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last-words-ofashootingstar · 11 months

Text

DJANGO

Choi San x fem reader x Jung Wooyoung (heavy hints at ot8)

a/n: nobody talk to me nobody touch me nobody look at me i'm loosing my mind over this comeback you don't even understand

"Ain't nobody mess with Django, call me Django." -ATEEZ

✫彡wordcount: 5.5k (sorry?!?)

(>ᴗ•) genre: smut w/plot

ಠ_ಠwarnings/content: violence and injuries, dystopian/lore universe, lots of cussing, angst, poly relationship, brief mention of drinking as coping, extreme pda LMAO, woo is a bit of a little shit in the first half, dry humping, making out(lots of it), also lots of pet names, multiple rounds, threesome, light choking&degrading, snowballing, oral, boobjob, dp, overstim, teasing, orgasm control, praise kink teehee, dom san/sub woo/switch-sub reader, m x m, unprotected( don't do that🗣️), NOT EDITED

taglist: @calicanbeevil @pansies-garden @kissezfornamjoon @wisejudgedragonhairdo

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

The van shook as another vehicle passed, making San groan as you fell down onto him.

"I'm sorry, Baby," you cooed softly, kissing the bruise on his collarbone that you had unintentionally fallen onto. The soaked rag that you cleaned him with was handed back to you from its fallen place on the shag carpet by Wooyoung with a soft laugh.

"You baby him too much, he's a big boy," he claps his hand onto his shoulder, making him groan again- glaring at the younger man, "right, Champ?"

"I'll beat your ass, Woo."

"Oh, I bet you will, you beat up that scrawny little guy too!" He cackles, clapping and leaning away as San swipes at him tiredly.

"He was faster than I expected!"

"You two knock it off," you sigh exasperatedly as you wipe the grime from his swollen pec, rolling your eyes at your boyfriends bickering. Being stuck in such a small space had taken a toll on the three of yours relationship- especially the two men. They were at each other throats more often than not-even it was playfully. "I'll blow our cover just to tell Hongjoong."

"You wouldn't..." Wooyoung eyes you suspiciously as you smirk. "You wouldn't!"

"I will if you two don't give me a second of peace." You cock your brow at him, tossing the rag into the pile that is your dirty laundry, silently cursing yourself for choosing to hide out with them instead of with Yunho and Jongho in their shop. They even had a cool talking bird.

You place a gentle kiss to Sans eye, a healing bruise almost faded under your lips. "Stop getting hit in the face, yeah?"

"Yeah, I'll politely tell my opponents that my girlfriend likes her boys pretty~" he rolls his eyes and whines as your body heat leaves his sore body.

"So what if I do, pretty boys happen to be my type!" You shrug and crawl off of the spent man, over to the other side and into Wooyoungs lap.

He smirks at his boyfriend cockily as you rest your head on his shoulder, "that's why she's cuddling me right n-ow!" His smirk turns to a pout as you flick his chest.

"Can you two manage a peace treaty while I get some shut eye? It's four hours drive to the next town and it's my turn to drive in the morning."

"Of course, Darling." They chime together, silently scowling at one another but keeping quiet as you close your eyes.

"Wakey, wakey," you shake the buff man softly, safely parked in the back alley of the abandoned building. Wooyoung stood just outside of the open van doors, abs on display as he changed into a better looking shirt.

"Yah, wake up!"

You glare at him as he startles San awake, who holds you close protectively in his delirium, still scared of the run in you had experienced with HalaTeez months ago. No matter how much he swears to the lot of you that he doesn't feel guilty, the way his eyes sadden when he focuses on the scar over your left brow for too long gives it away. Hala-San, as you call him to real-Sans dismay, had tricked you all too well and after that... you couldn't look at the real, loving, caring San for weeks. You had to split off with Mingi and frequented a bar, drinking away any memory of Hala-Sans torment until Hongjoong found you and picked up the pieces when the bottle ran empty.

"You dick," San rasps as he rubs your sides, his gentle touch a contrast to the way he gives his cackling boyfriend the stink eye.

"Rise and shine, Sannie~" he teases, buttoning up his shirt and soothing his long hair down, "time to get your ass whopped again."

"Oh, like you'd do any better! You'd be demolished!"

You let out a sigh and slide out of the van, soothing your dress- which in reality is Jongho's shirt with a belt around your waist. "I'll be signing in." You speak shortly before wondering off, leaving them fighting more than ever over how they upset you.

San insists it's all Wooyoungs fault for being such a whiny shit.

Wooyoung is adamant that San is at fault for hogging all of your attention.

They go back and forth for a while until a Strickland patrol vechile speeds by, spooking the both of them into the building.

Wooyoung immediately wraps his arms around your waist as they find you bent over signing Sans pseudonym, DJANGO, into the fighting brackets. San is busy eyeing everyone around you, both in suspicion of Halateez and Strickland and simply to scope out his potential competition.

"Entry fee is three k," the woman on the other side of the pop-up table looks as if she's ready to kick your trio out in a single breath when you don't provide the money, eyeing up Sans messy tank top and your days old makeup with distain.

"That's it?" You pout, tutting your tongue as you turn away from the rude woman, sighing dramatically as you dig into Wooyoungs pockets, grabbing hold of multiple tightly rolled wads of money.

Both of them smirk at your antics, so clearly eager to prove this stranger wrong about her preconceived notions about you and your lovers as you count the wads, dropping a few down before skipping past her with a wave.

The crowded arena does nothing for Sans anxiety, his eyes scanning at a million miles an hour as he keeps a possessive hand on the small of your back. Wooyoung has similar feelings as he drapes his arm over your shoulders in a way that clearly shouts, 'don't touch' to anyone who looks your way. You feel much safer on the other hand, both of your boyfriends touching you at once for the first time in what feels like ages, both ready to toss themselves infront of danger if it presents itself.

You all squeeze your way to the front, right up to the edge of the ring, where a fight is already taking place, one of the men nearly teasing the other with the way he bounces around on his tip-toes, not letting the other get a single touch in.

"She said not many fighters showed up," you practically have to yell for the men to hear you, "Strickland cracking down again!" You explain loudly, rubbing Sans lower back in an attempt to comfort his nerves as he stretches his wrists. Wooyoung has split off to make bets with other players, making sure to stick out like a sore thumb with his flashy shirt. "Might have to find a new income soon if they don't back off!"

He sighs, rolling his head back and stretching his neck out, letting you admire the freckles on his skin that he knows you love.

As the quick moving fighter finally wears out his opponent, he gets sloppy, and he starts getting hits in. You slide behind San and hide your face in his back, wrapping your arms around his waist and stroking his stomach softly. "I hate that you have to do this!"

He holds his hands over your own and rubs his thumbs over your skin, watching the man who will clearly be his opponent wailing on the other man.

"Got nine grand riding on you tonight, Babe," Wooyoung slides back into the conversation, cupping the back of Sans neck.

Although they had their on and off moments, he would always be in tune to his emotions and try to calm him. And trying to keep the peace was even more worth it when you were around. Usually, they had Yeosang as a voice of reason but he was off with Seonghwa doing God-knows what in preparation for your next mission.

Being apart was straining and stressful for every last one of you. But groups larger than three were banned by Hongjoong after four of you had caught Halateez's attention a few months back. He didn't want to risk it again and he certainly didn't want to risk a group of nine most wanted outlaws being together. The combined reward for your captures was the largest amount of money you had ever read. You weren't sure how to even pronounce it.

It was almost an entire year of being in hiding.

You didn't know how much more you could take.

"- DJANGO!!" The name catches your attention over the blaring speaker. How was he up so early? You peek around San and see the fast man catching his breath in the opposite corner. Blood being wiped up and a limp body being carried out.

"We can always find a new way to get money," you scream to San as he rolls out his stiff shoulders, whining as Wooyoung pulls you away gently. "Seriously, Sannie!"

"He'll be okay, Darling," Wooyoungs chaste kiss to your head does nothing to calm your raging nerves as San bends down and slides into the ring. You pull away in a hurry and hop up on the ledge, grabbing his top over the ropes.

"Forgot something?" You lean your torso over and immediately take San into a heated kiss, his calloused hands cupping your face firmly and pulling you close. People all around whistle and call loudly, a blush creeping up Wooyoung neck as he watches your lips meld together.

It been almost a year on the run. Almost five months since any of the three of you have touched one another in an intimate, primal way.

He doesn't know how much longer he can take it. When you crawled into his lap earlier he nearly took you right there.

You always do something after a needy kiss that makes every single one of them feral.

You lick up Sans lips to his cheekbone and moan.

People start nearly howling, and his opponent looks antsy.

"Fuck him up, Baby," you cup his chin in your hand as you block out the world around you for a moment and take one last good look at him before you know you'll go away during his fights. You can't bring yourself to watch no matter how long he's been fighting. But that doesn't mean you won't hype him up while you can.

You slap his shoulder softly, making sure to make it look harder than it was in reality before giving his fist a gentle kiss.

"Fuck him up," you repeated before hopping down.

The van door opening makes your head snap, setting away the headphones that play Yeosangs violin melody.

"Hey, how'd ev-"

San jumps on you before you can finish greeting them properly, kissing you deeply and feeling you up like it's the first time he's ever touched you. The clotted blood on his lip doesn't discourage either of you, the pain only stirs him on as Wooyoung climbs in and slams the doors shut behind him.

The dull thud of the duffel bag he drops makes you look over, San letting you breath and nipping at your neck and jaw instead. "Holy shit, Baby, you won?!"

"Fuck yeah, I did, Beautiful," he moans breathlessly, holding himself up above you to speak with a sultry purr, "let me spoil you." He looks over to Wooyoung lustfully. "Both. Let me spoil you both."

Wooyoung smiles at him. Genuinely. For the first time in weeks.

If there's one thing that makes him weak it's being spoiled by his lovers. So when San lifts you up and settles you in his lap and climbs into the drivers seat, he doesn't complain: he simply dives into your lips like a man starved.

And he is, lips suctioned onto yours so deeply and passionately that neither of you notice as the van lurches to life and begins speeding away. You fall to the floor ontop of him and hold him tightly. Like he's an illusion that will disappear like smoke if you let go.

He body feels so right on yours. Clinged together on the shag floor. Melting together. The outside world and all of its problems fading away as his hands wander your body.

How you've managed to keep your hands off one another for this long is a world's greatest mystery.

"Fuck," he moans as you lap at his lips, his hands sliding up the edge of your dress and cupping the round of your ass. "Fuck, Princess, please," he whines.

You can hear the smirk in the way San chuckles from the front seat, but it doesn't stop him from speeding up. He loves how whiney Wooyoung gets just as much as you do.

You clumsily undo his bottoms and pull them down just enough to press your heat to his growing bulge. The thin layers of cloth separating you doesn't stop the feral groan that he lets out, holding your hips with a bruising force as he grinds up into you. If anything, the soft fabric pressing into your clit with each of his uncoordinated thrusts makes it feel more euphoric.

"Oh, God~"

The soft moans you let out have Wooyoung rock hard and San palming himself. "Ffffuck, Baby," you groan, hugging his neck tightly as his hips buck below you.

Everyone got the 'Babyyy' treatment when they were good or needed a pick me up. The way it rolled off of your tongue was like a drug to them. Even more so when it's so deep and passionate. Even more so when their cock is pressing against you.

Sans eager left turn has the both of you rolling on the floor, laughing as he apologizes loudly from the driver seat. "Sorry, continue!"

"You heard the man," you laugh from below Wooyoung, "continue."

And he does, burying his face in your neck and biting and licking and sucking as he rubs his bulge against you like it's the last human touch he'll ever experience. "M'cum," your moan has him rolling into you with a new purpose in life, nearly growling as he holds himself back from painting his underwear white, "shit, Youngie!" You wrap your legs around his waist tightly as you release, shivering and shaking with your jaw slack.

He isn't far behind by even a second, his gut clenching as he turns his bottoms sticky with his own pleasure, panting into your ear as he continues to roll into you, drawing out your euphoria and making you mewl out, clawing at his scalp.

In your bliss, you fail to notice that Sans parked outside of a double story motel and ran out with a wad of cash, clearly in a hurry.

Yours hands are wrapped in each others hair, breathing deeply with your foreheads pressed together, almost as it trying to meld your souls together with passion.

The doors behind the both of you open and flood you in the neon light of the motel signs, and you peek around Wooyoungs frame as he falls over you protectively from what he thinks is prying eyes. "Sannie~" you call, making Wooyoung relax ontop of you.

"You alive, Foxy?" San teases as he climbs in and crawls to you both.

"Mhm," he moans into your jaw, "very alive." He gasps as San pulls him away from you by his neck, taking him in a feverish kiss as you watch on in awe. You can tell San his slipping his tongue into Wooyoungs mouth by the way he holds his jaw open, the way Wooyoung grinds his bulge back into you.

"Youngie, Baby," you whine as he rolls his self into your swollen clit, but it only makes him go faster, his hands finding purchase on Sans waist. "Ah s-" You writhe below him, stopped when one of Sans hands comes and holds you in place by pressing on your stomach: all the while he never opens his eyes or pulls away from your boyfriend. "Fuck, please don't tease!"

He chuckles into his lips, gently stroking his neck. "C'mon, I got us a room for a few days."

Wooyoung begrudgingly slides out of the van, gathering your few bags and bouncing in anticipation as he fixes his pants to the best of his ability. San scoops you up to his chest and you cling to him like a koala bear, kissing all over his face as he carries you up the stairs and down the balcony hall.

Wooyoung drops the bags at the entrance of the room and immediately goes to investigate the single bedded room and bathroom before urging San in, latching the door shut behind him.

You're dropped to the bed and bounce with a soft laugh, opening your legs wide to fit Sans large frame as he slots himself between them. Wooyoung slides next to you and is immediately latched onto your neck as he unbuttons your dress.

"Ah fuck," you mewl out, cradling his head close as your head spins, San slipping off your panties and shimmying down. He holds your thighs apart as he licks a slow, deep stripe up your soaking heat, reveling in the way you moan for him. He wastes no time diving in and eating you out like it's his last meal. His tongue flicking and swiping against every inch it can reach. His nose pressed against your clit as his head bobs.

You're lost in the pleasure between your legs so much so that you don't notice that you and Wooyoung are both naked until he climbs onto your stomach, his hot member gliding between your breasts. Despite how long it's been, your body has its muscle memory from how often you two would do this.

You cup your breasts and push them together, encasing his length in the soft flesh as he grips the headboard roughly, the tip of his cock leaking on the base of your collar bones.

It's hard to appreciate just how beautiful he is while San is ravaging your cunt with his tongue, but you manage. Looking up with blown irises, he's so pretty. His long hair softly framing his face, bouncing with each of his rough, slow thrusts against your supple skin. His swollen lips parted with moans. Toned abs expanding and constricting as he heaves.

"Foxy," you whisper out, catching his eyes with a deep blush on both of your cheeks, "so pretty, Baby."

He curses loudly and reaches one hand down, cradling your face so gently in comparison to how he fucks your tits. "My woman."

The words make your eyes roll back, a wave of your arousal coating Sans tongue as you cum, gripping your breasts tightly and whimpering out as the sensations continue well past your peak.

Wooyoung wills himself to hold back from cumming until he's told, and San holds himself back as he laps up your juices-grinding his hardness onto the bed slowly. Both of your moans are a magic melody to him, and he can't help but crave more. He pulls away and joins Wooyoung over top of you, wrapping his arms around the younger man and spooking him. He slides his hands up his naked torso teasingly slow, grinding on his backside.

"Shit, Babe," he groans, tossing his head back on his shoulder and simultaneously trying to bury his cock in your warm skin and grind back on San's bulge. "Fuck, I ne-"

"Cum, Youngie." The command from the both of you at the same time has him painting your collarbones and neck in a millisecond flat, jaw slack as San continues to stroke him even as his hips stop.

"Fuck, fuck, please, oh my God," he stirs back to life from his void of pleasure as you bend your neck and lick his sensitive tip. He tries to back away only to bump right into Sans girth on his bare backside. "Oh God~"

"Need a breather, Sexy?" San coos as he slowly moves Wooyoung off of you, already knowing that he can't cum back to back. He needs at least five minutes at that's all San needs to get you ready for what's about to come.

Wooyoung comes crawling back into you, lapping up his own seed with a quiet moan as San slides down your body and hooks your legs over his hips. "Ready, Darling?"

