#I ❤️ ambiguity though

[hubbaslubba]

IDK 73 yards leaving so much unexplained - i think it was a help rather than a hindrance. folklore ceases to be folklore if we know step by step the action and reaction of everything that happens

within the framework of a folklore type story what is much more interesting is following the actions and emotions of a character and what the mysterious unexplained element might be a metaphor or stand in for in the narrative rather than nitpicking about: was that an alien and does their species have the power of teleportation? but idk why the dr vanished?

does any of that matter to the story that was trying to be told?

[naceslibrary]

Hey, Stancy fam! So, I made a little somethin’ somethin’ for our ambiguous little lovebirds! 🤣😍Hope y’all enjoy! ❤️https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5sPpbomdH6afudys3WQj3b?si=8fVKQoqLQA2tBtAuOWaXzQ

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

THE RESIGNATION

Summary: You can quit. It doesn't mean Rafe will let you.

Paring: CEO!Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings:  18+ Smut. Oral (w receiving) Masturbation (w), Rough Sex, PIV, Creampie, Fluff, Romance with a dash of Angst. AgedUp!Rafe. Not Proof-Read. Enjoy.

Word Count: 2k words

Author's Note: Something a little shorter, lighter and sweet. Happy reading and much love to you all ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

-------

*Buzzzzzzzzz*

“Yes.”

“Y/N is here to see you.”

“Send her in.”

Rafe watches in fascination as you shuffle in, your face taut and serious. Your eyes cast downward, clutching a file. As you tuck an unruly strand of hair behind your ear, he realizes you're nervous. The tension, his silence, makes you even more anxious.

“Sit,” he instructs, motioning to the chair across his desk. Meanwhile, he keeps his gaze on his papers. He continues to read and leisurely sign forms. Yet, he can distinctly feel your eyes on him, both of you fully aware of the meeting's purpose.

For Rafe, the dynamics at play are exhilarating. After finishing his tasks, he lifts his eyes to find you focused on your file, seemingly avoiding his gaze.

He unbuttons his suit jacket and leans back, his fingers drum lightly on the fine-crafted letter in front of him. The paper carries a soft hint of perfume. It smells like you.

There's a part of him that wishes to be cruel, to use biting words he's often used with others in his employ. Yet something about you prevents him. The game of power was always in his favor, but with you, the boundaries become ambiguous, shifting in unexpected ways. With you, it's always been personal.

“Why didn't you tell me you were unhappy?” he asks. His tone is calm, yet probing. You seem taken aback, eyes widening as they search his face.

He decides to try another approach. “It's clear to me now,” he points to your letter of resignation. “You were unhappy at Cameron Enterprises. How long have you felt this way?”

Your surprise is palpable, and he watches you closely, enjoying the tapestry of emotions that flash across your face, each one more captivating than the last.

“Well?” he prods.

You shift, straightening your back. “I am grateful for my time at Cameron Enterprises. Truly I am. The team has been so kind to me, and I'll honestly cherish the friends I've made—”

“But?” he asks, cutting you off, eager to understand.

“But, I believe it's time for me to pursue other opportunities,” you admit, measuring your words. You slowly nod your head, as though you have thought this whole thing out, and now you are not only resolved with the thought but you truly believe it. It’s this sureness, this resolution, that truly makes Rafe react.

“I see,” Rafe says as he presses a button, making the office walls turn opaque. "So, you think you've outgrown us."

“No—”

"No?" he interrupts, rising from behind his desk and walking slowly toward you.

"No. I just- I feel it's time for me to try something... new.”

"Something new," he repeats, his gaze lowers to meet yours while you look up at him. His eyes scrutinize you carefully. “I respect that,” he nods, and as you avert your gaze, he gently hooks your chin with his fingers, prompting you to look him in the eye.

“No, really. I do. What's the point of life if not to grow, right? But let me be crystal clear: leaving here is not an option. So, here's what I'm willing to offer," his voice is as smooth as honey as his thumb strokes your jaw. "First, a five percent raise. But seeing as you’re already on one of the highest salaries here, I suspect that won't really sway you. You’ll also be given a new title.”

"Raf—"

"And to sweeten the deal," Rafe interrupts, "a vacation to any destination you want. You'll be whisked away on the company jet, stay at a five-star, luxury hotel—every need pampered and taken care of. I'll see to that, and we'll get to that, but here's the thing—" he whispers, his voice low and seductive.

"You embarrassed me today—ah, ah, I'm talking," he asserts, his eyes commanding yours into silence. "If it were anyone else, anyone else, no one would have noticed or given a flying fuck. But since it’s you, your little resignation created a lot of gossip. It made us look weak, hinted at instability, and in a Fortune 500 company, that's not going to work. Do you think the board cares about your need to ‘try something new'? Hm," his gaze is drawn to your mouth as you clamp it shut.

"So for those reasons, I'm going to punish you,”he says, while his thumb gently taps your chin. "But how to punish you...” he muses. “That’s the real question.”

Pulling away, he slides his hands into his pockets and, after taking a few steps back, leans against his desk.

"Rafe, you know I was just— I mean I wasn’t trying to—”

"Spare me, all right? I'm not interested in hearing what you have to say. Not right now. What I want..." he said slowly as he tapped a finger to his chest "What I want, is for you to open your legs, yeah? That's what I want."

You're shocked — he gathers as much from the way you gulp, and Rafe can't help but let a smirk of self-satisfaction curl his lips.

"Don't look so surprised. You knew what working for me entailed when you agreed to it. Now, spread your legs. Let me see what I'm shelling out nearly half a mil for."

"Rafe, I… I" you murmur.

Crossing his arms, his gaze locks onto yours signalling the end of the discussion. Hesitantly, and with much caution, you eventually slide your legs apart, your skirt riding up ever so slightly.

"Wider," Rafe commands, "Lean back and open them wider."

Breathing heavily, you do as he asks. Leaning back against the chair, you spread your legs open fully, causing your skirt to ride up to your waist, revealing your panty-covered sex. The damp patch, dark against the bright red fabric teases him.

"Pull your panties to the side. Let me see how wet you are.” he whispers silkily.

You turn your head away shyly but eventually you hook a finger into the fabric and pull it aside, exposing your slick wet folds to his ravenous gaze.

Rafe smiles in approval.

"That's good." he purrs, "Now, touch yourself. That pussy looks like it needs a good fingering " his voice rumbles with authority as his gaze flickers from your face to your exposed weeping slit. You hesitate, breathing heavily while trying to form a protest.

"I… I'm not—"

"Do it," he interrupts firmly.

You hesitate for a few moments, but eventually obey by pushing a finger into your dripping sex. A moan escapes your lips when Rafe lets out a deep groan as encouragement. Your hesitation seems to disappear and you push another finger in.

"Fuck," he hisses. "Add another. I know you can handle it."

You nod slowly and introduce a third, while the middle finger of your other hand gently rub your clit. Sinking into the sensation you open your legs wider for more access, your fingers moving hard and fast.

Rafe groans in protest. “Go slow...This isn’t for you. It’s about what I want, and what I want is for you to tease yourself. You're not allowed to cum. Not yet. Not until I say.”

You whimper but follow his command. You slow your speed til it's teasing almost leisurely and Rafe soaks it all in. The jolts of pleasure that have you mewling, the way your chest rises and fall, breathless, desperate. The way you curl your fingers just enough to make you gasp. It's incredible to watch and as your hips begin to buck against your massaging fingers, Rafe finds himself looming over you, taking in the sight of your ecstasy-filled face and finger-stuffed pussy.

He leans in and kisses you. His tongue lashes yours, tasting your moans and desperation. He pulls away, eyes back on your wet centre, focused on your fingers moving in and out, accompanied by the sweet wet sounds it makes and your hips rising from the chair.

"Go on, make that pussy cum." he orders. In no time, your orgasm washes over you. He can see it build from your core as you shudder and your thighs shake, your breath hitches fighting to stave it off and then it radiates out from the depths of your soul in a moan of pure ecstasy.

Before you can catch your breath, Rafe pushes your hand away and laps at your essence with his tongue. His hands on the back of your knees, push your legs right to your chest, keeping it wide open as he tongue fucks you.

Eating you out was always an appetizer he savored, making sure you had cum at least twice from his efforts, but right now, with his blood boiling with anger and frustration, he's famished and desperate for the main course.

Urgently, he undoes his slacks and lifts your legs even higher, pinning your ankles above your head with one hand. Without giving you time to adjust, he smears his cock with your slick and plunges deep into your tight heat, pressing you into the chair with his body weight as he begins to pound you.

It's a painful position, and he's acutely aware of that. It's deep and aggressively forceful, the type of position that should be approached with care, or ease you gently into it. But right now, it's not about you. Right now he's too riled up to care and so he fucks you without remorse or restraint, reducing you to nothing more than a fuck toy- his fuck toy spurred on by the delicious moans that escape your parted lips.

Your hands cling to the armrests for dear life as you desperately try to maintain your balance. Rafe continues to slam his hips against the back of your thighs, taking pleasure in your inability to move while he plows you deep. You whimper, desperate to escape his grip, but it does nothing to deter him. Instead, he revels in your struggle, knowing that your lack of control will only intensify his orgasm and your own.

"You want to quit..." Rafe sneers. He watches you whimper and feels your pussy tighten like a vice, while simultaneously soaking the front of his slacks. It makes him feral and he redoubles his efforts, fucking you into the chair until it starts to scrape against the cherry-oak floor.

"You want to quit on me?" he strains, while he observes ecstasy wash over your face, your eyes roll back in a pleasure-filled awe. With one hand, he gently taps your cheek to keep you focused.

"You wanna quit on me? Huh?” And he leans in further, his cock repeatedly hits a spot so deep you’re shaking, babbling and barely coherent.

“You're not going anywhere. Not now, not ever," he grunts, "Now fucking cum. Fucking cum.” His ruthless demand pushes you higher until all inhibitions are obliterated. You scream out in surrender, bucking up onto his plundering cock while Rafe releases a guttural moan, filling you with ribbon after ribbon of thick cum.

Several minutes have passed when his movements gradually stops, signaling the ebbing of his energy. He's exhausted, his fervor having reached its climatic end. He pulls out, his balance wavering slightly until his back meets the glass desk behind him. A contented exhale escapes his lips as he takes in the sight of you.

There you are, looking thoroughly fucked out. Your legs are splayed open, a sheen of sweat glistens on your skin, reflecting the aftermath of passion. His cum slowly leaks out of you and you wear it like a carnal badge of honor. Observing your state, he’s acutely aware that his own appearance mirrors yours—fucked out and messy. His clothes is in disarray, his cock is hanging out and physical exhaustion makes his body seek support against the table.

Despite the disheveled scene, a wave of affection swells within him, washing over any remnants of his earlier anger. His chest heaves as he gulps in air, attempting to control his breathing.

"You're lucky I love you," he manages to say, each word punctuated by his effort to recover. His gaze locks onto yours, intense yet softened by the rush of emotions. "No one else has this infuriating, intoxicating effect on me. You drive me to the brink and back," he adds, a playful seriousness lacing his tone as he licks his lips. "For that little stunt, I should fire you," he teases.

Your fingers glide through the cum dripping from your sex, and Rafe can't suppress a sense of pride. He always takes pride in the chaos he creates, especially when you revel in it.

"I've been trying to talk to you, but you've been so distracted lately, you haven't been listening" you sigh, as you try to catch your breath. "What else was I supposed to do to get your attention? Hand me some tissues, will you?"

He pauses, his eyes narrowing as he digests your words, then reaches with a trembling hand for the tissue box on his desk. "When? When did you try to talk to me and I wasn't listening?" he asks. He takes a clump of tissues and hands them to you.

"This morning at breakfast, and last night during dinner. I barely started speaking before you turned the conversation back to contractors and deadlines and even when I gave you a solution, not just one Rafe but two- two concrete solutions you ignored me. It was like I wasn't even there. It's not the first time." you explain, accepting the tissues from him.

"I didn't realize—"

"You did," you interrupt, ensuring your eyes stay fixed on his to underline your statement. "Why do you think I kept singing the song about wanting to make some changes, wanting to try something new. I've been saying it for weeks on and off because this is clearly not working."

“I thought you were talking about remodeling the offices, not resigning from the company. It's a family business—how would it look if my wife quits?" His voice carries a hint of concern, not just for the optics but for the unspoken bond that this business represents between the two of you.

A soft sigh escapes you as you lock eyes with him, a delicate blend of frustration and affection. "Rafe, I don't want to walk away from this," you admit "But I need more than just a title and a desk. I need to feel heard, to be part of this with you, not just in name because I'm married to a Cameron. I want to be a part of the decisions and changes we dare to dream up together."

Rafe's eyes hold yours, a moment of realization dawning upon him. "I see you," he says quietly, the weight of his oversight apparent in his tone. "I'm sorry I wasn't listening. Do you really want to leave? Is that what you truly want?"

His question, earnest and laced with vulnerability, hangs between you, but you shake your head gently. "No, I don't want to leave, Rafe. I just want... more. More involvement, more acknowledgment, and yes, maybe even a little more attention. But leaving? No. This place, with all its madness, is where I belong."

He exhales, the relief evident in the way his shoulders drop slightly, the rigid line of worry softening around his eyes. "Thank fuck for that," he says with a hushed intensity. "Because I can't imagine doing any of this without you. But let's agree on no more 'resignation stunts' in the future, yeah? It's bad press and only makes for bad business—besides, I doubt my heart can take it."

You nod, agreeing, a mischievous glint in your eye as if to say you’ll find another effective way to get right under his skin, because in the end you always do. “Fine. But for the record, I do have some ideas for my office too."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and he pulled you into a messy, loving kiss. "We'll discuss it at home, Mrs. Cameron. For now, let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

"Speak for yourself. You're the one with your dick hanging out."

With a shared laugh and a sweaty kiss, you both begin the task of putting the office—and yourselves—back together, the line between professional and personal wonderfully blurred.

--------------

A/N - See guys I can do sweet 😈 I tried to keep the reveal until the end shhhh 🤭 Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please reblog as it supports writers. Until next time ❤️

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter is Back! - 3

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You scoffed, “Are you willing to wait until school is over? As you can see, I have to teach my precious students.”

Bucky smirked. This was the first time you had seen him smile. You had to admit he was handsome. Victoria must be proud, as Bucky was way out of her league.

But you didn't want to get close to him since he was already your step-sister's fiancé. Perhaps he had the same character as her.

Bucky interrupted your thoughts, “You don't have to worry since the principal has given you permission to leave after this class.”

Unbeknownst to you, before he entered your class, Andre had brought him to the principal's office. Bucky had bribed the principal with cigars.

For the first time, Andre saw his principal, who usually wore a flat expression from the stress of dealing with delinquent students, laugh heartily as he picked up the cigars. “Haha… of course. Miss Sinclair needs a day off.”

Clueless about Bucky's deal with the principal, you raised your eyebrows in surprise, not expecting the principal to give you a day off so easily.

Half a day without dealing with the delinquents wasn't a bad idea. As you rose from your seat, you issued a directive, "Fine. Let's go."

You pointed towards the hallway and added, "And stick close to me. It's like a jungle out there."

As Bucky followed behind you, he soon realized the context of your warning. The students erupted in cheers, though the intent behind their vocalizations remained ambiguous, potentially constituting either catcalls or attempts to provoke offense.

"You've got a rich sugar daddy, miss," one student jeered, while another offered unsolicited advice, "Dude, run while you still have the chance."

A misguided attempt at physical interaction occurred when one student attempted to bump into Bucky, prompting him to sidestep, causing the student to stumble and fall.

"Dude, what the heck?" the surrounding students exclaimed in confusion.

"Pardon me," Bucky politely interjected as he maneuvered away from the scene.

Observing the exchange, you addressed the student, Mark, with a pointed remark, "That's what you get."

In response, Mark displayed a gesture of defiance, raising his middle finger, to which you reciprocated in kind.

Witnessing the interaction between you and your students, Bucky noted your lack of fear, interpreting your demeanor as assertive and resilient.

“RINNNGG!”

Break time was over, and it was time for the students to return to their classrooms. However, none of them made a move.

You understood the reason; they knew you were leaving.

Standing near the school door, you raised your right arm and held up three fingers.

“If I count to three and you guys are still here, I'll make all of you fail my class,” you warned them, your tone firm and commanding.

“We'll make you viral, b*tch! This is unfair,” Mark protested.

“Try me. One…” You began the countdown, your voice echoing through the hallway, your expression steely.

Before you could even say “two,” the students scattered, rushing back to their classrooms in a panic.

Bucky watched in awe, though he didn't verbalize it. Instead, he gave you an impressed look, admiration evident in his eyes.

You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. “Like I said before, devil spawn.”

Bucky chuckled and held the door open for you, a gesture of respect and acknowledgment of your authority.

💋💋💋💋💋

He brings you to a luxurious café, seemingly inspired by Moroccan design. The place features intricate tiles, arched doorways, and rich colors. Elegant furniture, soft lighting, and comfortable seating create a warm atmosphere.

It had been a long time since you visited a place like this, reminiscent of times before you were kicked out by your stepmother.

Opting for the cheapest drink on the menu, you ordered a cold brew, not wanting to owe him anything more than necessary.

Your drink arrived promptly, and you tasted it. The taste of the coffee made you forget about the shitty cafeteria coffee you just had. Compared to you, who ordered a simple drink, Bucky's was unique.

His coffee was prepared right before him, with the server announcing, “We have prepared your coffee cup, sir.”

Bucky nodded graciously. “Thank you.”

“You're very welcome, sir,” the server replied before departing. “Enjoy.”

Bucky savored his coffee with an air of elegance, his movements precise and refined. You couldn't help but notice that he had been wearing leather gloves this whole time.

Taking a sip of your drink, you asked, “So… What do you want to talk about?”

Bucky set down his drink and met your gaze with his calm, cold demeanor.

“It's about last night,” he began, his expression unreadable as he spoke.

You grumbled, “Oh my god. Are you going to sue me for sexual harassment? I'm sorry. It's a bad habit of mine, doing something without thinking. Please don't sue me. I don't have the money to hire a lawyer.”

Bucky struggled to follow your rapid speech. “No, calm down. I won't sue you. It's just…” He paused, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

Or did Victoria cry to Bucky and ask him to teach you a lesson? You couldn't help but wonder what he was going to say next.

“I have this disorder, Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). The symptoms include being overly sensitive to sensory input, including touch,” he explained, his gaze shifting to observe your reaction.

“No judgment here. I've encountered various cases of trauma from my students,” felt relieved a bit you reassured him, trying to offer some comfort.

“Thank you for understanding,” Bucky replied gratefully. “When someone touches me without my consent, I will vomit or I will faint.”

Your eyes widened in realization. “Shit.” Guilt washed over you as you began to fully comprehend the impact of your actions.

Bucky confessed, “The weirdest thing is, when you touched me, kissed me, my body didn't have any reaction.”

You lifted your head in confusion. “Huh?”

“I went to different psychologists, tried many medicines, doctors, meditations, but none of them worked. Except you. A stranger that I've never met,” Bucky elaborated.

“Are you sure?” you asked, still trying to process the revelation.

Bucky then removed his leather gloves and called the waitress over. “You. Come here.”

The waitress approached, curious about Bucky's request. “Yes, sir?”

Bucky extended his bare hand. “Shake my hand.”

The waitress, unsure of the situation, complied and shook Bucky's hand.

In an instant, Bucky grabbed a nearby bucket and began to vomit.

The waitress and you were both shocked. Bucky, who had been calm and composed moments ago, now appeared pale and sickly in just a matter of seconds.

Could what he said really be true?

Bucky wiped his mouth and apologized to the waitress, his tone sincere. “I'm sorry. Please don't be offended. It's not because of you. I hope the tips my secretary will give you could cheer you up.”

The waitress, still unsure of what just happened, responded hesitantly, “Ah, thank you?”

Bucky's secretary appeared seemingly out of nowhere and began conversing with the waitress, diverting her attention.

Left alone with Bucky, he raised his hand again, as if asking for your right hand. Confused, you offered your hand, which he gently took and held in his.

You thought it might have been a mistake, but Bucky showed no reaction. He closed his eyes, seemingly waiting for something to happen. There was no rapid heartbeat, no sweating, and no urge to vomit.

He opened his eyes and saw you looking thoughtful. “Thank you for your patience and trust.”

You replied, “Ehm, glad to help.”

“My predictions were correct. You could be the answer to my disorder. I will make you a generous offer,” Bucky stated. His voice tone sounded like happiness is in it.

"Really?" You could ask for money for your grandmother's surgery. After you were kicked out of the house, you lived with your grandmother from your mother's side. After your mother died, your father stopped sending money to your grandmother.

Bucky nodded, his expression serious.

You hesitated. "Wait. Does Victoria know about this?"

Bucky shook his head. “Besides my parents, only you know about this.”

“Both of you are going to get married, and you didn't want to share the truth?” you questioned. Poor Victoria, the man she will marry, has a cold heart.

You were supposed to be the bad guy, glad that she would receive her karma. But why did this remind you of something?

He went silent. The thought of marriage with Victoria irked Bucky. He pulled on his leather hand gloves again and rested his hand on the table. He looks like he's discussing a business deal worth billions.

“The truth is, I saw this marriage as a business deal. I don't have the desire to have a heart-to-heart conversation with your stepsister. And from what I've seen of her, it's better if I don't talk to her about my disorder,” Bucky explained.

His tone was cold, sending a shiver down your spine. No wonder the Barnes family had been successful conglomerates for so long—they knew how to get what they wanted.

But there was something you didn't agree with. “I want to help you,” you stated.

Bucky visibly lightened up at your words.

You crossed your arms tightly, a frown creasing your brow. “But after what you said to hide it from your fiance, you reminded me of my father. A man of few words. A hero in business, but a failure in family.”

Your father, Jonathan, lived and breathed for money. He left everything about the household to your mom, while the families’ businesses thrived. But after your mother died, her family's business went bankrupt, and he didn't offer much help.

You didn't want to assist another man who reminded you of your dad.

Placing a dollar bill on the table to pay for your drink, you stood up abruptly. “I hope you find a cure, but I won't be the one to help you. Thank you and goodbye.” You grabbed your coat and started walking away.

Bucky hadn't expected you to reject him. And what's more outrageous is you're comparing him with your father. Bullshit.

He scoffed, his fingers tapping the table in frustration. No one had ever said no to him before.

He turned around and saw your back. “What if I raise my offer? Your childhood home and Velari into your hands?”

Your foot stopped before you reached the door. How did he know your deepest desire? The home you got kicked out of was the treasure from your mom. That beautiful home was designed by her; she was a designer.

And Velari, the fashion brand built by your mother, was now occupied by Celestial Enterprises, owned by Genevieve. It was your birthright to inherit your mother's work, but that other woman and her devil spawn were able to kick you out.

Lost in your daydream, you didn't realize Bucky was standing before you. “Do you like that deal?”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze with a hint of mischief in your eyes. A sly smile played on your lips as you reached out and gently took his hand in yours.

Bucky felt a sudden surge of heat as your fingers intertwined with his.

You lifted his leather-clad right hand and brought it closer to your lips. Gently, you pressed a kiss against it. "With an offer like that, I might just be tempted to give you more than just my hand."

The gesture made Bucky shiver, though he didn't feel any disgust. This feeling was completely different from what he experienced last night.

From this moment, he knew you're a natural seducer, and he was playing with fire.

Author Note: I had goosebumps writing the last part. I hope you like this chapter. 💓💋

Taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@thetravelingtyper

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@chemtrails-club

@dexter99

@seresingirlie

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@tfatwsoldir

@itsteambarnes

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@sapphirebarnes

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@angelbabyyy99

@cjand10

@esposadomd

@buckitostan

Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[onlyseokmins]

$$60 billion (part 1) • l.s.m.

