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honestsycrets · 2 years ago

Text

Stung | [Miguel O'Hara x Reader]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | after a discus malfunction, you're bitten by an anomaly and refuse medical attention. you're in a state that you refuse to show to miguel-- at all costs.

❛ tags | NSFW, sex pollen, mention of a wound, slight chase, miguel o'hara doesn't like to be ignored, cum eating, creampies, abnormal amount of fluid, venom bite, slapping, some insecurity, spanish is not translated, sexual memories.

❛ sy’s notes | my obligatory ABO-sex pollen fic for ATSV. i usually make a ABO/Sex Pollen piece per fandom I write in, so here's one for Miggy 🐝

“All done!”

You slipped out of HQ’s packed infirmary with a jaunty bounce in your step. Crispy, coppery blood was matted onto your forearm concealed behind a hastily tied bandage. You weren't concerned about it. It would resolve within the hour. Likely less. As would your elevated body temperature. Despite the doctor's prattle about the benefit of further testing, you found their concern to be a non-issue. These things were virtual non-issues, even if the doctor and your man thought otherwise.

The hallways at HQ were like any other day in your city. Congested with the coming and going of spiders in their daily lives. A glimpse at any group might reveal decadent flirting and haughty laughter. Some were in a rush to their own worlds, but most were completing work assigned by the Spider Society. The one you were looking for reclined against a wall with his arms interlocked one over the other. His displeased rumble prompted you to his presence above all other voices in the crowd.

“You should have let them run the tests.” His voice was teased with concern but became mild, little more than a drab sigh at your refusal. You blew off his concern with a shake of your hand, gone yellow and bubbly behind a bit of ineffectual gauze. His eye glazed over the wound. You couldn't tell what he was thinking behind his mask, but you didn't need to. You only needed to convince him you were right.

“It’s stopped bleeding, Miggy. It’s just a scratch,” You held up your arm, flicking it with emphasis. His eyebrows raised for a moment, then flattened, staring at you with a dull rictus. “It was just a brief malfunction of the discus.”

Technically it was more of an impalement, but if Miguel wasn’t going to ask, you weren’t going to invite him to delve deeper. Otherwise, you might spend the next few hours of your life fixing a wound that surely would have closed up by the time results were back. The injury site mildly itched. That was all. Never mind, the slight, honey-colored rash migrating from the puncture site to your elbow. Or the referred pain. Minor things.

“You’re being stubborn.”

“You’re the one to talk.” You snapped the discus free from your sash and chucked it toward Miguel. He caught it with an unsurprising amount of ease, claws clicking in unison against the ineffectual metal.

“¡Qué problema!” he mocked, his voice dry and absent of discernible emotion.

You closed the distance between your bodies to slide your arms around his broad neck. His other hand came to your lower back. It was warm, the way he touched you, from the bundles of affection that fluttered in your belly to the heat dappling across your chest. You missed this every day. It made fleeing the infirmary all the more worth it.

“I put the anomaly in another discus. One that actually works, no thanks to your programming.”

“That’s what happens when you take things without asking.” He flicked the discus between his thumb and index finger, waggling it for emphasis. It was true that there had been nights that went with banging, clacks, clatters, and the occasional outburst when things weren’t quite going his way. There were a few discuses on his desk. You just so happened to take the one that malfunctioned. “I was working on it. ¿Qué era?”

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Just some stingy bees. What harm could they do?”

His eyes roamed your wound. You couldn't help but look down too, both horrified and fascinated by the way the rash had moved in just a brief few minutes. The colour had begun to fade. You glanced up, flattening your mouth into a slight, forced smile.

“Fine. If you're sure.”

To be fair, you secured many anomalies with and without the help of others. They all went into their cozy, temporary forcefield homes until they could be fairly redirected to their appropriate dimensions. In the downtime, you could help or hinder Miguel's progress. Then, your watch would alert you to another disturbance and the cycle would continue.

Until that morning.

Your watch blared, and blared, and blared some more. The early morning sun began to rise and cast offensive beams of light into your room. Usually, it didn’t bother you. But this morning, everything offended you from the scratch of silky sheets on your naked body to Lyla illuminating what darkness was left, all golden and cute. You wondered if that was how Miguel felt when you forgot to pull the curtains, strung out on the bed after he finished with you.

“Woah! Oops!” she turned, covering her eyes with her spindly fingers. A growing ache throbbed between your legs. It wasn’t quite the same dull soreness from Miguel’s late-night visit last night, either. “Sorry, sorry. Miguel--”

“He can handle it,” you bit out, snappier than you intended. It wasn't like you. “Or-- Jess. No, Gwen. Gwen can do it, she loves--”

“He asked for you.”

Of course, he did. You scrunched a pillow over your head. Your Miguel couldn’t see you this. Absolutely not. You debated getting up, ignoring what you called a negligible ache that was quickly morphing into a terrible pounding. You can't believe how quickly the thought fell apart, pushing yourself to sit up in bed. The ghost of his scent floods your nose, flashing memories of the night before.

Something at work set him off. Something that commanded no intimacy, but the mechanical release of his rage that wouldn't destroy precious resources. He sat on the edge of the bed, driving your mouth onto his cock with the aid of your hair bundled around his fist. You recalled the shakiness of his thighs under your fingers, his firm legs spread wide fucking your mouth with cold abandon. He chased his own orgasm selfishly, needing the release, needing to see your body painted by whips of his cum sprayed across your exposed breasts. He pulled you off in silence, inspecting the drool and cum that spilled down your chin and throat in rivulets. "What--"

Your face tightened, glancing down at the growing tension in your belly. Everything began to annoy you, especially the scratch of the sheets against your skin, your bed empty of his presence. How could you tolerate that uniform plastered to your ass? You buried into the offensive bed. This was fine. This was normal, recalling what you'd done last night. Surely, the burn had to do with the whole being launched through not one, but two crumbling buildings the day before. The dust and rubble. Were you close to your cycle?

“Tell him I’m dead,” and without another word, you resolved the call. Within seconds she popped up again, bent at the waist because this was your life now. Never could you just… take a day off. There was always something. You muffled your screams of protest into the mattress and dug your feet in, kicking off the sheets, the blankets, the pillows, all of it.

“Is this a fit? You’ve never had a fit before,” Lyla noticed. A fit? She thought the burning of your body was a fit? Damn AI. Resolve.

Resolve. Resolve. Resolve.

It became cathartic after a good while. Or it would have been if not for your senses hyper-fixating on every minor change in your body. Despite your apprehension, you knew. What was once a dull pain radiating from your forearm morphed into something much worse. Something you couldn’t blame on the rather average experience of being pelted through the average event of windows and concrete. It was more than a tingle. It burned as it coursed through your body.

You stumbled over the bundle of bedding into the bathroom. It was there that you realized that to your horror, you weren’t just lubricated, now you were soaked. Your fluids coursed down your thighs as you dabbed the region clean with a bundle of tissues. It did little good. Touching the area exasperated the issue. Maybe you needed an orgasm, maybe ten. An hour or so later, you slammed the heel of your palm into the mirror, fracturing it into shards of terrible glass that crumbled onto the countertop. Beads of blood dabbled onto your reflection.

“If you d--” resolve.

So not a reaction to your average bee sting. Correction. A great, big, fat colony of hissing, buzzing bees. The act of recalling information was like jamming your hand into fluid water to snatch a tiny hair tie. No matter how many times you tried to recall the information, you couldn’t quite grasp it. It was there, floating around your head, but inaccessible. Your mind traveled back to Miguel. How gentle his lips could be, trailing soft kisses along your neck and shoulder when you rode him in reverse. How deep he'd go.

"Fuck off!" Your watch blared again. Its beeping filled your bathroom, echoing over and over. You reached behind the door to pluck a silky white slip from its hook and dragged it over your head. You were about to resolve the call again when the hot timbre in his warm voice saying your name gave you pause. Your Miguel, popping up in a golden haze. You found yourself gazing at his full lips, full and plump. If only he was here. He could have his lips on your--

“What are you doing?”

Lost in thought, you failed to realize that Miguel had been calling you by name again. You shook your hazy mind free of the thoughts that formed a swirling cloud over your head. You slumped down the wall and onto the floor.

Help was what you failed to say. As your mouth opened, nothing came out. The words were not wording. The vulnerability of asking for help was palpable. You soothed yourself by shifting your hands underneath your skirt. What would he think if he saw you here-- ripped asunder by your own biology? Whore. Miguel lowered his gaze, his eyes squinting at the sweat dabbling down your neckline as he looked you over. He wouldn't want you anymore.

“Are you listening? ¡Coño! What is wrong with you!?”

Resolve.

You resolved him. Your Miggy-- resolved. Oh, you swallowed dryly. He wasn’t going to be happy about that. It wasn’t a matter of if Miguel would come for you. It was a matter of when. When he had time to separate himself from trashing-- whatever was the closest object to him in the lab-- to take out his rage on you. You reached for your medicine cabinet. You had more important things to worry about. First on the list? The searing heat.

Your watch was better off tucked away in a chest in the closet.

Night came with no solutions. You crouched on your window sill, chest rising and falling. You sought to stare at anything but the mindless buzz of the tv screen inside. Even with light pollution, some stars winked in the distance. Your body was a bundle of warm heat, buzzing with irritation after a fruitless day of soothing your body. You grew accustomed to your pert nipples against your silky slip, the lubricant coursing down your leg. At first, denial. Now, acceptance. You thought tomorrow might be better.

You felt his presence before you heard, smelled, or saw him. Through the sea of scorched sensations battering your senses, there was one that stood apart. A tickle that niggled at the back of your head. It could have been anyone, but you didn’t have to guess to know who it was. “Lyla."

“You haven’t called him all day,” Lyla squeaked.

“Called all-- I answered his call!” Your dress was matted to your body, cloaked in an abhorrent amount of sweat. It was only minutes ago that you retrieved your watch confident that you could bullshit something, anything, for a few days of reprieve. You jammed your shaking finger to resolve the call.

“Not all of them. Miguel was worried.”

“Worried! Lyla, that is not worried,” you spat. That was your Miguel, scaling the side of your apartment. His talons cracking the siding of your apartment. The reverberations spiraled up your legs, sending waves of anticipation lapping at your core. After your long day, you weren't sure how you were still somehow upright. With every crack of his talon into the brick siding, you were running out of time to come up with an excuse.

In a bid to escape, you fell into your room. The hard floor knocked the breath out of your dry lips. You stumbled onto your feet and supported yourself with a bookcase of less than half-read books. “Lyla, he can’t see me like this!”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” she popped back up. “C’mon, you can tell me, it can’t be that bad.”

If her tone was playful in some half-baked attempt to neutralize your fight, the threat was imminent. Your hand connected with the top of the window, applying pressure to close the window. A hair too late. At the same time, Miguel’s clawed hand curled around the bottom of the window sash. You were too slow for the man who excelled with power, speed, and efficiency. You weren't going to win this fight. Not with your body threatening to crack at the very sight of your man's strength.

Though you saw him nearly daily, he always took your breath away. His sinewy body was always a sight, his suit accentuated his thick and fine cut. You moistened your lips, longing to run your fingers through his thick dark brown hair as you did every night. You caught his sharp gaze a second longer than you should have.

“Open up,” he whispered coolly.

He was a distraction. The wind was not on your side either, blowing wisps of his scent into your overwrought senses. His natural musk mixed with the sweat of a hard day's work. Somewhere in there, bitter blood. You could smell the caramelized scent of the flaky, buttery empanadas and hot coffee you shared the day before. It gave you pause, his intoxicating smell and the sultry trill of his voice. But you couldn’t let him see you, not like this.

“Oop, there he is. Just checking on you,” Lyla chittered. Resolve.

“Miggy, please go away,” you sobbed in frustration, shifting to shoulder the window. “Why are you so stubborn!?”

“It’s who I am.”

The window cracked all at once. With mere milliseconds to respond to the sash careening into the upper rail, you whirled past the bedroom door. Miguel broke into a run behind you with long strokes of his legs. He made contact, sending you barreling into your lazy sapphire couch from the impact. You saw stars for a fraction of a second before you lurched on your palms and elbows, scrambling off of the couch and across the floor. His hand caught your ankle and dragged you underneath his body.

“¡Ay!” you bit out. “No, no no no. Miggy!”

“¡Callate!”

His hand wrapped tightly around your throat to force complacency, pinning you back to the hardwood floor. Your palms slammed onto his chest, drawing lines down his chest. Bits of pathetic electricity fizzled on his broad, muscular chest, a consequence of your fading focus. That focus was eviscerated when Miguel threw his hips flat against your core. Your frantic fidgeting against Miguel soothed some of the terrible, buzzing pressure rattling between your legs like warm honey on a sore wound. The ache for his relief became more important than the impulse for substantial breaths.

“Don’t move. Why are you--”

“I can’t help it,” you cut him off, straining against his large palm to stare at his crotch. His gaze fell on yours, following the path to his soft cock. His eyes widened with the sudden attention. Tears threatened to spill over from your eyes, pricked with spikes of pain. "It's too much!"

You ate your shame with his body crouched between your legs and his large palm choking the air out of your throat. The influx of air not only brought your scent, but your day-long desperation to fix what you believed was wrong. He could smell it now. He could see it now. He could hear it in your voice. He knew why you failed to answer his calls. The violent jabbing of the resolve button. Throwing your watch into your cramped closet to ignore the calls. The pheromones that soaked your apartment. It was unavoidable.

“You can’t help it,” he repeated. Miguel considered you with razor-sharp eyes, nearly as sharp as the talons that rescinded into his arms.

"I'll see about that." His hand left your neck to reveal bundles of bumpy shivers that soared across your skin. He raised his finger to wipe away the wet tears that fell from your flushed cheeks. Then dropping lower, Miguel chased the thin straps of your gown with his claw and slid the offending fabric off of your breast. The nub was as hard as it had been hours ago when you twerked the nipple between your fingertips and dreamed of Miguel.

“You’re...” he cupped your breast in your palm and massaged your nipple with one sharp twist of his thumb. The gasp that left your lips wasn’t one you were proud of. Your undulating hips that ground down on his cock weren’t entirely unwarranted. You needed it. "Hot. As if you're in heat."

This couldn’t be happening. From a ball of rage to one of arousal, he released a tiny amused chuckle. You spent much of the day in different parts of the apartment with your hand, toy, ice, and water into your body to soothe this terrible ache. So Miguel wouldn't see you like this. It was this moment you sought to avoid after your long day: The moment of Miguel's disapproval. Now he laughed at you.

“Happy?” you sobbed into the forearm that kept Miguel stable. “Go away, someone else could use your stupid help.”