"Yes, holy fuck am I ready, please give it to me," you babble on, only silenced as he inches into your sopping core. He's by far the girthiest man you've even been with. And the stretch always feels so delicious.

Wooyoung takes advantage as your jaw falls open, leaning over you to drip all of his release into your mouth. The moans and whimpers of pleasure are unstoppable as you swallow all of it down eagerly, hands wrapped up in his hair and pulling him impossibly close. His body follows his head, almost snuggling you as he presses his body flush to your side, one leg hooked over your hips as he grinds his hardening member into your hip.

It's all so warm and welcoming, a familiar and comfortable feeling washing over you along with the overstimulation of your third orgasm building up as San thrusts into you with a steady slow pace. "Fuck," you moan into Wooyoung, "so big," you whimper as your cunt uncontrollably clenches around him. He swallows up all of your noises as he moves his lips against yours zealously, and sneaky hand rubbing the column of your breasts and up to your neck, simply resting: bouncing with each of Sans increasingly rough thrusts that bounce your body.

"Take me so well," Sans praise has you leaking onto the blanket, panting like crazy and slapping at Wooyoungs shoulders as he bites at your lips hungrily, "pretty Angel, made just for us, hm?"

"Mmhmph-" Your affirmative moan turns into a yelp as Wooyoung tightens his hand over your neck.

Damn them. When they decided to be on the same team they were almost scary at how well the schemed without even speaking a single word. San held your hips in place and drilled into you. Wooyoung assaulting your ear with kisses and bites, squeezing your neck in time with Sans hips.

"Pretty Angel looks like she wants your cum," Wooyoung teases as you swirl your hips in Sans hold, holding you down securely with his hand pressing your neck into the mattress as he looks down at where you're connected.

"Mmh, she does," San groans loudly, hips snapping into you needily, "looks like a bitch in heat." His words make both of you moan out, your eyes rolling into your skull for a moment before he buries himself to the hilt and stops.

"No, no, no, please! I wasn't going to cum, pleaseee, Sannie Baby~!" If there's one thing that gets San off, it's when his lover begs him for permission. When their with someone else- cum as much as you like. But with him? Grovel at his feet and beg him for a release only he can give you. "Fuuuck, shit, please, I need you, fuck me!"

Wooyoung watches you with gazed over eyes, holding you still as you attempt to writhe and get more stimulation. "She wants it's so bad, Babe~" He smirks as San, a look that makes his cock twitch inside of you, You muster up your best begging pout and let go of him, reaching for San's hands that are gripping your hips with a bruising force as he holds himself back until he's satisfied with your begging.

"I want you to make me cum, please, Django?"

All of the breath is fucked out of your lungs as he pounds into you. Fast and hard and nearly animalistic in the way he buries himself in your sopping heat with a string of curses, his fingers interlacing with yours in a soft intimacy that makes your head fuzzy. You can barely moan, how good it is. But he knows. Wooyoung knows.

As you finally come to your senses and scream out with your release, the whole district must know how well Django is fucking you.

He stops himself with a deep groan as your walls flutter and clench around him, squeezing your hands to ground your soul to your body as Wooyoung dips his head and laps at your hardened nipples. You squeeze his hands tightly, arched off of the bed in pure ecstasy as he fills you with his warm cum.

San slips his arms under your arched back and holds you close to his chest as he flips the two of you, a squeal of pleasure leaving you as he hits an all new angle. He holds you securely as he looks at Wooyoung, almost silently communicating.

He slips behind you, the feeling of his leaking tip prodding at your stretched hole has you gripping Sans shoulders tightly, rolling your hips back into him. "Oh, fuck, yes yes yes yes y-" Sans lips catch yours and silence you as he ravenously slips his tongue into your mouth and licks at your tongue, feeding on all of your moans as Wooyoung slides in with him.

"So good, my woman," his mind is gone, unaware of how your walls grow slicker with his praise as he slowly sheaths himself into you fully.

He nowhere near as thick as San, but dear lord that man has length to make up for it. The both of them together is making your stomach feel hot, the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

San pulls away panting, his lips swollen and wet with your saliva. "Beautiful Angel," you official feel lightheaded as he cradles your face oh so gently as he moves his hips. Wooyoung follows suit, holding your back and fucking into you ruthlessly, rubbing against Sans girth inside of you like it's his favorite thing to do in the universe and it's about to be ripped away.

All you can do is moan and gasp with them, a melody that your neighbors must be cursing as the headboard bangs into the thin walls.

Your chest is pressed into Sans roughly, faces barely an inch away as you all move together. His hands cupping your cheeks and keeping you upright as your body threatens to give out. "Sannie, please, n'cum," he can just make out your slurs over the panting and slapping of skin in the humid room, the smell of sex already soaking into the air.

His brain is nearly gone as he feels Wooyoungs length twitch against him along with your cunt squeezing mercilessly, only nodding at the both of you for permission as he himself lets his soul float away in a wave of pleasure, squeezing you to himself possessively as he cums inside of you. Wooyoung isn't a moment behind, the second he feels Sans warmth flood you, his is joining. And the feeling of both of them soaking your womb makes you lose yourself, dunked in pleasure.

Wooyoung falls ontop of you, sandwiching you between their body warmth. San reaches around and hugs his arms around both of you, heavy breaths lulling you to sleep.

"Holy shit." Is all that can be said.

The next morning you decide to take advantage of the running water that San must have paid extra for, washing away the grime that stuck to you despite how many bird baths Wooyoung have you on the side of the road.

San, despite you and Wooyoungs best begging, went off on his own to meet with Hongjoong after he got a call on the prepaid flip phone in the middle of the night.

Wooyoung noticed you eyeing the bag of dirty laundry when you woke up and immediately offered to go wash them and grab some food for the both of you.

You're so wrapped up in the welcoming feeling of the warm water pelting your body that you fail to notice the door opening, letting the steam rise to the ceiling of the motel room. You sung one of Jongho's songs sung softly, the sound echoing on the fiberglass and acrylic shower wall.

"Darling?"

You grab the knife you left on the edge and swipe the shower curtain back. "Jesus!" Both of you yell. Wooyoungs hands fly up in a defense position as you aim the knife at him for a moment.

You flip it in your hand and hand it over to him by the handle, visibly relaxing as you see it's only your sneaky boyfriend. "Perv~" You tease before sliding the curtain shut dramatically. You can hear him shuffling around, and the sound of his zipper confirms your suspicions.

He steps over the tub edge and joins you, hugging you close from behind and kissing your neck gently. "Did you-"

"Mhm, foods on the bed, Princess." You laugh softly before turning in his arms and hugging his neck loosely.

"You're the best, you know?"

"I sure do~"

He reaches over you and grabs the travel size bottle of shampoo, cursing them silently because he will most definitely have to go get some more from the main desk before your stay is over. He lathers it up in his hands a bit before massaging your hair tenderly. "You miss them, don't you?"

His question catches you off guard for a moment, wondering just what he means until you realize that he must have heard you singing the song Jongho wrote all those years ago on The Illusion.

Those times were so much simpler. A group of pirates and the open sea. Beautiful blue water and all the time together that you could ever ask for.

"Don't you?" The way your eyes glaze over is enough to tell him. You miss them just as much as he does. You wish this would end just as much as he does.

"It hurts like hell."

"I know, Baby."

"I want to kill them."

Hala-Teez, the Strickland officials? All of them. "Me too, Baby."

He leans your head back carefully and rinses away the coconut scented soap from your hair gently. "I love you." You speak. Just above a whisper. But he catches it even over the raining water.

"I love you, Darling. This will all be over soon." He doesn't promise because he knows he can't. He doesn't know how long this situation will last. You could be on the run from Strickland and looking over your shoulders for Hala-Teez until your last breath.

"Joong will figure something out." You don't promise. Because Hongjoong hasn't. He can't. He won't promise something that he doesn't know he cant follow through with. He could be trying to come up with a plan for decades.

You stand in silence for a moment as you wash his hair gently before he speaks again, "don't cry, Love."

"What?"

When you look up, he's blurry. When did you start crying? How did this happen?

He closes his eyes and hugs you close with his head under the stream of steaming water.

After a small cry-session in the shower together, you and Wooyoung curled up in the bed and ate your takeout, watching one of the decade old dvd's on the laptop that Yeosang managed to get to you guys a few weeks ago.

The ban from being together for safety didn't stop small run ins with a familiar looking delivery man. Be it disguised as a food delivery man, a mailman, an exterminator- Yeosang always found a way to travel around the city and deliver small gifts from one member to another along with messages from Hongjoong when the phones were down.

A wave of laughter is cut off by a knock on the door. His hand immediately grabs a small hand gun on the nightstand as he stands, your own going to your knife that's sandwiched between the mattress and bed box as you slam the laptop closed.

"Delivery!" The voice makes you relax.

"Fucker," you huff as you jump over the bed and beat Wooyoung to the door and smile at the helmeted man. You can't see him, but you know who it is. "Goody~" You peek out into the halls and spot a few suspicious looking people, so you pretend to slip him some money before taking the box and take one last look as he walks away.

"Open it," he urges impatiently, nearly knocking you over to get to the pizza box as you set it on the small table.

Ontop of your favorite pizza. A small piece of paper. Sans handwriting.

let's bounce

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evilminji · 7 months

Text

You know... >.>

My Dad always used to tell me, if I get a Genuine Genie(tm)? Get a lawyer first. Before I make my Wishes(tm), so they can help me word them correctly.

Obviously, a human lawyer would not be foolproof... BUT! What about a Ghost Lawyer?

Like? Obviously Desiree would be PISSED. How DARE you twist HER wish twisting! Her THING is "what you believe is your heart's desire always comes at a terrible cost" which is what she DIED to learn.

So obviously she would NEVER, willingly, bend her Obsession for ANYONE. And you'd have to make a DAMN good case to that Lawyer for why he ISNT breaking the law by helping you. Probably some "you can: save the life of an unconscious person against their will/shove an unobservant person OFF the train tracks, even if they get hurt, to save their life" clause.

Like? Using a ghosts Obsession against them? Bad. Illegal.

Using it against their will, to save OTHER ghosts, who are in immediate danger? Not illegal, but they will be PISSED. Still not great though, you will want to apologize and fast.

So like??? Reality Bending Power. Patrick Star Method of "what if we MOVED the city... somewhere else?" Considered at 1am. Team of Ghost Laywers, acquired.

Amity and all Limnals are REMOVED from the DP-verse.

Wish worded juuuuust so. Any ghost that forms there? Yoink! Instantly removed to the Zone. Natural Portals? Cut off. Let the whole Reality fade out at an accelerated rate, as no NEW energy is fed into the system. Entropy will do, what entropy does. Exactly as they wished it.

They hated Death so much, they speed up the heat death of their ENTIRE universe by Eons. Congratulations, you guys "Won". Enjoy the wildly more fragile flora, fauna, and general ecosystems. Now that none of you have that ambient Ectoplasm strengthening your bodies. Yeah, the things you used to shrug off? Those are gonna maim or kill you now.

Doesn't MATTER if you "learn your lesson" though! Cause this is WAY past that point! This is "cutting off the tumor before it kills us" territory, and buddy? Amity ISNT the tumor. Go forth a grow, just like you wanted.

They won't be here to fix your messes anymore.

Because Danny got himself a dictionary thick "I Wish..." contract. Which was worded, as it needs to be, in one loooooooong run on sentence. Shouted "I Wish what's written on THIS, as it is currently, and without any form of editing or negotiation!" As fast as he could. Yote the document in Desiree's direction. And Flew like an INCANDESCENTLY pissed off Genie was trying to set his everything of fire.

Which she was.

Thankfully, Paulina came in clutch with her History of all things Jewelry, world fashions, and Make-Up knowledge. That, coupled with the Power Of Rich Friends(tm)? (Sam. Her mother was THRILLED to take her Jewelry and clothing shopping for something other then blacks and dark purple. They went on a jet setting whurl-wind tour. Sam actually kinda liked a some of what she found.)

They have Apology Bribes.

They shamelessly HIDE behind the mountain of Apology Bribes, while they explain themselves. Is Desiree HAPPY? No. But those bracelets are magnificent and she DOES deserve nice things. Those silks will really bring out her eyes. And she... DOES... admit...

Maybe...

That things are not... SAFE. Any longer. Danny TRIES. Everyone else can see it. And he's made incredible strides! Even convinced his lunatic parents. Though they're still not quite POPULAR. (WAY too pushy and invasive with their questions, for most people.) But the fanatics in white?

They nearly killed Box Lunch. If her father hadn't BEEN there...

And the poor man will have that scar on his back for the rest of his afterlife. Desiree can see why Danny is pushing. Does she LIKE it? No. But...

She supposes she will content herself with the suffering of the Fanatics in White and all who support them. THEIR wishes, twisted. Their ugly heart's desires.

Fine.

"SO YOU WISH IT. SO IT SHALL BE!"

And? The ghost town of what WOULD of one day grown into Amity, had the witch's there not been found by those they had fled from, which sits in long rotted ruins, amongst the trees in nowhere Illinois? Poof! Two "Towns" are switched.

The roads out of town coming to a clean line stop, meeting not even goat paths. Just trees. Old growth.

But it's not ALL of Town, is it? Faces missing. New, confused, faces from every corner of the map, taking their place. No Limnal left behind. No supporter of the GIWs genocide, brought along. Family's kept together where they could be. But by the few, scared and upset, green flashing eyes of children in the crowd?

It seemed for some, it was easier to fear and hate, then love their children.

Already they were being gathered up by school teachers and PTA parents. As everyone tried to figure out what had happened. Concerned, quite muttering a dull roar as everyone tries to coordinate.

Red Huntress joins Danny and Dani in the Sky. She doesn't get a word in. Wanted to know what the HELL was going on. She was with her dad in Chicago! Dani was in Taiwan! Literally! As in, sitting in a SUBWAY station one second, the next? Outside!

But they don't get to demand those answers. Because there is a sonic boom on the horizon. And then? Floating... weird... not ghosts?

Uuuuuuhhhh?

Hi?

That much blue... sure is a Statement. Like the cape and... bloooomers? Shorts. Bikini bottoms? It.. it's a Cool Look, dude! No, really. They are being VERY supportive here! If YOU like it? That's the only thing that matters!

Red Huntress smacks the Danny/i's Repeated upside their heads and demans to know what the Not-Ghosts are doing in their airspace.

Oh YEAH. Good point! What she said! And can it WAIT? They're kinda going through A Thing right now...

Kon? Wants it on record he loves these guys. They're hilarious. The LOOK on Clark's FACE?? He wishes he could frame it. Preserve it for future generations. Thing is? There was NOT a town here a second ago.

Well, bout 30 minutes or so, but you get the idea. One moment? Tree noises. Bam! Thousands of people! Obviously the checked it out. Only to be met with two... three maybe? Heros who have NO IDEA who they are.

Clear Reality warping shenanigans. Might be time travel or multiverse. Question is... are they STAYING? And if SO? What now...

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe @dcxdpdabbles @mutable-manifestation @hypewinter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing

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lqvesoph · 3 months

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Right person, wrong time || LN4

lando norris x childhood sweetheart/ex gf!reader

summary: lando and reader haven’t seen each other since their break up 6 years ago, now at a grand prix where her current boyfriend is invited, they meet again

kind of like the "in a room full of people i know who i would run to but i also know who i would stare at the whole time"

masterlist | taglist

You really did hope you wouldn’t run into him today…

But standing opposite of the Mclaren hospitality and inside your boyfriend’s arm, you knew it was a lie. Because who are you kidding? The whole time you have been inside the paddock you looked around you, almost waiting to catch a glimpse of the curly headed McLaren driver.

But now you locked eyes with him from opposite of his teams home and all the emotions dared to come up.

Lando shook his head as if to escape the trance the eye contact with you had put him in and turned around, walking hastily back into the hospitality.

"Right, baby?", you heard your boyfriend Theo smile and felt his hand squeeze your hip. You tore your eyes away from the orange building and put a fake smile on your face. "You never were really into motor racing growing up? That was until you met me", Theo repeated, helping you with the conversation.

"Oh, yes totally! My dad is a huge fan but I rarely watched", you lied. "Of Mercedes, I hope", Toto Wolff joked, making you chuckle. "In fact, he is."

*~*~*~*~*~*

The sight of Lando didn’t leave your thoughts for the rest of the day.

He looked so much different. So much taller, broader and older.