How did a legendary bounty promised for turning in the wasteland's most infamous outlaw transform into a sick, little inside betting joke amongst your traveling companions? Though you have no idea why they're doing it… you sure as hell don't want that very same gunslinger comrade worth sixty billion double dollars to know anything about it either — but oops — looks like he already does! Damn you and your temper, some unhelpful lip-loosening alcohol, and one no-good, sorry excuse of a preacher you sometimes think of as a friend.

Pairing: outlaw!lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: eventual smut (minors dni!), trigun!au action!au, apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic!au, space western!au, slight enemies to comrades to ??? !au, angst, fluff, they're dumbasses your honor 🙏 Warnings: swearing, blood, death, gore, guns, injuries, destruction, mentions of knives, weapons, violence, creepy monsters and creatures, ptsd, moral ambiguities, dark topics tbh, smoking, unsettling space western things, slight body horror and hints at altered dna, weird religious cults, mentions of eating/food, alcohol, threats, bets among friends, platonic (but not really) nakedness, reader is operating on a short fuse bc I believe u have to be built different for this universe, their communication is abt to be as poor as the plant life 💀 Seungcheol kinda his own warning imho, biggest apology to chan, and we all love seok sm bc he sings abt total slaughter 🙇🏻‍♀️ WC: 19.5k of 32.7k | Part 2 | Read on AO3 A/N: this is for the Now that's 90's - A Seventeen collab and loosely based off/inspired by the Trigun anime/manga! You do not need to know it as I manipulated a whole lot of elements for my own narrative but beware of various spoilers if you do go ahead and check out the series after reading!! I feel like the boys may seem ooc but I had a lot of fun putting this together 😌 Thank you Summer and Isa for hosting this collab and your utmost patience in me finally writing my piece! I hope everyone enjoys this and please check out the other writers in this amazing collab ❤️let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any questions regarding this au's intricacies!!

Everyone wanted Lee Seokmin. 

The cities' great militaries. Bounty hunters. Bandits on the roads. Criminals escaping death row. Prowling pirate gangs. His twin brother. You. 

Though you reckoned your "want" for him was a bit… different from others. Well, at least you hope so, goddamn it. 

You shiver. 

At first, you wanted him just like the mass majority would one day as well — dead. The deed swiftly carried out with a silver pistol aimed at his temple.

Besides, your blood-thirst began before the destruction of July. Unlike most, who angrily shake their fists at the gaping crater on the fifth moon in the spirit of pure vengeance. Yes, the tragic incident of the great city that upped the bounty dangling over his head like a noose to a sixty billion double dollars reward. But Little Ivywood was the first of many places that would end up reduced to ruins after Lee Seokmin set foot there.

Wiped off the map. Wiped from history. Wiped from existence. But never forgotten. Especially not by the small town's only known survivor — you.

Your earliest memories contain little about the events that led up to being left on the doorstep of Little Ivywood's unofficial orphanage. How could they when you were just a baby? One swaddled in a ratty cloth weighted down by a rusted pistol. There was just one simple hint to your past — scribbled nearly illegible on a torn piece of paper dotted with blood — and could only be what the nuns had to assume was your name.

At least that's how Sister Meryl relayed the tale whenever asked, her hands clasped tightly together in praise and gratitude to the Saint that delivered you to them unharmed. The irony, considering Sister Lucia always looks like she'll faint just like the day she opened the convent's side door. It wasn't an easy sight to see or recall, the image of a wailing infant mouthing on the empty muzzle of a gun.

Neither versions of your origin story could be that far off thanks to the scar marring your left hand and the gun held tightly in your right. You've had both for as long as you can remember. And as you grew and changed, so did they.

The scar shrunk and faded through the years, seemingly forgotten amongst a myriad of other markings littered across your skin. Over time, the pistol's rusted parts were repaired or replaced and soon, its shine and character returned. Restored to its former glory while forging a new beginning ahead with a different owner.

But there were two things that stayed constant throughout your years at the orphanage. The first was your birth name. Not even the nuns, who generally loved bestowing scriptural monikers as if they were granting rich titles to unnamed orphans, tried to change yours. The second was a person who you still refuse to call by his baptismal name — Chan.

He helped you, became an assistant of sorts. Originally just some snot-nosed, beanpole of a fellow orphan you didn't really pay much attention to. A scared kid who cried way too loudly even after you'd even taken the time to demonstrate that the gun was safe after he'd been the one continuously pestering to see it. Very much to Sister Constance's chagrin, since it all went down in the middle of confessional time.

But curiosity eventually overturned the initial fear.

Lucky, because by acquiring bravery, Chan could discover his innate talent for gunsmithing. Lanky, noodle arms transformed into well-formed, sinewy muscles. The soft baby skin of his hands roughened with callouses as he whittled away near the convent's underground furnace. He'd spend hours down there, returning with sweat, grime, and charcoal smudged all over his skin after melting together the random metal objects found by digging beneath the basement's unfinished floor.

The Sisters disliked dirt and grime all over the children and tracked through the doors. But it was hard to keep clean out in the middle of a sandy desert. Complaints dwindled thanks to the fellow orphans who would stop their mischief to watch Chan work. And as time passed, his shoulders broadened further, his voice began to deepen, his dark hair grew longer, and those brown eyes started to sparkle with something different from simple, fleeting passion — it was a dream.

The excitable boy would tell you all about it under the stars. Late into the nights when you searched for what had to be remnants of Earthen materials from the Big Fall, he'd chatter on and on.

"Once we're actual adults," — free from the guardianship requirement provided from the orphanage — "we're gonna leave Lil Ivywood behind and explore the great wastelands of Gunsmoke!"

You snort at the ridiculousness of such an idea. "And how do you think we'll survive?"

"Easy-peasy, I'm gonna build a bunch of guns and we're gonna end up so rich. And famous!"

"Yeah, sure. Throw a couple double dollars at the worms, I'm sure they'll let us pass with no problem."

Not one to be deterred by your eternal sarcasm, Chan shakes his head."Nah, that's where you come in. Didn't think I'd let you freeload, right?"

He stands and stretches both of his arms straight out, the ones your roommate had started to gush over. Hands clasped together like Sister Meryl's always do before prayer time and then extending both pointer fingers into a mock handgun, out into the distant sand dunes one rarely dares to stray.

"You gotta be a sharpshooter to not let my hard work go to waste!"

You lazily take aim next to him, handling the freshly restored pistol with uncharacteristic gentleness. While it might officially be yours, it's also Chan's baby.

"Mm-hm, me and my killer skills."

And then you both dissolve into laughter.

It was such a pipe dream and yet; it didn't seem utterly impossible. There were little moments you let yourself imagine it, too — just until the suns peep their heads above the horizon. There was no way you could defend yourself — let alone another person — from the dangers of the desert or it would've been something you'd attempted years ago.

But when Chan spoke of his plans under the glow of the orbiting full moons, confidently mapping an adventure through an area he's never been to or seen before, and dreamed — he easily pulled you under his spell too. It was contagious, exciting, addicting, and most of all — it could really be… possible.

An armory of grade-A weapons. The bank account overflowing with double dollars. Endless boxes of bullets and the refined skills to shoot them; you were the force to be reckoned with and a protector of those who couldn't do it for themselves.

"Do you think… we could really succeed?" you ask one night, running a finger along the familiar engravings on your gun's grip panel.

Chan's grin was as shiny as the circular metal shell he was carving into. You refuse to look his way because of how infectious it could be. Plus, the main reason it was so stinking bright was due to this being the first time you verbally entertained his ideas.

"Oh-ho-ho, doubt my capabilities?"

"Obviously."

If offended — he was not — by the instant agreement, there was no sign of it. Instead, he focused back onto his handicraft, knowing you would eventually spill your true thoughts if he was patient.

There was no rush tonight after all. A star-filled expanse of black blanketed across the sky — one he hoped would never change to blue.

"More like… it's just going to be so risky!"

"And that's why you'll be the —"

"But I've never even held a gun before!" You spot Chan pointedly direct the corner of his gaze to where your hands rest, causing you to flinch them away from the weapon and wave around haphazardly as your cheeks heat. "I mean, like, to shoot! Sister Lucia always says it'd be too dangerous."

"Sister Lucia thinks water that doesn't flow directly out of the holy grail is dangerous."

"Technically, that's true."

"Oh god, she's got you thinkin' the same, too!"

"But she'd probably rather swear by the Saint than ever let me get any bullets…" The thought alone of the devout nun saying the Savior's name in vain makes both of you smirk but yours falls just as quick as it came. "And we're going to need those if we ever want to leave Little Ivywood."

"Well —"

"And I… I'd have to kill things! People, too. I don't know if I can do that, I —"

" — Think fast!"

It's his turn to interrupt, chipper voice ever optimistic as he tosses the finished trinket your way. Thankfully, your reflexes work fast enough to catch it nimbly in time. The oval is hot to the touch after hovering over searing flames and despite its small size, weighs down your right palm as you glance over its etchings.

Satisfied, Chan takes that as his cue to walk toward the nook that shields you from the roaring heat of the furnace. Squatting down so he's eye-level with your knees, he brushes back his tangled mess of hair with one hand and taps knowingly at the barrel of the pistol with the other.

"There's no reason to kill anyone or anything."

"But this can hurt people… I could hurt people."

"You've had this ever since you were a baby and never harmed anyone with it."

"It's… it's never been loaded or…"

"Doesn't need to be. If you smacked someone with it, they'd surely feel that hit." He snickers, tone bordering on the edge of cockiness. "I would know, considering the sturdy and valuable materials used for repairs."

You roll your eyes and mutter, "Show-off," but it lacks true malice behind it.

"And even so," Chan takes one of his hands and pats the back of your free one, unintentionally right over the spot where your scar lies. "You've hurt no one before. Not even me, who annoys you the most!"

"About time you finally realized how merciful I am."

He says your name in earnest, remaining uncharacteristically serious and lays your intertwined hands on top of the gun before squeezing tightly. "Both this and you don't have to kill a single thing or person — ever — if that's not what you want to do. You can aim for non-vital points, shoot up in the air… Bullets or no bullets, just the sight of a weapon alone can be enough of a deterrent for most."

Chewing hesitantly on your lower lip, you let his words sink in and he continues.

"The fact you're aware of the hundreds of risks when handling a weapon like this means you'll be even more cautious when using it. I trust you, so trust in yourself."

Warmth spreads from your interlocked hands and through your entire body like you're wrapped in another one of his sweet hugs, culminating into tears threatening to spill past your lash line. Chan believed in you and though you'd never admit it aloud, it meant the world to you.

"When did you grow up so much?" you tease, letting out an exhale you didn't realize was being held.

"Aw, c'mon! I've been taller than you for months now!"

"Keep dreamin' if it makes you feel better."

Though Chan sasses back by sticking his tongue out, he lets you ruffle his sweaty bangs despite receiving a slightly bruised forehead in return because you forget about the new gift in your hand. Plotting an escape, he stands and pulls you up with him, joined by your clasped hands.

"We should probably head back. Sister Constance's likely gonna ask us to check the Plant before morning mass and you don't want her to catch you dozing off again."

"Last I recall, you were the one she caught napping!"

"But you have the most demerits this week."

"And whose fault is that?!"

Quick as lightning, he nudges you with enough strength to catch you off guard and destabilize your balance. Then he tears away, calling over his shoulder, "Snooze and ya lose!"

"Ugh, this is exactly why — you never play fair!"

Regathering your bearings at record speed, you dash right after Chan. The boy's raucous laughter echoes in your own lungs and you swear the stars twinkle brighter in the nighttime sky. You overtake him right before reaching the convent's door — the same one you were left on — and clutch at his arm before he can reach past to open it.

"Hey… thanks."

He grins all goofy. Chan's well aware you mean much more than that, but he opts to flick your forehead rather than give you grief over it. "Yeah, yeah. I do so much for you, you know?"

"Mm-hm."

"So it's about time to finally pick a name I can carve onto that bad boy. If you don't, I'll put mine there." He nods to your gun excitedly, then points to the oval. "Oh, and I'll make a chain for that soon. Did you decide what you'll put inside?"

"Questions, questions, demands, demands." You wave him off and open the door with a yawn. "I'll think of one. And yeah, you know that Earthen gadget we found? Gonna cut out those papers and put them in there before sleeping."

Once while digging for materials, you had stumbled across a square object that wasn't completely destroyed, unlike many others. After a few experiments of messing with the random knobs and buttons, you determined it could mimic whatever was directly in front of the clear coated lenses. And later — much to your amusement and amazement — it printed out the image on thick, shiny squares.

Fascinating little things those Earthlings created!

You'd luckily put the last few sheets left in the machine to good use. Experimenting with the surrounding scenery that blurrily featured some of Ivywood's buildings, then one of Chan, and finally wrangled a frame that captured both of you together.

"Do you think you'll be able to stabilize it?"

Your tentative question makes him look toward the large, bulbous structure that houses the Plant. The power source Little Ivywood depended upon.

He sports a cheery grin. "Won't know 'til I've tried!"

"Ever considered too much confidence might be a bad thing?"

"If you're jealous, just say so. But with you by my side, there's nothing we can't accomplish together!" He bounces excitedly on his heels. "Besides, I forgot to mention…" Beckoning you with a hand to come closer, you lean in, curious. "I've become quite the master at bargaining. There won't be a single worm who'll refuse a double dollar from the great Chan!"

"What did you do?"

"What haven't I done?"

"You're the worst. Like to ever exist."

"The absolute best, you mean 'cause there'll be no reason for you to waste any bullets or fear cutting a single lifespan short!"

"Goodnight, Chan."

"You mean 'thank you so much, what would I ever do without you, Chan!' but whatever! You can make it up to me tomorrow!"

But tomorrow never came.

Or rather — daybreak arrived in the unrecognizable form of rapid gunfire and screams of terror. The buildings rattled, trembled, and shook from the onslaught just like the people cowering in fear within them.

The dust stirred up in the chapel's hall after a wall unexpectedly collapsed causes you to cough. Amidst the chaos and panic, you spare a glance over your shoulder to see Sister Meryl, who strides confidently to the altar.

She stands with poise and purpose in front of the marbled stone. Steadfast and unwavering in strength because of her faith alone, even as the grand statue of the Saint starts crumbling down with the ceiling tiles falling around it.

It's a visual you're not likely to forget, carved deep into your memory before you flee with the rest. Sister Lucia is flustered as usual, ushering everyone as fast as she can near the grand oak doors that lead out to where additional shouting can be heard and only more pandemonium must await outside.

You're struck with the damning realization.

The gods — they have completely abandoned humankind.

"That would be ten demerits any other day," Sister Constance voice abruptly snaps, "fortunately for you, now is not the time for such things."

It's astonishing how even at this moment, the nun remains on high alert for 'troublemakers'. Her sharp-nailed fingers latch around your wrist as she breezes by — much too similar to when you've been dragged off to detention. And as if that's what's happening, your heels plant firmly in the ground and obstinately tug her back a step.

"What about Sister Meryl? We can't just leave!"

"If you knew what was good for you, you'll obediently obey me. But if you knew that, you'd recognize faithfulness will guide her and the rest of us to safety."

"Nothing guarantees —"

"Those who do not devote themselves truthfully will never understand. Should the Saint deem Sister Meryl's sacrifice to be in vain, then she has failed not only the Holy Bishop and our sacred bonds, but you — one she unnecessarily dotes on — as well."

You want to argue and protest as Sister Constance yanks you forward. But the faint tremors you feel despite the tight grip of her hand and the tensed jawline of the woman whose stoic face is normally unbreakable makes you pause.

She's shaken. She's unsure. She's wavering.

Sister Constance doubts.

And something about that thrills you. Terrifyingly so.

The shock of it all is as startling as the pale sunlight blinding your eyes when the chapel's heavy doors finally get thrown open. Grains of sand swirl through Little Ivywood, diluting the usual brightness of the glowing orbs in the sky and their powerful rays.

A sandstorm brews on the horizon.

That's the least of your worries, though. Blood stains the soil where shrapnel grazed tender flesh. Fellow orphans scream and cry out from their wounds as they struggle to get away from the captors attempting to drag them to the center of town.

With a chill, you alarmingly realize who they're trying to escape from. Women in black and white robes don a wild, crazed look on their faces. The ones who have raised and cared for parentless children throughout many years and tended to every need they could within their means.

The Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood.

Sister Constance turns and you jump. Both at the horrors of the present and a reminder of how many times a quick movement of hers led to the sharp pain of a switch or ruler tearing into skin. An eerie sound of laughter rings out and your blood runs cold, eyes darting left and right for the source.

And then through the dust particles, looms the sinister silhouette of a figure in a long trench coat flapping in the wind. Spiked hair sticks straight up, retaining its menacing style despite the powerful wind gusts and emphasizing an already impressive height. You gulp, swearing there's a flash of metal followed by a fanged smirk that glints dangerously as Sister Constance tugs you closer to the terrifying shadow beast shrouded by sand swirling in the air.

A declaration of your given name — stern and cold. "Know that your purpose is being fulfilled, that you are serving the great —"

And then comes a shout of your name, this time from someone desperate and panicked. You're yanked forward and then suddenly catapulted backward, grunting at the impact of your body slamming against someone else's.

"You need to go! You need to get out of here!"

"Chan?!"

He clings to you, shifting so his back is to the nun only a few paces past the corner he dashed around for safety and to stall for time. Throwing a cautious look over his shoulder before whispering urgently, "Go! And don't look back!"

"What about you?"

"Don't mind me." The smooth leather of a satchel presses against your palm. "Get movin'!"

"But —"

"Seriously," the boy shoves you forward with a not-so-gentle push. You gape at the audacity and he waves his hand, like he's shooing away a pesky flying worm. Rude. "Please! I'll be right behind you but —"

An eruption of nearby gunfire and a series of high-pitched shing!-like noises interrupt him. He glances again over his shoulder. You cautiously step forward and his head whips back to let out a hiss.

"Chan, what's —"

"Need to grab a few more things, see if any other idiots need help. Just… just get out of town, wait for me by the rocks if it'll make you feel better." He smiles, though it doesn't make those brown eyes of his sparkle like usual. "It'll… it'll all be okay."

You're uncertain and scared. But something about Chan's speaking powers have always made you believe in the impossible. So, you nod resolutely while taking the bag from him and warn, "Promise you'll be safe."

"You hate those kinds of things."

It's true. To you, promises were only made to be broken. And yet…

"… And somehow you've changed my mind before."

The bangs of carnage draw closer. Louder.

"Fine, just go. Please! And don't look back!"

Acquiescing to his pleas, you sprint toward where he pointed. Sitting like giant sentinels lays an outcrop of boulders bordering the western edge of Little Ivywood. The desert is only two paces away, expanding outward into a desolate plain filled with the undulating slopes of dunes. Picking a sizable rock to hide behind, you keep watch for Chan, cringing at the distant sound of gunshots still rapidly being fired.

What was that? What did you see? And what did you almost get dragged into?

What was going on?

Boom!

It's an ear-shattering noise that causes even the great stones around you to tremble from the explosion. A flare of light so bright leaves you no choice but to look away to protect your eyes, ducking behind the rocks as a shield.

When you recover after it dissipates to see what just happened — Little Ivywood is no more.

It's gone.

"No…"

The tiny town reduced to only rubble and ash. What once were rows of square buildings stacked on top of each other to divert the view of a relatively flat lay of the land are now parallel to its surroundings.

"No… no… no…"

Gone.

You don't think twice about running toward the wreckage. Chan is there. Chan has to be there!

"No!"

And most importantly, he has to be alright.

Broken piles of the shoddy architecture littering the landscape prevents you from traversing too far. Bile rises in your throat as you desperately scan for a sign — any sign — for Chan. For survivors. For anyone. Even the air is still, no longer rippling with irritable heat waves and heavy gusts of wind because the blast was strong enough to ward off nature itself and the incoming sandstorm.

For now.

And during the futile search, that's when you spot him. On his knees with his back to you, slouched over in the only clear space amidst the destruction. The tattered fabric of a cerise garment hangs off the man's broad shoulders and pools around his body like a puddle of blood. Reddish-brown bangs tinged with black hang limply as his chin curls further and further into his chest.

I don't understand, you vent to yourself after a couple ungraceful vaults and stumbling through the debris to get closer. This bastard got what he wanted, did what he wanted, and won! So, why is he acting like that? Who destroyed his town? His people?

Finally, you're a couple steps behind him. Thankful, at the very least, for whatever weird state this man is in because it grants you the opportunity to approach and press the cold steel of your pistol to the side of his temple.

"Don't. Move."

You hope it comes out as the threatening command you intend it to be. There's a tense beat of silence as you wait for his next move until you realize he's doing exactly what you demanded.

Then he chuckles. A choked out, watery sort of sound. Your hands start shaking even as they press the barrel harsher against his head.

"Go ahead and shoot."

"Answer me first." Your voice becomes as unsteady as the quakes in your body and you rasp out, "Why… why'd you do it?"

His head lifts and you flinch, but he takes no further action besides staring blankly ahead at the ruins. "I wish I could tell you but… I've been asking myself the same question."

"I — you…! You wreak hell and havoc upon a whole innocent town and… and you don't even know why?!"

"Pathetic, isn't it?" The man laughs again, without a shred of humor. A gloved hand reaches up to wrap around the weapon and you momentarily falter at the force of him leaning into it. The weight pushing it closer into his skull seems hard enough to leave a nasty imprint, as if that should be a main concern right now. "I'd simply like to know how I did it."

"I —"

"Not loaded," he sighs and drops his hand, twisting around to actually get a proper look at whoever was holding him at gunpoint.

You're taken aback by the intensity of death radiating in those dark brown irises that casually observe you through amber-colored, cracked lenses. Your arms fall down, dumbfounded at the stranger's unflinching behavior, the pistol bumping into your thigh. He lets out a "tsk" and then pulls something out of his pocket.

In his opposite palm, clad in a fingerless glove unlike the left, rests a conical golden object. Though you've never seen one in real life before, you think you know what it is. The shape matches the hollow outlines when Chan disassembled the chambers of your gun.

"A cartridge," he says and you blink. "A bullet," he clarifies upon noticing your confusion. Then the man smiles encouragingly. "Go on. Take it."

You're incredulous. "You're okay with handing that over to me?"

"It's what you want, right?" There's a wistful look on his face. "This place… it was your home."

"No," you're quick to refute, shocked at such an automatic response. Then admitting, "I don't even know what a home is."

Innocent town, my ass, is what you derisively admit inward and snort at yourself.

The convent itself was far from comforting. The other orphans with their bright grins when Saint Meryl sang lullabies on the nights you couldn't sleep — those were the kinds of things that made it bearable.

Guilt.

"I — I —"

It overwhelms your senses. Rattling up your entire nervous system and settling a cruel, cruel weight in your chest. You hunch over, chest heaving, and throat burning. There's a thump as your gun falls to the ground, its silvery sharp edges becoming distorted, warped, and blurred through a film of unshed tears in your widened eyes.

"Should've… It should've —"

"Hey, hey…"

"It should've been me!"

The man rises to his full height, brushing off his clothes before crouching down. A sturdy hand grips your shoulder and dutifully encourages your gasping upper body into an upright position. Gently, ever so fragile, he bops your forehead with his and you subconsciously lean against the unexpected support.

He's near enough to ground you to something solid. But distant enough for two strangers whose first meeting is one amidst a crumbling town's travesty. With his close presence comes the scent of gun smoke, though not as bitterly pungent and putrid as you recall from before. It's subtle and smokey, reminiscent of the fire that Chan once proudly stoked in his makeshift forge.

Your body shakes as the tears finally slip free.

"All lives are equally precious, one shouldn't be sacrificed for another."