“Don’t you need me?” Miguel dipped his head down. Strands of his dark hair tickled your hypersensitive skin. With the lightweight fabric of his suit, pressing your cunt back against his clothed bulge felt wonderful. You bit your lower lip and watched his cock jut against its fabric. You lifted your puffy eyes to his gaze and found a wicked gleam there. He knew it wasn’t enough contact for the pressure and painful spasms to abate. Deep down, you knew that Miguel was your only hope for relief. Who else could, or would, you call in this condition? Mostly because Miguel always fixed everything.

"Miggy," you murmured. After this pitiful display, he wasn't rejecting you? Your mind flowed weightless and light. The terror of your day faded under his careful caress. In its place, comfort that he would take care of you.

“Don’t you?” His hand snaked between your folds and found it soaked wet, the low throbbing of your pussy palpable. He retracted his fingers and spread the sticky fluid between his thumb and middle finger. At some point, silence became better than an answer. Miguel brought his hand down on your cunt for a sharp slap. Bundles of nerves cried out under the abuse. It shook free a squeal from your lips, bitten raw by the pressure of the day. Your head bobbed into a mechanical nod as to save yourself from another slap.

“You know how to ask. It’s si Miguel, por favor Miguel.”

You needed the warm sensation of his cum. But making those words proved too difficult. Your canines pierced bloody holes in your lower lip. You clawed up his forearms, trying to leverage and force him closer. Miguel grabbed your shoulders and thrashed them back down onto the floor. You felt bad for the downstairs neighbors.

“Say it.”

“Miggy,” you looked into his eyes. They were blown wide, nearly fully black with a thin outline of scarlet, chasing the outline of your exposed breast. For all his talk, you realized he wasn't immune. Even with his face tight, his eyes focused on the same thing you needed. Maybe, all this time, you were baiting Miguel with half-assed answers. They were invitations. Invitations to come to fill this need you had. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t what you wanted this whole time. Finally, you had him where you wanted him.

Miguel broke eye contact first. He cupped his plush lips around your nipple, suckling the breast taut and wet. You cried out in surprise and arched into Miguel’s mouth, enticed by the fangs that grazed your nipple. As quickly as he came, he was gone.

You lurched up, palming Miguel's dick through his pants. His hips bucked into your palm. He refused to make any sound as he considered your next movements, releasing Miguel’s cock from his suit. Impatience and need coalesced into your brave movements, sliding your palm against him. He was impossibly thick and hard, dribbling at the tip. Miguel huffed a small noise as your palm ran over him. You dared to call it a moan.

Miguel sneered and shoved you back onto the floorboards. “I’ll only tell you one more time. Ask me properly.”

"You do too, don't you?" You giggled. A noise that grated his ear. With the belief you wouldn’t bolt, Miguel shifted back onto his knees. You wouldn’t. There was nowhere left to run. Not that you even wanted to, fat and hungry off Miguel's growing desperation.

"Come here." He snaked his hands underneath your knees, dragged you close, and pushed them to your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut. Moments later, the sensation of his thick dick sliding against your engorged folds forced them back open. It gave you just enough relief through the pulsing pain to look at him with your hazy eyes. From this angle, you appreciated how large Miguel had gotten. His round cock-head bobbed and crested over your mound as it rubbed against your aching clit. His face was trained, focused. He wasn't going to relent first.

The nagging pressure never abated. You sought something more, something better, the sensation of being filled. With every glide, you squeezed your walls in protest to his absence. Your hips protested the restriction of your movement, shimmying against the firm hold he had that kept you in place. You wanted more than that. You wanted true relief from his teasing. Miguel drew back to inspect the fluid over his fat shaft as held you down. You gave in, whining at him like a brat.

“Por,” you scratched his forearms. “Por favor, Miggy. You don’t know what it's like.”

“All fours-- face down.”

The cacophony of desire battered and overcame any other human emotion you could have. You complied, crawling onto your fuzzy indigo rug for what came next. Miguel’s gloved hand skimmed across your ass, middle finger skimming toward the center. He followed up his gentle touch by reeling back his hand and cracking it across your ass, searing the nerves alive. Once, twice, and then a third. Tears pricked your cheeks again, a consequence of your nerves being overwrought and now assailed.

“Miggy!”

He shushed you with fervor, another thwack beating the jiggling flesh hot and red. Your legs trembled under the weight of his slaps. “Ignore my calls again and you’ll get much worse.”

“I didn’t-- you wouldn't want me,” your lips parted in defense of what you’d done. Miguel dipped down to spread your folds, rolling his index finger along your pulsing walls. Your body drew him in, squeezing and urging him forward. Your swollen walls were impossibly tight, straining to bring him in more and more.

"You know I do."

The need for more devoured any other thought, any threats of what he’d do next time. You rolled your hips to ride his hand. In place of a slap, Miguel slid another finger slid in beside the first to stretch your walls open. He faltered at your next words and slid his fingers free.

“Not like… not like I need you.”

“Who decides that?” he pressed on your upper back to force it down. You complied. Miguel stumbled forward, finally pressing his thick head to your pulsing entrance. His round head pressed, just barely, into your wet hole. You clenched down, inviting him into your warmth. You weren’t sure he’d actually give it to you. It was so damn close.

“You do, Miggy,” you murmured, pushing back. He watched as his shaft slowly disappeared into your body, your apprehension of retaliation rendered you too slow to finish.

Miguel snatched your waist and forced you to take the rest, a soppy squelch lubricating his shaft. The sound that slipped from your lips was entirely uncouth, punctuated by his unforgiving thrusts. Your walls strained around his cock. No matter how many times you took him, the drag of his cock and slap of balls against your body always felt somehow like the first. It filled that ache-- the consistent burning need to have him here, inside of your greedy body, scratching something that you could not itch all day. It’s what you wanted.

“That’s right, I do.” Miguel rumbled, short, punctuated thrusts beating your clenching cunt into complacency. The pleasure ruptured through your cunt-- battering his dick in response. He let loose a sharp grunt followed by a string of curses. Your sweet release spilled over his dick and balls, dripping down your thighs. Your legs threatened to shook, but Miguel was unwilling to allow your trembling legs to give out.

"Ah! Miggy!" His fangs punctured your shoulder to force you to stay in position, his pelvis stuttering against yours. His growl punctuated the warm, soothing cum that soothed your walls like warm honey over a wound. Your walls milked him free of his cum, spasming in response to his orgasm. He pieced himself together against your back, pulling his fangs free and settling a soft kiss over the burning wound on your shoulder. As if he hadn't been the one to tear his fangs into the crook of your neck.

“You’re not letting go,” he hummed in annoyance. He turned his attention down to your ass, ghosting his fingers over the healing bruises over your backside. You squealed, jerking forward. He followed you forward, punching a hole in the floor by your side. “Fuck, don’t move!”

You cast your attention back toward Miguel. He huffed forcefully out of his nostrils. He motioned toward your ass as if it were obvious-- your walls were clamped over his cock, unwilling or otherwise unable to let him go, as if he had any more cum to give in that current moment. You took it all.

“I. I didn't-- I can’t--”

“Yeah, I know. That Bee venom does that. Mine should neutralize it.”

At some point, you murmured. It sure as hell wasn’t doing it now, keeping him seated into your cunt that bubbled with the mixture of his and your release. “You knew about it? I could have died!”

Miguel chuckled.

“You wouldn’t. You’re too stubborn to die,” he sighed, fiddling with his watch. The tests-- that you never had ran. Ones that he suggested. Ones that you refused quite openly. “Why would I deny myself the fun?”

His cock slipped free. Your hips dropped and fell slack against the floor. You weren’t proud of the cum that oozed out of your ass over your decimated room, nor the fact that your useless neighbors hadn’t called for help once. Not that you needed it-- but still. You palpated your stomach, slightly distended. Miguel bent down and gathered the mixture of your bodily fluids on his fingers, suckling his own fingers dry. You watched his wet tongue swirl around his fingertips. It wasn't fair.

“Fun? What fun!? Do you know how long I-- You’re a mean man, Miguel O’Hara.”

He lurched over, his breath tickling your lips. He kissed you, salty and sweet. Your nose scrunched up, pouting against his lips. He left the room for the kitchen, fetching a wet cloth to clean his body with. He zipped himself back into his suit shortly after and dropped the sodden cloth by the cum puddling under your ass.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

#miguel ohara oneshot #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #Miguel ohara/reader #atsv imagine #atsv x you #atsv x reader #atsv imagines #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x y/n #across the spiderverse imagine #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut

7K notes · View notes

femd-archive · 6 months ago

Note

hiiii!! omg i love ur work sm it just scratches an itch i’ve had forever, i’ve always loved the dom reader + sub male character relationship and ur work is perfect! if it’s okay could i be 🌺 anon if you use the emoji system for that?

i have a request if ur taking them atm, i saw ur sub kenji oneshots and i was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a subby kenji x reader w a lot of miscommunication or general angst bc that’s my absolute fave!! w all the smut you want ofc!

and if you don’t want to take the request that’s totally cool! i really just wanted to tell you ur writing is amazing and ily!

— 🌺

hello! thanks for ur request :] and of course u can be 🌺 anon! i also love angst, more so the hurt/comfort trope, but i'm really bad at writting it (╥‸╥) so this was my attempt to write a hurt/comfort fic for the first time. hope u like it! i'll practice to make it better next time (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

p.s.: i didn't add much smut, mostly because my brain is fried :p

NOT ALONE

pairing: ultraman: rising — ken sato x fem!reader

word counting: 2.7k

content warning: arguing | kenji is so stressed :( | riding | unprotected sex | masturbation (female)

side note: english is not my first lenguage, so i apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes

You notice, of course you notice.

You love and care for Kenji too much to not notice the dark circles under his eyes because of the lack of sleep; the way he's been more sensitive, even over the most little things; how he overworks himself in his baseball practices and won't stop unless Mina turns the stadium hologram off.

You knew how his relationship with his father was, but you have seen the way he declines his calls without a second thought now, knowing the guilt trip he had to overcome before he even hit the decline button on his watch before.

You notice, and of course you're worried about it. You didn't have to be his girlfriend to be worried. Hell, you would even be worried by just seeing him walk like a zombie in the streets as a stranger! And all that worry is what brings you in front of his mansion door at midnight.

He hasn't been answering your messages nor calls. You get it, he's a busy baseball player, but he always made at least a few minutes to reply to your messages, mostly saying sorry for not picking up your calls and that he'll call you back after he's done with an interview, telling you that he loves you.

After ringing his doorbell, you only had to wait for a few minutes before you could hear the hurried footsteps coming to the door. Opening it, there he was. With his adorable bed head, he looked up at you, tired eyes wide with surprise.

"Baby" his voice cracked, making him clear his throat before he talks again. "Hey baby, uhm...I didn't know that you were coming!" he laughs nervously.

"Well...I did text you" you shake your phone, and Kenji gulps.

"I..." he sighs, "I'm sorry baby. I just been...so busy later" he groans, rubbing a hand over his face with fatigue.

"I understand, Kenji. May I come in? I just wanna talk with you. It's been a while"

Kenji looks at you through his sleepy eyes, and even in that state, you were able to see the way his eyes softened at the sight of you. It really has been a while. He reaches a hand to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"Of course" he mumbles, low but loud enough for you to hear him. He moves his hand from your face to your hand, taking it and pulling you softly inside, closing the door behind him.

You guys walk over the kitchen. Kenji lets go of your hand to walk over the fridge. "Do you want anything?" he asks, referring to the fridge's content.

[Name] sucks in a breath, gathering courage to speak. "Yeah, I'd like for us to talk" she finally said, noticing how Kenji's shoulder tense as he close the door's fridge, staying there with a can of soda in his head, not facing her. "For you to talk to me, Kenji. I believe you when you say you're busy with baseball, I really do! But I thrust my gut to know that there's something else going on"

She walks closer to him, staring at his broad back. How she wishes she could just hug him from behind and erase all his problems. But the world is more complicated than that, and she knows it.

"You can't always rely on your gut to make conclusions" opening the can soda, Kenji spit those words with a gruff tone, making [Name] surprised over his mood change.

Of course she wasn't off limits of seeing him mad only because she was his girlfriend, but she didn't expect for him to talk to her like that over a simple request.

"Then talk to me, Kenji. I don't wanna be like this either" she starts talking, following Kenji as he walks away while drinking from the can. "You don't have to tell me everything, but at least admit that you're having a hard time so I can at least hold you"

Kenji lets out a chuckle, incredulous. "Hard time? Baby, I'm Ken Sato! I don't have hard times, I only have good times" he spread his arms beside him, trying to appear as flawless as ever, obtaining a deadpan face from you.

"Kenji, you look like shit" you simply say. "You can barely walk with your eyes open. I don't know about anyone else, but I can see the lack of sleep in your eyes, I can see how your shoulder has been bothering you more each day that passes. I know that you always work hard to be on a good shape for the games, but you go to an extent that is not healthy"

"What? Did you became a physician now?" he asks after finishing rubbing his eyes, a mocking tone on his words.

"What? No" you needed to take a breath to not break. "I'm just concerned about your well being"

"I am okay" he affirms, eyebrows furrowed. "You're the that's being like 'Ohh Kenji ~ you're so tired. You should rest up'" with a high pitched tone, he mimicks you in a mocking way while pouting exaggeratedly.

You feel your heart beating fast on your chest, your cheeks hot with embarrassement. Why was he behaving like that? You just want to help. Were you being too overboard? You give him his space, you have gave it to him for weeks. And that you finally thought it was a good time to adress his lack of selfcare and how sad he looks, he talks to you like this...

"I know that you're having a hard time, Kenji. Everyone that cares about you can notice that. I just...I just want to help in what I can" you say with a weak tone now. You had shrunk in your spot, suddenly feeling sorry for even going to his house in the first place.

"Well guess what? You can't help me"

In a desperate attempt to push you away —because if you kept looking at him with those pretty eyes, he'll spill everything— he's mean to you. Not the smartest choice to treat your lover, but that's the only response that he could muster at the moment.

He was flustered at the confrontation. Of course you will notice about his poor state. You love him and care too much for him to not notice that he's going insane little by little, but he doesn't want to share that burden with you. In his mind, he just can't.

You look up at him, big sad eyes that just make him want to hug you until you both forget this stupid moment.

Holding back your tears, the only thing you could do was sigh. Your heart feels heavy on your chest, wunded by his words and harsh tone. You're not the savior of the word, you're not Ultraman either, you just wanted to help your boyfriend...

"Yeah, I already knew that" you mumble. Taking a deep breath, you look up at him with a weak smile. "Alright, you might not want to talk right now, but if you need anything...I'm always gonna be there" you remind him, giving him one last look before starting to walk off to the front door.