Theo was off with a few team members showing him this years car while you stood back a little.

"Y/n, is that you?", an all too familiar voice asked behind you, making you turn around. "I thought it was you", George Russell smiled, opening his arms to give you a hug. "It’s been ages! I haven’t seen you since you and Lando-", George started talking but let his words trail at the end.

"Anyways, how are you? What have you been up to?", he quickly put a smile back on his face. "I‘m good, thank you! I just finished university", you told him. "Interior Design still?", George smirked, remembering what you had told him over six years ago. You chuckled and nodded. "Yes, Interior Design."

George had always been one of you best mates when you and Lando were together, you just clicked. But when Lando and you called it quits, you disappeared from the paddock, cutting off everyone and everything that reminded you of Lando.

You even stopped watching Formula 1. You tried to but when they showed a nervous small Lando before his first race in Australia, you started bawling your eyes out at the feeling of missing him.

You thought now, six years later, the memories and scars would have faded at least a little while, which is why you agreed to join your boyfriend when he was invited by Mercedes. But now being here, back in the paddock, the wounds still felt as fresh as on the first day.

"Darling, you have to see this!", Theo called, a huge smile on his face. George and you turned around. A frown creeping its way on George‘s face as he connected the dots, figuring out that the guy that had called you must be your boyfriend.

"Coming!", you called, giving George a smile and hurrying over to your boyfriend.

Seeing George reminded you of Lando and of memories you tried so hard to push away.

*~*~*~*~*~*

After Theo had excitedly explained to you the different parts of a Formula 1 car to you, you told him you need to get some fresh air and would be back in a few minutes.

Theo didn’t know about your past in this world, including Lando. You knew every little part of that damn car, you even sat in one when Lando tested the McLaren cars the year before he debuted in Formula 1.

You quickly walked down the paddock, breathing heavily at the thought of all those memories until someone called your name, making you stop in your tracks.

You closed your eyes until you felt a hand on your shoulder, sending sparks through your whole body.

"I can’t believe it’s really you", Lando whispered as you turned around.

Being this close, you could even see the dark stubbles on his chin, smiling at the memory of 17 year old Lando complaining about not being able to grow a beard.

"Hi", you breathed, not quite knowing how to act. Lando chuckled. "Hi."

"Uh- what… what brings you into the paddock?", he then asked, nervously fiddling with his fingers, a habit that he hasn’t broken in all those years.

"I‘m here with my boyfriend", you said, watching as hurt flashed before Lando‘s eyes and a frown sneaked on his face.

"Oh", he simply said, trying to play down the hurt he felt. "That‘s- uh great."

"You wanna come to the hospitality?", Lando changed the topic. And against your better judgment and your head screaming at you not to say yes, you nodded, making a relieved smile make its way on Lando’s face.

You tried to ignore the glance the two of you got when you walked passed the McLaren team members and up to Lando‘s driver room.

You hesitantly looked around the small room as Lando closed the door.

"So, what have you been up to?", he broke the silence, making you move your attention to the curly headed boy. "I- uh just finished university and we‘re moving to Spain this fall", you told him, still avoiding his eyes.

"Spain, huh? Where in Spain?", Lando continued, ignoring the 'we'. "Madrid." Your reply made Lando frown. "Why not Barcelona? You love Barcelona!"

"Well, Theo liked Madrid quite a lot so…", you said, making Lando huff. But you ignored it.

"How have you been?", you asked. "Good, uh, yeah. The car‘s pretty good and the team is just amazing", he smiled, but you could tell it was forced. "That‘s great!", you said, wondering why you even agreed to come to talk to him. In private. In a closed room. In his driver room.

A rather awkward silence settled over you until Lando broke it once again. "What happened to us?", he carefully whispered which made you close your eyes. You assumed this conversation would eventually lead to this point.

"We grew up, Lando", you replied quietly. "But why didn’t we grew up together?", he asked, looking directly at you. "We didn’t want the same thing anymore or more like we couldn’t have the same thing anymore", you said, still not looking at Lando.

You never had a proper conversation about what led to your break up. Maybe it was because you were too young and the pain of it overshadowed all the logical thoughts on how to handle it.

"I, for my part, was so happy for you. I knew this was all you dreamed of. But somewhere between summer and winter of 2018 we started to drift apart. You were busy and away quite a lot, and I‘m not entirely blaming you for that, I also didn’t really put in an effort and for that I’m sorry", you spoke softly, thinking back on your teen years.

"I‘m so sorry, darling. I should’ve made more of an effort, to visit home more often or to at least call", Lando apologized, fiddling with his fingers. "Me too, Lando, me too", you mumbled, feeling the tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

"You were the person who taught me everything. Taught me how to ride a bike, how to have fun and most importantly how to love. But Lando we were kids, merely 18 years old. We both weren’t mature enough to actually hold that relationship. Hell, we weren’t even mature enough to talk about our break up", you spoke, your eyes on the verges of tears.

"But what about now?", Lando asked hopeful and reached for one of your hands, wrapping it in his.

You let out a painful laugh. "I‘m in a relationship and I love Theo, so much", you muttered. "Then why are you still in here with me?", Lando posed the question that you had asked yourself already, not daring to give yourself and answer.

"Because… a part of me will always love you. But sometimes that just isn’t enough", you whispered, pulling your hand away from Lando‘s and standing up.

Walking back to your boyfriend, all you could think about was the conversation you just had and if you had made the right decision.

You forced a half smile when Theo spotted you and opened his arms. "Where have you been, the race is almost starting", he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"You know just wandering around, discovering the paddock", you lied, settling in your boyfriends’ arms and focusing your attention on the TV.

But without meaning to, your eyes immediately searched for Lando during the national anthem, your heart beating slightly faster when they showed the line up and even more when he overtook Max Verstappen to take the race lead after the first corner.

Still, you stood in Theo‘s arms till the end of the race, watching Lando up on the podium from afar.

masterlist | taglist

@im-an-overthinker @buendiabebeta @hungryhungariann @ohthemisssery @kenopsiababe @sawendel @enjoymyloves @ricsaigaslec @ravenqueen27 @temqr1 @leclerc16s @theamazingsimplethings-blog @coldmuffinbanditshoe @hotchnisscm97 @andtheworldiscrashingdownonme @moneymasnn @justme2042 @amulhermaisfelizdomundo @pleasantducktimetravel @anthonykatebridgerton @lisannehus @hannahholland1811 @lighttsoutlewis @mydutchproblem @dan3avocado @alwaysclassyeagle @cocomiracle @allthisfortommy @soleilgrec @cheeryara-blog @person2345-blog @aquamariene-me @judespoision @sbgal @teti-menchon0604 @darleneslane @flower-name @mehrmonga @paolexsstuff @paolexsstuff @kiskso

#lando norris #f1 #mclaren #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x ex!gf #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #lando norris x female reader

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cordeliawhohung · 26 days

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pet!au | part 3 | ghoap x fem!reader (though very heavily just johnny in this one)

johnny's been waiting for this all night

cw: non-con, dark content, groping, thigh-fucking, threats of harm, drugging

Something tethered you to the earth when you woke up.

Not by rope or chain, but by weight. Every part of you was heavy. Lethargic limbs, weighed down eyelids that couldn’t quite flutter open, a diaphragm that refused to pull in enough air for you to breathe. Even your tongue turned into lead in your mouth as you stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

A quiet TV droned on somewhere close by, but its sound was so faded it was impossible to tell if it was the morning news or some late night football rerun. No, it had to be morning, you were certain of it. Or, at least daytime. Gentle beams of sun danced on the decaying walls just out of focus, which would have paired nicely with the scent of cooked meat that wafted into the room had your stomach not twisted at the smell.

The effects of dehydration in your body was agonizing. Cotton-like dryness accompanied the heavy tongue in your mouth, and your skin felt like it contracted in on itself. Hazy memories attempted to surface in your thoughts, but they were disconnected. Incomplete. You could recall the sweat on your skin at work and the taste of fizzy soda on your tongue, but that was it. All you were left with in that moment was an overwhelming sense of warmth and a panicked frustration.

You needed to get up. You needed to do something. Yet when you tried to move your legs, nothing happened. Muscles tensed and strained, but a greater weight held them down. Your neck cried out as you lifted your head up — were you laying on a bed? It felt too soft to be anything else — and you only managed to lift it enough to catch a simple glance at the figure on top of you before your head collided with the mattress underneath you.

A man rested his head on your stomach as if you were a pillow and not a human. Every muscle in your body went stiff with fear as your brain processed that realization. There was a glimpse of dark hair shaved into an overgrown mohawk accompanied by thick arms that wrapped around your hips, keeping your body close to his. It was then that you realized you were stuck in a cage with some sort of beast. No god in the depths of the universe could heed your silent prayer to be unnoticed by him. Your blood had already begun to sing in fear, and that was something a dog like Johnny never failed to notice.

His head perked up off of your stomach where he caught sight of your conscious state, and a grin bloomed on his lips as he rose above you. Everything felt lighter without his weight holding you down, but that did not mean you were any less trapped. The ocean blue of his gaze paralyzed you into submission as his arms caged your body on either side.

“Mornin’ Bonnie,” he greeted in a near purr.

Fear muddled with confusion settled deep in the confines of your stomach where it bubbled and festered. Its taste was soured when coupled with the queasiness that overwhelmed your senses, and you found it difficult to even muster an answer. He looked at you with such adoration in his eyes that it was almost as if the two of you had known each other forever, but you couldn’t recall a single memory of him in your life. The scars on his chin, the slight stubble along his jaw, the collar around his throat; all of it was unrecognizable to you.

The man chuckled something sweet and bone chilling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You felt your body tense and recoil, yet it wasn’t enough to deter him. His inhale of your scent was overly obvious as he bumped his nose against the underside of your jaw like a dog.

“Still tired? You’ve been sleepin’ all night. Waited all morning for you to wake up,” he said in a near whine.

Your legs finally moved, but that was not your own doing. The man’s knees slid between yours where he used his thighs to part them. Wide hips sunk down against yours where you could feel him grind up against you through your pants, something that he performed without any embarrassment. The garbled whimper that erupted from your throat as your body wiggled in protest sounded just as pathetic as you felt.

“Could help ya wake up, if you want, Bonnie. Been dying to get a taste of you all day,” he whispered, voice low and even up against your ear.

Why wouldn’t your body listen to you? Why couldn’t you fight, kick, and scream? All you had been reduced to was a husk, some empty shell for this strange, delusional man to play with. Your teeth ached to sink into the side of his neck as one of his hands began to wander under your shirt. Fabric bunched up around your waist as he shamelessly pawed at your tits like a ravenous beast. It was only then that you realized your bra had vanished, but that was the least of your concerns. He reveled in the feeling of you with another chuckle while his teeth nipped at the soft flesh along your shoulder.

His movements ceased when heavy footsteps sounded outside of the door. He did not seem at all bashful for what he did to you, and that smile still remained on his face as he pulled away from your neck to sit back on his haunches, still nestled between your thighs. His unrelenting gaze finally broke away from you to look at the doorway, and your eyes had no choice but to follow his lead.

The figure that emerged from the shadows of the hallway made you want to tuck tail and run as fast as you could. You thought about it so hard you could almost taste it, yet with your body in whatever state you had woken up to, you were nothing but a pathetic worm baking under the searing heat of his gaze. His tight jaw and pursed lips spelled nothing but disdain, and you swallowed hard. This man didn’t look human. You were certain no other human could look at someone as if they were so far beneath them, yet this stranger had somehow done it. To him, you were nothing but filth. Nothing at all.

“Eager, aren’t ya?” the looming figure asked as he pressed further into the room.

“She just woke up,” the man above you beamed. “Come on, I’ve been patient all night. You’ll let me have her, won’t you?”

“Down, Johnny.”

Silence fell over the room as the man stepped closer and closer to the bed, and you could feel your body shake underneath his gaze. There was nothing kind or playful about his aura as he knelt on the floor next to the bed. Even when he was on his knees he was still plenty taller than the bed, giving him ample room to reach a hand out for your jaw. His cruel grip drew a squeaky wince from your parched throat as he forced your head to the side to fully face him. Dark eyes watched with careful attention as your pupils dilated. Fear was one hell of a drug, but it was nothing compared to the roofies that still tainted your blood.

“She’s awake, but still out of it,” the man said as he let go of your jaw.

“But can I have her? Please, Simon, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” Johnny asked as the man stood to his feet.

Relief flooded through you when that man — Simon? — finally looked away from you, only for your stomach to drop when his fingers looped through Johnny’s collar. In order to prevent himself from falling when Simon tugged at it, Johnny’s hands came up to rest on his chest, but he didn’t seem nearly as terrified as you felt he should have been.

“What did I say? Not ‘til I say so. Fuck ‘er now, she might get pregnant. Would hate to get rid of ‘er ‘cause of that. You don’t want that, do you Johnny?” Simon asked.

Johnny shook his head and Simon’s grip on his collar loosened, but didn’t fully go slack. There was something in that terrible man’s gaze that softened in a way you didn’t expect. Maybe it was the twitch of his scarred lips, or the relaxation of his brows, but he almost seemed to actually care. About Johnny, anyway. His eyes were as cold as stone the moment they landed on you again.

“I’ll be back tonight. Make sure she gets some water,” Simon continued as he dug into the pocket of his jumper.

“‘Course,” Johnny replied.

Black fabric hung limply around Simon’s fingers as he worked it over his face until you saw nothing but his eyes. Those eyes. Unkind and bitter, just like they were the night before.

“Remember, play nice,” he added.

It all came crashing down around you as he left the room and Johnny’s attention fell back on you. Fuzzy remnants of memories of your night at work with that large monster haunting the corner in the back. You remember noting how he didn’t take a single sip of his drink the entire night, ever removed that stupid fucking mask. It was him.

That son of a bitch.

That realization sparked something in you. Something foul. Something that wanted blood. It demanded that you sink your claws into him, wet your maw with his blood until your mind was blank. But you were in no such state for vengeance. Your body tried in its pitiful way as your elbows dug into the mattress in an attempt to sit yourself upright, but that only made the world spin something fierce, and a sob nearly escaped you as your torso fell back onto the bed.

“What’s the matter, Bonnie?” Johnny asked as he rested his hands on either side of your waist.

“That man… that man kidnapped me,” you said. You wanted to scream those words out, to convey your desperation, but your tongue wouldn’t move properly and every thought took nearly all your energy just to form.

“Oh, Simon?” Johnny questioned with a grin. He always smiled. Always seemed happy. Too happy. “Silly lass, he saved you just like he saved me.”

Saved you? It was crazy enough for you to almost laugh at it.

“No, no you don’t understand, I’m not supposed to be here,” you retorted.

Your words fell on deaf ears. Johnny’s mind was too shrouded with lust and desire to make any sense of what you begged for him to understand. The hands that rested on either side of your waist instead moved to the waistband of your pants where his fingers gently slid underneath the fabric. He gave it a swift tug, and you found your legs attempting to close in protest only to be blocked by his hips.

“What’re you so worked up for, Bonnie? Of course you’re supposed to be here,” he said in an attempt to convince you.

Even with your fuzzy brain, you knew that wasn’t the case. No, you should have been home in your shitty apartment underneath the covers on your bed trying to sleep off a long night’s work. Not there in some stranger's home. Not there with a man between your legs who began to tear your pants down your thighs like an animal. And perhaps he was, in some twisted way, an animal. He looked like a man, spoke like a man, yet he had that collar around his neck as if it was a warning. You should have known this was coming the very moment you woke up to find his teeth bared at you.

Everything spun as Johnny flipped your legs to your left, and your torso had no choice but to follow, turning you on your side. With your stomach full of nothing but the remainder of your drink and Simon’s tampering from the previous night, you swore you nearly threw up right there on the bed. Your eyes screwed tight as Johnny’s fingers slipped your panties past the swell of your hips. He hadn’t even bothered to fully take your clothes off; just moved them down far enough until your ass and cunt were exposed to him.

“Please, stop,” you pleaded, voice hardly carrying over the sound of your heart jumping in your chest.

In some sort of pathetic attempt to save what was left of your dignity, your hands blindly sought after your pants, but Johnny pushed them to the side as he unzipped his own pants. White hot fear raged in your chest as you dared at glance over your shoulder. You would have thought Johnny’s eyes were beautiful if you weren’t filled with terror at the glint just beyond their blue hue. That feeling only got worse as you caught sight of the way he fisted his cock.