"… How can… how can you say that so… easily?"

The death-come-over look in his eyes changes to something faraway. Like he's seeing something beyond the destruction surrounding both of you. Those amber lenses don't have to be cracked to draw attention to the fracturing despair radiating behind them.

Then, he shakes his head and shrugs. "Because you should live even when those dear to you are gone. This world is made of love and peace, after all."

Your crying abruptly pauses with the natural effort it takes to let out a scoff. Ignoring your utter scorn and disbelief, the man's gaze drifts to the pistol still on the ground. The tip of a steel-toed boot kicks it up into the air with a flourish, single-handedly catching it to inspect the weapon with practiced ease.

"Live because there's a reason you survived, even if you loathe every second of it. You'll feel like you don't deserve it. But persevere because you should. Because that's what they would've wanted and you keep them alive by living yourself. A burden? Maybe. Why spend such a cursed blessing only dwelling in regret when you can do so much more?"

He offers the gun back, its handle extended in your direction.

"If nothing else, live for yourself most importantly. Help show the world the love and peace it deserves. Even if it couldn't afford to gift it to you. That's what life is all about. The ticket to the future is always blank!" Pausing, he shrugs with a regret-filled smile on his face. "At least that's what I was taught… and what I think."

"… Awfully full of optimism for some dude who wiped out a full town and doesn't even know why."

"Name's Seokmin," he returns, now sporting a cheeky grin as you cautiously reach out for the pistol. Only to be outsmarted with a literal 'sleight-of-hand' and meeting the warmth of fingers and a gloved palm instead of the expectation of hard, cold, and familiar steel.

"Huh?"

"Lee Seokmin, to be precise! And it's a pleasure to meet 'cha! Erm, despite the… terrible circumstances." Seokmin jiggles the gun in front of you with his other hand, almost taunting you to reach for it again.

You don't.

"And what do you call this lovely lady?"

"Nothing."

"A shame. But not everyone cares to name things, 'specially if they don't hold any value." He finally tosses it back and you barely manage to catch it in time with a scowl.

"Just haven't decided."

"I see! Mine's Geranium."

"Oh, like… the flower?"

He visibly perks up at that even further, a radiant smile showcasing two pointy fangs. "You've heard of it?"

"Well," you scratch your cheek, "the, uh, sisters gave a girl that name because of her hair."

There's an uncomfortable pause as the dreadful realization you'll never see those brilliant ruby locks bounce because of her excitement again settles back into your stomach. You swallow, eyes roaming the stranger in front of you for a distraction.

"Um… you must really like the color… red."

Seokmin glances down at the tatters of his scarlet clothes and shrugs. "I guess. Though the one I saw was red, I've heard they come in different colors."

"You've seen a plant? Like a plant plant? A real one! You know — that grows out of the ground and transforms and all that? It doesn't, well…"

Vegetation was a rarely discussed concept. The only thing you knew came out of the poorly written history books in the dusty library's darkest corner. In the desert outskirts, you had a better chance of finding ancient Earth technology that might still be intact to share its plethora of knowledge about the old world humans left behind than hope to find whatever resources the big cities had access to.

"Mm, yeah, a long time ago. But say," he jovially waves the cartridge from before and it glints in the setting rays of the suns. "Would you care to hear this man's story before shooting him?"

And of course, you listened. What other choice did you have, you who lost everything at once? But even back then, something small and precious was planted in the barren depths of your heart. That was just the beginning. It would continue to grow, watered and tended to under the sunny smile of Lee Seokmin — the destroyer of cities and a very wanted man across the planet.

You leave that tiny bit out during the recitation of your past to the inquisitive pastor. Though something you'll regrettably find out later is he's already got you all figured out.

Bastard.

"… So, that's how I met the infamous Lee Seokmin and didn't end up killing him," you declare with a flourish and take a satisfied gulp of cheap beer picked up from some abandoned mart along the way out of Little Jersey.

Draining another bottle dry, you toss away the metal cap, close one eye, and peer through the narrow bottleneck like it's a telescope — albeit a very poor one.

Through the distorted glass stretch endless sand dunes as far as the eye can see. Stars glitter and sparkle amid the glow of the full moons in orbit, temporarily dimmed by a puff of the roguish's man's cigarette that wafts through the inky darkness.

You wonder if he'd be willing to share one.

"A shame," Seungcheol grumbles and offers a white stick from his pocket.

You take it eagerly only to see it's nothing but — a lollipop. The hard candy's become a strange gooey consistency thanks to melting in the desert heat all day and partially re-solidifying during the nighttime's chilly air.

It's stale too.

Fucker.

You let out a disdainful sniff but nod in agreement to his statement. "It is. But he promised me something. Then his bounty increased from a meager six million to sixty billion double dollars after destroying July, putting a hole in the moon, and all that. So… following him around has paid off."

"I guess," he shrugs, "guess I don't really care 'bout yer lil meet-cute story."

You gape at the audacity. "You're the one who fuckin' asked!"

"Well… figured we could bond, ya know? Orphans 'n all that cozy, feel-good shit."

"You know, not a single thing I've said thus far coud be classified as 'cute'."

"Uh-huh."

"And I never took you to be a sentimental fool."

"Hey, now —"

You hold up a hand. "'Thou shall not bear false witness'."

"As if ya even know what that means," Seungcheol retorts and flicks the ashy cigarette stub in your direction, the cross around his neck ironically reflecting in the moonlight. "Was gonna say, if anythin', I put the mental in sentimental, sweet'art."

Well, you certainly wouldn't argue with that point. "…What I do know is that you're doing this all. For him."

"'Ol Needle Noggin, eh?"

"Well… yeah. But he's only part of a bigger picture for you."

"… 'S none o' yer business, ya know? Best to know less."

Your eyes roll. "Sure. That's why you nearly got hit by our car 'cause you wore a suit into the desert and didn't bring a drop of water. All while hauling that stupid, big-ass cross around! And then you insist on joining us — try to scam us! — but hey," you put your hands up, "none of my business."

"Wasn't tryna scam —"

"Hella shady, man... Hella. fuckin'. shady." You're shocked you can see the man's eyes roll in a begrudging defeat behind his black sunglasses — at night, no less — but you nudge him. "C'mon, just tell me! I bet it has to do with Hopeland, something… or someone back at that orphanage."

"Anyone told ya how irritatin' ya are?"

"Only the ones that are equally just as annoying!"

"Tch, woman." Seungcheol messes up the back of his black hair, mouth opening as he cracks his jaw. There's a pregnant pause. "… 'Han was… he was different. Ya wouldn't get it."

"Try me. Evidently you weren't listening very well, were you?" No surprise there. You retrieve the locket that takes refuge beneath your top, a familiar oval swinging from its long chain between the two of you. "Believe it or not, I do get it."

His eyes fixate on it like a pendulum, darting to your face, and then up to the sky. A crooked smile quirks up the corner of his mouth and he lets out a resigned sigh. "Ya really love 'im, don'tcha?"

You feel a funny sensation.

Akin to getting caught in a horde of flying worms and trying to squash down as many as you can. Your answer is hushed and Seungcheol snickers. Unbeknownst to the two of you that an additional pair of ears — assumed to be asleep — also catches your whispered reply.

"So, how much ya gonna pay for confessin'?" the pastor goads and lets out a startled yelp when you try to smash the hand-held bank he totes around that's shaped like a cathedral.

"Oh, go to hell, Choi!"

"Stare any longer and you'll no longer be needin' Sirocco." An amused snicker follows the relaxed drawl. "Bullets're 'bout to start flyin' outta those eyes 'stead of that gun o' yers."

You scowl at the dumb man seated next to you. "It's not like subtlety has ever been a strong suit of yours. But could you at least pay better attention to your surroundings?" A meager amount of golden liquid sloshes against the sides of the glass you pointedly wave around. "Or are you already too drunk to forget where we are?"

"Ain't no lightweight," Seungcheol brags with his fourth pint of the night in hand and a rapacious grin cockily tilting the empty lollipop stick in the corner of his mouth upward. "Can't say the same for the rest, though. Whiskey's stronger than a punch to the gut."

"… You would know. I'm sure it might just taste like water to some by now."

While it might initially elate most visitors to order as many rounds of the only available beverage on the menu as possible, the reality of the situation was much more grim. As if he can read your mind, the man clad in black, gray, and muted silvers flippantly reminds you of why your so-called merry band of travelers are even here.

"Needle Noggin said 'e fixed the Plant up just fine 'n dandy, so here's hopin' we get some clean bathwater t'night."

At those words, your gaze instinctively shoots back to where it focused earlier. Seungcheol snorts and drains his glass with a satisfactory sigh before poking more fun at you.

"Gonna put a hole through his head at this point."

"Not like that's anything new."

"Yeah, but rather than constantly laserin' holes through his skull, ya should be tryna convince him to fill yers up, instead. 'N not referrin' to that empty space behind yer forehead."

"I know exactly what you mean, you perverted freak."

That cracks Seungcheol up. "'N here I was thinkin' ya was gonna end up a nun servin' the Eye of Joshua!"

By now, you're well-accustomed to the hedonistic ways of the man who still keeps a leather band with a cross on it strapped across his Adam's apple, sewn into the cuffs of his black suit, and carries the hulking shape of one on his weary shoulders.

Unfazed, you fire back, "If they even let someone like you into the blessed and holy ranks, then any whore off the streets would be welcome to join."

It's a series of light-hearted jabs you both take in stride. The truth is much darker and deeper, but tonight serves as a tiny snapshot away from the normal weariness of day-to-day survival in Gunsmoke. Right now, you celebrate alongside the residents of Tonim what peace could really look like in the future.

Except you're on edge.

For a reason that's silly compared to the usual adrenaline rush of tracking down Plants nearing red status and defending the area, all the while trying to prevent the inevitable destruction and chaos to follow. Still, it's why you beckon the bartender over for another refill as a positively "tickled-pink" Seungcheol not-so-silently judges.

"Now who's staring?"

"'Kay, but's not with unbridled lust and — " He's cut off by a sharp kick to the side of his shin delivered by one of your heavy combat boots. "And feelin's," gets wheezed out before the pastor falls silent at your nasty scowl paired with Wonwoo's timely arrival.

The saloon owner and de facto authority in town approaches the two of you cautiously. It's no secret who you are, who you're with. What you do and the things that follow when you do what you do. And yet what you've done has saved the town and given its people — especially the younger folk — something that some of them have never experienced before.

Hope.

And that seems to be good enough proof for Wonwoo. Rumors may just be rumors, after all. None of you are like the reports relayed in a tinny voice through the virtually enhanced radios that are non-plant-powered — aka illustriously dubbed by their inventor as VERnons.

"… the Bloody Rain… follows… Lee… Humanoid Typhoon… armed… dangerous. Punisher… cross… machine gun… two unknown… likely… agents…. Bernardelli Insurance…"

The VERnon sitting behind the counter splutters out bits and pieces of information. He side-eyes the device awkwardly and starts fumbling with the buttons, trying to mumble over the static and monotonous voice.

"Can I pour you another drink?"

"Sure," you chuckle, pleased.

The bartender's well-intentioned efforts are fruitless which is to be expected. Only the creator, and those he personally taught, could truly modify the invention as pleased. A part of you hoped to find evidence Hansol had traveled this far but alas, he was probably still searching through the seven major cities for his beloved Milly before attempting to wander through the treacherous wastelands.

A brown, short-haired darling sneaks awe-filled glances at the two of you from the corner where a group of women around your age gather to chat. Seungcheol's the first to catch onto the admiring starry-eyed gaze and winks. Chuckling when a pudgy hand clings tighter to one of the lady's long skirt, using the fabric as a demure little shield against his effortless charisma.

You catch the tail-end of the interaction with the ghost of a smile. If there's one thing that can definitely soften Seungcheol's rough edges, it's children. You can't blame him, reminded of cheery voices and energetic footsteps pounding after your own through the convent's hallways.

The attractive woman wonders what's drawing the younger girl's attention and leans down to whisper in her ear. Gesturing in your direction, you watch as she nods encouragingly and offers a gentle smile, pushing the tiny brunette forward who readily toddles over. The gaps still waiting for pearly white teeth to grow in that shy smile on the little girl's face are endearingly winsome.

"'Lo, Wonu."

The bespectacled man starts, eyes wide as he peers over the counter and just manages to glimpse the top of her mousy brown tufts. "Is that you, Lina? You're not supposed to be here."

"Past yer bedtime, lil one?"

She huffs indignantly at the two men, hands on her hips. "I've once stayed up 'til four in the morning, mister!"

"Oh, Lina…"

"Besides, how can anyone of good standing sleep properly when there's heroes in town?"

"Huh, what a darlin' angel!"

You scoff at your comrade's words. "As if you've ever seen one."

"I do beg your pardon," Wonwoo scrambles to excuse the child's enthusiasm. "Looks like another talk is due with, uh, Sheryl."

"You're just jealous, Wonu. Sherry says they're heroes."

A chubby finger points at you and Seungcheol and the bartender clicks his tongue — partially in reproach and the other half out of embarrassment. The two of you hardly pay any attention to his reaction, seeming to not mind her boldness at all.

"That's right, sweet'art. And don'tchu forget now." In fact, a certain cross-wearing man revels in it. He rummages deep in his pocket and pulls out a lollipop with a flourish. "'N here's a lil magic gift for ya, princess."

You're one step faster, snatching it and unwrapping the candy with a quick inspection. At least it looks fresh and clean. Seungcheol snorts. Ignoring him, you crouch down and hand it to Lina with a gentle smile.

"Remember to be careful with what you take from strangers."

"I know! But you're heroes… and heroes are always good people! You would never hurt me!" Those blue-green eyes are certainly dazzling as she stares into yours, reminiscent of the clean water now filling the town's reservoir. "You're very pretty."

"That might be the highest compliment I've ever received."

"Pretty people don't hurt anyone either! Sherry's super pretty and she's the gentlest I know!"

A very pretty pastor himself snickers for multiple reasons. Meanwhile, Wonwoo laments with a tired sigh, "Dunno what that crazy woman's been teaching her, I swear…"

"You're not supposed to talk about people you like like that, Wonu!" Lina gives them both the stink eye but returns her attention to focus solely on you — Tonim's loveliest savior in her teal-eyed view. "Will I grow up to be as pretty as you?"

Ah, how your heart aches.

"Even prettier."

"I…" She gnaws on her lip, as if it does anything to hide how much her pleased grin glows. "I wanna be a hero, too!"

"Don't see why you wouldn't become one." To you, she already is — in all her innocent radiance and glory.

"Gotta grow big 'n strong first, missy."

"I am strong!"

"Don't doubt it. But wait 'til yer at least twice my age 'fore ya go swingin' at thugs."

She wrinkles her nose. "I'll be in the grave like Grammy if I wait that long, old man!"

Seungcheol guffaws at her unexpected remark and you hear the bartender beg, "Lina, please!" But you focus on all the brilliance in front of you — from precious unkempt locks to blue eyes full of fire and finally to the worn out, dust-covered shoes.

"Hopefully you'll never need a reason to be the hero, though. It's our duty to keep that from happening."

There's too much hidden meaning and brutal experience in your words for her to fully understand. The lull gives a certain pastor an opportunity to sidle back into the conversation, ready to get up to no good as always.

"Ya wanna meet the hero of all heroes, darlin'?"

"Choi —"

"Yeah!" Lina claps ecstatically.

"Go 'head 'n give 'er yer second key," he coaxes quietly with a shit-eating smirk.

"I swear!"

"C'mon… never like keepin' such a sweet gal waitin'!"

After a minute's hesitation, you begrudgingly agree and take it out.

"Thank ya. Now, got a lil mission for ya, Miss Hero-in-the-Makin'."

"Really?!"

Barely able to conceal her exuberance, she reverently takes the key like it's actual gold and not simply plated. Seungcheol ruffles her hair affectionately.

"Y'see the man in all purple?"

"Mhm, yeah! The one that looks like the night sky?"

"Yeah, give 'im it. Make sure to say it's from this pretty lady."

"Choi!"

"Talk to 'im too 'cause he'll love that. He's a real hero, y'know? Truest of 'em all."

"Yes, sir!"

"Attagirl."

Lina scurries off and you turn back to the counter with a sour glare directed at Seungcheol. "What was that all about?"

"Dunno, cute?"

"I'm really sorry about that all," Wonwoo apologetically interrupts with the offer of another refill which is readily accepted. "She… she's very excitable."

"No need for apologizin', man."

"Yeah, she's adorable. Is she yours?"

The bespectacled bartender stutters, almost dropping the glass he's handing to you. "That's, uh, that's my sister!"

"Ah, makes sense! Didn't mean to assume."

He flushes and turns away. But not without mumbling something about it being okay and your comrade groans.

"Reminder — ya get too drunk, 'm not dealin' with ya ass."

"Great, I don't want you near my ass."

"'S not what I meant!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Seungcheol downs another shot and you're quick to follow his lead once Wonwoo hands over another refill per your shared request. However, this time, the stoic man surprisingly lingers and awkwardly fiddles with his wire-rimmed frames, doing his very best to not let his eyes wander your scantily clad figure as your head tilts back to swallow the burning alcohol.

Meanwhile, the pastor's grin turns wolfish.

"So, uh, who are you, really?"

"Curious, eh?" You lean comfortably onto the counter, braced by your forearms and an alluring smile on your face for the handsome saloon owner. His gaze drifts down to your scar-covered hands which also happen to be placed conveniently underneath your breasts.

You'd once said the best disguise and toughest armor was none at all. And why not flaunt your assets — literally — and put them to good use. The desert is hot anyways!

Seungcheol and Seungkwan both called bullshit. Mingyu applauded you and waved his "I respect women's rights, wrongs, and all the above no matter what!" flag. Seokmin — already used to your behavior and attire — had nothing else to say other than his normal quips of, "As long as you're comfortable".

"Well, a-a beautiful woman like yourself has to have everyone wondering."

And you laughed in the face of your haters every time it worked.

"Just a bounty hunter."

Wonwoo nods at the casual answer, recalling the holster strapped around the plush of your thigh beneath short denim shorts. "Where from?"

"Well… around. My hometown was destroyed so…"

"Oh? Same here."

"Ah, camaraderie." You jab a thumb menacingly in the direction of the purple-cloaked figure and the life of tonight's celebration, currently animatedly chattering to Lina. "That's why I'm turning him in."

"He's…?"

"Yup, Lee Seokmin. Yes," you confirm with a smirk at the way Wonwoo's eyes bug out behind his glasses, "that one — the infamous humanoid typhoon. Don't worry, he won't hurt anything or anyone here."

"He's… uh, he's not quite what I expected."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"You must be pretty badass to reign him in. Heard he's giving what's left of the July regime officers a run for their double dollars."

"For sure. But it's thanks to the other two drunkards, really. Believe it or not, they're Bernardelli insurance agents. Raven-haired one's Seungkwan and the tall one is Mingyu. They're helping to monitor that whopping bounty of mine and prevent any more disasters from happening. Heard I might get a bump in value if I bring him in alive."

"Oh, well, it looks like it's working. And he seems… willing? To come with you?"

"The irony. Always been quite blasé about facing his doom."

"He's really a Plant engineer, too?"

"Of sorts," you huff at his visible confusion but wave your empty glass. "Can I get another?"

He's more than happy to accommodate and returns with two, sliding one over to Seungcheol with a cautious look at the person who seems the closest to you. "And this is…?"

"Pastor. Pleased to meet'cha."

"Oh! Really?"

"A surprising addition to the mix, yeah. But everyone needs to, like, pray sometimes." And under your breath, low enough so only a certain man can hear, "no matter how sketchy they are."

"Do you, hm, officiate weddings?"

The one in question quirks a thick eyebrow. "Ya lookin' to get hitched, boy?"

"M-maybe."

And Seungcheol feels wholly compelled to bless him silently from the bottom of his blackened heart with full sincerity, seeing as how the bespectacled man timidly peeks your way before his gaze darts elsewhere. "Sorry lad, charge 'bout a thousand double dollars minimum."

While the solitary bartender crashes back into the sad reality of capitalism, you jab your elbow into the pastor's ribcage. "Fuckin' scammer."

"Only the best of the best! Ya know, sixty billion's still on the table — 'n it better be callin' my name."

"No one even has sixty billion double dollars!"

"We have 'im." And he points back to where hoots and hollers erupt from the center table of the saloon.

Lina's returned to the woman she was with earlier — presumably her beloved Sherry — but that doesn't mean Seokmin's alone. There's so much disdain in your side-eye, spotting the busty violet-haired sweetheart his arm wraps around. After all, he's the worst kind of ladykiller.

And by that, you mean he absolutely sucks at flirting and can't get or keep a partner to save his life. Yet you're constantly stuck witnessing women, men, and attractive people of all kinds throw themselves at the good-looking man until he opens his mouth and they're put off by his clear lack of suaveness or strange little idiosyncrasies.

"Stop with the stupid bet, it's not happening. Nobody's going to be winning a thing."

"It's called usin' the damn 'magination, darlin'!"

"Which means you need to get better hobbies. You've corrupted my friends!"

"Hah! Them fools were already too invested in this 'fore I ever came along."

"Fill me up again?"

Intent on ignoring Seungcheol, you belatedly realize how aggressive your request comes across. You're also eager for something to help soothe ache in your chest. It comes and goes like a bad toothache — manageable enough to forget about the pain until it returns tenfold.

Thankfully, Wonwoo meekly complies with the back tips of his ears tinged red and Seungcheol barely manages to hide his extreme amount of mirth for the situation behind another glass. In the dim lighting, at certain angles, and with another shot of whiskey settling into your system, you conclude that the handsome saloon owner could certainly pass as Seokmin's brother and vice versa.

But you know the truth.

Familiar with the one who's all too identical to the infamous gunslinger, yet entirely different altogether. Irritation flares in your gut, prickling harsh enough that even the burn of alcohol fails to drown it out.

"I'm turning in for the night."

"Smartin' idea."

"Don't get too smashed."

"You should get smashed."

"Bye, Choi."

Tipsiness is a great excuse to bump purposely into him as you get off the stool. It's only thanks to his genetically enhanced metabolism that the pastor's able to stay upright. He grumbles something that's likely insulting, but standing upright causes you to realize you drank way too much. Everything spins or sways, including your body as you stumble up the stairs.

Somehow, you safely make it to the second level. Above the saloon is a hallway of small bedrooms that Wonwoo generously loans out to routine drunkards or stray travelers. It takes a few minutes of fumbling around but you finally find the lock that matches the first of its paired key and tumble face-first into (thankfully clean) bedsheets.

A hazy mix of drifting in and out of consciousness follows. It's not until the door clicks and there's an ominous creak of floorboards followed by a noticeable presence creeping up at your side that fully rouses you from the feverish dreams of gunfire, explosions, and loss that still plague your mind to this day.

You roll over, intending to assume both an offensive and defensive position against the nighttime visitor, but a hand lands on your shoulder before you can. Still sluggish, there's no way you could ever hope to outmatch the humanoid typhoon, even at your best.

"Hey, you."

It takes a bit for your eyes to adjust to the darkness after hearing his voice — and then there he is. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Seokmin greets you with a fond, megawatt grin. The thumb of his cybernetic prosthesis gently traces little circles over your bare skin. There's a faint hum and glow from its advanced tech mechanics, paired with moonbeams from the window, casting off an ethereal radiance.

"So, you're staying here tonight?"

"But of course, isn't that why you sent such a cute little cherub my way?"

Ah, Lina. You unwittingly smile, remembering how joyful she was to accomplish her mission.

Then your eyes close, nose wrinkling at the copious stench of mixed perfumes and alcohol he brought in and refusing to acknowledge what he says.

"You hella reek."

