#because he is actively dangerous inside and out of the games

[grudgecollector]

I find it so funny when people say Nam-gyu is the scariest character of the season when In-ho is literally right there

[chuluoyi]

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍

- sylus x reader

when your husband went away without so much as a proper notice, you thought you wouldn't forgive him so easily. but he tries everything to capture your heart back: spoiling and indulging you… little do you know that he expects a reward in return

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—rotten fluff, domestic bliss, explicit smut, cunnilingus, fingering, mating press, taking elements from sylus' card night of secrecy, secret times approaching dusk and spoilers! from myth beyond cloudfall

note: my first sylus x mc fic! with this i'm spreading the soft!sylus agenda and that spicy 4-star approaching dusk has destroyed me :') loosely based on this post

Sometimes, you do wonder... does Sylus really think you're that easy to placate?

On one chilly morning, you woke up only to discover your hunk of a husband gone... and in his side of the bed, a sticky note.

Your eyebrow twitched as you read the audacious message scrawled on it:

Hey, kitten. I need to leave for a few days. There are things I have to handle on my own. Take care of yourself while I’m away. I’ll come back soon.

That was it. No clear explanation, no further details. Just those vague words in such short notice. The day before, he’d seemed like his usual self, not a hint of this sudden departure in sight.

It irked you. It made your heart clench at the same time. Because even after marrying you, Sylus remained elusive, playing his cryptic games. It was beyond you how he didn't even stop to consider how you were left worrying about him while he drifted in and out of his dangerous world without a second thought.

You understood the reality of your lives—that you were a hunter and he was the Onychinus leader, and that to be with him meant you had to walk that fine gray line between light and dark.

And you'd already made your choice. You had accepted it—accepted him—wholly. Even when your marriage had been a rushed affair and registered under false names to protect both your identities.

Things couldn't go on like this. You had to teach him a lesson too.

As your irritation simmered into determination, a devious plan began to take shape in your mind—a way to spite him just enough to make your point crystal clear.

Two days later

Sylus was done with his dirty business faster than he thought, and to appease you, he had come bearing gifts.

The precious little thing that is now his wife, of course he missed you too. But your safety was a price he wasn’t willing to gamble. If going away to take care of those pests meant your peace would be unperturbed, then he would leave without hesitation.

However, as he stepped inside the base, his relief quickly turned to unease. The space was eerily empty, the usual hum of activity conspicuously absent.

Normally, you’d be at the center of some commotion, locked in a spat with either Mephisto, or Luke and Kieran. But now—

“What do we do?! She’s gone!”

Sylus immediately rushed to the source of the ruckus, thinking something bad had happened to you. He found his henchmen standing in a tight, anxious circle around the coffee table.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Without a word, they stepped aside, revealing the object of their concern: a single note lying on the table.

He snatched it up, scanning the words. Then, he let out a sharp exhale of relief, a smirk began tugging at the corners of his lips.

Catch me if you can.

Typical. Absolutely typical. And maddeningly you.

. . .

That night, you had a very strange dream, it felt almost felt like stepping into the pages of an ancient tale.

You were a fallen princess wrongfully accused as a sorceress, who began consorting with the fearsome fiend from the Abyss.

The sorceress and her dragon. Together, you were an infamous pair, a dark legend whispered across generations. Your union had ignited Doomsday itself... and yet, amidst the turmoil and destruction, the sorceress fell in love with the dragon... deeply and irrevocably.

The dragon, in turn, was utterly bewitched by his little witch. He indulged your every whim, no matter how mischievous or perilous, and though he rarely spoke of his true feelings, he always found ways to show his affection.

The lucid dream felt as though it might go on forever, but you were pulled from it by the soft brush of lips against your forehead. The warmth lingered, blurring the lines between dream and reality, until your eyes fluttered open.

“Sylus...?” His features, fresh from your dream, now materialized in your reality. It took you a few seconds to realize that he had come here—

“Morning, sweetie.” His voice was rich and smooth, with that familiar, mischievous edge. A smirk curled on his devilishly handsome face as he leaned in, garnet eyes gleaming with playful intent. “Caught you now, hmm?”