“N-No, you can’t,” you tried to plead further. “Please, I’m not- he said not to, remember? We shouldn’t, he’ll get mad, please.”

It was the only thing your mind could think of that might convince him. To bring up what the other man had said earlier. Would hate to get rid of her. Simon’s words had seared your brain, and you knew you didn’t want to find out what he meant by getting rid of you. Johnny’s infatuation with you seemed to know no bounds, and though it felt disgusting trying to play into their game, it was the only hand you were able to hold in your state.

“Just the tip, please Bonnie,” Johnny insisted. The head of his cock pushed against your tight cunt and your body recoiled at the sensation. There was no slick to be found within your folds, the only lubrication came from Johnny’s leaking tip. “That’s it, that’s all I want. I need it.”

The breath for your response didn’t even have the chance to pass through your lips before he pushed into you. Your thoughts cut off with a simple yelp at the sting and stretch of him while he bullied into you. With the dehydration that ravaged your body, there was nothing to soothe the ache as he forced your cunt to swallow him. You weren’t sure how much of himself he made you take, but you knew if he went any further he’d ruin you.

“Christ, Bonnie. Fuck, I knew it. Knew from the moment I saw those pictures of you that you were the one,” Johnny rambled as he shallowly thrusted into you, keeping his promise of only giving you the tip of him. “Been waitin’ for this for so long…”

After a few more pathetic thrusts, Johnny pulled out of you. It was sudden, but the reprieve was almost enough to make you sob. Perhaps animals were capable of telling the truth after all; of grinning with razor sharp fangs and only taking what they promised they would.

Much to your dismay, Johnny’s hips slammed against you once more, and you cried out. But there was no stretch. No deep ache where your body was supposed to be forced apart to make room for him. Instead of nestling his cock into your cunt — like you knew he wished he could — he slid it between the plush flesh of your thighs with a near growl. You could feel the warmth of it, the way it throbbed with a vicious yearning to rip you to shreds, and it didn’t take him long to start pumping himself in and out between your legs.

“I promise, Bonnie. I’ll fuck you properly when Simon says I can. Just been waitin’ so long for you I- I have to have this,” Johnny babbled. His hands pressed down on your thighs, forcing them closer together, making the stimulation all the more intense for him. You watched as his head rolled back, exposed neck straining against the leather collar he was bound by where the word Soap glinted on the silver tag; like a proper dog. “A real angel. I told him you were. Thank you. Thank you.”

You didn’t bother to entertain his insane mumbling with a response, but he didn’t seem to care. Each drag along your heating skin only seemed to melt his mind into a further mess, and all you could do was lay there and take it as he fucked your thighs. It would be over eventually, you told yourself. It had to be.

Lucky. That word popped into your mind with relentless force, ruining your attempt at ignoring the situation. Lucky. It was a miracle he hadn’t gone any further, hadn’t ravaged your cunt until you were raw and broken. But you did not feel blessed when the bile in your stomach roiled in protest at every thrust. It did not seem auspicious that your head pounded with each violent shake of your body as if your mind tried to self-destruct to save you from the agony of survival. You were anything but fortunate.

Johnny’s hips pressed flush against the crux of your thighs, and you felt his cock pulse between your legs. His sticky spend shot out and clung to the inside of your thighs as he came, head falling forward against your shoulder until he had fully caged your body with his again. His cum seeped out from the top of your thighs where it dripped onto the bed spread below you. Had you been home, you would have worried about stains. But you weren’t. No matter whatever twisted future Johnny and Simon had planned for you, that would never be home.

Not bothering to zip his pants back up, Johnny collapsed onto the bed next to you. With you already on your side, it was the perfect position for him to slot his chest right against your back where he wrapped a firm arm around your center. His skin felt warm and disgusting against yours, and if you weren’t so spent you would have attempted to scurry off to clean up the mess he made of you. But there wasn’t much you could do as he nuzzled his nose against the nape of your neck and exhaled a deep sigh.

“Please,” you pleaded, voice raw, “let me go home.”

“But you are home,” Johnny chuckled. “Finally home.”

Home. In the arms of a man with his cum between your thighs. Yes, that’s what he wanted. Johnny would ruin you every night if that’s what it took to get you to see that you really had been saved.

#ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader smut #pet!au #f!reader #dark content #tw: noncon

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hannibaldjarin · 9 months

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Before the Upside Down, Steve Harrington could sleep like the dead. Once he laid his head on the checkered pattern pillow, Steve would be oblivious to anything happening in the world around him as he found solace in his dreams.

Steve would never admit it to Tommy H or Carol, but his dreams were his only safe place. In Steve's dream world, he wasn't the son to absent parents or the perfect King Steve; he was whatever version of himself that would've never been allowed around the Harringtons or the population at Hawkins High. Steve was comforted by the anonymity that was created as he slept till an alarm or the sunlight peeking through his curtains woke him.

Before the Upside Down, Eddie Munson would laugh as he told the rest of Corroded Coffin about how much he slept during the weekend. But, groan when Uncle Wayne stomped into his bedroom at 4pm wondering, "Boy, since when did you become a vampire?"

Basically, Eddie found it hilarious that he could sleep 16 hours a day and still go to bed at 9pm every night. One thing about Eddie Munson before that fated afternoon with Chrissy Cunningham, he could sleep like a corpse and never worry about sleep avoiding his clutches. Because as Uncle Wayne or a member of Corroded Coffin could tell anyone, Eddie loved to sleep and would theoretically kill anyone who tried to disrupt his slumber.

After the Upside Down, Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington found solace in one another as they struggled to remember who they were before circumstances led them to emotional, mental, and physical scars. Steve could no longer find comfort in his dream world as it replayed his most traumatizing moments from the last couple of years. Eddie could no longer sleep like the dead since he actually knew what it felt like to lay limp and face death.

Eddie and Steve stare into one another's eyes as they share a pillow in Steve's massive bed. Eddie whispers to Steve about how envious he is of his past self as he dramatically recounts Uncle Wayne's stomps or Corroded Coffin's scoffs. As Eddie spoke, Steve wonders if Eddie could be trusted with his deepest secrets about who he wishes he could be.

As Eddie's giggles fade into the dark of the night, Steve clears in throat and begins to tell Eddie about the lack of safety he has felt since turning 12 and being handed bundles of money that were to be budgeted until his parents came back home from whatever business trip Jonathan Harrington needed to attend. Steve mumbles about Tommy and Carol, or anyone else, never being able to fill the hollow space that was this mausoleum of a house until Dustin Henderson hijacked Nancy's roses and forced Steve to go on a wild demo dog chase. With a smile that actually reaches Steve's eyes, he tells Eddie how he finally knew what a mutual love felt like when Robin refused to get a new job without Steve.

Eddie desperately wants to read between the lines and believe himself to be someone who brought something into Steve's life. The begging words he sends up to whatever universal force doesn't want to continue fucking his life are interrupted as Steve looks Eddie in the eyes and admits, "Eddie Munson, you brought light and noise into my life."

Steve Harrington never understood how significant it was to feel the sun on his skin until Eddie woke up from his coma after his encounter with the bats, and begged for the blinds in his hospital room to be opened. Eddie's smile changed as he adjusted to the new scars on his skin, but Steve has never seen something so beautiful in his life.

Steve flinched in noisy environments when he remembers how angry his father would get if Steve existed too loudly. But, since Eddie took Steve to the middle of nowhere and convinced him to just scream, Steve has found himself seeking out music that taught him to release his emotions instead of pushing them further and further down.

Steve Harrington finally found safety in the real world when Eddie Munson whispers, "Stevie, please let me kiss you."

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smallgodseries · 2 months

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[image description: In the huge center oval vignette, a scarred one-eyed tortoise trudges down a twilit sand-dune. behind that oval, a large number of other Small Gods is visible. Hidden amongst them, labelled portraits of Author Seanan McGuire and artist Lee Moyer. Text reads, “100, THE GREAT ONE – the small god of SMALL GODS”]

By now, we’ve spent enough time together for you to understand one of the deep secrets of the universe, one of the conceptual underpinnings around which all things rotate and extend:

If a thing exists, it can believe. And if a thing believes, it can and will accrete divinity around itself, even as an oyster forms a pearl. The universe self-organizes into gods, for the sake of all those who are made of baser stuff.

The small gods themselves exist. They think, they know, and they believe. So why would they be the only creatures in creation not to have a god to call their own?

They call him The Great One, and he walks the world with ponderous grace, implacable and inevitable. He is there when new gods come into being, watching with his single narrow, ancient eye. He is there when they surrender to the inevitable and fade finally away, their last believer gone, their purpose lost. He remembers them all, even the ones the gods of memory and history have themselves forgotten; he judges none.

No one knows what happened to his eye, but some have noted that in a cosmos with small gods, large gods exist as well, and one of them may have taken their toll. If this is so, then he has paid for the safety of the pantheon, and they at times reward him with strawberries and clover, things sweet to a tortoise’s palate, things to please him well.

He was not always a tortoise. That form was set for him, by one who believed that the divinity of man was intrinsic as much as external, and that humanity was capable of glorious things when they thought themselves worthy of the effort. He likes it well enough. He liked the man who gave him this shape; he liked his books, and his hat, and the smell of chalk on green grassy hillsides. The man is gone. The Great One remains.

He thinks the man would have liked that best of all.

He doesn’t need us to believe in him.

The gods themselves have that covered.

He would, however, like some clover.

#small gods #seanan mcguire #lee moyer #smallgodseries #icons and stories

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sunmoonjune · 4 months

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spring tides [like the moon universe]

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

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

word count: 14.1k

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

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

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

“Hwa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Are you okay?’ you silently question.

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

“Yeah, m’alright, lovebug.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?”

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

“When’s her birthday?”

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

“Tiny’s?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hongjoong looks away.

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

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

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

Seonghwa hates that he asks.

Yunho shifts on his feet and looks away again.

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

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

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

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

“A good thing?” Hongjoong whispers.

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, Yun.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Actually, Captain…”

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

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

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

“Anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now…

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

There’s just… all sorts of things.

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Bug. Are you ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You trust him.

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

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

Sand.

It’s sand.

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

You listened to him for hours that day.

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

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

It sounded wonderful.

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

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

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

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

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

‘What’s happening?’

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

Ocean. The sea.

You don’t have a word for it.

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

The sea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

Oh.

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

“San…”

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

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

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

As if he wasn’t the one distracting you.

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

It’s… soft.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never been more excited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sea.

And you stop moving.

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

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

You’ve never seen so much… color before.

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

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

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

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

You like it. You like the sea.

And they like you.

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

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

But it’s tough competition, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t need to though.

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

“Happy birthday, Bug.”

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

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

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

Her heart finally throbs with a dull ache.

Your birthday?

You didn’t even think…

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

Your birthday.

They came all this way for you?

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

Your heart hurts.

No one has ever done that for you before.

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

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

Hongjoong knows. They all do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The burn of tears returns tenfold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love it…”

And we love you.

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

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

You love it.

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

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

Yunho must have taught him that one.

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

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

You hope he knows what it means.

He does.

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

You weep.

Ateez spends three nights and four days at the beach.

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you dare!”

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

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

“Get back here!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jongho laughs so hard you think he might choke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bug?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re coming, sweetheart!”

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

“What’s goin’ on?”

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

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

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

“I don’t understand.”

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

“What is it?” Seonghwa urges.

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, darling.”

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

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

“For me?”

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

She winks back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, lovebug. It’s a little cold.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you going to join them?”

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

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

It’s familiar. This moment is too.

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

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

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

“I‘m happy here with you.”

He finally has the courage to say it.

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

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

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

You see the way he looks at you now.

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

Just like how he looks at you.

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

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

Laughter.

You’re laughing.

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

He cannot tear his eyes from you.

You laugh.

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

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

You kiss his fingers.

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

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

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

It’s so much more.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Holy shit…”

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

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

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

“Bug!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You open both eyes.

“I’m so happy.”

bonus:

stranger: so who would you choose; ateez or–

reader: ateez.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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radioactive-mouse · 2 months

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i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. i’m going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me

3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we haven’t seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that there’s no precedent that they’re coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much they’re willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone else— i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.

Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isn’t an option. and all of a sudden it’s not a war, it’s a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thing— not get away from my king, my husband, my charge— just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.

Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you love— just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lost— no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, i’m not ready, i’m so sorry—

Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all that’s left for us— tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? we’ll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isn’t a thing left by the end that’s not rubble. we’re all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, what’s the point in pretending they don’t take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grian’s face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.

Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. it’s so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that don’t fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignore— distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house you’ve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god it’s almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when you’re going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest way— sure you’ve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, they’re all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. it’s still a game, after all. they’ve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.

#I DONT KNOW IF I SUCCEEDED IN ARTICULATING WHAT IM TRYING TO SAY BUT GOD #it kills me how as the brutality goes up in each series so does the sillyness factor #god #trafficblr #3rd life #last life #double life #limited life #secret life #eyesandears #<— tagging it cause it kinda alludes to martyns watcher stuff yk yk #god how else do i tag this #gonna tag the winners i mentioned and call it a day #grian #inthelittlewood #pearlescentmoon #mouse.txt

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rollingsins · 7 months

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all hers, epilogue

summary: Tara and YN try their hand at some healthier habits.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of violence. Smut.

word count: 5.3k

a/n: it's been a wild ride. thanks for all who have come along. all hers is over, but I will still be writing gf!tara drabbles in the same universe - maybe some college oneshots in the drabble files. Until then: enjoy the final chapter! :))

As the days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months, slowly, the pain subsides.

Your normal? It’s potentially forever gone. It shouldn’t be a surprise, at this point.

Once you’d just been a teenage girl, crazily in love with another girl.

Who turned out to be a serial killer. Who’d somehow turned you into a killer.

Who’d made you cry, and laugh and love harder than you’d ever loved in your entire life.

In the grand scheme of things - the scar on your belly is probably the least of your worries.

But that doesn’t stop you toiling on it.

It always seems to be the way, doesn’t it? Worrying about the things that don’t really matter.

You worry nonetheless.

“It’s pretty,” Tara murmurs in comfort when you’re staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, shirt lifted slightly, eyebrows pinched in dismay.

It’s not pretty.

It’s wiry and long and stems from the tip of your bellybutton down to your navel.

“It’s hideous.” You say, voice a little fraught.

It’s hideous and permanent.

You’ll never be able to wear a bikini again. You’ll never be able to take your shirt off again without being reminded of it.

Of her.

The woman who had tormented you for weeks.

The woman who you’d tormented for weeks. The woman whose son you’d taken from her. The woman who’d repaid you in mental scars to last a lifetime.

A belly scar to last a lifetime.

“It’s beautiful,” Tara says, pressing her lips to your shoulder, “It means you’re alive.”

She squeezes your hips, then lifts her own shirt.

“And it matches mine,” She says, eyes shimmering, “Matching knife wounds. Like soulmates.”

You snort.

Because of course Tara tries to make stab wounds romantic.

But to her credit - it works.

Your heart sings.

Soulmates.

Because that’s what you are.

“Who needs a wedding ring, right?” You say, biting your lip, insecurities suddenly fading.

Tara entwines your hands, lifts the back of your hand to her lips.

“You do,” Tara says, “And you’ll have one. Soon. I promise.”

You pull back.

“Not before-“

“College,” Tara says, rolling her eyes, “I know, babe.”

You press a lingering kiss to her cheek.

“I just don’t want to be one of those couples who rush into marriage and fall apart the moment they turn twenty-one.”

“That won’t be us,” Tara whines, and then she pouts, “Plenty of high school sweethearts get married right after high school.”

You groan.

“Tara, we talked about this already-“

“I know,” Tara says, voice hasty, “I’m just excited. I want you to be Mrs. Carpenter already.”

“Mrs Carpenter, huh?” You say, ignoring the fluttery rush that blooms through you at the thought, “And what if I want you to take my name?”

Tara cocks a brow and considers this.

“I don’t care, babe, I’ll change my name to garden gnome if you want, as long as I get to be your wife.” She says after a moment.

You smile. Squeeze her hand.

“You’d suit it,” You tease, “But Mrs and Mrs Carpenter has a nice ring to it.”

Tara tilts her head hopefully.

“So, maybe a high school wedding?” She asks, voice sly, “Mrs Carpenter would look good on your college application forms.”

You press a warm kiss to her lips.

“There’s no rush, babe,” You tell her, “And I need to save up. Get you a pretty ring.”