"Says the one who drank over seven shots."

"… That preacher's a fuckin' tattler. And a liar. And a total scammer. Don't fall for him, Seok."

"Now, what makes you think Seungcheol told me, hm?" He leans down almost nose-to-nose, enough to make yours scrunch even more at the buzzing feeling of how near he is. Your eyes open to squint at him and he winks. "Silly boy tried to mess with god again and max out his intake. Spoiler alert, he failed. Mingyu dragged him back to his room."

"You're the only one I know who can call Choi a 'silly boy'."

"'Cause that's what he is."

"And you need to stop acting like my babysitter!"

You shift away from his gorgeous face and he leans back to give you space, sporting a smug grin. "Then who would take care of you, mayfly?"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"Be nice to me and maybe I won't keep count on how many glasses you down next time," he teases. "But since I'm so kind and forgiving, would you like a nice, warm, relaxing bath?"

Well, it did sound wonderful. TMI, but cleanliness was a luxury when traveling the desert. Even more so when the places you arrived at had Plant issues. Luckily, Seokmin was more than capable of fixing them but even then, circumstances varied. Especially around the one known across Gunsmoke as mankind's first localized human disaster.

"Only if you get one, too."

It slips from your mouth without a thought. But you might as well have told Seokmin you'd gotten him a box full of doughnuts with how delightedly he clasps his hands together.

"As you wish, m'lady!"

And he treats you like one, scooping you up into his arms in a princess-style carry. At least tonight you're more willing to let him do as he wishes, especially when he discards the perfume-infused outerwear. Whiskey, sleepiness, and the smooth material of his undershirt keep you pliant and cuddly well after he'd snatched you off the bed.

Seokmin's already ten times stronger than even a human like Mingyu and his prosthesis only helps take further advantage of that fact. He easily deposits you on the edge of the tub. Normal routine would require untying the tight laces on your combat boots but since you'd kicked them off prior to resting, he skips to the next step.

Deft fingers make quick work unbuttoning your shorts, the prosthetic digits of his left hand then moving to loosen the straps that keep your top on. His other hand holds them together in a pseudo-knot to keep the material in place.

Honoring a sense of modesty, you suppose — even though you've seen each other unclothed before. But you melt into the secure press of his palm paired with the support of his chest against your back as he leans over to turn on the water.

"Let me know if it's a good temperature."

"M'kay."

"You're so agreeable when drunk!"

"And you're still just as annoying."

"Okay, okay," he relents. Amicably even.

Seokmin never enjoys butting heads like Seungcheol constantly does. Although another "mayfly," gets tacked on to the end of his playful yield in a mischievous tone because if there is one thing, it's that he can never tease you enough.

Brown eyes quietly trace the ink and scars that mark your skin, some disappearing or completely hidden beneath the parts that are covered. Finally, they land on the silver chain around your neck, only a breadth away from the tip of his fingers that suddenly twitch at how soft you feel beneath the calloused roughness of his own skin.

You let out a little sigh and it shakes him from his reverie, noticing the tub's filled up past your calves. Guiding one of your hands to where the locket lies beneath your clothes covering your chest, he stands. "Call me if you need anything or just want help getting out, m'lady."

"'Kay."

You're already stripping bare but Seokmin breezes out the door before you can blink. You sigh again and slip into the hot water, enjoying a soak to ease the heaviness you feel.

It's hard to understand this emotional turmoil. Knowing that you don't enjoy feeling this way, you make a false promise to not drink ever again, staying submerged in the water until your fingers wrinkle.

Maybe you fell asleep, maybe you didn't. There's a bathrobe laid on the sink when you're ready to get out that you don't remember from before but who knows. Who cares? It's cozy and you haven't felt this clean in a while.

"All yours," you lazily declare, stepping into the bedroom.

Seokmin perks up from where he casually sits cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with Geranium. A dopey smile lights up his face, gaze moving from the hefty nickel revolver and zoning in on you.

"All mine?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," he repeats quieter, more to himself, "all mine…" But when you unconsciously shiver, his eyes flash and brows furrow. "C'mere, I warmed the bed up for you."

"Aren't you going to bathe?"

"Yep, so don't miss me too much, my dear mayfly!"

He accompanies it with a saucy wink and saunters into the bathroom, humming. You find yourself in a bit of a daze, head and cheeks holding onto the heat of the steam from your bath (and more). You change into a light tank and cotton shorts before sitting back down. As promised, where Seokmin rested was indeed warm and smells of faint gun smoke that always brings back memories.

"Total slaughter…!"

Splash!

"… Total slaughter…"

Splash!

"I won't leave… a single man alive."

Splash! Splash!

"La de da de dai~," echoes from the bathroom. "Genocide…"

Splash.

"La de da de duh," splash, splash, splash, "an ocean… of blood."

"Let's begin… the killing time."

Seokmin possessed a lovely melodic voice no matter how nonsensical or gruesome the words he sang. Your eyes close with relaxation as he continues into a different tune. Though the lyrics are definitely more hopeful this time, there's a heavy sense of underlying desolation despite the rapid, upbeat tone.

"So…" splash, "on the first evening," splash, "a pebble from somewhere out of nowhere drops upon the dreaming world…"

You think back to how he silently cried when he thought no one was looking after a young stowaway on the sandsteamer broke into the same nostalgic song. Your heart aches in empathy for the woman whose heroic sacrifice saved humankind but left behind irreparable damage to twins she adored.

Rem Saverem.

She was to Seokmin as what Saint Meryl was to you. But your fondness for the nun who dared to favor one random orphan above the other equally ordinary ones with an unprecedented amount of kindness paled in comparison to the devotion Seokmin exhibited for Rem. Her kindness, hope, and love for and of life didn't simply become Seokmin's philosophies — they were a true part of every fiber, woven into his very being.

He was peculiar. Hardheaded — or in Seungkwan's affectionate term: a hardass — when it came to nonviolence. A true pacifist. Even when enemies held him at gunpoint, allies turned their backs on him, and his choice to always save was at the very cost of his well being… Seokmin would choose to tear himself apart limb by limb before ever causing damage or letting harm come to another.

And even if he always chose the world and those living in it first before anything else, that's what you loved the most about him.

"What's got you making that face?"

You're quick to school whatever expression it might be. Your tongue feels fuzzy. You purse your lips as he lumbers closer, freshly dressed in a comfy white long-sleeved shirt and black sweats.

"What face?"

"You know, the one where something's weighing on your mind."

The bed frame dips and squeaks when he flops down to snuggle against you. Still-damp, reddish-brown bangs lay across your shoulder and dampen your skin. The chilled press of the gold hoop in his left earlobe raises bumps wherever it touches as he endearingly nuzzles you.

"There is."

"Tell me."

"You need to dry your hair properly."

"Do it for me."

"… This is on purpose, isn't it?"

Nevertheless, you take the unused towel around his neck and vigorously rub at his head. No complaints or protests defending his honor come from Seokmin. Just the usual little trills of contentment escape as he leans into your touch. Once you're satisfied the job's done well, he plucks the towel from your hands and you fix him with a stern look.

"Well, Seok? You gonna answer me?"

He curls in on his lanky frame, enough so to find room to plop his head pitifully onto your thighs and nuzzle the bare skin with his nose. "Not if you won't answer me first."

"You."

"Hm?"

"Was… thinking about you."

"Oh, really? Dreaming about how cool, dashing, handsome, and awesome I am?"

"… Yeah. I like you."

He chuckles, closing his eyes. More so at the feeling of your fingers idly playing with his strands of hair than seriously taking what you say. "I like you, too!"

"No, I mean," you jostle him harshly as you shift anxiously, tugging a little too hard at his roots. "Something's wrong with me."

"… Mhm yeah, you've been drinking."

"Goddamnit, Seok… that was like hours ago! But… what if… what if I'm in love with you?"

Your fingers retract like you've been caught red-handed stealing Mingyu's pudding and a millisecond later, Seokmin's head flies off your lap as he sits up to stare incredulously at you and can only gasp out one word, "What?"

It comes out more like a statement than a question. You've seen all kinds of emotions appear in those clear brown eyes of his. Emptiness. Excitement. Happiness. Fear. Loneliness. Mysteriousness. Pain. But now, you can hardly make sense of what turmoil is swimming in those murky depths.

"There's no way," he shakes his head — laughter high and brittle. "Fake", is what Seungcheol occasionally points out whenever he spies the gunslinger's smile. You've never believed him until now. "You're drunk."

Seokmin's been hurt before and you know that. It's why you wish for him to be nothing but happy, that there's some truth to the joy he constantly tries to radiate. Hoping some parts are really healing, that he's giving time to let the bloody wounds coagulate — if even just a little.

"It's me. I mean, I'm the one that's drunk," he reiterates, shaking his head.

"Why are you acting like that?"

"… Like what?"

Perhaps you were too hopeful.

"Like I'm making some sort of mistake. Like I'm wrong about this. About us."

And still under the influence of the too-damn-strong alcohol.

"It's… none of that, it's just…"

"You think I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Well, do you?" he fires back rather harshly, "'cause you're still wearing that thing and —"

You wince as his voice breaks off, palm instinctively flying to where the locket rests. "What the hell does that have to do with anything right now? I thought we were over this! Years ago!"

"Maybe you were since you continue to stubbornly follow me everywhere!"

"I'm not the only one!"

"Yeah, 'cause no one ever listens to me!"

"I always listen to you, Seok. Even if the words that come out of your mouth don't match how you actually feel —"

"You don't know how I feel!"

Silence.

Seokmin's chest heaves, wide eyes taking in how you immediately freeze. That look, oh, that look on your face could kill him and his body moves on auto-pilot to stand, directing his gaze to stare daggers into the floorboards. Begging them to rip off like a bandaid and shield him from your wrath.

The wood beneath his feet groans, shaking ever the slightest.

"You're right. How dare I?"

"Wait, mayfly… I —" he switches gears with a plea of your given name.

"And obviously, you have no fuckin' idea how I feel." Now it's your turn to let out a disingenuous chuckle, fake humor cracking under the pressure of sadness it's struggling to mask. "You think all I'm after is revenge more than the actual thought even crosses my mind. You put on this show that nothing bothers you, make assumptions that no one can keep up with you, that you can do it all on your own."

"No, that's not… that's not what I meant! You know how dangerous —"

You stumble ungracefully off the bed, flinching away when Seokmin's words break off as he automatically reaches out. For you. To support and for support.

Yet, it hurts all the more.

"But what do I even know? How can I, when you keep everyone at arm's length? It's like… it's like I don't even know who you are! Like you're someone else, someone I'll never get to understand…"

To others, it might not make sense, possibly the dumbest thing you could say — especially with the state you're in. But you know Seokmin, a fact he's subconsciously taken comfort in.

But you also know Seokmin. Which means you know the exact place to hit him where it hurts the most.

And suddenly, those words you say propel him back into a moment from the past, body free-falling in the sky.

Yelling. Crying. Screaming. Pleading.

Begging that exact phrase and being demanded of the same accusation. All from the one who's falling with him. Whose face mirrors his own, but couldn't be more different in that crucial and devastating moment.

His brother. His twin. His other half who was once his everything — now a total stranger from the person he thought he knew.

A fifty-year-old reunion that should've been a reconciliation, turned into a doomsday.

And for you, the once simple toothache pain is now overwhelming your full body and you refuse to let him see how it's dampened your cheeks. Especially when you hear the pained whisper of the name that escapes his mouth when you're the one that triggered those awful memories. Staggering to the door, you yank it open and he instinctually takes a step forward.

Don't leave me.

You hear the unspoken plea as clearly as if spoken aloud.

"Don't follow me," is what you hiss out instead, and just like when you first met, Seokmin obeys.

When Seungkwan makes room arrangements — if there is enough money to spare when needed and the options are available — he books everyone their own private space. More often than not though, he and Mingyu share a room and so do you and Seokmin.

Out of everyone in the group, you're the only one who is used to putting up with Seokmin's idiosyncrasies and the constant white noise of the cybernetic prosthetics's technology. You've rarely paid mind to having your own space unless Seokmin gets in one of those rare 150-year-old moods and wants some time by himself. Rare in nature, because he doesn't enjoy being left alone with his thoughts that threaten to consume him.

But he'll have to make due tonight. For the first time, you're extremely grateful for Seungkwan's pro-activeness.

You lock the door, crawl into a fresh cold bed, and wet a new pillow — one that lacks the comforting scent of gun smoke — with unshed tears.

For all his short-tempered and sassy mannerisms, Seungkwan is quite the worrywart. When the suns have peeked past the horizon and you're not already downstairs bullying Seungcheol, he's immediately knocking at your door and inquiring about your well-being. You assure him you're just hungover and he reluctantly leaves you be, likely picking up on how terrible you really do sound.

By high noon, Mingyu raps on the door next. He even sweetly offers to share his prized pudding in the hopes that you'll peek your head out. Though you appreciate it, you send him away, too — after reassuring the sensitive man you'll feel better after some rest.

Seungcheol doesn't miss the chance to be annoying times ten. He doesn't indulge in the effort of knocking, opting to make the floorboards squeal by pacing back and forth in front of the door. All the while, muttering this and that about "yer boy's like a pathetic dog and blah, blah, blah" until getting very kindly told to "fuck off!" and dragged back downstairs by a certain raven-haired insurance agent.

Even Seokmin checks in. Four times.

Once and then twice after you'd left and he'd figured out which room was yours. Then two more visits throughout the following day. He doesn't exactly make his presence known — but you know he knows you know he's out there.

If not by the distinct gait you've picked up on listening for after all this time, then by the hesitant thuds of combat boots lingering outside your door. Lost technology whirring with the action it takes to make a fist with his left hand, raising it up to the door and then back down again in self-inflicted defeat.

You refuse to see anyone, choosing to pity yourself first. Wallowing in your feelings and then sleeping as much of the heartache — and more so the hangover — away.

When the moons are visible in accordance to their nightly orbit, you get up to fuss with the mini VERnon in the room's corner. Nothing but static greets you. At the very least, the white noise is better than complete silence. By the time it's morning, you slowly awaken to the virtually enhanced radio trying to catch onto a faint signal. Enough to report the latest news in snippets with its mechanical voice.

"Beast… reported… Tonim town… !"

Your eyes fly open. Now is not the time to be wasting away. Donning a clean set of attire similar to what you wore into town — and with Sirocco strapped comfortingly to your thigh — you descend downstairs.

"Good morning!" Mingyu cheerfully greets with a delighted shout of your name and eagerly waves you over to sit next to him, waving around a promised cup of pudding. "Are you feeling better?"

"Mhm, thanks. Sorry about that, whiskey here sure is strong."

"'S one helluva killer," Seungcheol sulks across from you, still sporting a massive headache and looking worse than that one time Seungkwan hit him with the car.

"You're just weak."

"Wha'zat say 'bout you?"

"Since I can equally acknowledge both my strengths and weaknesses, that makes me infinitely stronger than you'll ever be."

Seungkwan wordlessly hands you a bowl and you graciously accept it. Next to the pastor sits Seokmin, unnaturally quiet. You don't even spare him a glance even though brown eyes burn into the side of your face until you glare his way.

The stack of doughnuts on the plate in front of him remain untouched — minus the smudged icing on one that was likely from Seungcheol trying to swipe it. Evidently, Seokmin was in low spirits if he didn't want to consume his favorite desserts. But, he is still prideful enough to prevent anyone else from snatching the prized delicacy.

How typical.

An awkwardness ensues, charged with an underlying current of tension. A vein forms in Seungkwan's forehead from his blood pressure rising.

Its pulse matches the twitch in the corner of his fake smile as he attempts to make conversation, to which Mingyu — oblivious and happy-go-lucky as ever, bless his heart — replies enthusiastically. Seungcheol stares listlessly into space, twirling a lollipop around and around with his tongue. Next to him is a soul acting like a thunderstorm's personally pouring over him. Seokmin starts pitifully poking at his grand doughnut pile while you ferociously tear into a piece of bread like it's the last supper before swallowing.

"Soonyoung's coming."

Your unexpected, but welcomed, interruption ironically pauses Seungkwan's second diatribe about Hansol's calamitous ingenuity. If possible, the apprehension in the room intensifies tenfold.

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. "How'd you hear?"

"Tuned the VERnon last night."

"'Course you did."

"Something about the Beast and Tonim came through. Not for sure but…"

"It never hurts to be too prepared!"

"True, 'Gyu. 'N if Soonyoungie's gonna be there, ya know what that likely means…"

You nod in understanding at Seungcheol's implication. "The Crimsonnail."

Seokmin's jaw clenches at the name but it's the disgruntled pastor who continues speaking after a hearty and loud gulp of water. "'Course the Eye of Joshua's gonna send their best two. Soonyoungie's Hoon's eyes 'n ears for these kinda things."

"Or… it could be Jeonghan."

Your noncommittal remark receives Seungcheol's scathing glower. "Bet."

"It wouldn't be the first time," you shrug.

"There haven't been any notable disturbances and the ground's been stable. So hopefully their only goal is to simply antagonize us further."

Antagonize.

A funny word for such a twisted coin game between a hunter and the hunted. You can't and don't blame the younger Bernardelli agent — only you were privy to most of the true horrors Seokmin dealt with behind the scenes, Seungcheol a close second. And because of that, you were usually the one at his side before an encounter with Jihoon and the ever lingering threat and terror of said man's monstrous power.

But today, you get up from the table without so much as a glance in his direction. Only a parting command of "Let's regroup near the entrance at high noon," while Seungkwan and Mingyu exchange looks of minor distress.

The black-haired man in his hangover blues obnoxiously blows a raspberry as you leave.

Later, there are two solid knocks on the door as you get ready. You know who it is before the door swings open after your agreeable hum to enter. Many may be intimidated at the sight of the silver weapon in your gloved hands. Seungkwan and Mingyu make up half of the quartet who aren't.

They take a seat on the bed as you purse your lips at the reflection in the dusty mirror. Then you fuss with the strap for your gun. Satisfyingly re-securing it around your thigh before throwing a carmine trench coat over tight kevlar that covers almost every inch of skin possible.

"Surprised you didn't dye everything else black during a fit of rage."

Your lips curl upwards. "How on Gunsmoke would I manage that?"

"With the way you're acting, 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…' or so the saying goes."

"Really, 'Kwan?"

"I'm an avid supporter of women's rights and especially their wrongs."

"Sure you are."

"You would absolutely look dashing!"

"Thanks, Mingyu. Should've given my color scheme a little more consideration."

"But then you wouldn't have achieved such an infamous moniker. I mean, okay. Maybe the black plague killed tons of Earthlings eons ago but it doesn't have the same ring as 'Sirocco, the bloody rain that follows after the humanoid typhoon'…"

Seungkwan allegedly graduated at the top of his class, leave it to him to spew out all kinds of random facts that you know nothing about. You huff and adjust the brim of the large hat atop your head.

"All that does is make me cringe."

"Uh-huh, so what's making him act like that?"

"Who's acting like what?"

"Fine, keep playing dumb. Did you reject Seokmin or something?"

Mingyu gasps. Dramatically. Hands on cheeks and mouth open in a wide 'o' shape, puppy-dog eyes glistening with despair.

"There's no way!"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Uh-huh."

"Besides, nothing happened so don't think you're gonna wheedle out of me whether you're going to win that stupid bet you two have going with Choi."

"Eh, don't worry. I've been out of the running for a while now, unfortunately."

"The hell did you even throw for?"

He shoots you a deadpan look. "Guess who's aged eighty years watching the two of you dance around each other like dumbasses? Could've sworn you'd be married with a toma farm or a dozen little children by now."

"It's your own damn fault for falling victim to that pastor's salacious schemes. And it's not even remotely like that, so…"

"Someone just doesn't wanna give in."

You stomp your foot, frustration boiling over. "Ugh, I'm never drinking again!"

"Wait… No fucking way…!"

"Literally shut up, Boo."

"I mean Choi did bet you'd confess and you know… get intimate afterwards… if you were drunk so…"

"Oh, so that's why he was so damn pushy last night."

"Dirty cheater."

"You expect anything less from someone like him?"

A sigh. "No."

It's a well-known fact that Seungcheol would rather stoke the flames of hell than ever needlessly dabble with holy water as one might be expected to with his chosen career.

"But judging by both of your moods, evidently nothing happened." The raven-haired man really has the gall to look disappointed that no one won yet pleased Seungcheol didn't, and the gall to point out the obvious. "Anyways, what did you bet on, Mingyu?"

"Don't recall!"

"Figures." Seungkwan's face falls flat against his palm with a groan before dragging it wearily down his face. "Whatever, it's not like it's that serious. Seriously," he adds on, feeling the burn of your perpetual glower. "Don't let it weigh on your mind. We need you fully focused."

"And when have I ever been less than what's expected of me?" You hold up a hand. "Wait! Don't answer. But really, worry more about that idiot."

"Aw, see? You still care!"

"… About that sixty billion bounty, Mingyu? Yeah."

"Sure you do."

"And truthfully, I was talking about Choi, 'Kwan."

"Well, both of them always get into those zany headspaces!"

You shrug at the tall man's truthfulness. "They're both holding a lot of trauma and baggage."

"And you aren't?" Seungkwan snorts with sarcasm dripping from the dig.

"At least mine's manageable. And… hasn't threatened your lives yet."

"As far as we know."

"In fact, I think I've saved your 'so-very-untraumatized' lives more often than not. Stay with me and you'll both be okay."

They good-naturedly give you individual looks of disdain. Perfectly in sync when you accompany that last statement with a devilish smirk and a twirl that flares out your tail coat with a flourish. By no means are they incapable. Clumsy Mingyu can adeptly wield his massive concussion gun when it counts, of course, and Seungkwan stealthily hides several derringer 'throwaway' pistols under his white cloak that he can fire with deadly precision.

Nonetheless, they loyally flank to your side when Tonim's bell tower signifies the hour of high noon has struck. Seungcheol meets the three of you outside the door of the saloon, smoking a cigarette and one arm lazily draped over the Punisher — a terrifying machine gun mockingly designed in the burdening shape of a merciful cross.

You spot Seokmin up ahead. He's standing on the low border wall near the town's entrance, perched next to a pillar for back support with the heel of his boot propped up behind him. Decked out in the usual galaxy ensemble, purple fabric cut off at shoulder-length of the top left sleeve to allow free range of movement for his prosthesis. His hair's slightly gelled up for a more intimidating and dramatic flair and it almost makes you giggle.

But there's that stern gaze focused on the horizon, likely able to see far out into the distance through those amber lenses the human eye can't quite decipher. Despite such a hardened resolve, his head tilts slightly up toward the blue sky with a faint smile on his lips — an honoring appreciation for the beauty and wonder of life despite its inevitable horrors.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue to get your attention while Seungkwan and Mingyu keep walking ahead. "Spiky Hair thinks he's really gonna do it?"

"Won't stop until he's tried every last resort."

"Even if it kills 'im?"

"Even if it kills him."

"This damned situation 'cause of ya know who."

"Dokyeom. DK."

"Nah, nah. There's the asinine version, eh?"

"Absolute pain in my ass?"

He slaps his knee. "Ah, aye… good one! But nah, 's really stupid one, Deathly, uh, er…?"

"… Deadly Knives?"

"Pfft, yeah, 's that one. So, we gotta try 'n stop one genocidal brother from sweepin' out the whole human race 'n tryna convince greedy humans not to keep exploitin' 'em with the other. Back 'n forth again 'n again. I swear…'s only ever gonna be impossible."

"What makes you think it can't happen?"

He looks at you like you're stupid. Maybe you are. But what does that make him? "Both sides — humans versus DK — think they're right 'n too proud to think otherwise."

"So you don't think they'll settle for a compromise. Or at least try to see the other's viewpoint?"