The haze of sleep vanished in an instant, and you were suddenly wide awake. In a flurry, you shoved him away and turned your back on him, trying to regain some semblance of control.

You’d left the N109 Zone for one of his safehouses in suburban Chansia City, thinking it would take him some effort to track you down. Clearly, you’d underestimated him.

“Oh. The kitten is in a bad mood, it seems.” Sylus’ gaze lingered on you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do I owe the ire for?”

“...”

“Silent treatment, huh? The lady of the house is getting better at our little games while I was away.”

“...”

“Remember, sweetie, there’s no divorce in our relationship, hmm? If you’re tired of me, keep taking naps.”

You felt the weight shift as he rose from the bed and stalked away. The door clicked shut, leaving you in the silence of the room.

You wanted to resent him for coming and going on his terms, for never offering even an apology. Yet, no matter how much you tried, a part of you remained hopelessly tethered to him. The part that couldn’t ignore the reminder of the dragon from your dream—captivating, powerful, and infuriatingly hard to resist.

You love him, really you do.

. . .

When you didn’t come down for breakfast some time later, Sylus barged into the room once again, and this time he came up with a different approach.

“My lady,” he began, his voice sickeningly low and sweet, but his eyes gleamed with a touch of mischief. “You haven’t had breakfast yet. Please come down.”

You shot him a look, unamused, and decided to play his game as you crossed your arms together. “What if I don't want to?”

His smirk only grew, his tone dripping with mock formality. “And what must I do to change your mind?”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but notice his persistence. He had chased you here, given you more time to sleep in, and now stood before you to get you to eat. You felt your resolve beginning to soften—maybe just a little.

“Carry me there,” you said with a hint of defiance, lifting your chin high, daring him to follow through.

Sylus tilted his head, failing to restrain his snort. “As you wish, my lady.”

He placed his arms around you effortlessly, one hand beneath your knees and the other supporting your back, lifting you into a flawless princess carry. You instinctively put your arms around his neck, and he turned to you.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire off a sharp retort, but before you could, he dived in—

Smooch!

—and planted a bold, wet kiss on your lips. You, wide-eyed, punched his chest in retaliation. “Sylus!”

He chuckled, entirely unfazed. “Careful now, sweetie. Wiggle too much, and you’ll fall.”

He carried you downstairs, effortlessly navigating each step with you still in his arms. Once there, he gently set you down onto the dining chair, and that was when you noticed the table.

Salad, slightly burnt toast, scrambled eggs, milk—simple dishes by all means, but the thought the big, bad Sylus making them?

Wait. When you arrived last night, this place was a dusty shell, and the refrigerator had practically nothing—

“You cleaned the place?” you asked, your tone laced with surprise as your turned from the spotless room to him.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why is that so surprising? I can cook and clean just like everyone else.”

It sent a wave of warmth through your chest. He’d prepared food and cleaned the place knowing you’d be hungry and uncomfortable with dust all around.

You huffed, trying to hide how your heart fluttered. “No, your cooking skills are questionable at best.”

As if to prove you wrong, Sylus disappeared into the pantry and reemerged with a tray of warm, freshly baked dough that filled the room with a heavenly aroma.

“You are... baking?” You approached him, mystified at the sight of your husband, who usually at the scene of crime, behind the counter and started frosting the cupcakes.

He set the frosting bag down and picked up a cupcake, holding it to your lips with a teasing smile. “Here. Open up.”

Dutifully, you nibbled on the cupcake, and the sweetness immediately spread into your mouth. “It's tasty,” you mumbled, blinking at him. His eyes crinkled with satisfaction as he gestured toward the tray.

“Go have some more.”

Grinning, you grabbed another cupcake and eagerly took a bite. Munching away, you missed how Sylus’ gaze softened, his bright red eyes focused solely on you.

He couldn't resist pinching your full cheeks at that moment.

“Sy-wus!” you protested, glaring at him. His laughter broke free that instant, warm and unrestrained.

Utterly funny, utterly precious—that’s what you were to him.