Tara squints.

“I’m proposing first,” She says immediately, “You promised, babe.”

You roll your eyes.

“Yes, you baby, I know.”

Tara tilts her head, seemingly satisfied.

You press a kiss to her lips. She’s cured your insecurity, for now.

But a new feeling gnaws at the bottom of your stomach.

Dread.

As you realize what comes next. You try to keep your voice light. Lighter than the heavy pit at the bottom of your stomach.

“Come on,” You say, trying and failing not to sound anxious, “It’s time for therapy.”

Dr Colmann is a five foot woman with long, flowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

Her office is bland. Gray walls. Little decoration.

Like she wants your attention on her.

You’d met her first, a few weeks ago. Like a pterodactyl scouting out a potential nest for her baby.

Your situation is tricky - there’s only so much you can tell her.

And you’re no doctor - but even you know surely it’s impossible to diagnose an illness without knowing all the symptoms.

“I want to get something out of the way,” You’d said after a long moment, clearing your throat.

Dr Colmann had looked over at you, pen tilted and ready to write. With all the intimidation of a woman who was about to change your life.

“I’m aware my girlfriend is…” You had paused, trying to think of the right word, “A little… possessive.”

Dr Colmann said nothing.

“I know that, and that’s why we’re looking for help.” You’d bitten your lip, nervous, “And I’m also sure the first thing you’re going to tell me is to leave her. But that isn’t going to happen. I love her. And she loves me. We’re looking for coping methods. I want to help her feel secure. But I will not break up with her.”

Dr Colmann had just listened.

Her silence, if possible, made you all the more nervous.

“She’s not abusive or anything,” You’d clarified, hastily, “She doesn’t hurt me. She just gets… jealous.”

“And what does she do when she gets jealous?” She’d asked, finally breaking her silence.

“Um-“ You’d said, voice a little high. Memories flashed before you like nightmares and you’d been entirely grateful your thoughts couldn’t be seen.

“She lashes out. Not at me. At other people.”

Dr Colmann scribbled something in her notepad. Long, wiry, black inky marks.

You’d squinted, trying to make up the words, but she’d looked back at you before you’d had the chance.

“Do you have any examples?” Dr Colmann prompted.

You paused.

You had a fair few of those.

None of which you could disclose.

“Little things,” You said, “I used to play soccer. But I had to quit because Tara thought some of the girls might become interested in me.”

You chew your lip.

“And… I was just in the hospital. She got jealous of the nurse.”

“The nurse?”

“She tried to… give me a sponge bath and Tara freaked out.”

Dr Colman stared.

You swallowed. The words out loud somehow seemed even more ridiculous than they are.

“How did she freak out?” Dr Colmann asked.

“She tried to…” You swallowed again, “She didn’t want the nurse to touch me again. Not even to change my bandages.”

Dr Colmann pursed her lips.

“I told her that was stupid,” You’d said, hurriedly, “But when she gets like that, nothing can stop her. She calls it The Rage.”

Dr Colmann tilted her head.

“The Rage?”

You’d nodded.

“Yeah. It’s like… it’s like something takes over her. Like a demon or something. Something she can’t control.”

Dr Colmann had closed her notebook. She’d looked over at you, surveying. You’d blinked back, eyes wide, surely screaming help me, or something to that effect.

Then, she smiled.

“When can I meet her?”

You’re no less nervous the second time.

You greet Dr Colmann with a tight smile, draw Tara down into the seat next to you. Your knee bobs up and down, unable to quell the tide of anxiety rising deep within you.

Please, you think, a little desperate, please help her.

As Tara and Dr Colmann exchange pleasantries, you blink. Too many times.

Like you don’t know how this is going to go. The worst case scenario flashes before you: Dr Colmann in a body bag.

Tara in a jail cell.

You in a jail cell.

Never able to touch her, or hold her, or kiss her ever again.

You need therapy, the little voice in your head leers, judgmental, not being with Tara is worse than a woman dying?

“So, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, when you’re all seated. With all the cheeriness of someone who isn’t aware you’re imagining her as a corpse.

“Tell me about The Rage.”

An awkward silence settles over the three of you.

Tara shoots a hesitant look towards you.

You squeeze her hand and nod.

Then, she looks over to Dr Colmann.

“It’s an anger thing,” Tara mumbles, not looking her in the eye, “I’ve seen shrinks before, none of them can fix it.”

Dr Colmann tilts her head.

“And what did these other doctors do?” She asks, “Anger management classes? Medication?”

“Both,” Tara says, “Nothing ever worked.”

Dr Colmann hums.

“I’ve read through your file, Tara,” She says gently, “Fourteen different therapists across the state. That’s a lot of doctors. Especially for such a young girl.”

Tara assesses her. Her face is tight, guarded. Like she’s not sure if she can quite trust her.

Dr Colmann scribbles something in her notepad.

“Lots of kids have problems with anger,” Says Dr Colmann, “But anger is just a symptom, like any other emotion. From what YN has told me, anger isn’t the problem. Sharing is the problem.”

Tara frowns.

“Plenty of children have issues with sharing,” Dr Colmann continues, “Usually, it’s the parents who stamp it out. But not always. I see in your file your sister used to bear the brunt of most of these anger issues.”

Tara folds her arms.

“Not always,” She says.

“But most of the time,” Says Dr Colmann, pointedly. She squints, reading through her notes, “It says here you attacked your sister when you were four years old because she tried to play with one of your Barbie dolls. Then again, later that week for taking a bigger slice of pie.”

“Four year olds are allowed to have boundaries, aren’t they?” Says Tara, defensively, “That Barbie was mine.”

“And YN? She’s yours too?” Asks Dr Colmann, evenly.

Tara blinks.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Tara says, diplomatically. The question is a trap, one she’s determined to avoid.

Dr Colmann tilts her head.

“And you don’t like when other people play with her? Is that right?”

Anger flickers through Tara’s features. You bite your lip, and squeeze her hand. Try to keep her grounded.

“I suppose not.” Says Tara, voice tight.

“YN told me about the nurse,” Dr Colmann says, “And the soccer team. You made her quit? Why?”

Tara looks over to you, a little helpless.

“I didn’t make her quit,” She says, slowly, like she’s being very careful with her words, “I just… suggested it. Strongly.”

Dr Colmann makes a noise of dissatisfaction.

Then returns to madly scribbling on her notepad.

Tara frowns again, looking self-conscious.

Dr Colmann looks up.

“And what if someone on the soccer team had been interested?” Dr Colmann asks, “What would you have done?”

You avert your gaze.

Kill them, is the answer.

It’s already happened.

More than once.

Tara shifts.

“I wouldn’t like it.” Tara says.

“No reasonable person would like that, Tara,” Dr Colmann prods, gently, “But what would you do?”

“I don’t know,” Says Tara, sounding aggravated, “Not let her see them anymore.”

“And do you think that’s an appropriate request?” Dr Colmann asks, “Do you really think you should have control over who your girlfriend associates with?”

Tara narrows her eyes.

“YN would do it for me,” She says, “We’re in a relationship. Relationships are about compromise.”

“That isn’t compromise, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, gently, “That’s you demanding she do something and her complying. Do you not trust her?”

Tara blinks.

She looks over to you, then back to Dr Colmann.

“Of course I do,” She says, voice soft, “It’s other people I don’t trust.”

“And what do you think these other people are going to do?” Dr Colmann asks.

“I don’t know.” Tara says, voice small, as if she’s never really thought that far ahead.

She looks like a little lost puppy. You want to wrap her in your arms and tell her you’ll never talk to anybody else again if that’s what she wants.

You resist.

Healthy wife, happy life, is what you tell yourself instead.

Dr Colmann’s face washes with sympathy.

“Jealousy is pointless, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, voice gentle, “Worrying is pointless. If YN is going to cheat on you, she’ll cheat on you. If she’s going to leave you, she’ll leave you. There’s nothing you - or The Rage can do about it.”

Tara blinks.

“I-“ She says, as if Dr Colmann has just spit in her face “What?”

Dr Colmann sits forward in her seat. Her notebook discarded.

“What you need to do - is trust. Your girlfriend loves you. Clearly. She wouldn’t be here with you if she didn’t.”

Tara frowns.

“You’re afraid of losing her,” Dr Colman says, eyebrows knit, as if Tara is a particularly difficult puzzle she can’t quite get her head around, “But why? We’ve already established she loves you. She wouldn’t be here with you if she didn’t.”

Tara blinks. You soothe a finger across the back of her hand. Resist the urge to press a kiss to her pretty forehead.

You let the doctor do the work.

“Have other people you loved left you, Tara?” Dr Colmann prods, gently.

Tara’s shoulders tense.

Dr Colmann waits a moment.

“Who?” She asks, "Your Mom? Your Dad?”

“Both.” Tara says, voice small, “They both left me.”

Your heart aches.

If you could - you’d sucker punch the two of them right now.

It isn’t an option. Instead - you grip her hand tight, offer her a small smile of encouragement as she speaks.

Tara swallows.

“My Dad tried to fix me,” Tara says, “For years. I was an angry kid. They could never figure out what was wrong with me. Eventually he just… gave up. He walked out on me and My Mom and my sister. Left us, just like that.”

“That must have been very traumatic,” Says Dr Colmann, “How old were you?”

“Thirteen.” Says Tara, “My Mom never left. I mean, she did. She threw herself into work to cope with my Dad leaving. She started going on these long business trips. But she never officially left.”

Dr Colmann offers her a small smile, “And that’s why you get so jealous, is it Tara? You’re afraid YN will leave you? Like your Mom? Like your Dad?”

Tara hesitates.

She looks down at her hands.

“Yes.” She says, after a long moment.

“Baby,” You say, voice hushed. Tara squeezes your fingers.

Dr Colmann hums.

“That makes a lot of sense, Tara,” She says, her voice kind, “That gives us something to work with.”

She closes her notepad, offers the two of you a reassuring smile.

“Your anger - we can work through that. We can figure out some coping methods. But the main problem here isn’t anger, Tara. It’s trust. I know you said you trust YN but you’re still scared. Deep down you’re scared she’ll abandon you, just like your parents did. We need to work through that.”

“Is it something we can fix?” You ask, a tad desperate.

You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d promised Tara you’d never leave her.

And each time it seemed to fall on deaf ears the moment The Rage was invoked.

“We can try,” Dr Colmann says, “I can try. And it’ll take some hard work. But Tara, it’ll only work if you’re open to it. If you’re open to changing. Is that something you can do?”

Tara thinks for a moment.

And then she nods.

“Yeah,” She says, “I want to do it. I want to be different. For you, babe,”

She squeezes your hand. Thinks hard.

“And for me too."

You’re silent the entire way home.

Tara too.

She grips your hand so hard you think it might fall off at one point. It’s only when she pulls into the driveway, she speaks.

“I didn’t scare you off, did I?” She asks, chewing her lip as she looks over at you, “With all my… problems.”

“Never, baby,” You say immediately.

You lean over to kiss her cheek. She relaxes.

“I’m going to need a lot of therapy, aren’t I?” She says, sounding worried.

You press another warm kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll be with you the whole way,” You assure, “I'm not going anywhere, Tara.”

You hesitate.

“You know I’m not like your Dad, right?” You say, “Or your Mom. I’m not going to leave you.”

Tara offers you a small smile.

“I know, babe,” She says, “At least in theory, I know.”

You press a kiss to her lips.

“I guess I’ll just have to remind you then,” you say, “Everyday. I love you. You’re stuck with me. I’ll say it until you believe me in theory and in practice.”

Tara rests her forehead against yours.

“Okay,” She says, “And keep saying it after that, okay babe?”

You kiss her.

“Deal.”

Your Mom’s still in the hospital.

Her leg had been amputated after the attack, and the procedure hadn’t been easy on her or your Dad. She’d come home after two weeks and then been admitted once more when the wound became infected.

“Are you feeling okay?” You ask her now, chewing your lip, phone pressed to your ear.

Tara finishes up the dishes, setting down the washcloth to nestle in beside you, squeezing your hip comfortingly.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” She says, “Will you come and visit tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there,” You promise, “Sam is going to pick us up after school.”

“And everything’s alright at the house?” Enquires your Mom.

You were staying at Tara’s place until your parents came back home, a decision that was quickly agreed on, for once.

“Everything’s fine, Mom,” You assure, “Sam’s working now, but she’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

Your Mom hums.

“And Tara’s there with you, isn’t she?” She asks, sounding a little worried, “You’re not alone?”

“Tara’s here,” You say and Tara kisses the back of your neck, “You don’t have to worry, Mom.”

“Is that Tara?” Asks your Dad through the phone, a little gruff, “Can I speak with her?’

“Dad wants to speak to Tara, YN, bye for now,” Says your Mom, “See you tomorrow.”

You barely get out the goodbye before you hear your Dad’s voice once more.

“Tara?” He asks.

“It’s me Dad,” You say, and he makes a noise of vague disappointment.

You roll your eyes.

“We’re fine, thanks for asking.” You say.

“Yes, yes, I heard you speak with Mom,” He assures, “Put Tara on the phone.”

You hand off the phone to your girlfriend and pry yourself out of her grip, busying yourself with playing the leftovers into their containers.

“Hello, Sir,” Says Tara, the way you might speak to the President.

She bobs her head, eyebrows knitting.

“Yes, I did see the 49ers play.”

You huff.

Tara averts her gaze.

“Yes, I did think they played like a bunch of seven year old girls.”

You roll your eyes once more.

Tara’s newfound friendship with your Dad is better than the alternative, at least. You’d lived the alternative.

It hadn’t been much fun.

“We’re okay,” Tara promises, suddenly, “I have every door locked down, alarms set and cameras operating.”

Your Dad murmurs something down the line you can’t hear.

Tara smiles, and then reaches for your hand.

“I’m not letting her out of my sight, Sir, you don’t have to worry,” She says, “I won’t let anyone hurt her. I promise.”

She hangs up not long after.

You should be used to it by now, the flutter in the pit of your stomach every time she gets protective, or calls you hers, but you’re not.

Butterflies cascade through your belly, branching out to the tips of your fingertips where they settle. You curl in around Tara and press your lips to her neck.

She smells good. No perfume, just the tinge of her skin and her coconut body wash.

You squeeze her hips and nip your teeth against the nape of her neck.

“Oh.” Tara sighs as you slip your fingers into the waistband of your jeans. She leans back into your touch, titling your head to capture your lips.

“Really?” She asks, a little excited.

You laugh.

You’d not had sex in a few weeks, hardly in the mood. Your wound aches most days, and the rest are spent really remarkably unsexy, despite Tara’s constant reassurance you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

She turns in your arms, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Sam won’t be home for hours,” You murmur against her lips, “Just you and me. The way it should be.”

“Your stomach doesn’t hurt?” She asks, a little soft. Her eyes swim with concern, “We can just watch a movie, if you want?”

You shake your head.

She looks good. Her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. No makeup, her spill of freckles poignant, her pretty lips pouty and red and kissable.

“I want you, baby,” You murmur, nuzzling your nose to the side of her face, “Do you want me too?”

You don’t have to wait long for a response.

She presses a searing kiss to your lips.

“Do you even have to ask?” She says, biting her lip.

“No,” You smile, “But I want to hear you say it anyway.”

“I want you,” She says, immediately. She’s excited again, you can tell by the way her eyes flicker, “I want you all the time.”

“Come take me then,” You murmur against her mouth.

She doesn’t have to be told twice.

She leads you up the staircase, walking backwards. Her mouth fused to yours, her careful hands roaming every span of skin she can get her hands on.

She helps you onto the bed, far gentler than her usual gig of wild hands and wild lips. Instead, this time she touches you as if you might shatter into a thousand pieces.

You make an annoyed murmur as she pulls your jeans down your legs. It feels like an age, the way she softly untangles the button and the zipper. Her touch is light, so un-Tara.

When she finally pulls your legs from your jeans, you almost cry out of frustration.

“Babe, I’m not going to break.” You tell her, but it falls on deaf ears.

She’s pressing her lips to your thigh, tiny, gentle touches as she pulls your underwear down your legs at a pain-stakingly slow pace.

“Don’t rush me, babe,” She says as you reach down to help her, “And lie back. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I feel fine,” You say, tilting up to meet her kiss, “Please hurt me.”

Tara huffs, drawing back slightly.

“It’s not fair to say things like that when you know I can’t.” She pouts, “The things I want to do to you will almost certainly rip your stitches.”