"Hell naw. Ain't no compromisin' when both think they're justified in what they're doin'."

"Well, regardless — you joined a good cause, Choi. World could use a little more peace and love, don't you think?"

He grunts. "Lookit who's corrupted yer ideologies. Don'tcha know what destroyed Earth?"

"And do you know what saved humans? Kindness. Hope. Empathy. Compassion. Change. Making and being the difference. The good kind."

A long time ago, maybe in a different twist of fate, you might've staunchly agreed with Seungcheol. But despite it all, you've been somewhat changed — or like the pastor said, call it a corruption of sorts — by Seokmin's unwavering sense of positivity and kindness no matter how bleak the future.

You admired him. Truly.

"Un-fuckin'-'lievable."

Seungcheol shakes his head as if he's not gearing up, ready and raring to go as he stomps forward to join a fellow 'brother-in-arms'. The thought inwardly makes you smile with affection until you remember you're actually, in fact, mad at Seokmin.

A dust cloud stirs up on the horizon, steadily growing closer to where you stand.

"You're so full of goddamn self-flagellation."

The individual where all your ire is centered on jolts, doing a double-take at your sudden but familiar presence by his side approaching. Or maybe it was the mere fact you were talking to him again. A warm expression overtakes his facial features at the sense of calm that automatically relaxes the tension in his muscles as he looks down at you.

"Well then, hello to you too. Feeling better, mayfly?"

"… Remind me to never drink again."

"I told you —"

"Yeah, yeah." You wave away his nagging and step up on the wall to stand next to him. "Don't worry, I won't be making a mistake like that again."

"… Mistake?"

There's an edge to his tone. Searching. Sometimes you hate how perceptive Seokmin can be. Though he actively acts oblivious and carefree, it's usually a ploy to lower other's guard.

You wonder how long he's known.

So, you sigh. "I'm talking about drinking, of course. And… I wish I could say I forgot even if… I haven't. But it's fine, I know where I stand."

The latter part of your sentence trails off. It's true though. You do know — thankful you can even be next to Seokmin. You might not be with him but at the very least, your place will always be somewhere by his side. Affectionate flings may be sought elsewhere. But they're always temporary. In your heart of hearts, you know you're irreplaceable to him.

And that's going to have to be good enough for you.

The man in question scratches the back of his head. "It's not… it's not like that. I know I fucked up."

"Stop." You grip at his prosthetic, knowing despite how sensitive the sensors are, they won't be able to pick up how you slightly tremble. "It's okay. Really."

Who is it you're trying to reassure?

"Mayfly," Seokmin murmurs. "Look at me."

With the slightest hesitation, your gaze finally rises from its focal point centered on his boots and the stones beneath to meet dark brown eyes. The ache in the gunslinger's chest eases just a little. It's been far too long — a day, in actuality — since he's got to lose himself among the vibrant hues of your irises and he squeezes your free hand in gratitude.

"It's not okay, I want to talk to you. Sober. But…"

"I get it. Now's not the time for a heart-to-heart, especially not in front of your brother's henchmen."

You laugh, for real this time. The sight is breathtaking; it makes Seokmin's eyes crinkle, a fond smile to accompany his affection as he leans in closer to you to whisper a sweet, "Thank you."

Three sets of eyes try to make it very not obvious that they're very obviously totally not watching the overdue interaction with bated breath.

"Oh golly good, they've made up!"

"'Course they would."

"It's about time, I couldn't take the tension anymore."

"Don'tcha think it'll get worse once they start canoodlin'?"

"Good lord," Seungkwan groans, "perish the thought."

"What's wrong with a little love? Yay for love!"

"Well, I don't think they've made it that far yet. But we're getting there. Baby steps."

It would be a good cause for celebration, a resumption of last night's festivities. Unfortunately, the merry moment is cut short with a screech of brakes, signaling the arrival of Jihoon, DK's most elite performer in his unmerry band of henchmen.

Next to the feared Crimsonnail's suitcase sits Soonyoung the Beast. Silver strands peek out behind the unsettling, bug-like circular mask hiding his face. He casually waves, acting like the unnerving discovery behind the innocent, abandoned child — who went by Hoshi — was simply a facade initially put on around your group and not such a grand revelation.

Having sorted that out in the stomach of a giant flying worm serving as a hive mind for Gunsmoke's legion of its original inhabitants and swearing not to let your guard down again, all five of you remain on high alert.

Jihoon's steel-colored eyes flicker to Seungcheol. "Hello there, Undertaker. Or… should I say Judas?"

"Howdy dandy to ya too, ya son of a bitch," the pastor snarls, spitting his cigarette in their direction. Cursing under his breath when the distance and uselessness of the fizzling stub doesn't blow up the engine like he wishes it would.

"Now, now. You don't want to make me mad, do you?"

"Kinda wanna piss ya off as much as ya piss me off, yeah."

"Surely you know what —"

"He means nothing by it." You'd quickly abandoned your post next to Seokmin to place a hand on Seungcheol's taut shoulder. Boldly facing the blonde man's haughty expression with one that's hopefully placating enough on behalf of your comrade. "He's just grumpy because he's still hungover."

"Well, well… if it isn't the humanoid typhoon's little blood shower."

Ugh, you inwardly grimace, why the fuck does everyone have such unflattering nicknames for me?

"Still following him around, I see."

"'S a lot comin' from —"

" — Hasn't gotten rid of me yet!"

"… Seems it," Jihoon sniffs and cocks his head. "Similar to the dilemma I have with this persistent bug."

Soonyoung chortles, neck contorting at an unnatural angle to peer at the driver. "You love me."

"You're delusional."

"Why are you here?"

Seokmin's question comes sharp and pointed like a dagger, a far cry from his usual demeanor. His tone remains detached. Aloof. Vaguely accusatory. Unlike your harried action to cover for Seungcheol, you don't dare divert attention away from the gunslinger who stalks forward after elegantly hopping down from his perch. Despite an outwardly calm demeanor, there's an underlying urgency in his gait that's threatening to snap.

"For amusement. A show, if you will."

"One that's not even orchestrated by Joshua's freakish cult powers!"

Out of all the males surrounding you, you're not sure exactly who growls at the Beast's mere mention of the devil-like figurehead — in fact, it could've been all of them — but there's one noise that rings out above the din of it all.

Click!

You don't need super-hearing to pick up that telltale sound. Not when every person over the age of eighteen in Tonim has a cocked gun trained on each member of your ragtag gang.

"Uh, so… how many times is this?"

"One too fuckin' many," you answer Seungkwan with a petulant hiss and reluctantly mimic him by putting your hands up in the air.

Jihoon cackles. "And when will you fools ever learn?"

"'S my question, actually," the pastor nonchalantly calls over his shoulder, directed at the town's ringleader. "Didn't know ya had it in ya, boy."

You didn't think Wonwoo had it in him either, to be honest. But that's not something you were going to mention aloud with the shaky hold the bespectacled man has on the firearm waveringly aimed at his target — the one whose head is worth a 60 billion double dollars bounty, dead or alive.

"Felnarl. Jeneora Rock. Descartes. Dankin."

There's a faint twitch in one of Seokmin's eyebrows. Seungcheol rolls his eyes, sarcastically muttering under his breath an addition of location names, "Voldoor, Inepril, December, Lewiston…" and Mingyu joins in on the fun with a cheerful, "New Miami!"

Seungkwan watches warily and your jaw clenches. You can feel your teeth grind together in annoyance as Wonwoo's smarmy sneer grows smugger.

"And now, Tonim Town. What?" he jeers, seizing the chance to use the man's silence as a way to ridicule him. "Don't recognize what you've laid waste to? Must I bring up the big ones to jog your memory a little, like the city of July and Augusta or the hole in the fifth moon?"

"Why you —"

Enragement propels you a step forward, but the barrel swinging your way halts your next move mid-step. The sullen look on Wonwoo's face surprisingly holds no malice. He looks saddened, if anything, but you can't bring yourself to feel too much sympathy with the rifle he's now pointed toward you.

"You forgot one."

"Pardon?"

Seokmin's voice is hardly more than a whisper yet it rings out loud and clear amid the tense silence and stillness. "I said, you forgot one. There's not a name of any place or person I'd ever forget. I'm well aware of the ones you're talking about… and more. However, there's somewhere I won't ever forget that no one will ever know existed."

"… Huh?"

"Little Ivywood."

Wonwoo seems so taken aback and the pause unwittingly allows your eyes to drift over to meet Seokmin's brown ones. There are so many emotions conveyed in the sidelong glance — a mixture of regret-filled feelings yet ever so soft — and it lasts a second too long to snap the befuddled aggressor out of his reverie.

"Oh… I see." He pushes up his glasses, the lenses glinting in the pale sunlight like a typical anime villain. The long gun lowers to the ground the same time as he throws back his head to let out a bitter laugh. "So that's how it is! All you do is take and take and take, Lee. Destroy, destroy, destroy; again and again and again!"

"Aye, ole chap's gone off his rocker."

"You've made an ally out of a would-be, should-be enemy and think other victims with their pain and grief don't exist?!"

"Wow," Seungkwan wrinkles his nose in disgust, "yeah… he's gone completely insane."

Mingyu hums in agreement. "A little unhinged! Off the rocks! Unstable even! When can I knock him out?"

You'd love to give the gentle giant the go-ahead. Really. But even so…

"Damn you —"

"Stop it."

The townspeople's uncertainty and hesitance tells you all you need to know, especially when Wonwoo's hysteria leaves them even more perplexed. After years of handling a gun like a second arm, you can spot inexperience and fear of handling a dangerous weapon the second someone is near one. You lower your arms and step forward once more, confidence growing when he makes no move to threaten you further.

"You don't want this."

The corner of his mouth quirks upward, a rueful smile. "You know, I thought we really did share some camaraderie."

"We do."

"Yet you gallivant around with a monster like that?"

"He's not a monster."

"I should've known better, really, when the VERnons said you're the sirocco that follows after the humanoid typhoon. Heroes, my ass! I don't get it, how could you do that to others after what happened to you?"

To us?

It remains unspoken yet you can hear the intent of the accusingly barbed question. Two survivors of a wrecked hometown. Shared camaraderie hadn't been a lie. Even now as you meet the flickering fire in Wonwoo's eyes with a blazing flame in your own, all you can see is a reflection of your past and what you could've turned into in a possible future.

A cold gleam returns to his gaze as he takes your silence as defiance. Or maybe even shamelessness. "How could you turn a blind eye to such a bloody warpath of destruction when you know too well of the tragedy that's left behind?!"

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"… Excuse me?"

"That's what all of you are doing right now," you declare loudly and some of Tonim's residents whose conscience stings have the decency to avert their eyes. Awareness of their actions seem to weigh down on them, guns lowering ever the slightest and the awkwardness encourages Seungkwan to speak up.

"We would've left peacefully tomorrow."

"But yer actions're gonna be the very cause of the destruction yer tryin' so damn hard to prevent."

"Because you took a bribe!"

There's a stilted, horrified, and collective gasp, so you try to remedy Mingyu's exclamation.

"It's because you let your malice sway you. Tell me, Jeon. What all did you lose?"

"My whole town. Then my parents. Almost my life and nearly Lina's too. My lover…"

"And your sense of self. Plus, the new life you've created here — and those things? Almost lost because of your own accord. Why would you destroy the few good things you're granted?"

Wonwoo's eyebrows scrunch as his face tenses. Your heart goes out to him despite everything, hoping to get your point across as you continue speaking.

"That doesn't negate the losses. The grief. The pain. It never goes away but… you can choose to clean out the wound, put some salve on it, and bandage it or let it fester and infect your body 'til it rots even your soul."

You can hear the shift in the sand as Seokmin approaches to stand next to you. He regards Wonwoo with a kind smile and the understanding, crescent-shaped squint of his eyes is like a punch to the other man's gut.

"…. I —"

" — It's your choice, Jeon. What did they offer you? Money? There are so many bets on July's militia lying about the payout. I mean, c'mon, there's no way a ruined city would have the funds."

"Yer Plant's no longer in red status, so ya won't need to barter no more."

"I'll throw in a better deal — let us go and I'll have Choi marry you and Sherry, free of charge."

His cheeks flush and you inwardly gloat, instincts right on the money. Seungcheol's jaw drops, absolutely flabbergasted, and the townsfolk exchange a few knowing snickers.

"If it's protection you need, we can figure that out too," Seokmin recovers and offers in a low voice. "And if Do — er, Knives — or his gang approached you with a deal, just know that they never hold up their end of the bargain."

"You're lucky you threatened us first. DK's side is a little too slash-happy and trigger-loving to resort to verbal methods. They're the ones you'd want to go after anyways, you see, this man and Knives are twins if you don't look close enough, they're eerily similar at the strangest moments. So the real story is that it's all just spiraled out of control."

"You mean…"

"I won't deny responsibility." Seokmin admits sternly. "It's true that I've wreaked devastation to many towns. Failed to save the people I swore to protect."

"But DK keeps forcing his hand to get Seok to join his genocidal cause. And every time he refuses to do so, his brother throws a tantrum and well, knives go flying everywhere. Literally."

"He's a little…" The gunslinger searches for the right word — and finding that there is none — cringes. "Dramatic."

You stare at him, aghast. "He cut your arm off!"

Wonwoo pales, swallows, and then grimaces, daring to ask, "So… I've had it wrong the whole time?"

"I guess not entirely." You shrug, also guilty as charged years ago. "And obviously not the first."

"And certainly not the last," Seungkwan pipes up.

The bespectacled man looks down at the ground. "I don't… I don't know… Do I even deserve this kind of treatment? This… mercy?"

"No."

With such a blunt answer, Seokmin's quick to protest with an admonishment of your name while Seungkwan and Mingyu suppress smiles at your straightforwardness. Seungcheol freely chuckles, lighting a cigarette.

And Wonwoo's face falls as remorse hits all over again.

"But," you smirk, "what have I told you?"

"Oh, ah… why destroy the few good things life grants me?"

"Good. You were listening. We might get along just fine, after all." You send him a teasing wink. "Camaraderie and all that be damned."

A sheepish look overtakes the man's previously hardened features. And suddenly he's laughing with his head thrown back like earlier, but this time it's with an unrestrained amount of joy. Relief. Hope.

"The ticket to the future is always blank, Wonwoo." Seokmin extends a hand and the other man takes it, the small grin on his face turning into a full-blown smile.

"Guns down, Tonim town. The rest of you, come on out! Let's celebrate!" He calls out to everyone, gesturing for your group to follow. "Drinks are on me to make up for this whole mess. I'm sorry for getting you all involved."

You turn around toward Seokmin, elation written all over your face that he readily mirrors. Just as you're about to grab his hand as he reaches out at the same time, there's a slow, loud handclap that sets off mental warning sirens blaring all over again.

"Conflict resolution. How very touching."

The velvety voice is deceivingly sweet. But beneath the dulcet tones lies a raw and wicked strength. It rings out clearly, even more so when the jubilant mood abruptly dies down as a new figure approaches.

"Aw, c'mon Joshie! Just when it was gettin' good!" Soonyoung whines and you belatedly realize you forgot all about the real enemies at the entrance gate, thinking they had grown bored and left.

"What about that was 'getting good'?"

The Beast huffs at Jihoon's surly attitude, more than likely pouting beneath his mask. "Was really lookin' forward to those free drinks…"

"We don't need drinks and we don't need you, Josh."

If there's one commonality between the adversary and your group, it's the shared disdain for the elegant-looking man dressed in all black fabrics with shiny leather buckles, and slicked-back locks to match.

"Hm. But I think you do."

Chilling ochre-colored eyes couldn't be bothered to look at you, drifting past you and Seokmin like you were nothing more than the grains of sand littering every surface on Gunsmoke. And like a marionette, your head automatically swivels to follow his line of sight, blood draining from your face when you realize what he's looking at.

Lina.

She breaks away from holding onto Sheryl's hand after they emerge from the saloon, bounding toward her brother with excitement all over her face. The arm that isn't supporting his firearm extends gallantly outward, ready to welcome her with a hug as he strolls to meet her halfway.

They're smiling at one another with so much adoration after the intensity from earlier. If you weren't fucking terrified, you'd wish Dokyeom was also there to see how pure a sibling relationship and affection should be.

Instead, your stomach lurches, and Seokmin hisses beside you. With your back turned, you can't see Joshua but you're sure he's smirking when Wonwoo's frame stiffens, body jerking as it moves beyond his control.

Hastily, he's cocking the rifle with expert ease and assuming the perfect position to fire it, something he previously displayed no knowledge on before. Wide eyes have no choice but to peer down the scope and he chokes at how it's unforgivingly aimed directly at his little sister.

She skids to a halt, ten paces away. Hesitant. Wary. Puzzled.

"… Wonu?"

It all plays out in slow motion as you reach for Sirocco, simultaneously screaming out to your friends to alert them and provide cover. Frantic panic swirls in the air like a sandstorm at the turn of events, but even more fear generates when the townspeople can do nothing but helplessly succumb to their limbs moving on their own too.

Despite every single effort and all of his muscles straining not to do it, Wonwoo's pointer finger on the trigger pulls back. It doesn't matter how much he struggles to fight for control, his body refuses to listen. Tears flow from his eyes even though he can't speak, can't yell, can't beg for forgiveness — the vehement sense of horror is the only thing able to overpower Joshua's terrifying control, leaking out a salty excess.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Three gunshots ring out at the same time. You fire right before Wonwoo does and Seokmin follows two seconds later. Not because his reaction time is slower. But because he could see and calculate where the bullet's headed after you changed its trajectory by shooting at Wonwoo's barrel.

It doesn't end there.

Seokmin is a half-step closer to Lina and can move at an inhumane speed, diving into a tuck-and-roll to reach her moments before the residents have no choice but to open fire too.

You know he's fast enough to dodge bullets at close range, but the staggered distance spread out among all of those present in the town's square works little for that insane advantage. Instead, the skilled combatant focuses all his attention on shielding Lina beneath the loose flaps of his impenetrable trench coat. She clings tightly to his leg, whimpering.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you."

Continuing to mutter reassurances, he pats her fluffy brown hair with an unshaking cybernetic palm while the other rapidly points his revolver upwards to deflect a bullet that might've been lucky enough to shatter the bridge of his glasses. Then doing the same to one at five o'clock on his right. He angles his body this way and that as if a puppeteer is yanking the strings connected to his limbs to the perverse beat of an unheard tune. The few he misses land harmlessly against the thick kevlar material you're all wearing.

Meanwhile, your steady hand supports the familiar weight of Sirocco. Muscle memory aids you with cocking the gun as you run. Aiming at the closest group of people near them and then — bang!, bang!, bang! — snipe off the barrels on their guns in rapid succession, rendering them useless.

From behind, something flies past your face and nicks the top of your ear — one of the few places unprotected by bulletproof material — causing you to hiss. Scowling over your shoulder, you squint in the direction it came from.

While a complete bastard, Seungcheol is also the most resourceful ray of hope in a shootout like this. The Punisher's automatic artillery relentlessly fires shot after shot, destroying old and weather-beaten guns like they're empty, crushable soda cans. It's faster too. The trigger-happy pastor twirls it around maniacally, taking only the slightest care to not actually kill anyone.

You're a hundred percent sure it's because of Joshua's disturbing power that allows him to reanimate corpses rather than Seokmin's "Thou shalt not kill" lecture and pacifist philosophies that keeps the supposed 'god-fearing' man from snuffing out anyone's life this time around. Despite the bullets whizzing around, you know he'll fare alright with that healing serum of his — just as long as he doesn't overdose on it.

Mingyu rushes over to stand back-to-back with the pastor, x-shaped claws firing out of his 'stun-gun' and immobilizing many of his targets with ease. You can't help but grimace though, wondering if they'll sustain more brain damage from Joshua's nefarious telepathy or a well-meaning concussion that leaves them unconscious and no longer posing a threat. A solid steel object flies past the brown-haired man's head, knocking down the mind-controlled person who was trying to sneak up on him using a blind spot.

"Ooh, thanks, Seungkwan!"

"Pay attention, you blockhead!"

An empty derringer lays at said blockhead's feet and Mingyu kicks it away with a childlike glee. A brand-new loaded pistol is already in Seungkwan's right hand even as he throws away the one in his left toward someone approaching Seungcheol. The young man's never empty-handed for long because with another flashy twirl from out of his cloak and a new handgun is cocked, aimed, and fired.

Despite the distance and conditions, all three work together like clockwork. Different shaped and sized cogs all interconnected to succeed without causing too much harm. And you know you must play your part as well, turning your attention back to the few townsfolk that remain.

"Seokmin, switch!"

It's not like he needs the heads-up. The way you'd both been inching closer to each other every time your gun's fired already issued the forewarning. It's like a subtle tango performed by two fierce allies surrounded by deadly enemies. If you didn't know better, it's similar to an intricate sword dance.

But you knew how dangerous it was to play with knives.

The swift transfer of Lina's warm little body into your arms is a welcome comfort. Seokmin sends you a dazzling smile, one full of confidence at a successful swap.

"Hey there, pretty girl," you coo and your gloved thumb wipes away one of the tear trails cutting through the dirt smudges on her face. "You are so, so, so brave and I'm so, so, so proud of you."

"He," she sniffles, "my… my… br-brother. W-Wonu!"

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, you turn her to face the other way. "Everything's going to fine. I promise. Now, run to Seungcheol. He'll keep you safe while the rest of us finish this."

Seungkwan and Mingyu had effectively disarmed everyone on their end and now worked on dragging the town's unconscious residents inside the saloon and attending to any wounds. The pastor stood guard near the entrance with his Punisher staked firmly into the sandy ground. Although empty of ammunition, the machine gun still served a purpose as a great defender with its imposing cross shape.

With the target assuredly safe — out of sight, out of mind — the control Joshua has over those remaining falters and starts to lose its effect. In the brief lull, Seokmin dashes ahead to deliver a flying kick that helpfully unsheathes the dagger hidden in the sole of his boots, demolishing one more firearm in someone's grip before it can be used again.

Bang!

Bang!

And with Sirocco's precision, the last two are destroyed as well. You match your comrade's grin and turn triumphantly to where the instigators still stand at the entrance.

There would be no casualties today. You and your comrades would make sure of that.

Joshua, stoic as ever, surveys the aftermath with an air of unbothered gracefulness. Jihoon fumes next to him. Panic spikes when Soonyoung can't be spotted at first until you spy him curled up in the car's front seat — asleep.

You fist bump Seokmin in high spirits. Then fearlessly meet a pair of deep orange eyes devoid of any emotion or warmth, a shift occurs in your smile. Confidence and satisfaction hone the corners of your mouth into a daring smirk and something about the bold taunt causes a rare flicker of humor to cross Joshua's lips. Whether it's scornful pity or simple mockery, you don't have time to figure it out because Jihoon snaps.

Nails.

Several of them fly through the air and their wielder's formidable namesake comes from the daunting color that makes the multitude of piercers look like thin streaks of blood against the pale blue sky. The spikes as long as spears are all fired from Jihoon's large suitcase-turned-crossbow that aims just shy of your left side.

Those steel eyes of his are as sharp as their color. The malice within them feels suffocating, so strong and heavy that it sucks all the breath straight out of your lungs. Only the pain from a nail grazing your cheek is enough to pull your attention away from drowning in the unnerving emotion and you put a hand up to the laceration to soothe the sting.

Wetness oozes from your skin, an unsettling feeling of sliminess accompanying the touch. Puzzled, your fingers retract and you ponder the sheer amount of red viscoelastic fluid coating them. There's so much of it pooling that droplets fall to the sand below while others dribble down past your wrist and under your sleeve, the stain blending right in with the fabric of your coat.

Drip.

"It's all your fault!"

Drip.

"Their blood is on your hands…"

Drip.