Kenji looks at you go. You seemed little with the way your shoulders shrunk and you walked slowly, like an injured animal. His heart also feels heavy on his chest, a pang of guilt striking over all his body as his eyes are already watering with tears.

He hated that his stupid pride wouldn't let him as for help, for it to hurt you when the only thing you wanted to do was help him in whatever way you could.

He knew you weren't weak, he knew that you could be able to handle all the secrets that he's harboring on his chest, but he doesn't want to share the burden, he doesn't want anything bad to happen to you only because you know he's Ultraman.

What would he do if he lost you? He's sure that he was gonna lose his mind. Just the same way he'll lose his mind if he let you walk away through that door.

"Mina, lock the door" he commanded, and in a split of a second, the computer did so.

You didn't even try to open it after you've heard his command. Confused, you look back at Kenji, who's already walking towards you like a kicked puppy.

"Forgot to say something?" you ask, bitterness on your tone that made Kenji cringe.

He sighs, a guilty expression on his face. "Yes...I'm sorry baby" he begins. "I...I promise that I want to tell you, I want to tell you everything! But— it's...it's too dangerous"

And finally, after months of bottling all this emotions, Kenji finally breaks into loud sobs, fat tears running down his cheeks. Startled, [Name] didn't have any other reflections than hug him, even though she was still mad at his earlier attitude.

"Hey, hey" she whispered, running a hand up and down his back. "It's okay, it's okay"

Kenji wraps his arms around her shoulders, hiding his face on her neck. "I don't—" he chokes, "I don't want anything to happen to you" he cries, almost incomprehensible.

"Nothing is gonna happen to me, baby" she reassures, feeling his tears run down her neck and wetting her shirt, but she doesn't care about it. Kenji finally is being open with her, and that's all that matter.

Kenji sniffs a few times before talking with a weak voice. "Promise?" he asks.

She squeezes him a little bit more in her arms. "I promise"

Still sniffing, Kenji slowly pulls away from the hug, looking at his girlfriend with his big eyes full of tears, a cute pout in his lips. [Name] reaches her hands to run her thumbs under his eyes, drying his tears away. He nuzzles into her, a shaky breath exhaling out of him as he calms down.

"There you go" she whispers softly, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs now. "Come on, let's sit on the couch. I'll get you some water"

After a lot of reassurance that nothing was gonna happen and lots of cuddles, Kenji had finally told her everything. That his dad was Ultraman; that he took his legacy and he now serves as the new Ultraman to the city of Tokyo, and how he knows he's not doing a good job; that he has a 6 feet tall baby Kaiju that think he's her mother trapped in a container, and he clearly don't know how to take care of her; how much he misses his mother everyday...

[Name] listened to him attentively, her heart swelling at how much pain Kenji had to endure on his own and feeling guilty about not noticing sooner. Why she couldn't have been there for him? Right now, everything seemed so obvious, all of it happen in front of her, and she couldn't do nothing.

Her caresses on the back of his hand never stopped for even one second, even caressing his back when he needed to make a pause to cry.

Now they were cuddled up in the couch under a blanket. After spilling everthing out, Kenji just let himself fall into her arms and bask into her warmth.

"Thank you for telling me, Kenji. I really didn't wanna pressure you into talking, but you looked so sick...I was just so worried" she blinked back the tears, she needed to be strong for him now. "And yeah, it's a lot to take in. Like damn...I'm dating Ultraman" her comment makes Kenji giggle, his body trembling with laughter in her arms, "but it's nothing that we can't overcome, together" she remarks the last word. "And it's not something that it's gonna make me love you any less"

Kenji pulls away from her arms to make eye contact, his puffy eyes still able to show how soft they become when he looks at her. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out for you to talk. I just— I don't know how to ask for help" he admits, feeling a weight that he didn't know he had on his chest being gone.

"Well, admiting that is a big first step, so I'm really proud of you for that" she kisses his forehead, making him smile. "And we can work on that. We can search for professional service, that wpuld help out a lot. And, I'm always gonna be there for you" she reminds him, running her fingers through his hair.

She cups his cheeks, making him look at her in the eyes. "You're not a burden, Kenji. Your problems are valid and I'm always gonna be up to hearing them and help you in what I can and I can't do. We're in this together, alright? You're not alone anymore"

[Name] saw the way that Kenji's eyes swell with this again, a small pout on his lips as he gulps softly. He nods, slowly, letting her words sink in. He was not alone...he had her. It was not something that it would easily stick in his mind, but he'll try to remind himelf everyday. He was not alone anymore.

She leaned in, going for a kiss, and Kanji meet her midway, kissing her with yearn after all those weeks that they couldn't be together, that they couldn't touch each other. He could've barely see her with his busy schedule, and that also added to all his stress, all this mess. All he needed was to be in her arms.

Kenji takes one of [Name]'s hands that cupped his cheek and slide it down his shirt at the same time he traced her bottom lip with his tongue.

[Name] pulls away from the kiss, almost smiling when she hears Kenji whine and chase after her lips, desperate. "Hey, you really wanna do this? You're still tired, Kenji" she reproached.

"Please baby" he whines, looking at her eyes and then her lips, intensely. "I need you"

Kenji straddles his girlfriend's lap completely, letting her feel his hard cock against her stomach. [Name] gasps softly, looking up at Kenji's cute needy face as he starts rocking his hips softly.

She bits down her bottom lip before pulling him into another kiss where he moans.

They didn't even realize when did Mina lowered the lights. How could they? When they were so engrossed in each other's touch. The room was filled with the couple's moans and their skin hitting against each other.

Kenji was laying down on the couch, [Name] on top of him, as they hugged each other thightly while she moved her hips up and down, Kenji's dick hitting the right spot with every thrust.

Kenji's grip on [Name]'s waist just get tighter as he hide his moans in her neck. "Baby...baby" he calls for her, feeling his orgasm coming.

"I know baby, I know" she kisses his shoulder. "Go ahead, you can cum" she reassures, speeding the pace of her thrusts.

Kenji meets his girlfriend's hips midway, bucking his own as he hits the last thrusts before sliding out of her, ropes of cum shooting out of his tip, dirtying [Name]'s back, his thighs and the expensive couch under them. But who cared? He could buy another one.

[Name] brings her hand to her clit, making circle motions on it with her fingers as she grins on Kenji's abs. He manages to look up at her with cloudy eyes, brain still fuzzy with the euphoria of his recent climax. Still, his hands come up to caress her thighs, encouraging her to keep using him to get off.

"S' pretty" he slurs, running his thumbs on her skin.

"Fuck...Kenji" with his name on her lips, she ends up cumming with a few more motions of her fingers before collapsing on top of her boyfriend's chest.

They stayed there, in each other's embrace as they calmed down. Kenji's finger run softly down [Name]'s arm, his free arm wrapped around her waist.

"I'm sorry I didn't help you get off" he whispers suddenly, making [Name] chuckle.

"It's okay. To be fair, you're about to pass out now" she props her chin on his chest, looking at him with dreamy eyes. Kenji chuckles as well, not denying it. "Come on, let's take a bath and then you can finally have some good night sleep" patting his chest softly, she starts getting up and helps him as well.

"Are you gonna introduce me to the baby Kaiju tomorrow?" she asks as they walk together to the bathroom.

"Oh yeah, and she's gonna love ~ you. Just like I do ~" he litters her cheek with kisses, making her giggle.

"Come on, Romeo. Let's take a bath"

[taglist] @vinegarjello

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sunmoonjune · 1 year ago

Text

spring tides [like the moon universe]

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

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

word count: 14.1k

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

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

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

“Hwa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Are you okay?’ you silently question.

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

“Yeah, m’alright, lovebug.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?”

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

“When’s her birthday?”

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

“Tiny’s?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hongjoong looks away.

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

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

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

Seonghwa hates that he asks.

Yunho shifts on his feet and looks away again.

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

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

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

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

“A good thing?” Hongjoong whispers.

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, Yun.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Actually, Captain…”

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

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

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

“Anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now…

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

There’s just… all sorts of things.

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Bug. Are you ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You trust him.

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

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

Sand.

It’s sand.

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

You listened to him for hours that day.

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

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

It sounded wonderful.

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

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

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

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

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

‘What’s happening?’

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

Ocean. The sea.

You don’t have a word for it.

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

The sea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

Oh.

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

“San…”

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

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

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

As if he wasn’t the one distracting you.

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

It’s… soft.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never been more excited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sea.

And you stop moving.

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

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

You’ve never seen so much… color before.

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

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

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

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

You like it. You like the sea.

And they like you.

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

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

But it’s tough competition, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t need to though.

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

“Happy birthday, Bug.”

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

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

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

Her heart finally throbs with a dull ache.

Your birthday?

You didn’t even think…

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

Your birthday.

They came all this way for you?

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

Your heart hurts.

No one has ever done that for you before.

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

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

Hongjoong knows. They all do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The burn of tears returns tenfold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love it…”

And we love you.

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

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

You love it.

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

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

Yunho must have taught him that one.

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

Your grip tightens fervently, pulling until you can press Hongjoong’s hand into your chest and let him feel the racing pulse of your heart. It slams into your ribs with a thunderous pace, beating in a pattern you hope he can discern. You pull your head from Wooyoung’s neck just slightly. Just enough to lean down and press your lips to Hongjoong’s fingers.

You hope he knows what it means.

He does.

“Happy birthday, tiny,” Yunho murmurs into the shared space between the nine of you. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

You weep.

Ateez spends three nights and four days at the beach.

On the first, you don’t have the courage to venture too far into the shore. The roaring of waves crashing onto the sand is intimidating when you don’t know how to swim. You settle for watching the others splash and wrestle in the shallow sea. Their shouts of glee are enough joy to warm your heart.

You watch Mingi grapple with Hongjoong on the shoreline, huffing softly with a grin when Mingi inevitably gets the upper hand. The guard lifts Hongjoong over his shoulder and laughs deeply as he storms his way towards the sea.

“Put me down!” Hongjoong roars, smacking his hand against Mingi’s back. “Mingi!”

The guard only laughs and spins the two of them in the shallows as he wades deeper into the waves.

“Don’t you dare!”

You watch as Mingi laughs brightly once more, calling out a “too late!” as he unceremoniously dumps his captain into the sea.

Hongjoong dunks beneath the water with a roar, and for a moment you worry he won’t emerge again. He does, however, and lurches from the waves with an undignified shout and lunges towards Mingi as he laughs.

“Get back here!”

You grin and watch the two continue to wrestle in the waves.

Jongho takes you onto the nearby rocks and shows you the wonders of tide pools. He and Yeosang spent years living by the sea, and he murmurs hundreds of little facts about each of the animals he can find. Crouching down by a shallow pool, Jongho reaches into the cool water and ever so carefully lifts a sea star from the water. He cradles it delicately, leaving it half submerged as he pulls you closer with his other hand.

“This is a sea star,” he whispers, looking up at you and gesturing for you to crouch beside him. “You want to feel? You won’t hurt it.”

When you crouch at his side, Jongho pulls your hand towards him with a smile. Bent at the knees, you lean into his side and watch with a bated breath and marvel at the texture of the sea star still carefully held in Jongho’s hands. It’s soft and squishy beneath your delicate touch and you huff a smile as you watch with a mystified expression.

You watch some of the tiny feet of the sea star wiggle in Jongho’s hand and whip your head over to face him with a question on your lips.

Jongho is already looking at you, watching you instead of the sea star in his hands. He’s smiling, softly and sweetly, his eyes fixed on your one eye. They drift from your left one to where your right would be if not hidden behind the mask, then he drops them to your lips. Your breath stutters and you swallow shyly before Jongho lifts his eyes back to your own.

He smiles, as if nothing happened and continues, “See the poky creatures down here? The ones that look like they have needles? Those are urchins. The sea stars will eat those.”

It takes more effort than you’d like to admit to pull your gaze away from Jongho’s face.

At another tidal pool, Jongho points out a creature he calls an anemone. The vibrant teal and green color of its shape mystifies you and you lean closer to investigate it. Listening carefully to Jongho’s explanation of the anemone, you look back up at him with a question in your eyes.

“Yeah, you can touch that one too. Be careful though.”

You don’t understand his warning but carefully drop your hand into the pool to delicately caress the anemone anyway. The chill waters surround your skin and you lean closer to touch the creature, you let out a startled squeal when its sticky tentacles wrap themselves around your finger. Surprised, you lurch away from the pool, confusion in your face and hands braced on the rock beside you.

Jongho laughs so hard you think he might choke.

You turn to look at him with furrowed brows and an upset pout on your lips, a little disgruntled Jongho didn’t tell you that would happen.

The youngest continues to laugh at the utter confusion in your expression, finally bracing himself against you and apologizing.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Bug. I couldn’t help myself!”

You frown and push gently at his chest, posing a little miffed at Jongho’s teasing. The youngest snorts and pulls you closer to his chest, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“I won’t do it again, I promise,” he laughs. “We should wash your hands though, the stingers on those anemones can leave toxins on your skin. I don’t want you to touch your face without cleaning your hands first.”

You huff and nod, letting him lead you away from the rocks and towards the others. When you find San, you race away from Jongho and bury yourself into his chest with a pretend pout. The healer wraps you up in his embrace without question, turning to look at Jongho with a raised brow. Jongho rolls his eyes and laughs.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung take you to collect shells in the afternoon.

Your footprints linger in the sand behind you as you hold the archer’s hand and walk along the shoreline. The sand is packed beneath your feet closer to the shore and you find that there are all sorts of different shells just above the water line.

You recognize some of the larger, smoother shells Yeosang and San use to store medicine sometimes. They’re scallop-shaped and hollow in the middle, and the healers like to use them for creams or other ointments. Seonghwa helps you carry some back to the healers who gratefully pile your collection into one of their packs. They can always use more shells in the medical cavern.

Further down the beach, you find a plethora of smaller shells and drop down into the sand to rummage through them. There’s hundreds of them, some twisting into points and others round at the edges. Some are still split into pieces and others are still whole. Some are closed like a locket. Seonghwa tells you to leave those ones alone – there’s still creatures living in those ones. You gasp and carefully set the shell back down into the sand ever so delicately. The archer smiles fondly at your care for the earth and her creatures.

One of the bigger shells that washes up on the shore catches your attention, and you rush over to the pristine, cream colored object. Yeosang called these conches. When you excitedly turn over the shell, you’re startled to find a spiny looking creature inside. A large claw grazes your hand and your heart lurches.

You shout in surprise, jerking away from the shell with a gasp.

“Bug?!”

Seonghwa is at your side in an instant, hands on your back and pulling you away from the shell. “What happened?”