Arousal coils deep in your belly.

Then annoyance.

“Now who's not being fair?” It’s your turn to pout.

Tara nudges her lips to your neck.

“I’m going to make love to you, baby-girl,” She promises, her eyes dark, “That’s more than fair.”

You tilt your head up and press a lingering kiss to her lips.

“Besides. If I rip your stitches I think your Dad will have something to say.”

You wrinkle your nose.

“Let’s not talk about my Dad when we’re getting naked, babe,” You suggest.

She hums in agreement.

And then you reach for her shirt.

“Off.”

If she’s going to spend the entire evening getting your underwear down your legs, the least she can do is give you something to look at, you reason.

Your touch is impatient.

You pry off her jeans like there’s a time limit. Strip her of her shirt and her bra until she’s hovering naked above you, making your mouth water.

And suddenly, what little patience you had left is gone.

You rise up, starling her.

“Babe-“ She protests, but you can’t be reasoned with.

You tilt her around, until she’s lying back on the mattress, nudging her bare legs apart with your thighs.

“Too slow, my turn.” You murmur.

Your lips are hungry.

You kiss her, fierce, groaning slightly as your hands get to work. They work down the curve of her hips, to her thighs. You squeeze her, a little rough, and then move your hands to take her nipples between your fingers.

She gasps, her hips involuntarily jerking up towards yours. You detangle yourself from her lips, leaning down to press hot kisses against her neck.

She threads her fingers through your hair, tugging, tugging, as she moves against you. She’s still holding back, being careful not to touch your stomach.

You can tell by the way she’s groaning it’s hard for her.

And so you make it easy.

Your lips move down from her neck to her breasts. You circle each nipple once, then twice, before you’re taking her in your mouth, curling your arms around each of her thighs.

“Baby,” Tara murmurs, “Baby, your stomach-“

You release her nipple with a wet pop and a frown.

“I’m fine, babe.” You say, and it’s true.

It aches, slightly, but it always does nowadays. No matter what you’re doing.

And if it’s her you’re doing, at least the ache is dampened by the forest fire of arousal surging through your veins.

You return to your pilgrimage down her body.

Your lips graze her belly-button, your tongue slips down over the jut of her hips to the crest of her thighs.

She sighs, seemingly satisfied as you slip down further. Moving your body to settle nicely in between her legs.

Then, she tilts her head up, biting her lip.

Her eyes are hesitant, though encompassed with want.

“Tell me if it hurts,” She says, “Tell me and we can stop. Or…re-adjust.”

You nod, impatient.

“Alright babe, I will,” You say, raising an eyebrow, “Can I go down on you now?”

Her cheeks flush red with arousal.

“Please.” She whispers.

She’s beautiful, as ever.

You press your lips against the soft skin of her inner thighs, grazing your lips just gently. You use your tongue to work your way inwards.

Your breath catches in your throat the moment you taste her. Wet, syrupy, bittersweet goodness.

You lick it up, greedy for more. You press your lips to her folds, use your hands to spread her open for you. You lose control of your tongue.

One minute you’re ready to tease, the next, you’ve worked yourself up too much.

Your tongue moves hot across her folds and then down to her entrance. Your top lip brushes her clit and she sings.

A low moan that vibrates through the room.

A moan that indicates it’s been far too long since you’ve touched her like this.

You apologize with your mouth.

Low strokes of your tongue at her entrance. The quiet murmur of your own moan as your tongue moves up to circle her clit.

Lazy, slow, movements.

Then fast.

Like you’re changing your own mind too quickly.

You settle for writing words with your tongue.

babygirl, is what you spell out against her clit.

Your name. Her name. You connect them with a heart.

And then: mine.

Tara lets out a quiet moan as you take her clit between your lips. Sucking gently until her thighs are gripping like iron bars around the side of your head and her nails against your scalp bruise.

You give up on using the alphabet.

You slip two fingers inside her, sighing as she encases you. She’s tight and wet and begging for more.

You give it to her.

Curl your fingers up in just the right way. Lap your tongue over her clit just the way she likes.

And then she’s gasping as she tightens around you. She cries your name in a breathy moan as she cums hard around your fingers and mouth.

It’s always over too quickly, you think briefly as you reluctantly slip out of her. You need to learn patience. You need to learn how to tease.

But there’s something about her, and you don’t know how she does it. You just have to give her what she wants.

She lets out a happy sigh as you climb up her body and press your lips to her forehead.

She’s still a moment, but you know better. She recovers quickly.

In less than a minute she’s shifting.

You groan as your back hits the mattress.

Her hands slip down to your thighs, gripping you like she has an agenda. And she does. You know it by heart.

First, the gentle touch of her lips against your neck.

Then she’s sliding your underwear down your legs.

She kisses your lips, slips her tongue into your mouth for only a moment. And then she’s trailing kisses down your body.

Your chest. Your breasts.

She pays special attention to your nipples. Her eyes locking with yours as she sucks, ever so gently.

Your body feels hot.

You grip her face, holding her in place.

And then she’s nudging out of your grip, dipping down to press her lips to your navel.

She doesn’t kiss your scar, but you can tell she wants to.

She looks up at you, eyes wide and vulnerable as she squeezes your hips.

“You’re beautiful.” She murmurs. She ducks down and presses a kiss to the top of your inner thigh, “You’re perfect. My perfect girl.”

“Tara,” You say, voice a little gravelly, “Baby, please.”

She doesn’t make you wait.

One moment she’s pressing her lips to your thigh. The next, she’s dipping down between your legs. You lean back onto the pillows with a sigh.

Her lips graze.

She kisses your inner thigh.

Drags her tongue over your entrance and you gasp.

Then, her lips are on your clit.

You moan as she snakes a hand around your waist. The other slips between your legs. She teases for only a moment before she’s slipping her fingers inside you. You gasp at the sudden intrusion.

It’s not as though you’re not ready for it.

You’re so wet you’d give her a snorkel if she wasn’t such an experienced sailor.

But she rides your high seas like it’s her full time job.

Lips on your clit, fingers working in and out. She squeezes your hip with her free hand. Her talented mouth is like fire. Dancing around just where you need it most.

You close your eyes and let out a low moan.

She’s being careful.

Gentle.

Loving you like she doesn’t want to hurt you.

You take back the impatience. You take back the need for more, more, more.

Your sweet, loving girlfriend is all you need.

Gentle mouth. Careful tongue.

Her between your legs, working you into oblivion like sex is just a vehicle to express how deeply she loves you.

“Tara.”

You cum with her name on your lips. Her mouth fused around your lips. You cum feeling safe and wanted and needed.

And when she’s done, she climbs back up your body and presses the softest kiss to your lips.

Nestles herself with her head in your chest. Right next to your heartbeat.

Where she should be.

You close your eyes once more.

Thread your fingers through her hair. Press the softest of kisses to her forehead.

And then she looks up at you, her pretty brown eyes shimmering.

“Love you.” She murmurs. She punctuates her words with a kiss.

Your chest is heaving. You allow yourself the moment. Body thrumming with your orgasm, the love of your life pressed tight to your side.

Tara curls into you. She waits a moment, then looks over at you,

“I’m going to be better for you,” She murmurs, “I’ve put you through hell, baby, and I know that. But it all ends now.”

You frown.

“I’m in heaven with you, no matter what you’ve done,” You say, after a quiet moment, “After what we’ve both done. Right or wrong, I love you. And you love me. And that’s all that matters.”

Tara tilts her head to yours.

She takes your lips in a long, searing kiss.

She says what she can’t with words.

You say it too.

And when you pull back, you know she understands.

She’s yours.

And you are undeniably, irrefutably, entirely:

All hers.

#all hers #tara carpenter #scream v #scream vi #jenna ortega #ghostface!tara #mine #fanfic #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x yn

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aphrogeneias · 3 months

Note

Maybe reader and eddie giving each other a spa day, sat in your ambient lit bedroom with different products layed out, slapping on moisturizer and giggling and being silly with each other

Rolling crystal rollers over his face and give him alittle smoochy

Your boyfriend had shown up on your doorstep on full metal regalia. Battle vest, leather jacket, studded belt, silver rings. His shag a frizzy halo around his head, but a scowl marred his handsome face.

He complained about his day all the way from your front door, through the living room, up the stairs and into your bedroom, where you were about to get ready to go out.

It was supposed to be date night. Eddie needed an intervention, instead.

Now, he laid on his back on your bed, wearing your pink bathrobe as you delicately place a sheet mask on his face, smoothing it with your fingers. His nails are glossy with silver glitter polish, and his hair is wet on your pillow.

“Feels funny.”

“Relax.” You chastise in a whisper.

He can't see you with his eyes closed, but you're smiling down at him from where you sit, straddling his hips.

At the way his nose scrunches as your jade roller runs over his face, the way his hands can't keep still even when he's trying his hardest to relax. They run over your thighs, to your hips, and back down again.

“I'm trying to.” He fake whispers back, “You're very distracting.”

Still, his eyes remain closed. You place the jade roller back on your duvet, and look at him again. Eddie looks younger this way, despite it all, despite the scars that litter his body, the ones you see rise up his neck in a fading pink hue.

You wish you could keep him like this forever.

Leaning down, you place a barely there kiss on the tip of his nose. “Says you. The prettiest princess in all the land.”

You're still whispering. You don't know why. Maybe to not disturb the universe, to keep him safe, frozen in this moment.

“Fuck yeah, I am.”

#oops i got a little to sentimental #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #anonymous #inbox

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d0not-disturb · 29 days

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hello now that you're free i NEED to know why you hate scarian (hate is a strong word but i can't think of anything else)

this isn't a "grrr why do u hate da BEST ship" because i don't necessarily like it either (i think its overrated) but i have to hear other people's thoughts

I hate scarian because it ruined Grumbo. You see, when scarian first became a thing, it was in the right place at the right time. The dsmp had just ended and people needed to replace it with something and BAM! There was third life. By the end of the dsmp, almost everyone had become great writers, and artists, with a decent following, and they all flooded to third life where the birth of scarian was. With this MASSIVE spike in people, scarian flourished, completely shadowing Grumbo which had been the main ship of, EVERYTHING for the past 5 or something years. And then after third life ended, grian and scar had become friends because before that they were not friends, and people got even MORE content with them, and less content with grian and Mumbo (bonus people didn’t know about the glory of Grumbo before third life) and with Mumbo not being in the life series really, and grian and scar being SOULMATES IN DOUBLE LIFE???? It’s like the universe wanted Grumbo to end.

The nail in the coffin was when Mumbo took his, what like year long break? That’s where it truly died cause there was ZERO Grumbo content. And people don’t want to ship and ship that doesn’t really exist anymore

Grumbo is yet to recover and I doubt it will, it’s sad watching a ship you loved and used to be like THE ship slowly fade away, I mean I remember the days I would see new fanart and fics of them everyday, now I have to wait like up to a week to see new art, even more for fics

I don’t hate ANY other Grian ship, it’s just scarian low key ruined everything ngl, and they are a fine duo! I’ll even admit they are a great duo! But it is EVERYWHERE. You can’t look at the Grian or scar page without being bombarded with scarian. And when scar won the life series people made it about grian. It’s too much and it’s too overrated.

I Wonder if this is what taurian shippers felt like when Grumbo took over them huh

#mcyt #hermitcraft #starsaysgarbage #grian #hermitblr #mumbo jumbo #grumbo #asks!#scarian #goodtimeswithscar #desert duo #third life #life series #taurian #hermitshipping #rant #hermitcraft season 9

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avastrasposts · 1 month

Text

A Baker's Dozen**

Another Pedro boy returns to the bakery universe, one that I had to give a second part because of how I left it. It took me a bit of time to write this one because it was threatening to turn into a whole series, but I want to keep the bakery AU a collection of short, fluffy stories so I contained myself at 8k....

There will be smut, soft Pedro boy, sourdough references and mentions of blood.

Every morning you check your jewelry box, look for your grandmother’s wedding band. And every morning it’s missing. You cling to that small truth. The wedding band is missing and that means Pero wasn’t a dream. He took it with him when he disappeared, and somehow it remained with him until his death, if the news article about the 11th century grave containing a 20th century ring is to be believed.

You miss him. You miss him so much it hurts even though he was in your life for just a few hours. He was like no other person you’d met, and not only because he was from the 11th century. You have to stop yourself and think, was he really from the 11th century? Could it have been a trick? You almost wish it had been, because that would mean that he’s still here, in your time. You’d forgive him for tricking you, if only it meant you could see him again.

But you never see him again, even though you look at every person you pass in the street. And when it storms, when thunder and lighting rolls in over the city, you can’t stay indoors. In your little car you scour the streets, the highways, the back alleys, looking for a dark haired man in strange clothes trying to make his way back to you. But a year passes, and you tell yourself you have to stop looking. The next time it storms you curl up in bed and try to remember every detail about him, from the viscous looking scar across his eye, to the softness of his lips. But you don't go looking for him, you force yourself to stay in bed.

You fall asleep and dream about him, and it’s like you’re awake. You stretch in your bed, the soft morning light spilling through the curtains onto the other side of the bed where the sheets have been tossed aside. The smell of coffee drifts through the house and when you sit up, gold glimmers on your left hand. With wonder you twist the wedding band around your finger and suddenly you know who’s clattering around downstairs. In only your nightie you run downstairs and almost skid into the kitchen, and there he is. As dark haired and broad as you remember him, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration as he pokes the eggs in the pan.

“Hermosa, you’re up! I was going to bring you breakfast in bed,” he huffs with a smile as he sees you and you hurry across the kitchen to wrap yourself around him when he turns and holds out his arms for you.

With a jolt you jerk awake, your bedroom dark and cold and the dream fading as longing wells up inside you. You hold up your left hand and it’s as bare as it was when you went to bed and you can’t help the tears that well up, a sob wracking your body.

Thunder rolls through the sky above your house and a flash of lightning briefly brightens your room. Before your mind has even considered it, your body has carried you out of the bed, and you’re running down the stairs, fumbling with the lock on your backyard sliding door. Wrenching it open, you hurl yourself out into the rain, shouting his name.

“Pero! Pero!”

In an instant you’re soaked, your pajama pants and t-shirt sticking to your body as you spin in place, searching for someone you deep down know isn’t there.

“Pero…” you choke, sinking down on your knees in the grass, digging your fingers into the soggy surface, deep breaths heaving your chest as grief turns to rage.

“Bring him back to me!” you scream, “Bring him back! Bring him back!”

You pound your fists into the ground, screaming at the universe for letting you fall so fast and so hard, and then taking him away. Your voice rips, cursing all the gods for their cruelty, demanding that whoever is in charge brings him back to you.

But the universe remains indifferent to your pain, your rage. The rain continues to fall, the thunder rumbles and nothing changes.

Eventually you’re forced back onto your feet, shivering in your wet sleepwear. You turn and look around your garden one last time, as empty as always. You look back to the house, biting back a sob and a lightning flash illuminating the dark windows, and you stumble. The mud under your hands squelches as you smack down into it, splattering your shirt and face and you have half a second to think about how you don’t have mud in your backyard.

“Down!”

A man shouts right behind you, a hard hand forcing you down to the ground, and then he charges forward. You glance up, confused, and see three men readying for battle, sharp swords lifted in fighting positions. In front of them, a fourth man stands, the one who shoved you down, his own two swords lifted and twirling effortlessly in his hands.

It’s a blur, the rain is still pelting down, the trees above you cast strange shadows, and the dark haired man moves so fast it turns into a blur. Dim light glints off his blades, but then one sinks deep into the chest of the first man, while the other slices open the throat of the second, and the swords are dulled by the thick liquid that coats them. The third man staggers backwards, dropping his own sword, but it’s pointless, he chokes as a sword slips through his neck.

The fourth man stops, his back turned, swords raised as if he’s waiting for another attack. When none comes, he slowly turns and you stumble to your feet, wiping your muddy hands on your wet pants. You already know it’s him, who else would it be? But seeing his face floods your heart, both fear and love fights for space. Love for the man, fear that he won’t know you. But then he takes four long steps towards you, his blades sliding into their scabbards, and he’s on you. Hands cup your face, his mouth claims yours in a hard kiss and you almost stumble again, wrapping your arms around him. Your teeth clash, his lips will bruise yours, and his fingers dig into your jaw but all you want is for him to hold you tighter.

“You’re here,” he mutters, still pressed against your lips, “you’re real.”