"Don't you feel guilty?"

Drip.

"Don't you feel responsible?"

Drip.

"Do you regret being the only one left to live?"

Drip.

Faces you know and voices you cannot recall overlap and echo. Unfamiliar frowning expressions and intonations you remember as once gentle now ridicule, belittle, and find every crack in your well-made armor. Insidious whispers weave inside, entangling themselves within the fragile support structures of your mind and very soul. They point and cackle to one another at such a sorry sight, only for you to realize you're angrily jabbing a pointer finger at your worthless reflection with those cursory words coming straight out of your own mouth.

Drip.

Your head turns robotically, like an early prototype of the lost technology Earthlings created. This time it's Sheryl who's the victim, helplessly well within the trajectory line of Jihoon's rage. Every muscle aches, weighed down by exhaustion. Your shoulder burns. Yet you still somehow find the strength within you to rush toward her, especially hearing Lina's desperate wail as she's held back by a grimacing Seungcheol.

Drip.

Like a comet, Seokmin blazes past. He skids to a stop, effectively shielding the woman right before impact. You're too slow to move. In fact, it feels like an out-of-body experience. As if you're nothing but a hologram inside the floating ship — an artificial intelligence projection with no other choice but to witness the horrors and observe tangible objects scuttle towards their inevitable doom without interference. You're left with no choice but to simply watch as the nails are propelled through the air with the intent to strike.

Drip.

Someone's screaming. Maybe it's you.

Drip.

The nails impale Seokmin without mercy. Strike after strike, they pierce straight through the material of his coat designed to repel only bullets and plunge deep within the muscles beneath his skin. One after the other. So many of them stick out of the man's backside like the skeletal bone formation for wings. He slumps to his knees, falling on top of a bewildered but unharmed Sheryl. When he only lays still with no further action, you're struck with the dreadful knowledge that he may never move again and it fills you with an unfathomable maelstrom of raw grief and anger.

Drip.

Suddenly, you're no longer drowning in invisible quicksand and can move freely again. There's zero hesitation in your now fluid movements — not even when the blond-haired man poises his crossbow directly at you this time. Pulling out the spare gun hidden near your hip, you blast the airborne spikes flying towards you without hesitation.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

More fall than you shoot. The anger, pain, and grief you wield is enough to tear them apart like they're nothing but worm larvae helplessly caught in a sandstorm. You stalk forward through the crimson ire that relentlessly strikes down, clearing a path that's littered with broken, twisted, and dented nails before resolutely aiming point-blank at Jihoon's forehead.

Click.

More people are screaming and the spiteful cacophony in your mind resumes. But your ears feel like they're filled with cotton and this time you're stuck underwater. Your chest rises and falls, trying and failing to collect yourself.

"… out of it!"

"Hyperventialing -"

"Goddamn it! Get ahold o'yerself, woman!"

The Crimsonnail sneers.

Your cheek stings.

The dissonance reminds you of the wound from before. But this time it feels like a sting, as if someone slapped you — albeit rather gently. Numb, you halt in place and cautiously raise your hand back to your surprisingly unmarred face. But rather than skin, you grasp onto something solid. Something familiar. Something kind. Something loving. Something safe. Something warm. Something that's yours — always has been and always will be.

Someone.

And then… you open your eyes — and find yourself staring directly into Seokmin's sparkling brown ones.

"Y-you're dead," you manage to choke out in disbelief and his eyes incredulously crinkle into half-moons at the statement to hide the tears brimming in them.

The soothing hand caressing your cheek moves to wrap around the barrel of the gun you're pressing to his forehead and he smiles disarmingly. As if what you just said was the funniest thing ever.

"I know, mayfly."

Part 2 | Read the whole thing on AO3

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

[just-a-creep-babe]

X-Virus NSFW Headcanons

Commissioned by @lil-degen -- thank you so very much luv, I hope you enjoy ❣️❤️❣️

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Man’s a switch—and a proud one at that

He has absolutely no problem being submissive or dominant, on the giving or receiving end of things

Really, as long as his partner’s enjoying themselves, he can’t complain

Whether he’s on top or on bottom, there are two things he basically can’t go without; pain and dirty talk

In fact, he almost never submits spontaneously because he much prefers being forced into submission—he wants his partner to be rough and dirty with him

He’ll often act like a major fucking brat just so that they have an excuse to be as cruel with him as they could possibly want to be

They can smack him around, spit on him, humiliate and degrade him, make that pretty boy beg until he’s on the verge of tears

It’s what he enjoys, it’s what he deserves

He will, however, also be returning the favor when it’s his partner’s turn~

If they’re comfortable with it, he’ll push them to the limits, just to test them, just to see how much punishment they can really take

And there’s something really intimate, really sensual about the way he experiments on his partner’s body

He’ll tease and toy with them to his heart’s content, only ever stopping if they use the safe word

He likes seeing how they react to various mixes of different sensations, so things like temperature play, wax play, breath play and bondage are usually involved

There’s almost nothing he isn’t down to try—he’s an experimentalist at heart~

He enjoys overstimulating his partner, but he’d personally rather be teased and denied for himself

Not that he has anything against overstimulation, either~

In terms of size, he’s quite proud of what he’s packing

He’s a tad thicker than average, but his length is enough to merit him being the cocky lil shit he usually is

He also has Jacob’s ladder piercings up the underside of his shaft which, combined with the slight angle of his cock, is enough to make anyone utterly weak

He’s also so damn good with his mouth, it’s actually unfair

It's like he always knows just what to do and where to put that tongue piercing to absolutely wreck his poor little partner

And honestly, one of his absolute favorite things is face-sitting

Doesn’t matter if he’s in a dominant or submissive mood—he’ll either want his partner to absolutely suffocate him between their thighs to shut his bratty mouth, or he’ll tongue-fuck them until they’re shaking and crying in his bruising grasp

His libido is slightly higher than average, but it skyrockets when he’s with a partner he really likes

Like, if he’s on his own, he’ll jerk off a few times a week—sometimes because he’s horny, but sometimes just because he’s bored or stressed from work

But if he’s with his partner, he’ll almost always be down to fuck

It's easy to tell he's in the mood because he gets extra touchy, extra flirty

He likes seeing his s/o get all flustered, all hot and bothered from his suggestive looks and lingering touches

In terms of session length, he prefers taking his time

He wants the luxury of driving his partner to their absolute limit, and while he could get that done fairly quickly and easily, especially with that damn tongue, he just loves making it last hours on end

But because he’s so consistently busy, he knows that’s not always an option, so he definitely has nothing against quickies, either

And he absolutely adores being risky, so pinning his partner against a tree, out in the open, is most certainly a recurring experience~

Only if his partner’s down though, of course

Because despite everything, despite his sadistic side and his extremely ambiguous morals, he’s not a shitbag and will respect every limit his s/o establishes

And because he does a lot of experimental kinky shit, he’ll have a bunch of safewords to practice that ✨safe sex✨

Overall, the guy’s hot and he knows it—and he will use that to his advantage

He always knows just how to make his s/o swoon, and then he can and will fully satiate them in bed afterward ;)

[papermatisse]

the ultimatum || J.WW

♗ pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader

♗ genre: angst

♗ word count: 6.3k

♗ warnings: argument, break up, family problems, depression, overthinking, uhh

♗ synopsis: wonwoo is living a peaceful and happy mundane life with his partner, though outside forces and responsibilities prompt wonwoo to make a tough decision.

♗ (a/n): hello :) I have written smth :) this is for this request that I got in october and I've only just now gotten to writing it bc I finished my semester finally :)) thank you anon for your unrelenting patience I am so so so sorry for taking this long to write this. I v much so appreciate your understanding and your leniency on me 😭🙏❤️

main masterlist

It was silent. Nothing but the low hum of his radiator whirring somewhere in the background, serving as the sole ambience to fill the dreadful, awful silence that plagued the dingey, rundown apartment. He sat on his couch, the rough material scratching along the back of his neck as he looked up at the ceiling with this dazed, thousand mile stare. The haze of delirium had haunted him for days now, at first merely muddling his thoughts into this droning ambiguity that left him empty and monotonous. Though soon it seeped into the outer edges of his character, skin paling like death, lips settled into a permanent scowl, eyes clouded with no emotion—or perhaps that look was him drowning and wrought with every emotion his feeble mind could conjure up.

There were specks of happiness dabbled in the disordered web of thoughts in his mind. They derived from the lot of memories in the archives of his head, playing on repeat and reminding him of better days.

When he first met (y/n), bemused by the sight of this girl dressed to the nines yet soaked to the bone. A flimsy jacket, just as drenched as she, lay helplessly above her head as a makeshift and utterly unsuccessful umbrella of sorts from the storm raging outside. He watched her carefully, glancing every so often as he wiped away at the counter. She at first stood there, taking in her surroundings with what seemed to be a mixture of confusion and awe. Though soon, she seemed to catch her bearings as she navigated over to his bar, carefully sliding onto a booth as if it were an entirely new contraption to her.

"What's your poison?" He asked her as he made his way to her side. The sound of his voice had startled her greatly, as she near jumped out of her seat, head whirling to face the sudden addition to her solitude.

"I'm sorry?" She replied. Her own voice was far too soft for a bar setting, though he was thankfully able to catch on to her and the utterly hopeless stare she gave him. With a soft chuckle, he leant over the bar, drawing as close as he could to her without invading her space.

"What drink can I get you?"

She was quiet at first with this stunned expression, blinking at him in a stupor. Quickly shaking her head, she averted her gaze to the countertop.

"I'll just have water please."

A simple request, though he couldn't really argue, merely filling a glass with water and sliding it over.

"Can I at least get you a lemon to top off your beverage?"

"Sure," She replied, a small smile spreading across her face at his inquiry, and he felt just the slightest bit accomplished in his duties as a bartender.

Again, he watched her carefully as he continued with work and as she nursed the drink before her. She had finally shed the useless article of clothing from her head, placing it in her lap with a defeated sigh. She really was quite overdressed for a bar setting, wearing a designer dress suited more for a business meeting than for day drinking. It only served to further pique his curiosity, and as the time passed by and the rain outside refused to let, he saw his moment to answer his questions.

"So what brings you to this fine establishment? Aside from the obviously satisfying atmosphere." He smiled to himself as she chuckled at his mannerisms.

"As much as I love this fine establishment so far," she began, widening his smile at her own jests, "it was the first place I could run into when the rains started." He hummed, still looking at her with unwavering eyes, and she attempted to meet his strong gaze, though faltered at the end. With a sigh, she continued, falling under the silent peer pressure of his eyes urging her to continue. "I attended a meeting for my dad. It didn't really agree with me, so I left. Before I could catch a ride home, it started raining, so I ran here."

"Sounds like a pretty rough day." She agreed with a nod, fingers absentmindedly tracing over the condensation clinging to her glass. He could see she was trying to shrink away from his presence, though he was never one to back down. "How about I give you a ride home?"

"Pardon?"

"My shift's just about to end now. I'd hate to leave you here knowing you're trapped 'cause of the rain." She looked at him again with that same stunned appearance as she had when he first made his presence known to her. Sparkling eyes with this dazed nature to them, as if not fully there at the moment—entrenched in her thoughts with nowhere else to direct her attention. The realization brought another grin to his face, and he waited expectantly for her answer to arrive.

"I don't even know your name, though." Her words were laced with hesitancy, as if not even she was fully committed to the concluding limitations she had made of his offer. Because he knew it was a good deal for her, and for him, as a part of him truly didn't feel right leaving her all alone without knowing for a fact that she was safe at home.

"Wonwoo." He replied easily, sliding his hand over to her. Her eyes had watched the movement, lingering on him for a moment more, before she slid her own hand into his in a subtle, noncommittal handshake. "I can't take a stranger in my car though. What's your name?"

Another chuckle out of her, and another boost to Wonwoo's ego for the day.

"(y/n)."

It was out of character for him, as he usually pays no mind to drifters of any sort, though he can't find it in himself to ever regret having stepped out of his comfort zone to bring a smile to her face that day. And what had started as a mere happenstance crossing of paths had soon morphed into frequent visits with (y/n) wandering into the bar and waiting for Wonwoo to serve her a drink before taking her home.

It was near inevitable for the two to grow feelings for one another, and soon blossom a relationship.

Wonwoo felt the corners of his lips twitch up just the slightest bit, remembering how nervous (y/n) had been to ask him out one of the days he dropped her off home. The memory of how she avoided his gaze, fiddled with her hoodie, stumbled over her words, and all he did was sit there and wait patiently, heart bursting at the seams at the sight of her trying to profess her love in some meaningful way on a random Tuesday evening.

It had all been so heavenly at the start. His apartment was small and old, yet she brought this vitality to it that made him feel more alive everyday. The kitchen which once was strictly for sustaining his nutrients now became a haven where the two cooked anything and everything together. The living room which was once merely a middle ground for him to pass the time by with nothing better to do was now where they spent their days watching movies and talking to each other endlessly. The bedroom where he once fell asleep and woke up as is became his sanctuary, where he could fall asleep and wake up to the sight of her right beside him.

Though now as he recounted these memories, that happiness in him soon twinged into a bittersweet sadness, wincing at the reminder of when it had all started going wrong.

Wonwoo had become well aware of (y/n)'s background in living a comfortable life with her family's old money. How could he not with how flippant she seemed to be with her finances. He had been initially concerned with the steady stream of money she tossed away at things he'd deem inconvenient or unnecessary, though it all started to make sense in due time. The way (y/n) went about life with such little worries, at times even seeming naive in Wonwoo's eyes. Though it never bothered him. He was always glad to be there for her. To help her in things she didn't understand, be the helping hand as she experienced many firsts in the world, and he could tell she was just as happy to have him by her side helping. A mutualistic relationship, in which both parties thrived in each other's differences.

At that point was when Wonwoo knew he was in love, and he hadn't hesitated in telling (y/n) that on a random night where they debated what to watch and wound up deciding on perhaps the worst B-movie they've ever seen. Through their fits of laughter, tears in their eyes and stomachs sore, Wonwoo took a moment to admire (y/n) as she was. Freshly showered and smelling of his body wash, adorned in his old raggedy clothes, bright eyed and smiley, absolutely jubilant in his arms. It was an undeniable fact. Something he couldn't refute, nor anyone else for that matter.

“I love you.”

(y/n) had glanced up at him, laughter slowly dying down, though her smile remained in place, only growing by the second as she processed his words.

“Really?” He nodded, lips tugging up at her infectious giggles bubbling up as she nestled closer to him. “I love you, too.”

It had only taken a few weeks after their confession for her to deem it acceptable to introduce him to her family, which is how Wonwoo found himself at the doorstep of an imposingly large manor, adorned with his old button up that had been tossed in the back of his closet, and a bouquet of flowers in hand.

The mother was the first to greet them as they entered the house, appreciatively accepting Wonwoo's floral offering. Next had been her grandmother, who had been absolutely floored by Wonwoo’s looks, praising the Lord above for her granddaughter having found such a good looking man.

Then he met her father. A man who seemed to be the epitome of stoicism. A permanent scowl was etched into the aged lines on his face, and every advance on Wonwoo’s part was greeted by a cold glare and an indifferent grunt. None of the others were in any way taken aback by his mannerisms, however, and so Wonwoo could only assume this was just how his character was.

Some days had passed since the initial meet and greet, and Wonwoo found himself being unexpectedly invited once more to the manor by none other than the man of the house. How he had obtained his number was beyond him, but upon the request of a one on one session between the two, Wonwoo couldn't really care less about the ordeal of his privacy, merely relieved at the possibility that he hadn't completely ruined his reputation with his significant other's father.

Or so he was led to believe.

“I'm sorry?” Wonwoo spoke, voice low and barely above a whisper, yet strained as he attempted to piece together the sudden turn of events without outright creating a potentially unnecessary fiasco in this man’s office.

“I want you to break up with my daughter.”

Okay, so he hadn't heard wrong. He truly was just given the demand to break up with his girlfriend for seemingly no reason. Shocked couldn't even begin to explain the emotions swirling in his head, mouth agape as he attempted to make any semblance of the situation at hand.

The man remained seated across from him, briefly returning to his documents as if Wonwoo’s presence alone was nothing more than a hindrance to his schedule. Merely a minor detour in his work flow that didn't deserve even his full attention.

Gritting his teeth, Wonwoo summoned every ounce of strength within him in order to maintain his calm facade, pressing on with as steady a time as he could muster.

“May I ask for what reason you've sprung this upon me?” The older man paused to look at Wonwoo, giving him an unimpressed once over before returning to his work.

“Mr. Jeon, you seem to be a very good man. Strong, capable, good looking. You're practically everything a father wants for his daughter. Just not my daughter.”

To say he was taken aback would be the understatement of the year, because Wonwoo found himself practically reeling whilst trying to gather his thoughts and make sense of the situation. He felt his eye twitch momentarily, fists clenching by his side as he allowed the man to proceed with whatever motives he had in summoning Wonwoo in the first place.

“My daughter is scatterbrained as is. The last thing she needs is financial struggles to add to her carefree thought process.”

“I'm not rich enough for you?” Wonwoo spat out, venom laced in his tone. His head quirked to the side, a sharp glare directed at the man, challenging him to press on with his offense. Yet the man seemed unaffected by Wonwoo’s clear disdain, merely huffing an amused sigh as he continued.

“Don't take it to heart, kid. You'll understand when you have your own daughter in the future.” Wonwoo watched as he stood from his seat, rounding his desk to be face to face with him. “You know (y/n) as well as I do. She's not built for the harsh world out there.”

“You want to keep her sheltered in your little fantasy world? Coddle her until you're on your deathbed?”

“The world's less harsh for our kind.”

Wonwoo felt his blood boil, though remained as is. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, staring daggers into the man and his blatant ignorance.

“She's a grown woman,” Wonwoo began, voice low because he feared any alternative would involve shouting. “A grown woman capable of making her own decisions. Falling in love with whoever she wants to. Dealing with her own struggles without her father hovering over her.”

“She'll get just that if she stays with the likes of you.”

At this, Wonwoo found his composure faltering, brows furrowed in concentration, attempting to piece together what the man could possibly be insinuating. Judging from the prior turns of their conversation thus far, Wonwoo could only imagine the lengths this man would go to rid his life of Wonwoo’s presence.

A sly smile crossed the face of the man. Perhaps the first expression outside that of his permanent scowl. Wonwoo felt immediate discomfort from the sight, at the apathy emanating from beyond the man’s eyes. This cold, resolute stare that seemed near sociopathic almost.

“What are you insinuating?”

“If my daughter is to remain with the likes of you, a certified liability upon her, then I'd have no choice but to cut her off entirely.” Wonwoo felt his heart drop at the monotonous words coming out of this man's mouth, uncaring as if it were nothing more than a business transaction. “Cut off her finances, her access to my estate. Even her relations with myself and my family.” Wonwoo attempted to meet the hard and calculative stare trained on him, but his resolve was beginning to crumble with every new thing spoken. “You wouldn't want to be the cause of (y/n) being disowned, now would you?”

No, he wouldn't. It was a shitty ultimatum. Break up with my daughter or she'll be completely removed from her family. It was downright psychotic behavior. Something which shook Wonwoo to his core. He had only ever seen this type of character in fiction. Someone this unmoving, completely devoid of empathy. His thoughts and concerns only revolved around himself, only ever using the facade of concern for his daughter. Though in actuality, it had become perfectly clear to Wonwoo that the man only cared about his own personal image which would be impacted by his daughter's unworthy match.

He wanted to leave immediately. He wanted to actively punch the man before leaving this accursed manor. He wanted to whisk (y/n) away from the pitiful excuse of a father trying adamantly to control her every waking moment. He wanted to run away with her, live their own life without the crushing weight of societal expectations dampening the tranquility of their relationship. He wanted to return home where (y/n) would be waiting for him, safe from the outside world in the sanctity of their four walls. He wanted to make her laugh until her head was tipped back and her sides ached. He wanted to comfort her when times got too tough for her to manage on her own. He wanted to be the one to embrace all of the love she had to offer. He wanted to be her first and her last in everything.

Though he couldn't bear the guilt of having forced this ultimatum upon her. He didn't want to tarnish the image of her family because of the tyrant claiming to be her father. He didn't want to have her choose between her family or her significant other. The mere image of (y/n)’s agony wreaked havoc upon his poor battered heart. Images of when he first met (y/n), walking into the bar like a confused, wet puppy flitted through his memories, and he couldn't handle bearing witness to it once more.

That day, he left the manor without another word and without another glance behind him. He couldn't recall much of what happened following his departure, though sooner rather than later, he found himself walking into his apartment once more. His mind felt frenzied with thoughts and concerns, calculating his options and reevaluating his morals. Yet in a conflicting sense, he felt absolutely empty. Numb to the outside world, barely conscious enough to even discern how much time had passed since he had returned home.

By the time he had come to, he hadn't come to a decision. Or perhaps he just hadn't come to a decision he liked. There was a logical answer, one that took into consideration everyone's circumstances, one that accounted the world and the way it functions outside his own life. And then there was his selfish answer. The one that accounted for all of these factors, yet ignored them nevertheless in lieu of his own desires. The one that resulted in his own happiness, though at the cost of everybody else's.

It felt like an internal strife was dismantling the very foundation of his life, eating away at him until he was nothing left. A vessel devoid of its soul, wading listlessly in the universe, awaiting for, dreading the moment he'll have to make his choice. Or more correctly, make the only feasible choice in the matter. Because no matter how desperate he wants (y/n) in his life, and no matter how heinous of a being her father is, the guilt of the matter which derived from the conditions forced upon him overrode that of anything else. He couldn't possibly revoke (y/n)’s entire life, everything she's ever been accustomed to, merely for his own selfishness. He knew this was exactly what her father hoped for. Exploiting the way Wonwoo cared for (y/n) with every fiber of his being. And as much as Wonwoo wanted to deny it, his plan worked.

The sound of his door unlocking was what managed to jostle Wonwoo from his stupor, albeit only a microscopic amount, though enough for him to blink away his delirium and look up just as (y/n) came walking into the room, bright smile on display the moment her eyes landed upon the man seated on the couch.

“Wonwoo!” The jubilance in her voice managed to soothe the turmoil wrought in his heart, a wry smile curling at the corners of his lips. From where he sat, he watched as she mosied about the apartment as naturally as one breathes. Toeing off her shoes, tossing her things onto the counter, raiding the fridge for whatever beverage she can find to cool off. All the while, she rambled endlessly of her day, from the very beginning when she woke up to the traffic on her way to work, the new place her and her friends visited for lunch, anything to fill the void that usually enshrouds Wonwoo's apartment. And his smile grew more and more fond, impossible to even deny for a moment how happy he was in her presence. It was how they always worked. What he was, she was the opposite. In the silence Wonwoo had grown accustomed to, resided for most of his life, she offered that peaceful white noise to settle his nerves and quell his rampant thoughts. “You're awfully quiet today. Is everything alright?”

(y/n) had made her way to the living room, collapsing on the couch beside him, naturally nestling against his side. All the while, her soft eyes remained on him, never pushing him to talk, though assuring him he was always free to. The clarity of her emotions and the way she expressed them to him was always something he admired, and meeting those loving eyes for perhaps the last time finally broke his resolve.

“It's nothing, really.” He quickly turned away, not wanting her to see the way his eyes glossed over with unshed tears.

“Well, obviously it's something if it's got you like this.” Her voice was low, just above a whisper, preserving the still of the atmosphere set around them. The hum of the radiator filled the room, providing that subtle medium for Wonwoo to concentrate on and avoid the spiraling thoughts swirling in his head. Beside him, he could feel (y/n)’s gentle touch on his hand, thumb lightly brushing against his knuckles. He loved the way she treated him so tenderly, taking her time and speaking lightly, touches sweet and demure no matter how imposing he may seem to others. The thought of tarnishing this tranquility, destroying the relationship they both worked so hard to build up, killed Wonwoo inside.