He doesn’t know why you shouted at first, too worried something has hurt you. His hands slide across your shoulders, turning you to face him and urgently scanning you for injuries. But when he looks down at the crab claw emerging from the shell, Seonghwa feels his chest shake with quiet laughter. Your head jerks back to look at the archer.

“It’s alright, darling. You just startled the crab living inside this one. He won’t hurt you, honey.”

Each shell you turn over for the rest of the day is done carefully and gently, and Seonghea feels his heart tug affectionately at how cute you look doing so. You nudge one with a stick to see if any claws come out and Seonghwa has to bury his smile in Wooyoung’s shoulder.

“She’s so precious,” the warrior murmurs under his breath.

Seonghwa hums in agreement, his head lifting from his partner’s shoulder to find you waving them over excitedly.

“We’re coming, sweetheart!”

Wooyoung settles at your side with a grin and looks down at the smooth stones in your hands. There’s a few rocks mixed in with the more ornate looking shells you’ve gathered, and Wooyoung tilts his head in an attempt to decipher why you’ve called them over.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Seonghwa’s heart stutters at the beaming smile on your lips. You smile more and this is not the first he’s ever seen, but each time you look up at him with that grin on your face, Seonghwa feels his stomach flutter and pride swell from his gut. He almost bites down on his bottom lip to resist sending you back a grin of his own, but Seonghwa doesn’t. And he’s grateful he does, because the way your one eye crinkles with joy when he smiles down at you makes his cheeks burn and his skin tingle.

“Look!” You urgently whisper, swallowing around the word to repress how sore your throat is.

Directing his attention to the dark stones in your hands, Seonghwa’s brows furrow in confusion.

“I don’t understand.”

You lift the stone beside his face, pulling Wooyoung into your side as you do. The two of you face Seonghwa as the archer grows more confused. The dark brown, near ebony-colored stone is lifted just beside his temple and you watch with a marveled expression as you shift your gaze from the rock to his eyes.

“What is it?” Seonghwa urges.

Wooyoung grins, his teeth flashing as he laughs sweetly. His two-toned hair ruffles in the breeze and Wooyoung turns to face you, squeezing your hip as he slides an arm around you.

“That’s a good find, Bug,” he murmurs, looking back up at Seonghwa with honey in his gaze. “The same shade as his eyes. It matches him perfectly.”

You nearly vibrate with happiness, wiggling a little in Wooyoung’s arms as Seonghwa’s eyes crinkle. “Really?”

You nod fervently, reaching for his hand and dropping the smooth stone into his hand and curling his fingers around it. Seonghwa holds the rock carefully, not looking away from your one eye as he lifts it to press into his heart.

“Thank you, darling.”

You smile again, just a little twitch of your lips and nod. Then you turn to Wooyoung and weasel your way out of his grip to hold another up for him. This stone is a similar shade as Seonghwa’s, but just different enough that Seonghwa can see where you’ve matched this one to the exact hue of Wooyoung’s umber irises.

You hold it out to Wooyoung with a tilt of your head and Wooyoung has to resist the urge to lean forward and squish your cheeks. He’s rarely seen you so excited – so… at ease. It makes every muscle in his body eager with the urge to hold you close and squeeze you tight.

“For me?”

You nod excitedly and Wooyoung accepts the stone with a skip of his pulse. “Thank you, baby.”

He and Seonghwa exchange looks and Wooyoung slips the stone into his pocket, where he knows he’ll keep it safe.

“Help me?” You whisper softly, gesturing to the plethora of stones and shells beneath you. “For the others.”

“Of course.”

The two help you find six more stones, one of each of the other members of Ateez. Each one is the exact shade of their eyes – colors you know by heart.

Wooyoung cannot tell you that after the trip, the rest of the boys gather to look at the stones and shells you collected for them. He doesn’t tell you that Mingi finds some twine and they braid bands for each other, carefully depositing their gifts onto string and binding them to each other’s wrists.

On the first night, the nine of you sleep around a bonfire.

The crackling flames keep you warm from the evening’s cool breeze, but you don’t think you sleep at all. The excitement and pure glee from the day keeps you awake. Adrenaline still roars through your veins and you settle for watching the stars for a moment longer. You find the twinkling shape of Polaris easily, and whisper your thanks up at her, just like you do every night since Jongho pointed her out.

She winks back.

The fire continues to crackle and the smell of wood burning soothes your nerves. Eventually, you pull yourself from your bed roll, carefully maneuvering away from Yunho’s warm chest and wrap your blanket around your shoulders. Quietly, you make your way over to the massive piece of driftwood facing the shore.

Then, you drop silently beside Mingi, who sits and watches the sea. It’s technically his watch, but the guard faces the ocean as if he cannot bring himself to look away.

Mingi does not startle when you find your place at his side, only shifting slightly to allow you to get comfortable. As you settle, you scooch as close as you can towards Mingi’s broad chest. Your side presses into his as you rest your weight against him and Mingi smiles, still looking at the sea. He easily accommodates your weight and wraps an arm around your shoulder, covering both your forms with his blanket. You snuggle close, burying your face into his neck and continue to watch the waves crash against the shore as the moon illuminates their peaks.

You sit there for hours. Though you cannot sleep, excitement still pumping through your body, you find staying awake with Mingi is just as nice. Far more comforting, you’d even say. Mingi’s body heat keeps you pleasantly warm and his big arm stays wrapped around your waist. Soon after you settle, the guard drops his cheek onto your head and he breathes slow and deep.

Even when Yeosang relieves him of his shift, taking over his place for watch, Mingi remains still. The two of you stay there until neither of you can keep your slowly fluttering lids open any longer.

Yunho finds the two of you in the morning, and he kisses Mingi awake with a sweet grin and soft eyes. He brushes a hand through your hair and drops a kiss onto your head, eventually dropping onto your other side where he wraps an arm around both you and Mingi as the three of you watch the sunrise.

The second day, you finally find the courage to venture into the waves with San and Yunho at your sides. Yeosang stands in the waves, waiting for you.

San leads the way, walking backwards into the surf and holding both your hands. Yunho stands beside you, one of his arms reaching out to steady you and reassure you that he’s still there. You make eye contact with Yeosang and he winks at you. The honey-haired healer grew up in the sea. You know that if anything goes wrong, Yeosang will know what to do.

“Let’s go, tiny. You’ve got this,” Yunho encourages, softly nudging you forward as you apprehensively toe the water line.

You can’t swim. And you’ve never ventured into the sea before.

It’s a little daunting, but the dimples on San’s cheeks and the smile on his lips encourages you to keep walking. You clutch his hands with a vice grip and gasp as the cold, salty waves cascade over your toes.

“Sorry, lovebug. It’s a little cold.”

San laughs as you throw him a withering look. That information would have been helpful before you stepped into the sea. Yeosang laughs at your side, rubbing a hand along your waist and watching you shiver at the warmth of his touch.

No matter how many times they touch you, you cannot help the way it makes you feel.

“A little further and we can stop,” San murmurs, squeezing your hand when you stumble in the sand and pulling you closer. “C’mon, baby.”

A few steps further and you stand at Yeosang’s side, digging your toes into the plush sand beneath your feet and marveling at how the waves lap at your knees. It’s cold, but you don’t mind since it’s a reprieve from the midday sun. When you turn your back to the sea, a strong wave pushes you closer to San and he laughs when you stumble into his chest. Water splashes upwards, and you get your first taste of seawater.

“Woah!” San laughs, steadying you by the waist and watching as you stick your tongue out with an indignant sound. He can’t help the way laughter bubbles from his chest. You look positively betrayed by the ocean, as if the taste of salt on your tongue personally offends you.

Yunho and Yeosang dissolve into giggles behind San, leaning onto each other to support themselves. Your one eye narrows and you shoot them an angry look, but San thinks you look more like an angry, wet cat than anything scary. Of course, he would never tell you that.

“I’m sorry, Bug!” Yunho laughs. “You just look so funny!”

San listens to you grumble something under your breath, something that sounds like ‘showing him something funny,’ and then you bend at the waist and splash a mountain of water in his direction.

Yunho guffaws at the betrayal and San dissolves into his own laughter, bending at the waist and bracing a hand on his chest as he cackles. Your grin is positively menacing, Yeosang decides. He wonders if you’ll become as much of a brat as Wooyoung if this continues.

Yunho, now drenched in salt water and wet hair dripping into his eyes, enacts revenge and lunges towards you. San, ever the sweetheart, throws himself in between you and Yunho and the two sink into the waves with smiles.

Eventually, when your skin begins to wrinkle from the time you spend in the waves and the sun begins to set, Yeosang and you step away from the shore to settle against the same piece of driftwood that marks your temporary camp. Yeosang sits atop the log and you lay just below him on the sand. You lean against his leg, just watching the rest of the boys continue to dance and swim in the surf. The sound of their laughter makes your heart happy and their gleaming smiles leave a grin of your own on your lips.

It’s nice – smiling again, you mean. It’s a gift from Ateez they have not realized they’ve given, but you take care to treasure it regardless.

You wrap an arm around Yeosang’s tattooed calf, your fingers occasionally dragging along the pattern of thorns that descend from his thigh. They wind around his leg, ending at the bone of his ankle and you’ve seldom been able to keep your hands away from the obsidian ink since he showed you. This, of course, is much to Yeosang’s delight, and the honey-haired healer can barely resist the way he beams so brightly when your delicate hands skim across his tattoos again. He loves it when you touch him.

Mingi and Seonghwa leave the shoreline after a few minutes. They step away from the water to stoke the bonfire at the center of your makeshift camp. The flickering amber hues dance along burning bark and release a pleasant aroma onto the beach. You inhale deeply and lean further into Yeosang, humming happily when one of his hands reaches out to scratch along your scalp.

Head scratches have become one of your weaknesses, you suppose. All it takes is for one of them to run their nails along your head and you’ll sink into their embrace with a happy sigh and mushy bones.

When Mingi is satisfied with the roar of the campfire, he and Seonghwa press kisses to Yeosang’s hair and brush fingers over your hairline as they pace back towards the shore.

A harmonious shout of glee leaves San’s lips as Jongho tackles him into the shallow surf, and there’s an uproar of laughter from amongst the boys. San shouts something along the lines of being cold and twists in the waves in an attempt to pin Jongho beneath him. Jongho, easily the strongest of the nine of you, maintains his place above San but spits salt water out of his mouth in surprise when his partner douses him with a splash. In revenge, Jongho prepares to dunk San’s head beneath the water, only to be tackled into the sea by Yunho. The youngest lets out a squawk of surprise as he sinks into the water and the laughter begins again.

You turn your head towards Yeosang, resting your cheek against his knee and looking up at him with your one eye. You nudge him gently with your knuckles, drawing his attention to you.

“Are you going to join them?”

The honey-haired healer barely catches your question over the cacophony in the surf, but he smiles at the sound of your voice. He slides a hand deeper into your hair and scratches against the nape of your neck, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when your eye flutters shut briefly.

His eyes, chocolate brown and gleaming with the flicker of flames before you, are warm and strong. They look down at you like you’re the only thing he sees – the only thing he wants to see.

It’s familiar. This moment is too.

Shivering gently from the weight of his gaze and bones feeling mushy and warm, you look up at Yeosang and wait patiently for his answer.

“No, not yet,” he whispers in return, expression soft and eyes tender. “I’m very happy where I am right now.”

You inhale deeply through your nose, recalling when he spoke the same words so long ago. The exhale that shudders through your lungs is accompanied by the sound of Yeosang’s deep, honey-sweet voice.

“I‘m happy here with you.”

He finally has the courage to say it.

You look away from Yeosang so he doesn’t see the water welling in your lone eye. The stroke of thanks you brush across his skin is enough to let him know what you mean. The swell of electricity zinging beneath your skin leaves you breathless and you lean into Yeosang’s legs to combat the shift in emotion.

The healer hums sweetly in response, unable to look away from you. He examines you as you watch his partners, lifting his head when another uproar of laughter erupts when Hongjoong overpowers Wooyoung in whatever game they’re playing in the waves.

But when you glance back at Yeosang shyly, you see it.

You see the way he looks at you now.

With stars in his gaze and affection glimmering in the shine of his irises, you see the way Yeosang’s features melt so sweetly as he watches you. He looks at you the way he looks at them; like he’s staring at his very heart and soul – like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather gaze upon than your face warmed by the flicker of roaring flames and your one eye finally staring back into his. No apprehension, this time. No fear or confusion or worry or an amalgamation of all of them together. You just… look back at him.

Just like how he looks at you.

When Seonghwa and Mingi rejoin the parade, kicking up salt water and spinning through the shallows, the boys cheer gleefully and begin to dance. It’s chaotic and a mess of stumbling and laughter, but it’s dancing nonetheless. The sound of their joy is infectious and spreads along the beach until it reaches you and Yeosang.

But he’s not listening to them. He’s listening to you. His ears are trained on the sound that erupts from his feet, bubbling from your lips in a noise he’s been praying to hear.

Laughter.

You’re laughing.

There’s this bright, heart-stopping smile spread across your lips as you look up at Yeosang and listen to your family dance on the beach. Your shoulders shake softly with the movement of your laughter, and Yeosang can feel the vibrations of your chest pressed against his leg. It starts as a muffled giggle, barely concealed by your smile, but it deepens into a hearty laugh from deep in your belly.

He cannot tear his eyes from you.

You laugh.

You laugh and you look up at him with stars in your eyes and his heart in your hands, and it takes every fiber of his strength not to lean forward and drown himself in the taste of your lips. It’s all he wants – all he needs, he swears it. One taste of your lips would sate him for life, even though he knows he’d never be able to tear himself away again.

When you lean upwards, grabbing ahold of his fingers and pulling them towards you, Yeosang’s mouth parts to suck in a breath.

You kiss his fingers.

By the Gods, maybe that was a lie. One kiss would never be enough to sate him – there would never be enough of your touch or your kisses that could ever appease his soul. Even if he were immortal and your paths intertwined until the last of the stars burned from the sky, not even then would he have enough of you.

You laugh again, grinning up at Yeosang with a toothy smile and the corner of your mouth digging into your mask. If he wasn’t already sitting, he swears he would drop to his knees at your side.

He loves it – the sounds of your laughter. No matter how raw or croaked the sound is, he adores it. The sound of your voice once made his heart race with glee, but this… This is different.

It’s so much more.

This is joy. Unbridled and unashamed and so clearly you. It’s your laughter, your glee, your happiness that sinks beneath his sin and lights his nerves on fire. It’s your smile and your giggles that make his heart swell. Yeosang adores it. He adores you.