“You’re real too,” you sob, tears welling up in your eyes for the umpteenth time this confusing night, and Pero kisses your cheeks, drying them with his thumbs.

“I have so much to ask you, but now we must run, hermosa. Those men did not come alone and I can’t fight them all. Come!”

He takes your hand and hurries through the underbrush, leading you to a clearing where a horse is tied to a tree.

“Can you ride?” he asks, giving you a hand up in the saddle.

“Yes, but it was a long time ago,” you reply as he swings himself up behind you.

“Just grip on to him with your legs, I won’t let you fall,” Pero says, gathering the rains and urging the stallion forward. He has one arm around your waist, one hand holding the reins and you can feel his legs guide the horse underneath you both. Soon you’re out on the road and riding hard, Pero urging his horse to pick up speed as your old skills come back to you. You rock with the rhythm of the horse’s gait, holding on to the pommel. Pero sweeps his heavy wool cloak around you both, trapping his body heat close to you.

“You’re shivering, hermosa,” he mutters, just audible over the drum of the hoofs, “Of all the times to appear…”

You can’t judge time, but Pero keeps the horse at a steady canter for what feels like an eternity. Not until dawn breaks and a small town comes into view does he slow down. The storm still rages and you are both soaked to the bone.

“There is a good inn here, I’ll get us a room,” he says, “get us warm and dry.”

“Are we safe now?” you ask with a yawn, the adrenaline is wearing off and you feel your eyes getting heavy despite the shivers that wrack your body.

“Yes, bandits won’t follow into towns as big as this one,” he replies, tightening his grip on you, “And you’re safe with me, hermosa.”

You just nod, your eyes widening as the horse slows to a walk and you ride through a large gate in the solid stone wall. The streets are fairly empty but some people are moving about, starting the day as the rain continues to fall. Your nose wrinkles as the smell hits you, the pong of dung from any number of animals, food scraps, unwashed clothes, human waste mixes with the aroma of fresh bread, food cooking and wood fires.

“Where are we?” you ask, watching a young boy drive three pigs down the street and towards the gate.

“Provins, in France,” Pero replies, “It’s a good town, I’ve been through here many times.”

“When are we?” you ask in a lower voice, turning your head so that you can whisper in his ear.

“1033,” he replies, “I ask every priest I meet these days, just in case.” He gives you a small smile, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling, “I cannot believe you are here, I’ve been looking for so long.”

“You were looking for me?”

“I could not figure out how to get back to you, so I thought perhaps you might be able to follow,” he says, “How did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, honestly, “I was looking for you too, every storm I went out looking for you but nothing never changed. Then last night there was another storm and I was shouting at the sky to bring you back, but nothing happened. When I was soaked and cold I turned to go back to the house and the next thing I knew, I was face down in the mud.”

“Maybe you will go back just as suddenly,” Pero says, his voice low, “but I will keep you safe until then, like you kept me safe in your world.”

He turns the horse into the stable yard of an inn and halts.

“Here, keep the cloak wrapped tight around you, do not show the clothes underneath to anyone,” he says, making sure you are covered, before he swings himself off the stallion. He helps you down, carrying you to the threshold of the inn when he realizes you have no shoes on.

“Wait here, I will get the stable boy to take care of Guerrero.”

He’s back after just a minute, the saddle bags slung over his shoulder, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pushes the door of the inn open with the other. The innkeeper looks over at the two of you and instantly recognizes Pero.

“Tovar! My old friend! Come in, come in, so good to see you!” he calls, making his way through the mostly empty inn.

“Guiscard, it’s been a while,” Pero replies, clasping hands with the man. “I would like you to meet my wife, we were caught in the storm and I need a room and hot water if you can. I need her to warm up.”

Guiscard looks surprised at the mention of a wife, slapping Pero on the shoulder with a booming laugh.

“A wife, Tovar? You have been gone a long time! Madam, I hope this scoundrel makes you very happy,” he says the last at you with a wide, friendly, grin and you give him a weak smile in return. “And because this man saved my life and my livelihood, I will make sure you have the best room and plenty of hot water brought up. Come, this way.”

The innkeeper leads the two of you up a flight of stairs and to a room at the end of the hallway. You all but stumble over the high threshold and Pero steadies you.

“Merci, Guiscard,” he says, “I will be down in a little bit to speak with you.”

“Of course, of course, take care of your wife first, Tovar, no rush.”

He closes the heavy wooden door behind him as he leaves and Pero guides you to the bed, big enough for two, in the middle of the room.

“I will get the fire lit but you should take off your wet clothes and get into bed. I have a spare shirt for you to change into but I will go out in a little while and arrange for new clothes for you,” he says, peeling back the heavy quilt on the bed.

“I need to wash, I’m covered in mud,” you say, looking down at your bare feet, your hands and forearms dirty too.

“Guiscard will send the maid up with hot water,” Pero kneels by the fireplace as he speaks, “you can warm up and get clean.”

“What about you?” you ask, looking at the water dripping off Pero’s armor and pooling on the rushes that cover the floor, “You need to get dry too.” He soon has the fire roaring and you move closer to it, the warmth making your cold body shiver again.

“I’m used to being soaked, but I’ll dry off when I know you are taken care of,” he says, unbuckling his armor and swords before pulling a dry shirt from his pack.

“Take that off, hermosa,” he urges you again, “and put this on.” He hands you the large shirt, big enough to be a dress on you. “You can change behind the screen,” he says, pointing to the corner where a part of the room is shielded from view. “Clean up, and I’ll go see Guiscard about getting some food.”

“Pero, wait,” you take hold of his arm, his wet shirt sticking to his skin, “I…I don’t know how long I have here, don’t leave yet. You only stayed a couple of hours in my time and it’s already been the whole night.”

There’s a clap of thunder outside as if to illustrate how precious your time is, and you flinch, your grip on Pero’s arm tightening. He glances over at the window where the rain is pelting against the shutters, and then looks back at you, covering your hand on his arm with his own.

“You’re right, I’ll stay, I’ll send the maid.”

“Then get dry, and I’ll clean up,” you say, reluctantly letting go of Pero’s arm, “and hopefully I won’t vanish too soon.”

Pero gives you a small, crooked smile, but you feel like it mirrors your own churning insides. You have so many questions for Pero, you want to spend so much time with him, and you feel like every second could be your last before you’re pulled back again.

There’s a knock on the door and Pero lets the maid in, taking two buckets and a jug from her. Sending her back to the kitchen for food and drink, he fills the wash basin with the water and you roll up the long sleeves on Pero’s shirt.

Quickly you wash the mud off your feet and arms, scrubbing the skin with the cloth the maid left. Behind you, you hear Pero’s wet clothes come off and he hangs them over a rack in the corner. When you crawl under the quilts in the bed he’s lacing up a dry pair of breeches and you’re momentarily mesmerized by the sight of his bare torso. He’s lean and muscular, as you expected by the way his body felt against yours. But you hadn’t thought he’d have so many scars, even a fresh one, still pink, running down his bicep. His chest has a viscous looking gash across the right side, on his shoulder sits an uneven knot of scar tissue, and another thin scar slithers down his side. It’s a map, a visual reminder of how violent his life is, and you’re reminded again of how easily he’d killed the three men when you first arrived.

Pero ties the strings and looks up, meeting your gaze, catching you staring at his chest. He scowls, the first time you’ve seen him fall back into the face that was almost permanent on him when you first met.

“Do they disgust you?” he asks, his voice a low growl and eyebrows pulled tight together.

“What? No!” you sputter, “No, not at all!” You put your hand out towards him, reaching for him, but he’s too far away. “I was just thinking how different your life is from mine, how much more violent yours seems. Please, Pero…” You leave your hand out, pleading with him to come closer, and he hesitates for a few seconds, and then he moves, taking your hand and letting you pull him onto the bed.

“No?” he asks, sinking down on the mattress, “you’re not repulsed by it?”

You shake your head, trying your hardest to not trace your fingers across the scar on his chest.

“You asked the same thing about the scar on your face and I said no then too.”

“Your world is so clean and orderly, mine is dirty and violent,” he says, his hand still wrapped around yours. You can feel the rough calluses on it and the stroke of his thumb over your skin.

“People still have scars,” you reply, glancing down over his chest again. How do you tell him now that you’re not really looking at his scars after all, but at the way his wide shoulders seem to dwarf you, and how the dark hairs on his stomach are tantalizing you with the way they disappear beneath the edge of his breeches.

A flash of lightning brightens the dim room, thunder following only a few seconds behind, and you jump. Pero grabs you, both hands flying to your arms and digging into your flesh, and you’re suddenly pressed against him, your nose only inches from his. You know your eyes are wide as saucers as you stare into his dark brown pools, and he exhales, loosening his grip on you slightly.

“I wonder if I’ll come with you if I hold you when you disappear,” he whispers as your arms wrap around him.

“Do you want to go back?” you ask and Pero shrugs.

“I wanted to go back to find you again, now that you’re here, I don’t care, just as long as you don’t disappear again.”

He pulls back the quilts and tries to tuck you in but you stop him.

“If I’m your wife for only one day, then I want to share the bed with you, Pero,” you say, giving him a small smile as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“We’re not really married, hermosa, you’d share your bed with me anyway?” he asks, but he’s already folding, letting you pull him down into the bed, he doesn’t seem to have any will to resist.

“Married or not, it doesn’t really matter in my time. My reputation won’t be ruined by sleeping in the same bed as a man who’s not my husband.”

“I think I like your time better than mine,” Pero grins at you as you get comfortable next to him.

“I like whatever time you’re in, Pero,” you smile at him, reaching up and gently stroking your finger across the scar on his face, making him briefly close his eyes. Another flash of lightning brightens the room, making you jump and Pero pulls you in tight as his eyes fly open again.

“No leaving yet, hermosa,” he mumbles and you nod.

“No leaving yet.”

He’s so close, his worried eyes looking down at you, and you can see every shade of brown in his irises, the dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks as his warm breath touches your lips. Without thinking, you close the gap and kiss him, his soft lips parting as you touch them. The first kiss, the one in the forest when he first saw you, was hard, leaving bruises on your lips. This one is delicate, tentative, there is time to explore. Or at least you hope there is time, the thunder is still rumbling outside, it sits at the back of your mind that every second could be your last with him. Pulling him down, settling his weight on top of you, you make him wrap his arms around you, as you bury your fingers in his still damp hair. His body is warm, almost hot, driving the chill from your bones as he continues to kiss you, his tongue tasting your mouth as a small moan escapes. Pero pulls back a little at that, suddenly smiling down at you.

“You like that, hermosa?” he chuckles in a low, hushed voice.

“I do, I like your kisses a lot,” you reply, pulling him down again and he comes willingly with a wide smile. He nips at your bottom lip, chuckling against you when you moan again, before he continues his exploration. You can feel him grow hard against your leg, his well worn breeches doing nothing to contain his arousal. Shifting your body under him, you make sure your thigh brushes over his cock, and you’re rewarded with a strained groan from him. It makes you giggle and Pero growls at you as he pushes himself up a little.

“You tease me, mujer,” he smirks, rolling his hips, “but I can tease you too, if you want to play that game.”

“I’d love to play that game, Pero,” you reply, trying to pull him back down over you. But you’re interrupted by a knock on the door, the maid has returned with food.

“We’re continuing this soon,” he smirks at you, pushing himself off the bed and going to the door while you burrow deeper into the quilts.

You hear Pero thank the maid, and the smell of food wafting through the room makes you sit back up as he closes the door. Your belly rumbles, reminding you that it’s been many hours since you last ate, your dinner was in a whole other millennium even.

“Come, hermosa, eat something, I can hear your belly across the room,” Pero chuckles, and you join him at the small table by the fire. The maid has brought a pot of stew, bread and bowls.

“I told them to give us bowls, not trenchers,” Pero says, “I didn’t think you’d be used to eating on them.”

“Anything is fine, Pero, I’m really hungry,” you say, watching him ladle the stew for you.

“Then eat, maybe not as good as that stew you served, but hunger usually makes the best seasoning.”

You both devour the stew, scoping it up with chunks of the bread. You can’t help but stop and inspect it, your baker brain analyzing the loaf. It’s clearly sourdough, stone milled of course, a mix of rye and wheat you think. But the grain, you realize, is probably a variety that no longer exists in your time and the flavor is rich and nutty, tasting much more than any bread you’ve ever produced. You’re suddenly intrigued, and the thought hits you that maybe you’ll have time to visit a bakery here.

Pero watches you with a small smile as you smell the bread and test the crumb between your finger tips.

“I can see your mind working, hermosa,” he chuckles, sucking the last of the stew off his fingers and leaning back in the chair.

“I was thinking about visiting a bakery, it’d be amazing to see. Do you think it’d be safe to go?”

“Sure, I’ll keep you safe, of course. Just refrain from mentioning your big cold box or metal kitchen and you’ll be fine and not accused of witchcraft,” he winks and you widen your eyes. You hadn’t even considered the possibility of being considered a witch.

“I’ll have to keep my mouth shut,” you say, “or I might accidentally say something very wrong.”

“You’ll be fine, if we even get that far,” Pero says, shaking his head, “You’ve been here many hours now, I don’t like it, but I think you’ll probably be leaving soon.”

As if the thought has reminded him, he gets up and takes your hand, leading you back to the bed.

“Do you still have the ring?” you ask, suddenly realizing it’s not hanging around his neck as the article had mentioned.

“I do, it’s in my pouch,” he replies, grabbing the leather bag that had been on his belt, and pulling it out, “Do you want it back? I didn’t mean to take it from you.”

You close his fist around the ring as he holds it out to you, and then sit down on the bed.

“No, you should keep it. I…” you being, looking up at Pero as he sinks down on the bed next to you, still holding the ring. He’s so alive. Of course he’s alive, warm and real and yet you know where he will be buried and the thought makes your throat close up and you stare at his hand. He senses your unease and tilts your head up, two fingers under your chin.

“Something troubles you, tell me, hermosa,” he says, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, as you sigh.

“When you disappeared, I wasn’t sure what had happened was real. I thought maybe I was losing my mind, or that you’d played a trick on me. But then I saw an article, news written on paper, about how historians in my time had unearthed a grave from your time, from this time. And the man in the grave was wearing the ring on a chain around his neck.”

Pero nods and gets off the bed, reaching for the leather pouch again.

“This chain?” he asks, holding up a thin gold chain, one of the links broken.

“I think so, it matches the description,” you reply, running it between your fingers.

“I had the ring on the chain, but it broke a week ago. I was planning on having it mended while in Provins.”

You both sit in silence for a while, Pero holds the ring and you hold the chain, both lost in thought as the time between the two of you is so clearly illustrated by the two objects.

“Your historians,” Pero asks finally, “Did they say how old the man in the grave was?”

“No, only that he was from the 11th century.”

“And did it say where the grave was?”

“Sevilla,” you reply, looking up at Pero who nods.

“Then I am never going to Sevilla,” he says, a small smile on his face as the corners of his lips curl up.

“Keep it,” you say, passing the chain back to Pero, “ and keep the ring on you, maybe you have to go to Sevilla sometime, don’t avoid it, I shouldn’t have told you.”

“It’s a strange feeling, knowing where I die,” he says, putting the chain and ring back in the pouch. “And knowing I’ll die so many hundreds of years before you.” He sits back down on the bed as you crawl under the covers, scooting over to give him room as he joins you.

“It’s a very strange feeling, I’ll go back and you…” you trail off, feeling your eyes well up, and Pero pulls you in, his arms wrapping around you so that your head is on his chest, as a long shaky breath comes from you.

“You go back and when you’re in your time, I’m dead,” he says in a low voice, “I thought the same when I came back, except I knew you weren’t even born yet, and I would die many hundreds of years before you.”

“It’s not fair,” you mumble as he strokes your back and you hear his steady heartbeat under ear.

“Do you wish I hadn’t come to your bakery?” he asks, his voice low, and you hear the doubt in it. Pushing yourself up so that you can look down at his dark eyes, you shake your head.

“No, not at all, not even a little. I’ve missed you so much, and I’ll be heartbroken when I go back, but I wouldn’t have it undone. We haven’t even spent that much time together but…you’re special to me, Pero.”

“You’re special to me too,” he replies, resting his hand on your cheek as you lean your forehead against his, “I hope you get to stay with me a little while longer. Sleep now, hermosa, the storm is over and I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

“You can’t promise that,” you whisper as he moves you down to lie on his arm again, resting your cheek against his chest.