His heart ached as he sat there, seconds ticking by, battling himself every step of the way. (y/n)’s persistent patience didn't help his cause in any way. Her presence which usually served as an anchor weighing him down to earth now felt like a damning weight upon his shoulders. The arrangement forced upon him by her father revolved around his thoughts, an ever recurring reminder that he can't preserve this. He can't keep this happiness anymore. He can't have (y/n) any longer.

“I…” His voice trembled, cracking through the gravely undertone from his silence that day. He hesitantly turned his head to face her, though couldn't find it in himself to look up at her.

He was a coward, he knew this. Everything in this situation only further proved this revelation of his. He was a coward, and even if he did choose the selfish route in this predicament, in what world did he even deserve (y/n) in the first place?

He gulped, breath shaky as he finally dared a glance her way. As always, the (y/n) before him was as lovely as ever. Eyes remaining on him, an edge of concern in her furrowed brows. Her hand in his continued to soothingly stroke his skin, comforting him for as long as he needed. Averting his eyes once more, he felt his body tremble with wrought emotion, knowing what was to come, yet attempting to delay it.

He truly didn't deserve (y/n).

“I think we should break up,” he finally spoke, voice weak, forced out in a broken whisper.

Silence settled over them, the radiator persisting with its low hum, yet this time, it couldn't mask the heavy tension slowly accumulating in the room. Wonwoo’s body seemed to vibrate with the effort exerted in detaining himself, preventing him from retracting his words, reaching out to (y/n) and apologizing for ever even amusing such an outlandish idea. But he remained as is, nervously scratching at the rough material of his jean clad legs, torturously waiting for a response from (y/n).

The silence he met was perhaps the most harrowing response he could've received, not having the slightest clue of what could be going through her head, especially since his eyes refused to stray her way. Though he could feel her gaze upon him, and it killed him inside. Completely and utterly at a loss for himself with only the fleeting strength he'd managed to scrape up to preserve the facade of monotony across his countenance.

“Break up?” She asked, the only words she could muster with his sudden proposition. Her voice was once more soft, though instead of the comforting lull it usually carried, it seemed weak almost. Barely able to slip past her lips, barely loud enough for Wonwoo himself to hear. His heart clenched upon itself at the sound of those words coming from her, as if a taboo phrase never meant to be uttered by either of them. And the realization that the two have both broken that unspoken promise made the situation all the more real. “Why?”

Why?

It was a simple question. Inevitable, even. But somehow it threw Wonwoo for a loop. He couldn't just outright expose her family for what they were, more specifically that of her father. It wasn't his place. And he wouldn't dare place that burden upon her. It was why he was deciding to break up with her now. He just couldn't say that to her directly…

“I…” He paused to clear his throat, averting his gaze to his lap now, perhaps his one safe haven in a room which reminded him of (y/n) far too much.

Every memory they ever made together. Where they first said I love you, where they shared countless meals together, where she'd fall asleep unknowingly in his arms and heal his soul with her presence alone. Every hug and every kiss, every loving word and tender touch. Their milestones, their fights, their heart to hearts. Every aspect of their relationship is imprinted upon the aspects of his apartment, like a time capsule commemorating the moments they shared together.

“I don't think… we're a good match…”

“Why?” This why came much faster than the previous one, and Wonwoo found himself momentarily floundering upon the realization that this would result in a back and forth with which he'd have to give her a proper reason for giving up on their relationship.

“I don't want to hold you back.”

“Hold me back?” She questioned. “Where would you have gotten that assumption from? In what ways are you holding me back?”

At the sound of her frustrated tone, Wonwoo gave in and finally met her gaze. Though her voice wavered with restrained disappointment, her eyes betrayed her motive, watering as she finally met Wonwoo's own conflicted stare.

“I mean… You're you… and I'm me. You have your life and I have mine. And I don't…” He paused once more, swallowing down the lump in his throat to continue. “You have your friends, your family, and—”

“My family?” She asked, drowning in confusion at his utterance. “What about my family? Did something happen?”

Wonwoo sat there for a moment, panic broiling within him. An opportunity presenting itself. His final chance to back out.

Either he confesses to everything. Tells her how her father pulled him aside on purpose so he would be the one to decide, in order to save face with his own daughter. Tells her how she would be forced to start anew in life if she were to stay with him. Cut off from everything she'd ever known in life. Money, family, businesses, properties. All of it no longer at her disposal. Merely as a consequence for choosing him at the end of the day.

Or he continues with his initial goal in mind. Revoking her right to decide merely because it was too tasking of a decision to make for him, let alone for her. Force her to live in blissful ignorance alongside her family, abandon Wonwoo and the life they built together, allow her to continue with the way of life she'd grown so accustomed to.

Could she handle the pressures of starting adulthood from scratch? With her only resources being Wonwoo and whatever he was capable of giving to her? Could she handle the debilitating trauma of being disowned and banished by the people who raised her? Merely to stay with him? Was he even worth such a grand decision?

Perhaps deep down, Wonwoo actually feared what her answer would be. Because there was always a high probability she'd choose her family and her comfortable life over him and their relationship. Perhaps that's why he felt the need to make the decision on his own. Perhaps that's why he chose to punish himself rather than to let her do it for him. Perhaps that's why he suddenly found himself spewing whatever nonsense his jumbled mind could conjure to complete this objective.

“This has nothing to do with your family.” (y/n) quieted down at the sudden resolve in Wonwoo’s tone, and Wonwoo himself was shocked to find how steady his voice had become in a mere few seconds passed. “It has everything to do with the fact that we are just not compatible.”

“Not compatible…” (y/n) repeated in awe, words mumbled as she attempted to process what he said to her.

“You come from an affluent background, so it was already a given we'd find differences in the way we perceived the world and engage in it. Your terms of spending and saving differ vastly to my own. Though you may seem indifferent to the way I live my life, I am not in regards to your own.” His words sounded almost rehearsed with the way he spoke in such a steady and monotonous manner. One brief glance towards (y/n) only served to validate his own observations of himself, and he quickly averted his gaze once more lest the unbridled emotion enshrouding her eyes tempt him into retreat. “With the obvious aside, I find myself struggling to find meaning in this relationship that we've somehow stumbled our way into.” He paused to gather his bearings, taking as discrete an inhale as he could to try and quell the nerves firing within him. “I find you clingy in that you've occupied my apartment for weeks at a time and have essentially weaseled your way into my living space. I think you're immature in the way you spend your money, but also shameless as you also attempt to monitor my own finances. You're sheltered and you don't understand the real world, including my own and all those around us. You—”

A swift slap across his face halted Wonwoo from proceeding. It hadn't hurt him in any physical way, merely resulting in the combination of silencing him, turning his head in another direction, and perhaps a slight sting at most. Though what truly struck at Wonwoo's heartstrings was the sharp gasp that followed the initial impact, and in his peripheral vision he could see (y/n) grasping the hand that had slapped him, as if offended by her own action.

He took the suddenness of the situation to gather himself once more, regaining his composure to the best of his abilities before slowly turning to meet (y/n).

His breath had become shaky upon the sight of her. Tears streaming down her face, hands clamped over her mouth in a feeble attempt to silence the sobs bubbling out of her. Her body trembled with the whirlwind of emotions broiling within her, and Wonwoo could see it all as clear as ever. Shock that she'd ever strike Wonwoo in such a way, never in her wildest dreams had she envisioned inflicting any harm to him. Confusion, seemingly in reference to both the slap that catapulted them into this moment of silence though also to the events which had led up to it. Desperation, as if wanting it all to end, not wanting to experience another moment of this ordeal, hoping it would all end soon, or even better if it would have never even happened in the first place. Though the most overwhelming emotion riddled all through her tear ridden gaze was that of despair. Because no matter how much she reflected upon herself and Wonwoo, no matter how much she prayed that this was all a sick figment of her imagination, there was no denying that what had transpired was in fact very real, and unchanging. Wonwoo said what he said, and as the silence grew longer and longer, it was clear there was no chance of him denying his words.

He inhaled shakily, at this point fully rendering the permanence of this situation, and thus allowing himself to momentarily falter in his stoicism.

“Must I continue?”

The next few seconds felt like a blur. One moment he was staring at (y/n), eyes darting to every feature he could, memorizing the curves and lines of her face, imprinting the image into his mind. Allowing himself to admire her one last time in person, even if the image before him would forever haunt his dreams. Every time he'll think back to her, he'll be met with the cruel reality that he allowed her to leave his side for the final time as a broken, defeated woman. Though perhaps it was what he deserved. To be forever reminded of his transgressions, and to forever reflect on what he's done to the one he loves.

Though this hadn't lasted long, for in the next moment, she was quickly rising from the couch and away from him. He sat still, unmoving as he listened to the raucous behind him. Her grabbing her things from the counter, sliding her shoes back on, and then the opening and closing of the door.

What he hadn't heard was the lock behind her, a telltale sign that the one thing she made sure to leave behind was the extra set of keys he had given to her. And at that point, alone in his apartment with the lone hum of the radiator to accompany him, he allowed himself to finally let go, releasing the broken sobs that he'd tried so desperately to restrain whilst in her presence. His cries wracked through his body, loud and pained with reckless abandon. His body gave up, caving in on himself and collapsing onto the floor, barely even strong enough to catch himself before he had curled into the cold, unforgiving hardwood floor.

Once more, time felt more a construct than ever before, for he hadn't any idea the duration of time he spent there, grieving for what he had lost. The pit in his stomach grew cavernous, churning with the absolute nothingness now occupying his insides. Despair consumed his being, imbibed in every fiber of his person, ensuring there wasn't a single remnant of the joy (y/n) had once instilled into him. Regret coincided with his downfall, memories of what once was now being met with memories of what had just occurred. Images of (y/n) smiling at him collided violently with images of her final mortified expression, alongside the onslaught of tears staining her face that he had been the cause of. Though the one all encompassing emotion that overrode everything else was that of pain. Pain riddled his entire body, clawing away at him, scarring him forever. This overwhelming emotion that burrowed into his soul and demanded his attention. He felt it in his gut, his chest, his head, though it soon bled to every square inch of his body, reminding him that it wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

Days had gone by since the break up, and Wonwoo found himself once more sitting at his couch, staring at his ceiling, listening to the radiator hum away. It was sickening to him how time continued to march by, not sparing him even a moment to recover from the plight he'd gotten himself into. Time continued, and so did life. The mundane routine he had made for himself returned like clockwork. Bartending throughout the week before returning home. Though even if he had lived through life like this for longer than he could recall, the now apparent emptiness of it all lingered tauntingly before him.

The lack of shoes to greet him when he'd return home to toe off his own. The silent kitchen as he cooked for one. The TV had remained off ever since, and instead he spent most of his spare time in front of his monitor playing games in hopes of it distracting him from the loneliness now consuming his life.

This was the first day he actually decided to sit on the couch since. The first day he sat in front of the TV, albeit with the screen still completely black. The first day he allowed himself to try and confront what had happened.

His head lolled to the side where (y/n) last sat, and in his self deluded mind, he could practically see the manifested image of her beside him. The clear image of what she looked like that day still fresh in his mind. Though the longer he recalled, the more he could remember of (y/n).

He could still feel the touch of her lips upon his own, her breath hitting the shell of his ear as she whispered sweet nothings to him, the warmth she'd radiate as she cradled him against her. The memories of her felt not only alive with the surroundings of his apartment where they lived together, but also forever imprinted on his person alone.

Weakly, he pulled himself forward, leant against his knees as he attempted to ground himself back to reality. As sweet and oftentimes bitter the memories were to him, they served no purpose other than tormenting him. He needed to move on first before he could think back fondly at what they once had. Though it was always easier said than done.

His hand swiped down his face, rubbing away the exhaustion from his eyes as he reached for the mail he had haphazardly tossed onto his coffee table.

Flipping through the stack, he was met with his usual itinerary of garbage and junk mail. Though one crisp envelope captured his attention. Unmarked, though from the quality alone, Wonwoo could tell it held some significance to it.

Mindlessly, he tore open the letter and extracted the singular sheet of paper within. An unmarked check, signed by none other than (y/n)’s father with only one remark written on it.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

♗ (a/n): hello! this was my first request and also my first like pure angst fic! I do feel really bad for having suddenly dropped off the face of the earth for a good two months, so I hope this is okay. I had fun writing! I mostly sat there reflecting on some psychology 101 type of ethics lol.

[cutestkilla]

Happy time-has-lost-all-meaning-because-my-kids-are-somehow-still-on-summer-vacation Sunday, and thanks for the tags today @blackberrysummerblog @rimeswithpurple @roomwithanopenfire @shrekgogurt @bookish-bogwitch and

@ivelovedhimthroughworse, I'm excited to read your shares! And also to everyone who keeps tagging me in week after week even though I haven't shared in months.

I've been working on Ch 6 of Hiding Out in the Open for a not insignificant chunk of time, but I've either been too busy doing that or just feeling like it's too rough to share. Until today. (So convenient that I feel like it’s ready to share since I’m posting it tomorrow for my dearest @artsyunderstudy's birthday ❤️😂.)

Please join me for our irregularly scheduled Baz spiral which I think might(?) technically be six sentences:

Snow’s kissing my neck now, working his way along my throat in a way that turns my insides to jelly. So naturally, it’s the perfect time for Father’s voice to join the cursed chorus of doubts in my head. Even though he seemed resigned when I called last week to break the news that actually I would be abandoning the hallowed halls of Oxford for the unwashed masses of the LSE in the autumn—thank you for that Daphne—he still managed to forward one brand new objection I can’t seem to completely set aside. “Your aunt tells me you’ve been…seeing someone” —(faithless hag)—“and while I certainly hope you have better judgement than to do this because of a”—he’d pointedly cleared his throat at this point—“romantic entanglement, it remains my duty as your father to warn you. You cannot pin your hopes and dreams on the fickle affections of a twenty-year-old boy”—(yes, ambiguously referring to a twenty-year-old boy who could also be me is the closest my father has ever come to acknowledging my sexuality)—“because while it may feel like it’s forever right now, believe me when I tell you that young love very rarely lasts. Basil—please don’t throw it all away over some silly summer fling that’ll be over before Samhain.”

Tags and hellos for all under the cut, and since Sunday is basically over please consider this a tag in for Wednesday when I may also miraculously share something (or not because I'm taking my kids to a fair).

@hushed-chorus @whatevertheweather @emeryhall @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @aristocratic-otter

@bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @skeedelvee @thewholelemon @monbons

@fatalfangirl @whogaveyoupermission @captain-aralias @j-nipper-95 @iamamythologicalcreature

@raenestee @ileadacharmedlife @onepintobean @martsonmars @brilla-brilla-estrellita

@angelsfalling16 @best--dress @run-for-chamo-miles @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ic3-que3n

@larkral @letraspal @messofthejess @moodandmist @mooncello

@nightimedreamersworld @orange-peony @palimpsessed @prettygoododds @noblecorgi

@stitchyqueer @technetiumai @that-disabled-princess @theearlgreymage @urban-sith

@valeffelees @youarenevertooold @cosmicalart @wellbelesbian @alexalexinii

@forabeatofadrum @supercutedinosaurs @theimpossibledemon

[merrycrisis-if]

What are the ros top 3 emojis they use?

Personally for my mc are: 😊🙊🙆

Nat

A true boomer when it comes to technology/texting would rather meet irl or call, even if its just to say hi. It shows in the emoji choices. <author relates>

😊🤩❤️

Shay

Flirty text extraordinaire. Though they also tend to leave people on read because they generally prefer to find a time to hang out in real life.

😘😏🙈 (and for some reason when I imagine Shay in an established relationship, I'm convinced they'd use 👀 and 💩 often)

Qiu

Absolutely not an emoji-user, even in high school. They have something against the fact that emojis have VAGUE and AMBIGUOUS meanings.

Sometimes uses :-) or >:( or :] though. The one time they typed :p, MC did not stop giving them shit / citing it for WEEKS after

[quinloki]

Art of Quill

Not Quin's art! Comms I've collected of my OC Quill.

In my ever increasing journey to get more comfy with my OC and my eventual OC/insert Story project, I've been getting art of Quill.

This is going to be a LONG LONG post cause I'm including art and tagging who I can tag.

Most of said art is by @yamiyamiart and as delightful as it is, it's not something I can post to tumblr XD

But I can share the Rayleigh x Quill one since it's merely suggestive xD 😇❤️ (And a Kid x Quill that I am pretty sure was the first thing I comm'd from Yami when I was still hesitant to throw my smutty ideas at someone)

Today I go an adorable piece by @aholepeach (who is that on bluesky and a_hole_peach on Twit). He pulled me in with his comics, and I love the kind of grimy soft vibe of his art.

(It's beautiful and skrunky - it has a weight to it that's present both in the body and the emotions, and I just really love it.)

Just look at it \o/ ❤️

@magnuspool also helped me out back before I even knew Quill was going to be named Quill. I had naught to give this art goddess by a handful of words and a very very smol idea.

I love everything about Mags, and the amount of nervousness I had approaching her for art would probably surprise a lot of you. She's super cool though, and a delight to work with. If you catch her comms open, don't be shy!

Polizon from twitter did a really great job with the composition on the request I had - aside from some direction on Quill I didn't provide any other references ^_^

I just love that they're both very much capable fighters AND researchers. (What can I say, Fullmetal Alchemist was one of my first absolute favorite animes and you have to train the body AND mind.)

Last, but by no means least, is @stevienix - who took a waist up Pic crew for reference and gave me a nice full body for Quill ^_^ (I cannot overstate how much I need those boots in my life.)

She's an IRL friend, we've broke bread together so show her some love, and be nice while you're there too.

@mew-ya was the first person to draw me Boy Mode Quill, and gods I love how it came out

@sylarcookie drew my OC Quill and did an AMAZING job - you should check her out, I love her style and how soft and warm all her work is.

add the birthday arts!

From @cebwrites Quill and Kirin sharing a drink and trading tales

@macbethsymphony who drew these amazing pieces - I love the smooch, but I really love the gender ambiguity of the pieces

@leftsidebonfire who drew her OC Unaek having a cute moment with Quill \o/

[dronarryfest]

Here we are on week two of Dronarry Fest 24! We've had some incredible works this week. Here's a roundup of everything from week 2 (last week's post can be found here). Thank you to all of our wonderful readers for commenting and kudos-ing - keep them coming! We've got one more wonderful week of works to share with you from Monday onwards! Until then, why not stick the kettle on and catch up on what you've missed...

[FIC] The Favourite || E || 17k || by @mallstars

On a throne of glitzing clutter, Draco Malfoy sits like a degenerate prince. His robes are the colour of sour champagne, celestial patterns stitched across the sweeping silk where it drapes over sharp shoulders and cradles a spindly waist. A rain of glitter dangles from one of his ears, and his expression is nauseating. The curl of his lip, the upturn of his pompous nose. Draco is a criminal. Harry and Ron are the Aurors who arrest him.

💭 absurdly hot- horribly hot? hotly horrible? perfect - garagepaperback

💭 holy moly this just drips with atmosphere and tension and its glorious... i love love love this fucked up dynamic thats also so sweet and human and morally ambiguous and hot - littlepocketbattleship

[FIC] Nightswimming || M || 5k || by @sweet-s0rr0w

Weasley flicks the light on. “I got off with a guy once, you know,” he says, casually, holding the torch up between his gloved fingers. “What?” says Draco, glancing over sharply. “No, you didn’t.” “I did,” Weasley insists, and there’s an air of mischief about him now. “Just after the divorce.” Draco tightens his grip on the steering wheel and wills his eyes to stay on the road, a dozen different scenarios playing out vivid in his mind. “But Harry’s never—” “Yeah, well.” Weasley clicks the torch back off. “Turns out Harry and I don’t share everything, after all.”

💭 This was wonderful!! The tension, next level 🔥🔥🔥 and I love how Harry is such a big part of this even though he's not physically there. So clever! - lemonlimelea

💭 What a feast - the prose, the dialogue, the teasing curiosity morphing into irresistible want, the clever and careful character development underneath it all. Everything so masterfully crafted and scorching hot I could feel my cheeks burning and they haven’t even kissed. What the fuck. I’m entranced still 🥵 - sitp

[FIC] Welcome, Peasants || E || 15k || by @fluxweeed

Ron was doing Draco a favour by agreeing to investigate him. Better Ron than someone who’d plant something horrific to get Draco sent to Azkaban—or some pervy Potter fanatic who’d spend the whole hour sniffing the dirty clothes on Harry’s bedroom floor. Even though Ron had to take Polyjuice and break into their flat to do it, Harry and Draco would understand. They’d appreciate it. And if Ron had done more “investigating” and less “snogging his best friend while Polyjuiced as said best friend’s secret boyfriend”, maybe it would have all been fine.

💭 Love the dynamics between the three of them - and the reveal that Ron caused Harry and Draco to get together was so unexpected and absolute perfection! Hot and amazing as always, I’m so delighted you choose to share these with us. ❤️ - rainstormradish

💭 I absolutely love that Ron is so absolutely bad at it that they clock him immediately, leaving him with his squirmy, guilty, horny feelings as they rightly should. Perfect interplay of the three of them. Yes! Yes! yes! (One for each of them). - skeptique

[FIC] Careless || E || 2k || by @piximera

They hadn't seen anyone in weeks, making them a little careless about the protective charms. Unfortunately for once they really fucked up, leaving them in the clutches of six Death Eaters. Being caught was bad enough, but then Scabior forces Draco into raping Harry in front of them before the Dark Lord arrives.

💭 HOLY SHIT this WAS dirtyhotwrong for sure! 🔥🔥🔥 Wow. Fantastic job, and thanks so much for the gift 🥰 - Schmem_14

💭 This is so dark and angsty, love seeing this take on the pairing. Thank you!!! - oknowkiss

[FIC] Dick Chicken || E || 14k || by @oknowkiss

This is a story about nothing.

💭 HOW DO YOU DO IT?! Can I climb inside your brain and live there?! God this was so goddamn amazing. I just love it more than I can say. - nv-md

💭 oh my ever-wanking LAMB this was too brilliant. i am going to die of having read this fic. it is simultaneously too funny (in honor of the source material) and too hot (not at all in honor of the source material). - elskan_ellis

[aloysiavirgata]

Thanks to @numinousmysteries for tagging me! I had never checked these stats before!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

92

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

484,620

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I’ve written for Hannibal, Battlestar Galactica, The Fall, and The X-Files, but only The X-Files at this point.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Parting Glass (smut)

Animus Possidendi (dark smut)

The Common Fate of All Things Rare (casefile, cowritten)

Lacuna (casefile)

This Her Fever (cancer arc)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes and no. Not like I should. I am so deeply, truly grateful for every single one.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Well, I killed William in Inhaling the Different Dawn, but that wasn’t at the end.

Maybe Where The Vines Cling Crimson? Scully’s cancer comes back and her fate is ambiguous. And I had Scully kill Emily in Alabaster Stones. But I think that was the right ending for both of them.

As a mother? A Basket of Reeds, where Scully gives William away. I can’t even reread it without a lump in my throat, man.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Tent of Shelter is fluffy and lovely gets a lot of love, and was inspired by a STUNNING manip by @avocadoave but I personally think In The Gale. It’s the one that, to me, feels the most like a grownup relationship of two people processing some trauma. I think that’s an ending that’s happy and also real - like “I don’t love being broken, but I can survive being broken with you.” Two abeyances that lean…

Foxfire for similar reasons. I real love that little story, which I wrote thanks to @perplexistan

I’m 43. I’ve been married for well over two decades and let me tell you that young love is a gift and mature love is a craft.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Some! And that’s really great too, that people read words I wrote and felt so passionately that they left me words about those feelings. What a strange but profound compliment!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do. PWP isn’t my personal taste so even though I wrote a LOT of smut for the old pornbattles at LJ I wanted the smut to still tell a story.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I can’t say it’s especially crazy, but Fern Hill is a Mulder/Stella Gibson crossover. There are a few little ficlets with XF/Silence of the Lambs crossovers in my Inbox Prompts series.