He cannot help the way he slides off the driftwood log and into the sand at your side. Yeosang is pulling you into his chest before you can question his actions. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls your head into his neck, pressing you as tight to his chest as he possibly can.

“You’re laughing…” he whispers as he huffs in disbelief. “Bug! You’re laughing!”

The second time Yeosang utters the phrase, it’s shouted cheerfully as he squeezes you tight into his chest. His heart thumps brazenly beneath his ribs, and he can feel the pulse of yours against his own. You giggle again, wiggling to readjust yourself as you sink into the honey of his embrace. Yeosang’s heart trills excitedly again.

Yunho’s head darts upwards from the beach, startled by Yeosang’s call.

“What?”

San hears Yunho’s whispered disbelief and stands from the surf, attention drawn over towards you and Yeosang. “What did he just say?”

“It’s Bug,” Hongjoong answers, standing behind Yunho with his eyes blown wide. His heart stutters once in his chest as he takes in the sight of your shoulders shaking gently with your giggles. He can’t hear the sound of them, but Gods does he wish he could. “Bug’s laughing.”

“Holy shit…”

Yunho takes off from the beach without another word. He doesn’t even hear who curses.

Sand kicks up from his feet as he sprints towards you and Yeosang with his heart in his throat and a watery grin on his lips. He doesn’t even need to turn around to know that San is the one on his heels. Yunho knows the sound of San’s muffled sobs just as well as he knows the beat of his heart. Wooyoung is not far behind, a bubble of laughter leaving his lips and a chain missing from his wrist. Nothing binds him to that place anymore. You set him free.

Hongjoong and Mingi chase after the others, and the Captain manages to get some revenge for the day before as he shoves his guard into the surf on the way. Hongjoong’s mirthful chuckles as Mingi shouts are heard when Jongho pulls Seonghwa behind him, urging the archer to move faster.

“Bug!”

Your head pulls from Yeosang’s neck, that toothy grin still on your face just as Yunho collides with you and the honey-haired healer. The two of you sway as Yunho’s weight sinks into your figures, but Yeosang sets an arm down into the sand to support you. The black and white strands of San and Wooyoung’s hair drip with salt water as they throw themselves onto Yunho’s lap with a shout. Mingi follows just after, likely having passed Hongjoong on the beach with the length of his strides. He shakes his wet hair as he clings onto Yunho’s back and Wooyoung complains despite the fact that he’s already soaking wet. The giggly sound of Mingi’s laughter makes you chuckle again.

You laugh, as if it’s as easy as breathing.

Yeosang watches, his eyes welling with happy tears as he continues to cling onto you with one hand. He watches you giggle and the others pile into your space and listens to his new favorite sound.

Gods, he adores you. He adores them – this family.

Yunho is crying, his lip wobbling as he buries his head into your hair. He’s at your back, chest shaking with the sound of his watery sobs.

“Tiny…” he cries, but it’s a happy weep. You reach around to cling onto one of his hands. Yunho squeezes you tight, stealing the air right from your lungs, but you don’t need it. You would happily breathe in the pure euphoria of this moment instead. “Tiny, you’re laughing.”

San buries his wet hair into your lap with a joyful sound and the giggles commence again. The healer’s heart throbs so strongly but so pleasantly he thinks it will burst. You have a laugh that makes others laugh with you. Just like Wooyoung, he realizes.

Your other hand drops from Yeosang’s back to brush through San’s hair once and the healer looks up at you with glimmering half-moon eyes and a dimple poking out of his cheek. You allow your finger to poke the sweet little spot this time. His cheek muscles ache from how big his smile is. San nuzzles closer to your stomach and you let yourself shiver pleasantly, far too happy to deny yourself the joy of this moment.

You’re pretty, San thinks to himself. So pretty. Especially when you laugh.

Wooyoung melts into Hongjoong’s side and the Captain wraps an arm around his shoulder. They stand just behind Yunho, burying their happy tears into each other as Seonghwa pulls them close. Mingi and Jongho sink into the sand behind Yunho and pull each other tight. The taller guard squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips into Jongho’s forehead, desperately hoping all his adoration is conveyed through the kiss. Jongho reaches out to squeeze Yunho’s shoulder and rests his weight against his elder’s back.

“I know,” you finally whisper into the space that separates you and Yunho. “I’m happy.”

One hand lifts to pull the mask away from your face. Without a moment’s hesitation, your nimble fingers detangle the knot from behind you, and you drop the obsidian mask into the sand. A hand wraps around your fingers when you finally let it go. Someone draws a line along the length of your left ring finger and twines their fingers with your own. They squeeze three times.

You repeat the gesture, tracing a finger down the fourth finger on their left hand, right over the thin, dark band you know is tattooed there. You squeeze their hand three times. This sign needs no translation.

You open both eyes.

“I’m so happy.”

bonus:

stranger: so who would you choose; ateez or–

reader: ateez.

stranger: you didn't even let me finish, ateez or–

reader, not missing a beat: ateez. I choose ateez.

a/n: This currently takes place sometime after the main storyline (probably xD) so it accounts for the boys knowing parts of Bug’s past (not revealed but it’s mentioned they know). For now, I won't consider these oneshots canon simply because I won’t know where it fits in the timeline HAHA xD this is essentially just a little bit of fluffy comfort for those who have been missing Bug and the boys! I’m catching up on their story but I hope you enjoy this filler for now <33 ALSO disclaimer, don’t pick stuff out of tide pools! my marine biologist family is screaming at me for including that xD just leave the creatures alone in their habitats!

sorry if bug seems a little ooc here! Loren and I have decided that bug goes from black cat energy to golden retriever after enough time with atz :’))) This is supposed to take place sometime in the future where she’s healed a little more and is a little more curious and open. There are a lot of references to things that have yet to happen in ltm so this is kind of a teaser for those xD

also shoutout to the loml @eightmakesonebraincell for the majority of the ideas in this :D she's a real one xD

taglist: *If you don't see your name on this taglist, you may have been removed if your tag doesn't work :( let me know if you don't see your name and I'll try to see what we can do to fix it :D

@verseoks @smallfrye @istgcyj @rensunjun @flowrsforfun @justchaoticwhispers @gayliljoong @http-lovelyknow @kpopnightingale @rielleluvs @queentiti72 @paralumanniluna @chittaphonstar @dear-dreamie @bangtanxberm @havetaeminforbreakfast @knucklesdeepmingi @pingyu-in-wonderland @5sos-wdw @atzcoke @ddeonghwva @sophxom @khjcoo @sunukissed @becauseiloveyunho @atinymonbebestay @goldenstarmermaid @simplyaghostsworld @multifandomizer @yeosangs-left-ass-cheek @revehosh @mysticfire0435 @side-angel @taestrwbrry @billboard-singer @jenseok17 @parkthothwa8 @jcngh0-hq @dream-in-progress @dees-writing-corner @frankenstein852 @darkdayelixer @ateezkeepmysoul @maruskz @ahhhhhhhhhghh @honeyhotteoks @simeonswhore @jxxngieteez

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strang3lov3 · 15 days ago

Text

Underfoot

You get off on Roman's shoe.

Tags - dom!roman, smut, rough sex, gross sex, shoe humping/grinding, shoe licking, humiliation, degradation, masturbation, cum eating, biting, hitting, kicking, a sprinkling of ass play, nipple biting, dacryphilia, no aftercare we die like men, sex as sh, manipulative romey, bully romey calls you all sorts of nasty things, oneshot. Idk. believe it or not this is consensual. romey’s all fucknutty, reader has self esteem issues. A/N - this one’s an acquired taste, i think. it made me squirm as i wrote it lol. This is a one shot and can be read alone buuuuut in my mind it works as a continuation of tear you apart. Thank you @cum-a-calla for holding my hand and @endlessthxxghts for betaing you sick fucks that i hold so dearly in my heart!

“You again, huh?”

Roman’s lips curl into an amused smirk. He licks them as his eyes lazily scan down the length of your body, tracing the long, curved lines of your breasts and waist and hips. You pick at your nails and shift your weight between your two feet, a nervous tick. He loves that tick. “Yeah,” you mutter reluctantly. “Hi.”

Roman grins. “Hi,” he says, and something about his voice mocks you. He’s good at that. Making you feel uncertain and squirm uncomfortably without saying much of anything. It’s all in the way he looks at you, how he smiles. You know it when you see it. It’s just him.

You know what you’re here for, the same thing you always want when you visit him like this. The pain that walks the line between good hurt and bad hurt, the pleasure and the agony. That specific violence you crave, only from Roman’s hands. All that ache inside releases with the way he hits you hard enough to bruise, blood rushing to the surface. The drawing of your blood, skin burning in that horrible way that only he can ignite. Only Roman can scratch that itch, satisfy your raw, instinctive need to be hurt by him.

It’s that strange intimacy, too. The way bodies connect, that vulnerable proximity that comes with breath shared, the faintest bit of tenderness that hangs through the air even when it’s wrapped in something darker. Your special little arrangement that only makes sense between the two of you. But it works, right?

The room is dark, lit only by lamps. It’s late and everyone’s gone home - should have, at least. But Roman, Roman’s still here. Lying on his stupid gray couch as if he was waiting for you, almost like he knew you’d be here. He probably did, honestly, how he knows you so well. In ways you don’t even know yourself. You wonder what tipped him off, what about you today told him that you’d show up for him to satisfy your shared, twisted craving. You could ask, but he’d never tell you.

“Was wondering how long you’d make it without it,” Roman says, voice dripping with that smug superiority. “My little slut. Slut for pain,” he smirks.

Roman stretches then, neck craning over the armrest, back arching in a languid movement as he groans. You watch him, caught in the strange, raw beauty of the way he exists - so profoundly human, the folds in the fabric of his shirt shifting with his breaths. He looks so lovely like this, Like someone could love him. You could, honestly. Would be nothing new for you, the moth drawn to the flame. “Well, c’mon, then,” he snaps, the sharp command cutting through the quietness. “Quickly.”

You know the rules. You’re naked and he is not. Never is. As you take off each of your garments, baring yourself completely to him, Roman unbuckles his belt and only pushes his pants just enough down his thighs. He does this just to fuck with you, twist the knife a little as he knows how badly you want to feel his skin on your skin, or the full weight of him on top of you. You want that, don’t you? Will you ever admit it?

You’ll only ever get fragments of Roman, scraps tossed at you like you’re a dog begging under the table. Enough of him to tide you over for the moment, never satisfying you fully.

Roman spits into his palm before reaching for his cock, working it to its full length. “Fuck yourself first,” he says, voice flat, dismissive. “I’m really not in the mood to hear you bitching and moaning when it hurts, so. Do what you need to. It’s kinda supposed to hurt anyway, y’know. Guess you can add this to the list of favors I’ve done for you.”

“I know. Thank you.”

With two fingers, you trace your seam, already starting to drip with arousal and you hate yourself for it.

“Ah-ah. One finger. One. C’mon, you know better.”

Roman’s done this before. He likes the show of you fucking yourself with just one finger, knowing it’s not enough to prepare you for his cock. It doesn’t even do much to get you wet, really. It’s just another way for him to humiliate you or something, no real desire behind it. It’s all control, making you rub salt in your own wound.

You push a single digit past your lips and slide it through your slick folds, circling your clit just once “In,” Roman instructs, and you push your finger inside yourself, feeling your hot, throbbing insides, “And out,” Roman says, voice still irritatingly casual, like he’s watching a performance. But he is, isn’t he?

Roman squints slightly, eyes narrowing as he watches you fuck yourself, a lazy smile curlling at the corner of his lips. He continues to fuck his fist, all lazy and slow, like he’s bored, couldn’t give a shit.

“Yeah, like that, sweetheart. Think that’s enough? That good?”

“I-”

“Changed my mind, I don’t care,” Roman interrupts with his tone clipped, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Just shut up and come here.”

He sits up and slaps his thigh twice in invitation - or command, really - before reclining back against the couch, settling in as he folds his arms behind his head.

You hesitate for a moment, then move toward him, straddling his lap as his eyes flick over you. You grip his toned shoulders instinctively as you steady yourself. You reach between your bodies and touch the head of his cock, wet with his sticky precum, and line him up with your entrance. “Yep, like that. Down you fuckin’ go,” he says, hands finding your hips as he takes the liberty to force you down with a firm push. The sting is immediate and sharp, and you inhale slowly, breath catching in your throat as your eyes squeeze shut. Stars dancing behind your eyelids. You let out a long exhale to match.

“Is that a new coping mechanism or something, huh?” Roman mocks. He shifts beneath you, adjusting so that he’s buried inside you completely, his smirk never faltering. “No, no, I’m kidding. That’s good, you know. Healthy.”

You hold onto the back of the couch, knowing better than to hold onto Roman. Can’t get too friendly, he says. He’s almost maniacal in this way, how he keeps you isolated while being inside you. Minimal contact. Everything he does, he does to you. You’re a vessel, he tells you. A fleshlight with a head attached.

“Hey, right here. Focus right here for a second,” Roman grabs your jaw, digging his thumb and forefinger into the hollows of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh against your molars. “You remember the rules, right, sweetheart? You don’t get to cum on my cock, yeah?” Your skin tickles as Roman pushes some hair out of your eyes, the action starkly tender in comparison to the harsh way he holds your face.

You nod quickly. “And you remember why?” he adds.

“I don’t deserve to,” you answer through your teeth, voice all muffled with the effort it takes to get the words out. Your jaw aches under his grip, and you remain obedient.

Roman tilts his head. “Repeat it,” he demands, tone low and unyielding.

“I don’t deserve it.” The words feel heavier this time and tears begin to blur your vision, stinging at the corners of your eyes.

“Yeah, good. Good girl. Took you long enough to remember, though that’s how it always goes with dumb sluts like you, huh? Always all stupid and fuck drunk. I know you can’t help it,” he murmurs, voice dripping with feigned sympathy. “Whatever. Just fuckin’ move.”

You move yourself up on Roman’s cock almost all the way, then sink back down again. It takes you a minute to build a pace but Roman demonstrates patience, surprisingly. The fullness of his cock inside you, the ache it brings.

“I hate you,” Roman whispers. “Do you have any idea how much I fucking hate you?” Without allowing you to answer, he takes control then, like he’s unable to help himself. He bounces you hard and fast, your ass hitting the top of his firm thighs with each pass. His eyes are dark and wild as he watches your body move, all that rippling, moving flesh just for him. “I’d even bet I hate you more than you hate yourself. How about that?”

Roman grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head to the side harshly, sending a sharp jolt of pain through your neck, causing an involuntary whine to escape your throat. He bites your shoulder, growling as he pounds into you. “Hey. Does it hurt yet?” he mumbles, squeezing his jaw even tighter, breaking your tender skin with his sharp canine teeth.