“I promise it anyway,” he mumbles, his hand resumes its soothing motion up and down your back and you close your eyes, finally succumbing to the long sleepless night behind you.

When you stir, hours later, you think you’re still in a dream. The roasting warm body behind you, a protective arm tight around your torso, legs tangled together, and his puffs of air against your ear, it all still feels too dreamlike. But your movements have woken him and he mumbles, half asleep, words you can’t understand, his arm pulling you tighter against his solid form. Slowly your mind catches up, the storm, yelling at the sky outside your house, falling in the mud and Pero’s sudden appearance. The ride, the inn and now, the bed, with Pero curled around you, it’s not a dream.

Moving inside his arms, turning so that you face him, you giggle at his big yawn as he wakes up properly.

“You’re still here,” you smile, wrapping an arm around his neck, and pulling him in for a kiss, morning breath be damned, it’s not like either of you will find a toothbrush here.

“You’re still here,” he mumbles against your lips, “I thought I was dreaming.”

“Me too,” you whisper, “but I’m still here and you’re still here.”

“Siempre, mi amor,” he breathes, pulling you against his mouth, both arms around your back, his hand cupping the back of your head. It’s like he needs to reassure himself that you're still here, not a dream or a vision. And you feel the same, relishing the smell of the wood fire and the rushes on the floor, the unfamiliar noises from outside the room, all proving that you’re still in Pero’s time, with him.

The kisses turn heated, arousal begins to thrum through your body as you feel Pero’s hard length against your hip, the kisses you share growing needy. He tries to hide his erection, pulling back from you, but you grab his hips and roll him over you, settingling his weight between your thighs. Pero groans into your mouth before he lifts himself up a little.

“Cariño, don’t tempt me, I am only human.”

“I want you, Pero,” you whisper with a smile, “you’re my husband, aren’t you? And we didn’t finish what we started before.”

“You are sure?” he asks, but even as he does, you’re pulling him even closer, and one of his hands grips your thigh, soft flesh under his rough fingers.

“Very sure,” you mumble against his mouth, as he groans and rolls his hips into your core. His hand slips further up your leg, finding only warm skin, gripping your waist and pushing up your shirt. It gets bunched up around you, so you let go of him and tug it over your head, revealing to Pero that you’ve got nothing underneath, and he groans again.

“Beautiful,” he mutters, the soft scratch of his scruffy beard dragging over your neck as he begins a trail of wet kisses down your chest. His hand leaves your waist and gently closes over one of your breasts as his mouth closes over the nipple of the other. You can feel him grinding into the bed beneath you, and you reach down, twining your fingers in his short curls, wild from sleeping. The scratch of your fingers in his hair seems to make him melt, he flicks his tongue over your breast in lazy strokes, slowly caressing the other one as he rests his head on your chest.

“Cariño,” he mumbles, his mouth pressed against your skin, “you’re so soft, tan suave...” he trails off, groaning as he buries his face against your breast, drawing a deep breath.

“Pero, come here,” you whisper, tugging gently at his hair, making him lift his head and make his way back up to your mouth. His hand slips between your legs, caressing you softly, coating his fingers with your silky liquid, and each moan he pulls from you, makes him kiss you harder.

You’re not sure what you’d expected from Pero in bed, a rough mercenary from the 11th century. To be honest, you might’ve thought that he’d need a bit of education in how to make you feel good, that norms in this time dictated that the man’s pleasure was the only thing that counted. But he proves you wrong, maybe he is the exception. Because he slides his fingers through your slick folds and circles your clit with his thumb, finding it without guidance and treats it gently, watching your face as he teases the sensitive nerves. Gently he pushes a finger deep inside and curls it back in the most delicious way. When you buck your hips into his hand, he chuckles, a deep low rumbling in his chest as he presses more kisses to your mouth.

“Pero..” you moan, gasping as he slips in a second finger, “fuck…please…”

“Please what?” he asks, the smirk in his voice evident even to your hazy mind, as he continues to move his fingers in and out of your heat.

It makes you laugh, a breathless, half moaned laugh, at his cocky tone. He’s good, and he knows it.

With a swift movement he pushes himself up and moves down your body, pushing your legs apart, making room for his broad shoulders. Before you have time to react, his hot mouth closes over your clit, his fingers still driving into you and curling back. He eats your pussy almost ferociously, burying his face and lapping long strokes before returning to your clit.

Your body all but arches off the bed, and he grabs your hip with his free hand, chuckling into you. When your high hits, you throw your head back and gasp his name, throat raw as he works you through it, prolonging every shudder and tremble your body gives him. He releases his grip once your breathing returns to normal, and slowly works his way up your body, trailing sloppy kisses over your torso. Against your leg and then your hip, you can feel his steely hard cock, twitching as he hisses at the friction.

“Pero,” you mumble, wrapping your legs around his hips and reaching down, closing your hand around him, “I want you inside me now.”

He mumbles something incoherent under his breath as you coat the length with the liquid leaking from the tip, his breath catching, thrusting into your closed fist. The feel of him notching at your entrance causes you to tremble, and Pero takes your hand, pressing it down into the mattress next to your head as he begins to push in.

“Does it feel good, esposa?” he asks, his voice low and strained, his jaw tight as he sets a languid pace, “Do I feel good inside you?”

You nod, hooking your legs up around his waist, urging him deeper, “Faster, Pero, faster, please, I can’t…”

The snap of his hips forces the breath out of your lungs and it makes you laugh, a breathless giggle that turns into a moan as he does it again, his own face splitting into a wide grin.

“So good,” he groans, half a chuckle in his voice too, “you feel so good, just as I thought, fuck…” he buries his head against your neck as he drives his hips into you, sliding in and out at a fast pace, breathing hard against your skin. “Thought about this so many nights, hermosa. Having you…having you back, with me, making…” He hisses as you squeeze down around him, you can feel the short, wiry hairs rub against your clit when he angles his hips and hits a new spot deep inside. He stutters, groaning into your neck, increasing his pace as you gasp his name.

“Again, he growls, “come for me again, I need to feel it.”

And it hits you, arching your body up against his heavy weight as he drives himself deep inside, his body pressing you down as you wrap your legs tight around his waist.

“L-let go…” he pants, wrenching himself away from you, pulling out fast and you feel his hot cum coat your belly as he gasps and groans above you.

“Coño…” he hisses, tugging his cock, the last drops coating his hand, and he slumps forward, holding himself up on one hand over you, “Sorry, I couldn’t hold back any longer,” he mumbles, catching his breath, his eyes closing with a deep sigh. You pull him down over you, not caring about the mess on your skin, just needing his mouth on yours, feel his weight on top of you again.

“It all feels so good,” you whisper into his ear, cupping the back of his head and kissing him as he hums, his hands slipping over your skin, caressing every part he can reach.

He mumbles against your lips, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, giving you a gentle kiss, soft words in Spanish tumbling from him as he pulls back a little and looks down at you.

“I will fight God himself, if he tries to take you away from me again,” he whispers, “I am not leaving your side.” His eyebrows are pulled together, his eyes serious, as if he’s challenging you to point out the flaws in his promise, but you just nod and let your fingers trail across his scowling face until it softens again and he lets you pull him down to your side.

Later, when he’s cleaned you both up and wrapped himself around you underneath the covers, Pero tells you about his life, his travels and how he doesn’t have a home, not a real one. He’s always been working for one lord or another and after he returned from China he drifted.

“But the past year, I stayed in this area, just in case I could go back, or you’d come to me,” he says, still holding you close as the late afternoon slips into evening, “Now, I’ll go wherever you want to go, I’ll protect you, esposa.” He smiles at the last word, softness in his face.

“Can we stay here?” you ask, “At least for now?” Somehow, you believe that the storms decide when you’ll leave, and for now, the sky outside is clear.

“In Provins? Yes, it’s a good town. And Guiscard will always be happy to have me near to protect his inn,” Pero nods and smiles as you absentmindedly let your fingers trail through the dark curls below his belly button, making him groan in a low rumble. You smirk at him, gently cupping his soft cock, still sticky from your combined release, and he growls, grabbing you and rolling so that you’re on top, your hands in his strong grip.

“You will drain me, mujer,” he scowls, no menace to his tone, and you chase his mouth with yours, giggling when he nips on your bottom lip.

“I know a woman in town, Madam Callier, she’s an old friend of Guiscard,” he continues, once you’ve both had your fill of kisses, “She lost her husband last year, he was a merchant and owned a house and she’s been renting out the rooms. I could ask if we could live there, she asked me the last time I was in Provins. She could use a good soldier to keep the house safe.”

“And you’re a good soldier,” you say, pressing a kiss to a scar on his chest.

“Bad soldiers don’t get old,” he says, shaking his head, “but I don’t want to put you in danger, or risk leaving you alone here. So a quiet job, being a lady’s guard dog, will suit me well now.”

“Maybe it’s foolish to say,” you begin, taking his hand and lacing your fingers through his, “but…I think..I think I don’t want to go back. I’d rather stay here with you now.”

“Then we will be foolish together,” Pero replies, tightening his grip on your hand, “because I do not want you to go back either. Selfishly, I want you to stay with me.” He presses his soft lips to yours again, his kiss firm, insistent, and you repay him in kind, sinking all your feelings into the kiss, silently praying that nothing will take you away from him now.

Pero leaves a little while later and comes back with clothes for you. You spend some time giggling while he tries to show you how to put them on.

“I’m no expert in women’s clothing, cariño,” he huffs, “most women I…” he says and then falls silent, fiddling with the knots on the boots he’d traded for, an unusually pink tinge decorating his cheeks.

“Most women what?” you ask him with a smile, you’re pretty sure where he was going with that sentence, and he looks up at you with a small scowl.

“You can guess,” he mutters, “you’re from an age where there seems to be no shame.”

“Well, we still have whores and there is still shame surrounding visiting them,” you say, stepping closer to him so that you can press a kiss to his pink cheek. “I know soldiers will visit them frequently, even in our time. Just don’t visit one while I’m here.”

He gives you such an offended look that it makes you laugh and he grabs you, growling into your neck as he marks you with a small nip.

“Never, I would never do that to you,” he mumbles, his mouth still pressed against your skin.

The next day you find yourself walking through the 11th century streets of Provins, next to Pero and his horse Guerrero. The lady with the rooms to rent lives only a few houses down from Guiscard’s inn but her house is much grander. At least it looks grand to you, with what little you know of 11th century architecture. Pero had said her husband was a wealthy merchant, the lady continuing his business after his death, and she was clearly was managing it well. You stood on the street and looked up at the place that would now be your home, at least until the next storm came through. A home in a new time, but with a man you already couldn’t see a life without.

And as days passed into weeks, you settled into your strange new life in the new house, with Pero by your side. The cold spring you arrived in slipped into warm summer and still, you’re here. In Pero’s time, with him as your protector and guide. He uses the small fortune he brought back from China to make your life as comfortable as he knows how, and stays as close as he can, never letting you stray too far from his sight.

The thought of suddenly being tossed back into your own time never really leaves. And as time passes that thought turns into cold fear. It scares you so deeply, to suddenly be without Pero, it makes panic simmer in your chest, the very thought of suddenly being without him. And every summer storm scares you, especially when they come at night, and you can’t even sleep, barely blink. Pero doesn’t say as much, but holds you nearly too tight while the thunder rumbles outside, never letting you go as flashes light up the room, his own fear of losing you translating into the almost suffocating way his hands grab your body on those nights. But then the storms pass and you wake up in his arms the next day. And the next, and the next, and the next.

A year passes and you think less and less of suddenly being pulled back. You’re not sure which day you arrived, you know the date in your time but the calendar is different here and for a while you fear that maybe you’ll only be allowed to stay a year. But spring passes again, summer returns, and still you’re here, in your new little town, with a new life.

Pero works, and you help where you can, learning more and more about medieval life. Baking, the profession that was your livelihood back home, returns to your life as you begin to explore the local bakery. Madam Callier does business with the baker, Pierre, and he seems intrigued by the multitude of questions you have about the bread he makes. Mostly he makes the rough, mixed grain bread almost everyone seems to eat. But he also makes soft wheat loaves for the few nobles in town that can afford it. Soon you’re sharing ideas with him, while you pick up Madam Callier’s bread, Pero hovering behind as he watches with an amused smile. When Pierre stumbles and sprains his ankle, it feels like fate. He asks you to help with the baking and from then on you’re back in your old profession.

Pero is reluctant at first, doesn’t like leaving you at the bakery all day, but after a few days of almost scaring away the customers with his scowling appearance, he relents, and agrees that you’re as safe in the bakery as anywhere else in the small town. But he still insists on walking you to the bakery each morning, and comes back for you each evening.

“I can’t let you walk alone, hermosa, even though it might be safe,” he says, when you question the need for him to walk back and forth to the bakery every day. It’s located on the outskirts of Provins, right up against the city wall, because of the fire hazard of the oven. “You’re my wife, and I promised to keep you safe in this time, let me do this.”

So you tuck your arm into the crook of his arm, and walk with him through the town twice a day, getting strangely comfortable in this new life and time. Storms come and go and each time you fear them less, Pero still sleeps wrapped around you, but now it’s less because you might suddenly disappear, and more because that’s the way you both want to sleep. His warm, solid body pressed against your back, soft puffs of breaths against your neck when you wake. Your soft palm covering his scarred hand, holding onto him even in sleep.

Life is harder in this time, there’s no doubt, and more fragile. But Provins is a prosperous town, seemingly spared from the harder conditions of this time, and so Pero and you remain. When Pierre passes away one particularly harsh winter, you take over the bakery and move there with Pero. With him as your ‘guard dog’, as he calls himself, no one dares question a woman running the bakery. The quality of the bread helps too and you thank your lucky star you understand sourdough baking and how the yeast bacteria work. Under your skilled hands, the cheap, rough bread for the peasants becomes even better than in Pierre’s time. And the expensive wheat bread for the nobles becomes so in demand that you can barely keep up, taking on a young woman of the town as your apprentice.

Many years pass, the old life a memory that you sometimes talk to Pero about when you’re both tucked into bed. He asks if you’d want to go back to your time, and you don’t know what to answer.

“Maybe?” you say, thinking about the few things you miss, indoor plumbing being the main one, “But not without you, never without you, Pero. I don’t want any life without you, I don’t have a life without you.”

“You are my life now, mi esposa, mi amor,” he mumbles, pulling you in under his chin and you fall asleep with your head on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart lulling you to sleep, like all other nights in your new life.

And then, the morning that you don’t wake, decades after you came back to him, Pero makes up his mind and plans for one last journey. His body aches, his joints are stiff and nothing remains of the dark brown color in his hair, it turned gray many years ago. And above all, his heart aches, the loss of you so physical, the pain inside his chest, he’s surprised his heart still beats even when the very reason for it to exist has left his life.

He packs his old saddle bags one last time, his back protesting as he swings himself into the saddle of his horse and turns the nag towards the coast. The journey takes a week, the winds are good and the sailing smooth. But he can feel his health waning, whether from the grief that grips his heart, or the loss of his will to stay in this life.

He travels to where you told him his grave is, to Seville, and he only has one hope left in his life; that you will come back to him when he closes his eyes for the last time.

A/N:

I hope you loved, and maybe cried a little, over this story. I didn't have any particular feelings about Pero when I wrote his first chapter for the bakery but he's grown on me so much. He is now one of my favourite Pedro boys and I've rewatched the film which also gave me a whole new view of him. He plays a very specific role in story, but there are clearly layers to him and lots to unpack. I think the way Pedro chooses to portrait him too, some of the choices he makes in how he delivers lines, add a lot of back story that's not spoken out loud. I will most likely return to Pero and dive further into his 11th century life.

By the way, I totally ignored any language barriers, both between 21st century and the 11th century as well as them being in France this time. Maybe there's a Tardis parked nearby, who knows? But Provins does exist and is a UNESCO world heritage site for it's well preserved medieval town centre. From the 9th century and onward it was a prosperous town with large markets and influential merchants. Seemed like a good place to have a quiet life for Pero and his new wife.

Not much baking in this story but I had to sneak in a reference to sourdough as it was the way people baked for literally millennia before commercial yeast became a thing. It fascinates me and I'm going to make a whole separate post about sourdough baking but if you want to try it I can really recommend this as a starting point (Claire Saffitz is a baking goddess!)

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