally shifted aboard the ATEEZ, barriers falling that had seemed immovable only days before. What had begun as simple reconnection following fifteen years of separation had transformed into something far more complex – and exciting – than she could have anticipated when first boarding this vessel as "Ella."

As she made her way toward the observation deck, needing fresh air to clear her head, y/n found herself contemplating the extraordinary turn her life had taken. From property passed between owners to woman desired by five extraordinary men who had spent fifteen years searching for her. From careful survival through strategic calculation to freedom of genuine choice and authentic connection.

Y/n was filled with thoughts racing through her mind. Intimacy would require her to show her scars, she had been lucky with Mingi not noticing. How would this change her dynamic with them all? Would it be permanent? 

As she looked towards Hongjoong, who was watching her with a look that sent shivers through her, she knew one thing for certain. She had opened a new door between them all, one she couldn’t wait to explore. 

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland @comicnerd557 @pixie0627 @fumaluvr @princesscallie @green-moon @starryjoong-jeongcheollie @wiccanmetallicrose @atinyapple1117 @sassy-snassy @soulphoenix1618 @wxnderingthoughts @mdurir @awkward-fucking-thing @herpoetryprincess

[ashwhowrites]

Steve having a senior little sister who has a crush on Eddie. Can barely string two words together any time he talks to her. She’s a cheerleader, her parents expect her to marry an Ivy League business major or a senator’s son or something. She kept her crush a secret until Jason calls him a freak in front of the whole cafeteria- and she punches him. Possibly breaking her hand. Most likely getting suspended or at the very least detention for quite a while.

I adore this so much

Never proofread- wrote half of this high, so if I'm sober and it sucks, I will be fixing it

~~~

Popularity came with the Harrigton name, and so did high expectations from everyone. Y/N was popular all throughout high school, following behind King Steve.

She was already known by everyone before she even introduced herself. Already accepted into the popular crowd, she joined cheer, something her mother wanted her to be part of.

Even though she was younger than Steve, she had a close relationship with him. Their parents had high standards for them, and it could get draining. Together, they learned to be there for each other when the disappointment started to settle in. They hung out all the time, which led her to be friends with Steve's friends.....including Eddie Munson.

Y/N had confidence, was very smart, well-mannered, and was all around a golden child. She knew how to make friends, she was kind, sweet, and friendly. It was easy for people to like her and it was easy for her to talk to anyone.

Except for Eddie.

The long-haired senior with brown eyes always had her tongue-tied. She always saw him in the halls but never had the courage to talk to him. He hated the popular crowd and he made that very clear. She had no chance at a friendship or any relationship with the boy.

Then Steve needed his wallet, meeting his friends for dinner but leaving his wallet in his bedroom. Y/N, who had no problem leaving her house whenever she could, brought his wallet to him.

That was the day Steve introduced her to Eddie Munson. He smiled and gave her a small wave. She felt judged by his stare, she knew he knew she was popular. But he is friends with ex-king Steve, maybe he'd give her a chance too.

"You have a gorgeous deer in the headlights look going on," Eddie teased with a smirk, using his hands to gesture to her face.

She felt her body heat up from her cheeks down to her neck. First impression and she was embarrassing herself. With a terrified squeak, she threw the wallet on the table and raced out of the restaurant.

~~~

Sadly after that, she did not improve her communication skills with the boy. Any time he spoke a word near or to her, she never had a response. Just staring as her brain shut off. If she's lucky, she'll get out half a sentence.

She hoped by spending more time with him it would get better, but it never did.

Whenever the group would hang out, she'd talk to Dustin and Robin. Her usual self taking control of the conversation. But the second Eddie walked in, took a seat, and threw his heavy boots on the table with his arms behind his head, she was silent.

~~~

At first Eddie thought she had a small crush on him. The way she'd squeak at his compliments and run in the other direction.

But the more he was around her, the more he felt like she didn't want to be near him. She was popular and never had any issues talking with people. She talked with Dustin and Robin, they weren't popular. Maybe Eddie was still socially under them but she didn't care about it. But once Eddie walked into the room, her lips went shut and she didn't speak a word.

The group accepted Eddie, even with his freak status. Maybe Y/N just wasn't ready for that yet.

~~~

Y/N hated that with every passing day, her crush grew stronger. And yet, she couldn't say one word to the guy.

A part of her is scared to admit she likes him. He wasn't at all what her parents would approve of. She didn't know exactly if Steve would be so on board with it. And she didn't see herself as his type in any sort of way.

Just a silly high school crush and she'll move on. End up with the guy who owns a business and is super clean. Someone her parents would want.

Even though she couldn't talk to him, she wasn't going to let others talk about him.

She was sitting at the lunch table with Chrissy as Jason flew into the seat next to him. He was hysterically laughing as he tried to talk.

Y/N could barely get any words out, when Eddie came racing into the cafeteria. His white hellfire shirt soaked with a sticky liquid. She could see feathers were stuck to him. She assumed Jason covered Eddie with glue and threw feathers at him.

Y/N never found Jason funny or enjoyed the way he tortured Eddie.

Eddie looked pissed as he marched towards Jason, blinded by his anger he didn't realize his surroundings and tripped over another jock's foot.

She watched in horror as Eddie's face planted into the ground, his nose smacking into the floor. She grew worried when he looked up and the blood was running down his nose.

Jason laughed as he stood up. Clapping as he loudly screamed,

"EDWARD MUNSON, THE FREAK OF FREAKS!"

Y/N wasn't sure what came over her. The guilt for being afraid she liked him. The hurt from seeing Eddie's nose in pain. The anger she felt towards Jason. Maybe one or all of those.

Whatever it was, it led her to march up to Jason and punch him straight on the nose. Jason collapsed on the floor, holding his nose as he looked up at her

"WHAT THE FUCK?" he screamed

Before she could say a word, she was being dragged out.

~~~

Y/N sat in the office with an ice pack on her knuckles. Rolling her eyes as she heard her mother's voice screaming on the other side of the phone call with the principal.

As she iced her knuckles, she felt a body sit next to her. A hand taking over her ice pack, holding it softly to her bruised hand.

She looked up and swallowed. Eddie sat there with a dried up bloody nose. He somehow still looked gorgeous.

"Can't say I ever thought I'd see the day when an Harrington won a fight." Eddie teased

Y/N felt herself laughing at the joke, Eddie's laugh following behind.

"I've always been the better Harrington." She teased back.

Finally finding herself able to talk to him. She looked him over, most of the feathers were off of him. His shirt looked drenched like he scrubbed it in the bathroom sink.

"I'd have to agree. Better looking too." Eddie winked. Enjoying the way she quickly looked away. Maybe Eddie was right, she did have a crush.

A comfortable silence rested in the space between them.

The girl he had a crush on likes him too. And she broke Jason's nose.

Eddie thinks he might have found his match.

Tags!

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