Indignant, you scooped up some icing from the cupcake and smeared it right across his face. The stunned look he gave you was priceless, and before he could react, you burst into a fit of giggles and bolted out of the kitchen.

But as you reached the base of the stairs, a strong arm caught your waist from behind, halting your escape. You squealed in surprise, “Noooo!”

Sylus leaned closer and pressed you to his chest, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Ha. Did you really think you could get away that easily?”

He lifted you up with one arm and brought you back to the kitchen, setting you down on the counter and trapping you in place with his arms braced on either side. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he leaned in, and with a grin, he bumped his frosting-smeared nose against yours, leaving a sticky smudge.

“This is unfair!” you protested, still caught in a fit of giggles as you looped your arms around his neck for balance. Sylus chuckled along with you, his gaze steady and warm, never leaving yours.

Being with Sylus in the kitchen like this, savoring simple meals and smearing each other with frosting, it made you realize that you craved this domestic bliss more than you thought.

As the laughter subsided and you both settled into the quiet, your expression softened, all your previous grievances forgotten. The tenderness in your eyes said everything you didn’t need words for, and Sylus could see it clearly—you adored him, just as much as he adored you.

The one who gazed into his jewel-like eyes, embraced his burning soul and sang to him in the night wind... is once again in his arms. A part of him was almost sentimental at the thought.

Instinctively, he closed the distance between you, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. But as they were about to meet, he paused, as if hesitating, leaving you puzzled.

Then, without a second thought—

To hell with it.

You chose to abandon all senses. You seized the moment—yanking him to you and capturing his lips, claiming him for yourself.

“…!” Suck, suck, bite, suck— You were relentless, and you didn't really know why. At first, even he was taken aback, but then his hand slipped behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in an intoxicating rhythm.

“Mmm...” You sneakily began to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one, your fingertips grazing his warm skin with each deliberate motion. Feeling it, Sylus broke the kiss just enough to smirk, his voice husky. “Getting bold, aren’t we?”

But before you could respond, his hands trailed down your sides, firmly pulling you closer, leaving no space between the two of you. His gaze burned with desire, as if daring you to keep going.

Then, without warning, his lips began their descent, grazing your jaw softly before trailing down to your neck and chest, leaving a trail of warmth and shivers across your skin. The feeling was intoxicating, even as his hair tickled you, making it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Ahh,” you couldn’t help but sigh, pressing him closer.

His lips left wet marks on your neck, and he whispered, “Now tell me... what made you so upset that you left home?”

When you didn't answer right away, one of his hand slid beneath your blouse, unhooking your bra and grazed your skin—

“You... keep coming and going as you please...” you stammered, feeling him begin to cup and squeeze your breasts, your breath growing erratic.

Sylus bit down on the skin at the nape of your neck, and you almost gasped.

“It's almost as if— Mmm—” The way he fondled your chest made the space between your legs grow warmer. “—you wouldn’t... miss m-me at all...”

How untrue. He stopped his ministrations, and the steel behind those eyes you loved so much met your gaze once again.

His wife was a mess of sweat already. He swiftly hooked your thighs around his waist and claimed your lips once more. With effortless movement, Sylus guided you to the long recliner in the room, laying you down there, still lost in the heat of the kiss. His hand intertwined with yours, pinning you to the soft surface.

“So...” he rasped, breathless against your lips, “You’re upset that I didn't miss you when I was away...”

His other hand worked to unzip your skirt. “But don’t you know? I... was worried about my wife getting into trouble when I wasn’t with her too... That’s why I was in a hurry to go home...”

Sylus pulled away, both of you panting for air, and he took a moment to savor the sight of your glazed eyes.

“But then I couldn't find her anywhere.” His voice was low and taunting, trailing his fingers on your belly. “I made it back as soon as I could, just like I told you and you are the one who misbehaved... Don’t you think I deserve something as a compensation?”

It took you three solid seconds to realize that the lower half of your body was now exposed. Your husband parted your legs and settled his face between them, pressing a kiss on your knee.

“So I believe at the very least... I deserve this.”