“Yeah,” you whimper, keeping your eyes tightly closed to fight back tears. In truth, you love the release that comes when he makes you cry. But it’s the game, you know? How long can you hold out, how long until he breaks you?

“Yeah, good,” he grunts. “How about this one, then? Tell me, scale of one to ten.” Roman pushes you back and lowers his head, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth before pinching it hard between his teeth, causing you to cry out. “Shhhh, shut the fuck up and take it. Fucking take it,” he growls, swatting your ass before repeating the action with your other breast. “Give me a number.”

“Ten, fuck- oh, fuck. Ten,” you wail.

“Damn. That bad, huh? You gonna cry?”

You shake your head, gripping the couch cushions hard enough that you could tear the upholstery, dig your fingers inside. “Mm. Wearing your big girl panties today, I see. Very cute,” he says, shifting so he’s lying back against the couch again, dragging you along with your nipple still between his teeth. “You’ll cry, just like you always do. Watch.”

Roman slaps you across the cheek, and it’s more of a beating than a proper smack. He’s done it to you before, and you sobbed for hours when he did. Must’ve hit a nerve. He watches your reaction with a twisted smile plastered on his face, his eyes crinkling. You look away, biting down on your wobbling bottom lip. “Oh, man. You’re trying so very hard to hold back those tears, aren’t you? Hey–look at me.”

You turn your head back to look at Roman, and that’s all it takes for you to burst into tears. He’s so handsome and so fucking sick, and you are too. Roman looks satisfied with himself, murmuring some insult before resuming his brutal assault on your cunt. “Yeah, there it is. Cry for me.”

Your crying turns Roman on even more, makes him feel like an animal. Breaking you down like this. Not like it’s hard, but still. He relishes in the power, knowing it’s all him that does this to you. His violence. Roman’s.

Roman fucks you brutally, just like he always does. Hands on your ass, one slides up your waist to squeeze and grope your tits. He inches the other toward your ass, circling the tight ring of muscle with his middle finger before pushing it inside, making you feel fuller than you already do. All you can do is take it, sobbing above him as he uses you. You summon the courage to look at him, with his cheeks flushed all over, a light sheen of sweat glittering at his temples. “You’re so fucked,” he tells you. “Just–all fucked up. I think–fuck– think you’re prettier like this. Really, I mean it. C’mere, baby.”

Roman wraps his arms around you, leaving you with no choice but to hold him too. It feels…unnatural, but you relish in the closeness all the same. He changes the way he fucks you so that it’s less of a clean thrusting and more of an intense rolling of his hips, as he knows your clit is grinding against his pubic bone, his wiry hair only adding to the friction. You can’t help the moan that spills from your lips, “Oh, Roman.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Roman groans, his cheek pressed against yours as he rocks his hips over and over into your dripping, tight pussy. He makes noises in your ear, knowing how much you love it. Kisses your throat to add insult to injury. You’re gonna come, and Roman knows it. Planned it. It’s a test, all part of the game. And look at you, falling for it. You really should know better.

It sort of takes you by surprise, that hot, sticky pleasure building in your gut. But nonetheless, it’s there. Roman’s tongue is tracing patterns on your neck and his hands hold you tightly, and you feel like you’re his. You cave, allowing yourself to touch him as your orgasm approaches. Feel the twitching veins in his neck, the muscles in his biceps tensing as he moves with you.

Roman times it perfectly. Right when you’re about to come he pulls out of you, the sudden loss of his cock causing you to cry out in frustration. “You stupid fucking cunt. What’d I tell you, huh? What did we talk about? Get the fuck off of me. Down.”

Roman shoves you backward with brutal force and you land on that awful, rough carpet, the wind knocked from your lungs. He stands above you, cock in fist as he lifts a leg and presses it against your ribcage, dragging it down, down, down your tummy until it rests against your mound. And you can’t fucking help yourself. You rock your hips, grinding your clit against the bottom of his shoe, and Roman’s beside himself. And you, you’re not even here. You’re trying to tell yourself that this isn’t happening, you poor thing. Cute.

“Oh my god,” he laughs. “You’re gonna get yourself off on my fucking - my shoe, you fucking loser?”

You figure the picture in front of him should be enough of an answer, but it’s not. “Hey–” Roman gives you a little kick against your cunt. “Answer me, you fucking slut.”

“Yes,” you sob, release once again approaching. Roman smiles in surprised delight, fucking his fist as he watches you writhe below him. Hair falling in front of his face, a lopsided grin with the dimples to match. He looks so tall like this, and you follow the line down his torso and his legs until all you’re looking at is his fucking shoe. The shiny black leather, the patterned socks. God. You moan his name loudly as you come, and to ruin your orgasm for his own amusement, he kicks you. And you moan louder, convulse even harder, pussy clenching around nothing. Fucking pathetic.

“Oh- fuck. Are you fucking real? I kick you and you come harder? Holy fuck,” he scoffs, squeezing his cock harder as he strokes it. “That’s fucking gross. Seriously, you are so fucking disgusting. Yeah, you should be crying. Jeeesus,” he laughs, his giggles turning into breathy moans as he rapidly pumps his fist. Roman comes then, spurting hot ropes of his come all over you - your face and your neck, your eyes, hair. Nothing that’ll be easy to clean up, of course. Roman hopes you’ll pass someone on your way home who’ll see the wreck he made of you and judge you for it worse than you judge yourself.

You’re a mess of drool, tears, and come by the end of it. Roman’s fucking drunk on power, absolutely elated with how this all turned out. Couldn’t have planned it better if he tried. You sit up then, but Roman quickly steps closer to your head, pressing the sole of his shoe against your throat and forcing you back down. “Ah-ah,” he tuts, dangling his shoe above your face before pressing the rubbery tip of the sole against your lips. “You know better than to leave a mess.”

If you enjoyed, it is MANDATORY that you drool and slobber in the comments or rb's or in my inbox. Be feral i DEMAND IT In all seriousness, your kind words mean the world to me ♡ ty for reading

Romey Tags

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56

@kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @romanarose

@kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor

@lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow

@ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl

@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars

#roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy smut #Roman Roy x reader smut #roman roy/you #roman roy/reader #succession #succession fic #kieran culkin #Kieran Culkin characters

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radioapple-heathen · 6 months ago

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My Top 10 📻🍎 'Oneshots' Fic Recs

(A continuation of my previous post. You can find info about my fic preferences and my top 10 'Series' fic recs here. And my multi-chap recs here.)

1.) Mine to Avenge by fourshadesofgreen

Rated E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canonverse. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: Murder Husbands. What more can I say? This is peak radioapple. Flirting through murder?? UGH. Delicious. Obsessed. Think about this oneshot 24/7. There is nothing else.

2.) With A Coffee and a Caress by @winterveritas

Rated E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: This was SOOO FREAKING CUTE??? AND SEXY??? SIMULTANEOUSLY??? Also this oneshot got me to jump all aboard the trans!Alastor train. Can't say anything I haven't said already about Winter, but go read, 10/10 quality and believable wonderful progression of their relationship!!

3.) No hiding place down here by @tollingreminiscentbells

Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: I will inhale anything this author writes in re: to radioapple and this is no exception. Fantastic dialogue and characterization, as usual. Lucifer-heals-Alastor oneshot that could honestly be canon with how well the author writes these two.

4.) afternoon delight by deliciously_devient

Rated E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canon Divergence. Notable Warnings: Uh, idk, menstration fic.

Notes: This author is going to make a full deviant out of me yet. Intersex!Lucifer hits that time of the month and, of course, Alastor is there to assist like the super helpful friend he is XD

5.) Truth Laid Bare by pervertanarchy

Rated E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Post Canon (I think). Notable Warnings: Explicit +. Mind the tags LOL.

Notes: ANGEL TRUTH SERUM AU???? I didn't realize how much I needed this in my life, but bless you, author. Lucifer is a Mess (TM) and a good time was had by all, including Alastor's shadow.

6.) bite the hand by @tarmairons

Rated M. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: I absolutely ADORE the characterizations in this oneshot. The dialogue between them is ON POINT. So witty, so in character, just perfection. And then when it becomes PLAYFUL??? The best!

7.) God Forsaken by Kisama

Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Human!Alastor AU. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: Ah, hello, Alastor meeting Lucifer as a human, my absolute weakness, nice to see you again. A fantastic addition to my library of this trope --- and bottom!Alastor, my other beloved.

8.) helter skelter by nymphaceae

Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: Catch me on my trans!Alastor train still, because this was chef's kiss as well. Very fun, very sexy oneshot, would read 19 more installments of this.

9.) will you weapon your skin (feed the monster within) by FrostbiteFable

Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Post-canon. Notable Warnings: Explicit + LOL.

Notes: WHY DID IT TAKE ME SO LONG TO FIND THIS FIC??? THIS 25K ONESHOT SEX POLLEN RADIOAPPLE MASTERPIECE?? Seriously, strap in, y'all, because this is a ride, omg. I don't even know how to summarize it, JUST READ IT. It's so, so, so good.

10.) Lavender and Smoke by pervertanarchy

Rated T. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Post Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: AHA! A T-rated oneshot rec, I am not a complete heathen. Jokes aside, this was SO SWEET??? I love domestic radioapple so much. It really scratches an itch in my brain. And the author has such beautiful crisp prose, it makes for such an easy and enjoyable read.

#radioapple #appleradio #alastor x lucifer #lucifer x alastor #radioapple fic recs

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cheralith · 1 year ago

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the ghost of you | miguel o'hara

synopsis: you thought he was gone. what you didn't know was that he was waiting for you a universe away... or in other words... miguel is your gwen stacy and in another life, you're his.

word count: 2.5k (unedited as of 07/19 per usual)

a/n: a short (or at least in my terms is short) oneshot of sorts just to scratch that miguel angst itch

you never particularly believed in second chances.

you thought they were something foolish to believe in. often you think that second chances alternated the future that bewitched you with its cruelty towards you, despite knowing that this was what was to become the moment you put on that suit that gleamed to others of pride and glory.

fate as an embodiment is never, and will never, be kind towards you. you never believed in second chances because they were never offered to you because if they were, you could've prevented the entirety that was your life if you could've just chosen a different path.

you could've never gotten the job at alchemax.

you could've never been one of the star scientists that captured the attention of tyler stone.

you could've never met him—the love of your life.

because if you didn't, he would've been safe in the blissful ignorance that was your existence. but now, the haunting image of his face laying woefully in your lap—loving eyes now permanently close, the shallow river of crimson streaming from his nose with pale and dry lips that could no longer whisper sweet nothings slightly agape—is now permanently tattooed in the halls of your memory.

the failure to save the one person you kept to closely at heart served as a reminder that you had a duty to attend to and that you were to attend to it with nothing more than confidence, that you were to never repeat such a feat ever again.

because death offers no second chances to those who he greets. second chances are mere child's play, a figure of imagination that people choose to believe out of hope.

at least, that's what you've chosen to believe.

whenever jessica looks at you, you just barely manage to catch the glimpse of a particular look that you can't pinpoint the exact emotion of. you think it's a mixture of melancholy or apprehensiveness, but you're never able to quite accurately describe the look for it. but it goes away just as fast as it comes, her quickly shooing it away as if it was a pesky spider.

you've never inquired about it. you don't think you should, really, especially considering when she's in charge of possibility escorting you to what you've never known you could desire for.

"i've decided," jess states, a hand going to caress her prominent belly affectionately.

you let out a hum, your gaze not moving from the magnificent view you and her share of your universe's new york's skyline—you wonder how it differs from her own new york. "decided what?"

from her amber glasses, she offers you swift glance. "decided to perhaps let you visit hq once and for all."

it's no surprise that her statement makes your eyes go wide and jaw slack. jessica drew had found you alone in your own universe awhile ago, her being the first proven evidence that there were worlds beyond yours existing... meaning that there was existence of different variants of you. acquiring that knowledge had sparked an excitement in you that you hadn't felt in such a long time, that you didn't even know you could feel.

you wanted to see the other spider-people, a hunger caverning itself within you to know more, see more, to satisfy the loneliness you've felt since the dreaded day you lost miguel o'hara. to know that others likeminded to you actually existed was something you longed to confirm, leading to jessica constantly putting up with your begging to see what the headquarters of the so-called "spider society" was like.

you've met a few already—the rebellious, yet ambitious hobie brown from earth-138, the egotistic, yet grandiloquent ben reilly from earth-94, and the sarcastic, yet compassionate peter b. parker from earth-616. but it isn't enough. a yearn to see all of everyone alike to you grows stronger and stronger by the day, yet jessica is always quick to deny you from seeing hq and the rest of the spider-people, quick to excuse it with her needing to “evaluate you more.”

something about the excuse seemed rather loose to you, as if it was a cover-up for something... bigger? but again, you never questioned her actions because if you did, you could end up screwing yourself over and the possibility of you never joining them was perhaps a pit that welcomed you with open arms.

but now, after what seemed like ages (it was a given three weeks in reality) of consistent "no"'s and "soon"'s, your wish has been finally granted.

"do you mean it?" you whisper excitedly, leaning towards her with a gleeful smile. "like, really mean it?!"

"no, actually i was just joking," jess says with a suppressed grin. you whine aloud with furrowed brows, making her laugh aloud. "i'm kidding. yes, i mean it. i talked with my... my superior of sorts... and they granted me permission to let you into the spider-society."

jess watches with a soft grin as you giddily bounce about the twilight-cladded rooftop, the phrase of "thank you" endlessly on loop from your lips. with no time to waste on either ends, jessica opens up a portal leading to the universe that the spider-society was held in, jutting her head towards it for you to step foot in.

the tantalizing colors of a fiery sunset twirl about in your vision as the hum of the portal whispers itself in your ears. you've gone in portals before, but this particular one forces you to ground yourself and truly acknowledge what was to become of this present moment because the moment you enter this portal, your fate was sealed.

and fate gives no second chances regardless of any situation.

"nervous?" jess asks as she stands still besides you, examining your hypnotized state.

you swallow thickly, despite the smile still lifted atop your lips. "a little..."

"i see," she hums. she studies your features for a bit, admiring the way the sun halos your side profile before her gaze returns to the portal that you still stare at.

jessica suppresses a giggle, with her hand lifting slowly behind you without acknowledgement before it pushes you in with no warning. your screams of terror fall deaf on her ears, her being too busy with a soft fit of laughter at your bewilderment.

"jess!?" you shout from inside the portal.

"sorry, my hand slipped," she calls from the outside, mindlessly examining her fingernails.