Oh fuck! Wait! I wrote a Fall/Hannibal/XF crossover called Anthemoessa where Stella, Scully, and Bedelia all meet. Okay that’s it. That wins.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Years ago. God, isn’t that sad? To need positive reinforcement that much?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! It was SUCH a compliment!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have - The Common Fate of All Things Rare

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Mr. Virgata and me. Followed by Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, who literally invented the word. ❤️

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The Fisher King

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I do pretty good banter and my education makes me pretty good at the sciencey bits.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I get too lost in descriptions and I try too hard to be clever. I do my best to self edit but sometimes I reread things and I’m like oh my GOD SHUT YOUR PRETENTIOUS ASS UP.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I’ve done it for Bedelia and Hannibal in Italian. I’m not sure I understand the question?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

TXF, my one true love.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I don’t know that I have a favorite per se. I am most proud of the ones that challenged me to do something outside my comfort zone. Samson is one of mytop fives even though it’s Mulder/Diana. I think I did a nice job. I also wrote Pair of Aces/Double or Nothing which is Scully/Byers.

But I do really love the world of Petrichor and Singing of Mount Abora, and I like the cases.

[hellonerf]

im just wondering, could you expand on how you see americas character? im really interested in how you characterize him and how much youve thought him through.. especially the deeper parts of his personality .

wow this is very sweet 😖❤️ i'm flattered whenever people say they like my characterization(usually i assume people think i'm crazy or something). um i don't really know where to begin here. if you're curious most of the most notable things in my mind i put in the "ame bible" tag on this blog. 😊 i have an old drawing from march that has like most of the "core" parts of my ame written down but i don't like the drawing anymore so i'll just list down what i wrote that time here ->

> going with canon that he's physically 19 maybe 20ish. i think a youthful boyish demeanor suits him -> adding on to this, a pretty important part of him to me is that he is immature. most of the time the maturity he can show is performative and comes from imitation. that plays into another thing i think about him where he imitates normal people's emotional/social interactions without really "getting it"(why i say he's emotionally inept)

> often susceptible to paranoia and (to some degree) a kind of neurosis -> my add-on for this is that i'd just wipe out the "to some degree" i only wrote that back then because i was shy about my hcs LOL. he's neurotic. he is

> he is difficult to deal with... annoying, frustratinng, exhausting (ambiguous mental disorder lol) -> still true. i still have "ambiguous mental disorder" floating around him whenever i think about him lol. mostly only because he'd never acknowledge it so it'd never be talked about

> thoughts are contradictory often--high anount of cognitive dissonance (doesn't dwell too long on these) -> again still true, kinda plays into the "emotionally inept" thing to me? because he doesn't like actual examination his thoughts get tied around in knots like this. and he doesn't look at them enough to untie it so it just keeps building up 🤷‍♂️

> need for attention often reaches heights he's unaware of -> i feel like i didn't word this that clearly. i meant it in that he is an attention seeker and he knows he is but he doesn't know just how far he'd actually go for it until he keeps pushing it. i think this kind of thing still needs a catalyst for him of course(like someone withholding that attention for example lol...)

> 100 step skincare routine akin to patrick bateman or cassie euphoria -> lol true

> fundamentally lonely, or he'd believe himself to be -> nowadays i'd scratch this to just be fundamentally lonely. maybe it's not entirely true but i think it's applicable by itself. it is kind of self inflicted like this though

> some kind of self pity but only the right amount that he doesn't ever better himself -> lol true

> (doesn't dwell on how he treats others partly due to this)(he seems to not dwell on anything emotional in his point of view) -> i'm kind of laughing at how vague my wording in these are because i was so shy about my headcanons 😊 chill out... anyways i think this is still true also that he is cruel to others and it feeds into how he thinks because otherwise he would have to confront how cruel he can be and that conflicts with his self image hard. in his eyes he's reliable and cool and powerful and he treats people badly but "only if they deserve it! only if they had it coming!". if he dwells too long this whole idea crumbles(throwing back to the cognitive dissonance thing). he's not at worst a trickster hero, he's just not a hero at all. but even if i think his hero gimmick is played up and he somewhat knows its not serious it's still a part of how he views himself. like he's thinking maybe he's a little arrogant a little narcissistic but he's not bad! in a way he IS the hero people just deny it! that kind of thinking

> fake but sometimes he doesn't view it that way, sometimes he does -> what i just said about my old vague wording lol... anyways. he's fake this is just the truth. he knows somewhat he's fake (actor moment) but it's not like. he doesn't see it the same way other people would? to him it's just social sleuthing. it's just here and there to get things done 🤷‍♂️ as far as anyone besides himself know, it's kind of his entire being. like he doesn't perceive how big his lies are lol

> in the end he likes to think of himself as better and more put together than he is, but he is not capable of not being "himself" one way or another -> ? why did i insist on wording these in the most confusing ways possible. but well yeah he thinks he's more in control, of himself specifically, than he actually is. on his self image too.

> more self aware than he wants to be, not as self aware as he thinks he is -> it'd be great to him if he was genuinely unaware of how he is at all. but he's also playing up how much he acknowledges about himself here

> a lot of him smells of artifice. but physically he smells like mostly a clean, chemical scent (like drycleaner) -> i still stand by this! i guess it depends on where he is though? if i had to choose another scent it'd be like a soda or something. or depending on the region or something. but most of the time i think he smells like this

> comparatively low pain tolerance but still bashes his head on walls and gets into fights -> i think he's a stupid baby who actually doesn't do that well with pain. i guess compared to other countries is what i mean? i mean i think it depends on the current state of the country too. instead of sharp pains he's dizzy or something... but he has elaborate forms of self harm anyways

> bad with tears of any kind from anyone (actually seriously insensitive) -> true! i think about ame crying now more often than i did back then, but it's still true. he doesn't cry a lot and he's actually good at not crying. it's not like he had to train himself to cry less it's just not a need most of the time. his negative emotional responses are sanded out usually. when someone else cries he is genuinely really out of his element. if he's not being deliberately cruel he's really awkward with it

> body often bounces between more chub or muscle depending on how obsessive he gets about it, basically never skinny but i still suck at bodies -> i would hope i've improved at drawing bodies at this point 😭 i lean into drawing more chub on him because drawing muscle seriously pisses me off. and he's cuter like that 😊. anyways this still applies! but i should say when he's being obsessive about how his body looks he doesn't accept "excess fat" (he doesn't have a good view on this). if he's trying to be muscular it's in the particular kind of impossible model way, not in the way of natural muscle gain. and i don't think he'd like being skinny. his ideal body is a specific one that he has to work to maintain(which makes everything worse when he's really fucked up about it)

> not normal about food but we all knew this already -> playing into the previous point. ame my princess. sorry(he's killing me with rocks) but it's still true! in the way i described before. it's always true we all knew this already. i think in terms of eating disorder it's more like ? a binge eating disorder? i don't really know specifically. things he feels he should have control over but he doesn't. mentally devastating

> sometimes genuinely apathetic, sometimes idgafness played up -> self explanatory i think sorry my fingers are starting to hurt

okayyy that's all pretty much 😊 well no not all. if you're really curious just read through my posts because ame insanity is in all of them and i'm serious. important things unmentioned : all of these every single one applies to my genderbend ame i think this is obvious but i need to say it they are functionally the same person in my mind. if i had to think what makes me think of ame like this it's probably cause before i reread or rewatched hetalia i watched the musicals first lol. but to be honest i think this is just how he is in my mind? like even without the musicals i'd just view him like this. partly because of my own view of the united states of america as an entity, as a foreigner. ame as a concept and such and such... i was so shy about these headcanons then because it was straight up how i viewed his mental state like i couldn't view it any other way if i tried. this is my default read of ame and i didn't want someone to be like you're fucking insane? thankfully people like it somehow. thank you for reading all of this if you did ❤️ bye my hands hurt

[jadesea33]

My thoughts on The Book of Carol teaser/sneak peak.

I know I’m going to be reiterating what many of you have already said, but I recently had a friend remind me that every voice matters and so I’m going to add mine to the chorus.

First: I’m SO excited to have Carol back. I really, truly am. I adored her scene in the sneak peek. It felt true to her character and Melissa’s acting was sublime (as always). I loved seeing her riding Daryl’s bike and using his crossbow. It reinforced her emotional drive to find him and what we all anticipate the series to now be about: her relationship with Daryl, the bond she shares with him.

But where, in what we saw of Daryl in these clips, did we see anything related at all to his bond with Carol? Nowhere, is the answer. Which makes it all feel incredibly one-sided.

And look, I understand Daryl has things he’s dealing with in France. My issue is that I don’t want to see Carol hurt. She’s risking her life traveling across the ocean for him and so far we’ve only been given ambiguous crumbs that might suggest Daryl has maybe thought of her on occasion while he’s been away from her.

Would it have been so hard to include one sound clip of Daryl talking specifically about Carol? Because I don’t think it would have been and even just that, one single mention of him thinking about Carol, would go a long way for me in feeling more confident that Carol will get her happy ending. Because whether romantic or not, it’s been made clear that her happiness lies with Daryl. I want to know he feels the same because she deserves that. They both deserve that.

Okay. I could go on and on about this but I won’t. I do want to make one more note though: I know some of you think this kind of talk is being negative or that those of us who speak like this are just trying to spoil the fun. But I promise that negativity or spitefulness is not where my thoughts are coming from. They are coming from a place of hope. Because I care so deeply about these characters that I want to see them treated with the love and respect they’ve earned over the course of so many years.

Why should we settle for whatever it is we can get, when we can state what it is that we want? With any luck, TPTB will be listening and will make decisions based on our desires because we (Carylers) are their target audience and we all, ultimately, want the same thing: for Daryl and Carol to be together and happy. Because they are soulmates. Because they both deserve a happy ending. And we’ve been given scene upon scene, year after year, that tells us their happy ending is with each other.

If you’ve read this, thank you. And I send love to you all.  ❤️

[neoncowgirlposts]

Ohhhkay so I saw @bigtreefest post earlier about cevans characters in pickup trucks (yum) and had a long winded thought that became basically a one shot. 😭😭 This was super rushed and is my first time posting anything I’ve written so be nice please! ☺️ Love you besties!!!🩷🩷🫶🫶🫶🥰🥰🥰

Ari Levinson x reader | No minors pls! 💓 | I’m 99% sure this is gn!reader and racially ambiguous BUT if not PLEASE let me know and I will edit it. ❤️

You and Ari were on a recon mission that was only supposed to last a few days, but for some reason had dragged out to a week. It’s pushing two in the morning as he drives down the highway through the wooded, monotonous landscape. Not that it matters; it’s too dark to see outside anyways, and the headlights are too old to help much.

You knew Ari well enough to know he wouldn’t replace them until they truly gave out on him. That was how everything was with him. ‘Til the wheels fell off. Not that you minded. It was sort of comforting that he was so stuck in his ways, rejecting anything new in favor of his worn t-shirts and jeans, books with creased spines that he’s read a dozen times, and his dark blue, crew cab pickup truck.

Your line of work lacked routine, predictability, and most of the time, safety. In spite of that, Ari was always there, consistent as ever, grounding you, a gentle reminder of reality. Yeah, he could be reckless, but at the very least he was consistent.

Driving along, running your fingers lightly over the cracked beige leather of the passenger’s seat, you wondered if his sentimentality regarding his belongings served the same purpose for him. Comfort. Reminding him of his life and identity throughout all the chaos. You guessed so.

He had owned the damn truck longer than he had known you; a transitional object throughout the tumultuous seasons of his life. Almost like a child’s blankie, you thought with the breathiest little giggle.

He stirred next to you.

“Thought you were asleep,” he said gruffly, breaking you from your thoughts in the no-longer silent cab.

“No, um, I was just looking out the window. I woke up a few minutes ago. I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” you replied softly. He was exhausted, his eyes puffy and breathing slow. You both hadn’t slept for almost 36 hours when you had finally made it back to his truck. Though you had offered to drive, he refused and told you that you needed to rest.

“You didn’t disturb me. Not at all. I just want you to be able to sleep.”

”You need to sleep, too, Ari. You’ve been up almost two days.”

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” letting the endearment slip in his groggy state. “Don’t worry about me.”

He was okay. He would be okay. He could always endure more and suffer longer if it meant he could absolve you from having to do the same.

“Ari,” you said a bit more firmly. “Switch me. You need to sleep. The nearest town is 90 minutes away. I don’t want you to have to drive that far.”

”It’s okay. I told you it was fine. Go back to sleep.” His hands gripped more tightly at the spots they had worn into the steering wheel over time. Your gentle care and consideration of him had always made him feel some type of way, but his fondness for you and your comfort outweighed the blush licking up his neck at your thoughtful demand.

“No. Let me drive.”

“I’ll drive a little longer until we can find a motel to check into. Just drop it.”

”Ari get out of the—“

”AH, Shit!!” He yelled as he abruptly stopped his truck, startling you.

Ari breathed out a sigh as you trembled slightly at his sudden outburst, thinking it might be at you. He faced away from you as he inspected the dash, leaving you uncertain with tears brimming in your eyes and a quivering lip. Things had been hard lately. You felt like you couldn’t catch a break; your life was wild and you felt out of your control to a point of discomfort.

You whimpered quietly, tired, overwhelmed, and unaccustomed to him yelling at you. Registering the noise, he was torn out of contemplation and met with your watery eyes and ruddy cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he rushed, concerned at your state as he put the truck in park. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not upset with you, okay? I didn’t mean to yell or scare you. The gas light turned on and we don’t have enough fuel to get us to the next town and check into a motel. I’m just frustrated in general, I’m not mad at you. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

His large, calloused hands had reached out to you slowly and began rubbing up and down your arms. You sniffled and nodded at him, tears leaking out of your eyes as you snuggled further into his baggy hoodie he had let you wear.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Ari,” you wiped furiously at your eyes, trying to calm down. “I’m sorry for crying I’m just o-overwhelmed with everything and we’re b-both exhausted and-and I—“

”Shhh, it’s okay. I know, it’s okay. Fuck, I know this sucks. I’m just gonna pull in to the shoulder of the highway, just a bit behind those trees. We’ll sleep in the truck.”

You nodded silently and closed your eyes, breathing deeply as his warm palm slid across your thigh. He shifted the truck into drive and expertly pulled behind a few of the larger trees, under the canopy but still in view of the road. You felt him shift again just as quickly into park and remove the keys from the ignition.

“I’m gonna grab a few things from the bed of the truck, okay? Why don’t you hop out with me and take a few breaths of fresh air and then I’ll make up a bed for you in the backseat.”

“I- Ari, what? Where are you going to sleep?”

He chose not to answer, hopping out and walking ‘round back. Choosing to trust him instead of argue this time, you nod and hop out of the passenger’s seat, yawning and stretching your arms above your head while he rummaged through the back. He comes back a few moments later with a rolled-up sleeping bag and thick, flannel blanket.

He gestures you to follow to the drivers’ side of the truck, and you wander after him obediently. You’re so used to being on guard all the time that it almost feels nice to have him be in charge, ordering you around. If you were any more lucid, you probably wouldn’t admit that to yourself, though.

He pulls open the door the backseat and reaches inside, wedging the sleeping bag against the back right window of his pickup. He hops out again and faces you.

“What are you doing?” You question. He only saunters to your shivering form and wraps you in the thick blanket and effortlessly scoops you up bridal style and walks back towards the open door.

Your stomach flips at his ability to manhandle you, but you try to shove the feeling down in an effort to avoid facing the other conflicting emotions you might feel towards Ari.

He gets up into the backseat of the pickup and lays you down so your head falls on top of the sleeping bag. He begins to tuck you in but you turn to stop him.

“What about you?” You ask softly, the concern in your sweet face pulling at his heartstrings.

“I’ll sleep outside. Keep watch. Don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Shooting up at his response, his chest tightens, waiting for you to argue back. He liked that about you. You didn’t ever back down from him. You were firey, but sweet and kind all the same. But tonight, he just wanted you to rest and be comfortable. Ari knew how hard you had been pushing yourself and just wanted to grant you some relief.

You took a deep breath and faced him. “Ari, listen to me, please,” you spoke earnestly. It threw the man who had just been waiting for a scolding.

“I just want you to be comfortable, okay? You’re the most selfless man I know. You always try to put me and everyone else before you. I appreciate it so much. More than you know. But please,” you looked at him from under your lashes and reached to caress his cheek. “Don’t go sleep on the hard ground. I want you next to me. To lay with me. Please.”

A stunned look graced his beautiful features. He almost always knew what to say, but hearing you plead for him to lay next to you shocked him. Ari brought his big hand up to yours which still rested on his cheek and grabbed it. You looked directly at each other as he ran his thumb over the back of your hand and leaned down to kiss your palm.

“Do you think there’s room?” He finally said softly, making you snort.

“Just get over here, you big dork,” you said through a smile.

You pulled him flat on his back while you both kicked your shoes off. His head landed against the makeshift pillow while you closed the door. His knees were bent and you smiled awkwardly down at him as you locked the doors.

“There’s a nine millimeter under the-“

“Oh my God,” you laughed, snuggling on top of him and into his warm chest.

“Just in case,” he smiled down at you. You adjusted the blanket so it fit over the both of you and wrapped your arms up around his neck. Ari held your waist with one hand and the back of your head with the other, petting your head and lulling you to sleep.

“I’m sorry for snapping earlier,” he said into the dark, but you shushed him before he could continue.

“It’s ok, we’ll figure everything out in the morning. I just wanted you to hold me.”

[v-67]

JJK S2 SPOILER ALERT!!

Watching S2 of JJK and I'm actually scared

I've kinda seen spoilers (which is why I hate spoilers) which hinted that the ending is too much. (Don't tell me anything though, idk the ending, I've just heard it's brutal)

But it's like, now I know it's going to be something brutal and it's difficult to face that.

So I'm watching S2 after having postponed it for such a long time.

And I swear, it has me gasping and laughing and fearing and everything.

And why, wHy. Why every time a character goes like : I wanna see everyone, I wanna be with everyone. And bang. Killed. 🙃

Also, rip Mechamaru. That was sad. He had just gotten his body, and he wanted to see everyone and then, again🙃

The emotional torment is brutal.

And I'm so worried about these 3 idiots, and when I saw Gojo's past w Geto, and the whole thing of protecting the star plasma vessel, in this case, Amanai, and the thing that later on happened which I referred up above.

I kinda wanna pin point what exactly was it that triggered Geto.

Was it those monks who were laughing like that? Was it Amanai's death? Or was it this over all perception which just pushed him into thinking this way towards the end? And I know he wants to build a world only w sorcerers, which will in turn/ might in turn put an end to cursed spirits or atleast limit them but I'm not sure how exactly would that happen.

But when they showed Geto's perspective, the part where he says, Exorcise, absorb.... Repeat repeat repeat. And he explains how the taste of the cursed spirit is like the one of a cloth which was used to wipe vomit. And all of that. And that is the end of the future of him as a jujutsu sorcerer seeing the dead bodies of his friends. I kinda got him a little bit, of why he was being driven towards such a goal. But I'm still not absolutely clear. I want to know what exactly triggered him, the exact point. Was it Amanai, was it seeing the dead body of his friend, was it Gojo's words, was it those star something monks? WHAT exactly was it.

And what exactly is his end goal. How is he going to do it. And why did he say that to Gojo while going away. He tells him, Are you Gojo Satoru because you are the strongest, or are you the strongest because you are Gojo Satoru? And adds to that, that if he was him, this goal would be achievable. And that he has chosen his way of life/path or something along these lines. EXPLAIN ME WHAT exactly do you mean by that? It is a bit ambiguous or am I thinking too much within that.

Also Jjk has so much information dump in every single episode😗, Like pls wait, let me comprehend what exactly is happening. I still don't have a proper grasp on what exactly is Gojo's power. Like i know, but I want to know.

Young nanami looked so much like an emo kid

Yo, also I'm worried about what's going to happen next. I'm actually a little scared of watching the next few episodes.

And also also, as of now from the place I am at anime i am given to understand that Yuji will have to die in the end because it's like what the contract was and all of that. A part of me still hopes ah, that we'll figure out something and he'll survive. But within these probabilities, where 70% weighs on death due to Sukuna and that contract and etc, I get really really sad because I don't want him to die.

I'm also worried about Megumi, the man was hell bent okay w dying. No. Not allowed sorry. I also hope his sister wakes up and that they all live happily.

I'm worried about Nobara too, she's also very unhinged. I love her unhinged energy though.

I wanna see Inumaki. He's my 🫶

Will post this after I complete the whole season 2.

Or Maybe I'll post this and make another post when I watch more episodes.

I'll post them together because i don't want someone accidentally spoiling it for me🙃❤️

Do not spoil it for me. I hate and despise spoilers. Okay? Please. Sending warm hugs. So don't, okay? Thanks.

Isss time to conquer our fears so letssss watch ahead.

.......

Oh hey, it's not so bad

I was fearing that Gojo was going to get sealed and that was it and the thought made me anxious

But they're all fighting and would get him back

Also the fights are SO SO SO GOOD.

The action is so beautifully choreographed

And it's a relief that Geto is not really Geto, Geto's body reacting to Gojo's words really made me happy. So who is this bitch in Geto's body.

Also JJK 0 is canon and relevant to the current storyline, I had no idea, I've watched it 3 times, it's crazy good.

I'm on episode 14 right now. And it's intense and dark and the fights are crazy good.

I felt bad for Ino :(( and also Ichiji san :((

Felt really really great when Nanami just broke that stupid guy <3

Also somehow Toji is now resurrected???? I was happy he was dead because I was worried about him meeting Megumi or something but what

I hope they get to break Gojo's seal.

And I hope no one dies.

.....

So I finished watching it🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

Nanami died🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

Idk if Nobara is alive?🙃🙃🙃

Inumaki's arm🙃

Yuji sentenced to death🙃🙃🙃

What in the fuck🙃

Gojo is still sealed🙃🙃🙃

Not the principal also being sentenced to death🙃🙃

And Gojo as a co-conspirator???? Are they out of their mind???? I think all this passing of orders is instigated from one more guy who was a traitor who is in the higher ups.

Also found out that within Geto is that creepy guy obsessed with curses from over 150 years ago

I never disliked Choso, he is a curse but he's a little different, and in the end him calling Yuji his brother was just out of the books. There must be some sort of connection though. (That scene where panda asks Yuji if he's sure he's not releasing some kinda pheromones because first Todo and now this guy)

Also Toji coming back was so out of the books, and the way he just killed himself after, it was somehow so emotional and carried so much feelings and heaviness. He did care for Megumi after all. And he helped all of them a lot tbf

Also I hope Todo is okay, and in his locket was the picture of Itadori and that idol, it was weird and sweet both😭😭😭

The stupid guy in Geto's body put the curse on 2 people, 1 was Megumi's sister and who is the other one? And what's going to happen to Megumi's sister. It's scary. (Don't give me spoilers, I'm curious, but don't spoil it)

Everything took a dark turn and I have to wait for years now to see what happens next🙃 ( I mean I know I can read but I wanna watch anime) (don't give me spoilers pls)

But seriously what the fuck🙃

Not Nanami guys, not Nanami😭

The fights were indeed crazy good but the trauma is greater🙃

....

Completed watching JJK S2, I was right when I said in the beginning that I was scared to watch it.

30th June, 2024.