"i'm gonna kill you!" you screech before your figure dissipates itself from her view.

jessica watches as the portal expands itself again like a blooming flower before she turns away from it once again, the smile of amusement fading ever so quickly. her wrist lifts itself up and quietly she murmurs into her device, "are you one hundred percent sure about this?"

there's a static that scuffs by before another voice stereos from it, one that jessica knows for a fact that you'll be much too accustomed to.

"there's no going back now."

jessica thinks she might have to put you on a leash. somehow, you've reverted back into a child at a playground from the way you're consistently getting out of her sight, too distracted by all the unique spider-people that pass you.

"i love your armor," you compliment with glowing cheeks to the spider-knight that gives you a salute. "wow, her hair is really cool... i love that guy's webbing! holy shit, is that a fucking t-rex?"

"yes yes," jess sighs and grabs you by your collar, "that's pter. he's one of us, now would you please behave?"

you smile sheepishly at her, "sorry... i can't help but get—a cat!"

jessica slaps a hand to her forehead, rubbing it with annoyance. you're not much younger than she is, but she thinks that there's too much of a resemblance between a five year old and the you that's much too preoccupied petting a content peter pawrker that purrs as you affectionately scratch behind his ears.

while rather a little irked, jessica can't help but feel a little at ease with the more time that gets eaten up as it passes by. she knows it's foolish, but to put off the one thing that you were supposed to come here for was perhaps ideal, knowing that the future truly remains unknown of what to come in the next few minutes.

her anticipation grows more weary by the second, especially as you and her approach the one location that is rarely ever allowed visitors.

she shoots a web and reels you back to her, not wanting to waste any more time than needed. your pleas of wanting to pet spider-cat more are ignored, being replaced with an urgency of, "there's someone i want you to meet."

jess walks you to a darkened and closed off area of the headquarters, one that you didn't know would've existed had she not lead you there. it's dark all around, the wide and vast space only illuminated by the golden glow of holographic computers atop a floating platform. there's no one around, just the hum of the technology filling the void until a voice echoes out from seemingly nowhere.

"you may leave, jess."

your companion offers you a final goodbye, a whisper of "you'll be okay, he doesn't bite." tickling your ear. there's not much time to react, as jessica stalks off faster than you can blink, and the thundering shut of the door bellows in the corridor.

you're left alone in the odd, dark room. it's a contrasted atmosphere to the interior of hq and rather, it unsettles you—especially considering the fact that despite it seeming like you're by yourself, you're not alone.

"are you the person that jess was talking about?" you ask quietly, hoping that despite the timidity and softness of your voice, that it's still heard.

the voice thunders out again hauntingly.

"you haven't changed."

the majority of your voice gets caught in your throat. something about that voice seems vaguely familiar, but seven words aren't enough for you to quite decipher its owner, despite the wisp of the ghost of the past whispering something unintelligible behind you.

"i-i'm sorry?" you state aloud with your voice caught between a question and a nervous laugh.

the owner of the voice stays quiet for a still moment before speaking once more.

"why are you still just as beautiful as the day i lost you?"

your brows furrow. are you supposed to know him? this person?

you're so focused on the platform of computers that it doesn't register to you that someone emerges from the shadows from behind you until the wind of something... someone grazing you. reflexes jumping into action, you gasp and jump back, your feet skidding themselves on the ground too painfully to the point where your balance is lost and your back stumbles first on the ground.

the shadow comes closer to you and fear strikes itself in your heart at last. something about this person is warning you with danger, that something bad is brewing. your hands dig into the ground and shuffle yourself backwards until you hit the wall. your heart is pounding painfully loud, with the rhythm of it pumping through your ears. a scream is begging to be let out of your throat, a certain type of terrified you haven't felt in years clawing at the edge of it, but the only thing that you can let out is a weakened whimper.

whoever the shadow is merely comes closer to you in the same pace he kept himself at, showing no signs of stopping.

the light of the moon that seeps into the rooftop windows suddenly let the light in and spotlights the person at last, making all the resolve in your body evaporate the moment you catch his face.

the face that's supposed to not exist anymore—the face of a dead lover who you watched with your own two eyes slip from your life—is currently plastered itself in front of you.

the face of miguel o'hara stares at you with the same daunting expression you wear.

the last time you saw this face was in the open casket funeral held for him two weeks after his death. you had stared at it for what seemed to be hours in the open rain, trying to come to terms that you will never see it again.

yet here you are, looking at it once more in the life that you thought would never show you any sort of mercy.

"miguel...?"

the person in front of you crouches down to your height and comes shyly closer to you, afraid that if he made the wrong move, you'd scamper away from him like a frightened doe.

unconsciously, you lift your hand up to truly see if what you were seeing right now was real—that your deceased lover was somehow alive right in front of you. the miguel that stands before you lets your hand cradle his cheek ever so gently, like he was made of the finest glass alive. the physical contact jolts you awake again and out of your trance, making you retract your hand as if you had just touched something hot.

miguel blinks. his chest heaves, mimicking your own that pools with longing. he goes to gently touch your hand again, bringing it back up to his face and shuffling his cheek to feel the warmth of it again.

the way his his face fits so nicely in your palm makes your chest burn.

"mi sol..." he murmurs, his lips wisping a soft kiss to your palm.

and suddenly, you're alive again. it's a different sort, the type of liveliness that only love could spark. so when you realize that the very flame you thought could never be lit again is once burning bright, you break into sobs.

your arms wrap around his neck tightly, like he'll be taken away from you all over again. his own go to hug your waist in the same manner, enveloping you in a warmth you could never seem to mimic with anyone else.

"i thought i lost you," you cry quietly, the image of miguel's face during that night flashing through your eyes.

his hand caresses your hair warmly. "i thought i lost you," he murmurs back, his throat evidently tight with a flood of yearning emotions.

you retract back and study him carefully this time, making sure he's here with you right now... alive.

and when his lips connect with yours for the first time in years, it doesn't take long for you to return the favor, knowing that the one thing you've longed for the most for the past years is finally back into your arms.

deep inside, you know he isn't your miguel, just in the same sense that you aren't his (y/n). you know that no matter how many miguels and (y/n)s are out there, no two could ever replicate each other in the manner that the latter wants.

but for now, you let yourself indulge in this second chance you thought could never come to life.

by the power of fate though... it somehow did. and you'd rather not waste any more time questioning it.

#spider man: across the spider verse #atsv #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x (y/n)#miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara smut #atsv fic #miles morales #hobie brown #gwen stacy

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agoodroughandtumble · 11 months ago

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Can You Be Good For Me? - Zoro x F!Reader Oneshot

Status: Complete

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader

Summary: Drunken confessions

Warning(s): 18+ Language, alcohol

“Can you be good for me?” The words sloshed in your mouth just like the sake that had caused them to slur out. Half-lidded eyes searched Zoro’s, too drunk to care about the implications of the meaning but too sober to allow him to brush it off.

Zoro’s eyebrows furrowed, “I’m always good to you.”

You rolled your eyes and took another drink. That wasn’t what you were saying and he should know that. A frustrated groan left your lips. “You know what I mean.”

His look of confusion slowly melted into one of amused affection. It was obvious you were at least tipsy which usually meant this was one of the few times you not only acknowledged emotions but actively sought to discuss them. Perhaps some other man would be annoyed at the slightly inebriated confrontation and the fact you could never really day what was on your mind without the inhibition breaking alcohol. But Zoro welcomed it. He knew you well enough to know that this wasn’t malicious – keeping your guard up and youe emotions at bay had kept you safe. Allowing yourself to drop your guard, allowing yourself to be vulnerable only told him how much you trusted him, how much you trusted him to be your safeguard.

He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him, thigh touching thigh. And although you were still annoyed at his lack of a solid answer you were quietly relishing in the close proximity and physical contact. You mentally stopped yourself. That was the entire problem. You were becoming far too comfortable and far too physically reliant on someone who your drunken state of mind would describe as having the emotional capacity of a brick. Maybe that was being too harsh, or maybe Zoro had been fucking you for a month without ever venturing further than “I like you, you know I do.”

the first two weeks had been fine. Just sex. Just really fucking good sex. Just scratching an itch and indulging the obvious tension between the pair of you. And then your stupid heart had to get involved. All of a sudden you were craving his attention, desperate to be near him, to understand him on na level no one else could. You got jealous and needy and fantasised about all of the things he could, should say to you. You were fucked.

So of course you had done what any sane person would have done – ignored, repressed, kept fucking him even though every time broke your heart but fuck the way he looked at you in those moments. The way his hands clung onto your hips, your waist, your thighs as he came inside you. The way he whispered into your ear, telling you to let go, he’s got you, just show me, as you came completely undone around him. The fucking eye contact, the fucking moans because you were so clearly made for his cock, and his alone. You let yourself endure the heartbreak. You let yourself fall completely in love with him if it meant those stolen, secret moments could last forever.

But, as there was always a but, the alcohol in your system was giving you a rare sense of confidence and you wriggled out of his grasp slightly – albeit not enough that your thigh no longer touched his – you would allow yourself that much. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Zoro wasn’t entirely sure what you getting at, “I said I’m always good to you.”

You let out a loud sigh, “Yes, but are you good for me?”

His hand cupped your jaw, feeling you automatically tense against his touch. His heart hurt at your reaction, even more so because he didn’t know what he’d done wrong. God, he fucking loved you but you weren’t half infuriating sometimes. “Y/N,” his voice softened as he tried to soothe the tension by caressing your jaw with his thumb, “Stop being cryptic and just tell me what’s wrong.”

You gulped. Selfishly you had been hoping Zoro would be annoyed. That he’d accuse you of being too drunk, too emotional, too hard to deal with and you’d talk about it tomorrow. You could deal with that. Arguing and confrontation would be a hell of a lot easier to deal with than actually saying what you meant – admitting it out loud, making all of the thoughts and feelings real. You could take anything over that. You could handle his rejection if it was because you were being an argumentative arsehole. You couldn’t handle the rejection if it was because he just didn’t love you back.

You bit your lip, the confidence the sake had given you long gone. If it wasn’t for his hand burning against your skin you would have run away but fuck when we was looking at you so fucking earnestly how could you say anything but the truth. “I want you to be good for me not to me because,” you screwed your eyes shut but delaying the inevitable was nigh on impossible, “Because I love you. I’m in love with you, Zoro.”

A pause. An agonizingly long, heart-breaking, soul-crushing pause. You clenched your fists trying to mentally prepare yourself for the “gentle” let down. And then … Zoro laughed. Laughed.

You jerked away from him. A rejection was expected but laughing at you was just fucking cruel. You felt sick. How had you let yourself be to stupid? How had you allowed yourself to fall in love with someone so heartless? You were such an idiot. You stood up to walk away but Zoro grabbed your wrist. Tears threatened to spill. What more could he want now? How much did he honestly want to humiliate you?

“Where are you going?” His voice sounded sincere but you weren’t blind to it any more.

“Away. Where do you think?”

Zoro pulled you back and infuriatingly you stumbled into him. His arms found your waist again to steady you. “You can’t say that and run away. Not to me.”

You wanted to hit him or the table or yourself, anything to get rid of even the smallest fraction of your anger. “You laughed, Zoro. You laughed at me so, and I mean this nicely – go fuck yourself.”

“Hey! Hey…” the hand on your waist started rubbing circles along your spine. Despite yourself the sensation was managing to calm you down. “You’re being an idiot and-”

You tensed again, “So I’m a joke and an idiot? Thanks.”

Zoro sighed and used his other hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “You’re not a joke.” His hand moved down to linger against your neck. “But you are an idiot if you think I laughed at you. I laughed at the ridiculousness of this situation.”

Against your better judgement you relaxed against him, knowing full well you were going to regret this in the morning.

“Y/N, look at me. I laughed because it’s …” he sighed and leant forward to press his forehead against yours, “It’s a cosmic fucking joke that everyone else can see how much I fucking love you except you.”

Another pause. Only this time the onus was on you. “Oh.”

Zoro’s eyebrows raised in amusement, “Oh? At least laughing is more than one syllable.”

A blush rushed across your cheeks and you pressed your lips together to keep from smiling too widely. “Maybe we should forget talking for now, lest it leads to any other misunderstandings.” With that you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. And didn’t stop kissing him.

#apparently i can write all of the zoro i want apart from the end to the wip #opla #one piece #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader

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thereoncewasagirlnamedjane · 19 days ago

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deck the halls.

‣ pairing — ransom drysdale x f!reader

‣ contents — oneshot, coarse language, fluff, xmas/holidays, mutual disdain but it’s actually just mutual not-so-secret shameful pining

‣ synopsis — for the first time, you think that working for linda drysdale the night before christmas might not be such a bad thing after all.

‣ word count — 3.4k

‣ notes — tbh i’m not very happy with how this turned out but whatever, i’ve been stressing about this for way too long because it’s my first ransom fic, and i’m just done lol. shout out to @intrepidacious though for chatting with me about this fic all winter while i struggled, doing her best to motivate me and letting me vent my writing frustrations through the entire process. ilysm nika 💕

✩ read on ao3 ✩ janie’s masterlist ✩ library blog

Christmastime is here Happiness and cheer Fun for all that children call Their favourite time of yea—

You angrily jam the pad of your finger against the speaker’s power button, cutting off the quaint holiday music and plummeting Linda Drysdale’s normally busy real estate office into silence.

For someone who consistently prides themselves on being so sensible and logical, you sure can be stupid sometimes.

Because you drag a free office chair towards you, anchoring it against the wall as best as you can before climbing on top of it. You teeter precariously, cursing under your breath as you strain to loop a gaudy red and green garland over the push pins above the office doorway.

Linda, however, is even stupider, asking you to put up these god awful decorations before going home, not even providing you with so much as a step stool to do so—even though you obviously aren’t tall enough to reach on your own, even though she said you didn’t have to work overtime today (why, thank you Linda, considering it’s Christmas Eve and all), even though it was already 4:45 when she asked.

One phone call would be all it took to have OSHA crawling up her ass, but because you were only ever a badass in your own head, long after the conversation was over and there was no longer anything you could do about it, you just nodded meekly at your boss instead of telling her exactly where you thought she could shove her precious decorations.

Besides, she’d probably walk away with nothing more than a slap on her wrist anyway—if that.

“A bit to the left, Cindy Lou Who,” comes a voice, the low dulcet baritones that are the bane of your existence, like a persistent under-the-skin itch you can’t ever seem to scratch. You take a deep stabilizing breath upon hearing the nickname, a heat flaring in your cheeks that has nothing to do with the whiskey-spiked hot chocolates you’ve been secretly sipping all day.

You shoot him a withered glare over your shoulder. Ransom, the devil-spawn of your she-devil boss, is lounging lazily in your chair, leaning back with his arms casually linked over his abdomen as he observes your efforts to stay balanced and graceful.

Trust the smug little brat to show up tonight of all nights, when your patience is already wearing thin. No doubt he’s just here to piss you off before swanning over to the posh holiday party happening at his mother’s place tonight—one you’ve never been invited to despite all your years working for Linda, by the way—while you trudge home to a dark and empty studio apartment, with not even so much as a goldfish to welcome you back.

Ransom just smirks back at you through a mouthful of white chocolate chips and macadamia nuts, his hand already rummaging for another cookie from the package he’s stolen right out of the bottom drawer of your desk.

You release a huff of frustration.

There he sits, without a care in the world in his perfectly tailored wool coat and immaculately styled hair that somehow remains untouched by the howling winter wind outside, looking like he’s just stepped out of an issue of GQ.

He doesn’t deserve it, you lament, his coat already starting to pill at the undersides of the sleeves and his sweater probably just a tug at one loose strand away from unravelling completely.

Whoops. You almost fall off the chair for the fifth time since you started this ridiculous endeavour, trying to shake off the mental image of a very shirtless Ransom, tangled in a web of soft white yarn.

What? You can hate someone down to their grimy little bones and still think they’re hot.

Besides, the devil wouldn’t be the devil if he weren’t tempting, would he?

“A real piece of work… the both of you…” you mutter to yourself now, your colourful vocabulary back in full working order now that Linda is holed away in her office and well out of earshot. “She could cut me some slack, you know… Christmas, for crying out loud… and I haven’t eaten all day!”

The asshole nepo-baby just peers up at you past the phone he’s been holding up in front of his face, blinking lazily and not offering any kind of response or assistance—not that you’d expected him to.

“Right, I forgot who I was talking to,” you speak slowly and deliberately, like you’re explaining something rather complicated to a small child. “You see, us humans need to eat food regularly for sustenance.”

“Wow,” Ransom deadpans, his voice muffled through cookie crumbs.

“Yeah, it is terribly inconvenient,” you shrug exaggeratedly, “but not all of us can subsist on the shards of broken souls and children’s nightmares, can we?”

“Calling me the devil again?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re so original; how about you get a new thing?”

“Don’t you have some place to be?” You sneer, your grip tightening on the garland, the plastic biting into your palms as you twist a string of fairy lights around the rest of it. “Why the fuck are you even here?”

It’s a perfectly valid question. Linda is always threatening to cut her son off, but that hasn’t prevented him from skipping out on work as much as possible and galavanting around the city, maxing out her credit cards every chance he gets.

But you know she’ll never actually follow through; He shows himself here just often enough to keep her from seriously considering it, doing his small part to show off a carefully crafted picture for the masses—showing the scions of Boston’s wealthiest family in a united front.

And if there’s one thing Ransom likes more than he hates his family or earning an honest wage, it’s the weight of green lining the deep but frayed pockets of his expensive designer pants.

That shiny Drysdale veneer is all that matters, after all, and you know very well that Ransom’s only real job is to keep it nice and polished. But you’ve been working long enough at this soul-sucking place to notice the telltale signs, to see the cracks beneath the varnish.

The way you swear you see a flicker of something that looks a lot like dread whenever Linda calls his name.

The way his signature smirk twitches with just a hint of irritation whenever some angry coworker, once again passed over for a long overdue promotion in favour of giving Ransom a hefty allowance bonus, calls him a talentless, hopeless, literal son of a bitch.

The way he cracks those self-deprecating jokes about how the only real ambition he has in life is finding new ways to disappoint his relatives, and squander as much of the family fortune as he possibly can.

It’s no surprise, really, that Ransom’s turned out the way he has. You’ve heard the way they all talk about him sometimes, his family seemingly oblivious to your working-class existence.

Never mind the fact that whenever you happen to glance over at him, Ransom’s eyes are almost always on you—watching and assessing with that same inscrutable expression on his face.

Not that you pay close attention or anything.

Not that you care, either.

And never will you admit that it unnerves the hell out of you, almost like he’s trying to see through you—right down to the restless person who hides beneath a false bravado, a sarcastic sense of humour, and mountains of paperwork piled up high on your desk.

The feeling of being seen, so terrible and stirring at the same time.

And yet, you shiver, there’s something about it that rivets you. Something electric, like a live wire running just beneath your skin. It’s the feeling you get when he looks at you with those icy blue eyes, his expression going from scathing to almost inquisitive within seconds, when the two of you are trading jabs and insults like his mother isn’t the one who signs your paycheques.

If you are carbon, then he’s the igniting flame.

But you know better, don’t you? Ransom is trouble, plain and simple—the kind with zero direction in life, the kind with a new girl on his arm every week, leaving them to wake up in the mornings to cold bed sheets and memories of promises he’d never intended to keep.

You will die a fiery death before you come another notch on his bedpost. Not that you even care whether he thinks of you that way at all, because even the idea of doing that with Ransom is—

Shit. You shiver again.

You’re playing with fire by even thinking about him at all, even though you feel the incredibly annoying pull of his presence like a magnet, even though you know you need to stay as far away from him as possible, and even though you are very keenly aware that there’s something here.

It looms large yet goes unacknowledged whenever your eyes lock, when he’s looking at you like he wants to bury you and devour you at the same time, when you’re itching with the knowledge that you’re only keeping him at as much of a distance as you can physically stand.

Why else haven’t you told him yet, in no uncertain terms, to fuck right off?

Because there’s a part of you that can’t help but wonder what it would be like to let yourself burn—to feel the heat of that passion you can see in his eyes that he never seems to give into, to feel whatever warmth he might muster from beneath the complicated layers of that thing beating in his chest, to feel him next to you as that terrible something you won’t ever name finally erupts and consumes everything in its path.

Ugh. You absolutely loathe yourself for it, and it makes you want to bash your forehead repeatedly against the wall.

“Someone’s going on the naughty list,” Ransom snickers, the sound infuriatingly close now. You do your best not to startle at the new proximity; he’s put his phone away, unfolded himself from your chair with that unexpectedly languid grace, crossing the room to toss your now empty package of cookies into the trash. “And is that any way to speak to a valued coworker?”

“You? Valued? Coworker?”

“Oh, don’t be jealous, Cindy Lou,” he chides, leaning against the edge of an empty desk barely a step away, crossing his arms over his broad chest, then lowering his voice to whisper conspiratorially, “I hear it’s a sin.”

“Jealous?” You laugh humourlessly, snorting in a way that is decidedly very unladylike. “Of what? The fact that you’ve never worked a day in your life and have the soft white hands of a geisha?”

“Oh yeah? Been thinking about my hands a lot, have you?” He smirks again, and you bite back an exasperated moan—er, groan.

“Namely,” you say sarcastically, turning away from him and reaching up for a particularly high spot. “Breaking all the feeble little bones in your tiny rat-like claws, preferably with a nice sturdy lump of coal.”

“I’m not the one who’s gone on a rampage,” Ransom gestures to the office, now adorned with shiny little baubles, bundles of sparkly tinsel, and rolls of satin ribbon, “and vandalized the office.”

“Vandal—it looks festive, you heartless ghoul!” You whip around to glare at him again, momentarily forgetting your unstable position. But instead of rolling away from the wall and taking you with it, the chair beneath you stays firmly in place. Confused, you glance down to see Ransom’s outstretched feet casually braced against the legs.

Your head snaps up so quickly you think you might get whiplash, eyes narrowing accusatorially only to see him looking away, feigning nonchalance despite the fact that his ears are turning red.

Blood rushes to your cheeks, a traitorous warmth spreading through them. You curse mentally for the umpteenth time, feeling the corners of your perfidious mouth threatening to curve up into a smile.

The bar really is in hell, isn’t it?

“You…” you squeak, clearing your throat a few times to get your voice back to normal. “It’s five. You should go get your mother now.”

“Why, am I distracting you?” Ransom replies, tucking his hands into his pockets and still not making eye contact. “And don’t rush me. I’d rather eat glass than sit through another one of Linda’s fuckin’ Christmas parties.”

“Right, because of your repellant personality?” You quip only half-sarcastically.

“So I’m told,” he drawls, but strangely he sounds more pleased than offended by your observation. “But then again, you’re no picnic either, are you Cindy?”

“Excuse me?” You finally climb off the chair, the last of the garland securely in place. You ignore those stupid feelings stirring inside you at the sight of him retracting his legs a second too slow, and only when both your feet are firmly on the floor.

“You can’t tell me you work so hard because you like your job,” he chortles, his smirk twisting into something just a tiny bit meaner this time. “Aw, sweetheart, do you not have any friends?”

You snort so loud it almost hurts, trying not to focus on just how much you and Ransom have in common—a fact he also seems content to leave unaddressed. “Oh, like you do?”

The mental image of Ransom sitting in his mother’s living room, laughing and sharing wine with a bunch of people in front of a roaring fire like he isn’t a raging sociopath makes you shudder.

“Although, I guess I am curious,” you relent with an inquisitive tilt of your head, ignoring the weight of his heavy gaze on your back as you rummage through the last of the decorations.

“Hm, do tell,” you hear him chuckle.

“About Christmas, you bumbling idiot,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “Can’t picture you and Linda decorating a tree or opening presents together.”

“Okay, that’s not even funny,” he grumbles, his expression twisting into something sour.

“Never? Not even when you were a kid?” You ask before you can stop yourself. Dangerous territory. You know too much about his personal life as it is, and this would only humanize him and that’s the very last thing you want.

“Sometimes,” he admits after a few seconds of agonizing silence, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, your eyes meeting, as always, when you look up at him. “Only ever at Harlan’s.”

You stare, unsure what to do with the underlying hint of something in his voice that doesn’t really belong. Harlan is the only person in his family you actually like, who exudes warmth and care even towards a spoiled and ungrateful grandson, and it takes you a moment to realize that the thing in Ransom’s voice might be affection.

It’s alien and unnerving, to say the least, but you still feel a traitorous tug at your heart strings.

“I can’t picture you as a kid,” you say, somehow managing to keep your voice from trembling as you quickly change the subject. Sweet Christmases with his adoring grandpa shouldn’t be something you associate with this overgrown man-child. And even if it is, it doesn’t change the fact that Ransom is a giant, gaping asshole. “I just see you, but… smaller.”

“And I bet you were just a naive little princess,” he smirks when you glare at him, “doting parents, thoughtful presents, cookies for Santa—spoiled in your own way.”

“Oh, don’t get it twisted,” you shake your head, putting up a defensive hand, “we aren’t sharing. That’s not what this is.”

“But you know what they say, Cindy,” he says as he leans in closer, stopping just inches away, so close you can smell the lingering scent of cinnamon and nutmeg on his breath, mingling with the saccharine aroma of peppermint and artificial pine clinging to his sweater. “Sharing is caring.”

His eyes blaze in an unspoken challenge, but before you can do anything else, like maybe start thinking that the bad idea that’s been plaguing you ever since you met this infernal man isn’t such a bad idea after all, the sound of Linda’s voice cuts through the air, as sharp as the diamonds she wears on her fingers.

“What are you two doing?”

The spell is broken, and Ransom looks away with that same infuriating smile that makes you both want to punch and ki—

“Hello, Mother,” Ransom all but sneers.

You step away with considerable effort, wringing your hands in front of you. Linda narrows her eyes in thinly-veiled suspicion, but doesn’t say anything as she begins walking towards you.

Ransom steps in front of you, shoving his hands into his pockets and jingling his keys, “We’d better get going. Your chariot awaits.”

“Have a nice evening, Mrs. Drysdale,” you pipe up, watching nervously as her eyes sweep across the office and your carefully placed decorations with cool indifference. She nods slightly and you breathe a sigh of relief; that’s as close to a thank you as you’ll ever get.

“Ransom, be a dear and go start the car,” Linda says, urging him towards the door with a sweep of her hand. Her son hesitates for only a millisecond, not even looking back as he turns on his heels and leaves.

Only you notice that his hands are clenched at his sides.

“Merry Christmas, dear,” she smiles tightly as she hands you an envelope likely containing your holiday bonus, and you snap back to attention. You take it from her with a quiet thank you, but then her smile quickly turns into a stern frown. “But don’t make a habit of having food delivered here.”

“Food?” You repeat, your brows coming together in confusion. Linda puts on her fur coat, pointing a single gloved finger at the doors. There is a delivery person standing on the other side of the glass, lifting and pointing at a plastic bag heavy with takeout containers.

“Air the place out before you leave,” Linda says as she breezes past him, not even turning back while she lifts a hand in dismissal.

Confused, you follow in her tracks, staring after her as she makes a dissatisfied face at Ransom’s car pulled right up next to the curb. You see him roll his eyes, leaning over to unlock and push the door open for her. Linda doesn’t look too thrilled, but steps in anyway. They drive away, a hint of a smile on Ransom’s face even though it looks like Linda’s already started in on him with her usual longwinded lectures.

You tell the delivery boy you didn’t order anything, but he looks just as puzzled. He checks the receipt and says your name, the office address, which you confirm are correct. He then recites the order: scallion pancakes, rice noodle rolls, steamed crystal dumplings, and a small black sesame latte—your standing order from your favourite restaurant in Chinatown, reserved for nights when you were working late.

“It’s already paid for,” he says, “you might as well take it.”

You do, locking the doors once he leaves and set the bag down onto a nearby desk. Before you’ve even untied it and opened the containers to check their contents, the grin that’s been brewing all night finally breaks free.

Because there’s only a handful of people in the world who know you’re here at the moment, but only one who knows you haven’t eaten yet today, and who knows that despite having permission to leave for the night, you’ll probably settle in for another few hours of tedious paperwork.

Still, you finish every last crumb of your dinner feeling lighter than you have all week.

Maybe you’ll ask him next time, despite all the reasons you probably shouldn’t, whatever happened to sharing is caring?—even if it sounds like an invitation.

And maybe you feel cheeky enough to send him a quick email before logging off, cackling to yourself when he finally fires back a scathing reply a few hours later, likely still sitting in a room full of people just like his mother, trying not to be absolutely miserable.

From: “El Diablo” <[email protected]> To: Reception <[email protected]> Subject: RE: Merry Christmas Oh fuck off, I don’t know what you’re talking about. ——————— From: Reception <[email protected]> To: “El Diablo” <[email protected]> Subject: Merry Christmas …and thanks for dinner, Drysdale.

And if, when you’re finally home long after the midnight hour, you’re tucked into bed feeling full and warm with the temptation to raise your lips into a smile as you drift off to sleep?

Well.

That’s really nobody’s business but your own, is it?

fin.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fluff #ransom drysdale x f!reader #ransom drysdale #chris evans character fanfiction #christmas fluff

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