He dived straight for your clit then and you let out a loud gasp.

“Ngh! Aaah...!” You let out incoherent moans as he devoured your folds, lost in the cloudy haze of pleasure. It didn’t take long to unravel you at all.

“Mmnh—!” Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head. Ticklish, hot, wet— all in all, it felt like a sin, but you just had to get this heavenly taste. “…a-ah!”

Sylus felt how you were this close to get your orgasm, so he moved faster, licking and sucking your clit, while adding a couple of fingers to bring you to the peak faster. You unconsciously moved your hips against his face— too far gone to be thinking anything else, grasping the leather of the sofa and pulling his hair—

“Ahh— S-Sylus!” And then you came hard, screaming his name, feeling how much it was— were you squirting?

You didn't know, didn't care either, as it was the sight of his ruby eyes that grounded you. You were spent, spread on the sofa (most probably ruined it, even), your chest heaving to catch your breath.

Sylus let out a low rumble as he wiped your juices off his lips with a thumb and tasted it, looking so sinfully sexy like a forbidden fruit while at it.

“You said... I wouldn't miss you.” He traced one finger on your face with such tenderness. “Now, I'm going to show you, and you'll be judge of it. Are you sure you don't want me to stop?”

If you said no, he would comply. That was the kind of person he was and you knew it. Sylus had always looked out for you since the very beginning, no matter how nonchalant he made himself to be.

“No.” You met his eyes, your voice steady. “Show me.”

It was the only affirmation he needed. He began unbuckling his belt and pants, keeping his unclouded gaze on yours, and soon he too was bare before you.

He was thick and long, and while you had taken him many times, it was never fully easy to ease the intrusion. His tip was already slick with precum, and he spread it along his length.

“You know the rule,” he murmured with a meaningful smile. “If it becomes too much, you scream, and I'll stop.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, sliding in slowly. The sharpness of the stretch seeped into you bit by bit, and you couldn't help but groan.

“—!” A sharp hiss escaped you as he fully sheathed himself inside, hitting that sensitive spot. Had your eyes deceived you, or was there a slightly noticeable bulge in your belly from where he was?

Sylus seemed to notice it too, but he folded your knees, spreading you further. His gaze intense and filled with something deep, something possessive. The room seemed to narrow, your entire focus consumed by him as he settled in close.

“Eyes on me, kitten.” He gave you a smile, and with that, he started pounding you—

“Ah, hah, ahhh!” You couldn't stop moaning beneath him as he thrusted into you. The feeling of him so deep inside, coupled with the way you tightened around him, sent waves of blind pleasure through you.

Sylus’ eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he watched you squirm under him. Your skin glistened with the heat of the moment, and the sound of your breaths, frantic and needy, filled the room. His control slipped, just a little, as he pushed deeper, his movements faster, chasing the release that quickly building within both of you.

A pretty mess, his wife is. Your face contorted in a mix of pleasure and pain as he bred you, and he swore, of everything he had gone through, this look in your face was always worth it.

“Sylus—!” you almost wailed, nails digging into his back, and he growled, knowing full-well that he was finally losing it.

Just like that he shot his cum straight to your womb, his own body shuddering, thoroughly rutting into you. You cried, tears falling from your lashes as you too reached your climax.

Full, too full... Yet you knew that you wouldn't have it another way.

. . .

It felt warm and comforting.

Your eyes fluttered open hours later, and the first thing you noticed was Sylus' sleeping face, and that you were now in the bedroom.

He looked so vulnerable like this. You couldn’t help but be drawn to how serene and unguarded he was, a side of him that only you got to see. Even in his sleep, his arms were wrapped around your waist, as if to protect you from anything that might disturb your rest.

Your lover... and then husband. He was rough around the edges, sometimes didn't make any sense at all, and often reckless enough to burn himself playing with fire.

“You sly crow…” You gazed at his profile, still in awe that this elusive man was your husband.

Sylus was easy to read sometimes, and you couldn’t help but smile at your earlier doubts about him. How could you not see just how deeply he was attached to you?

Just like the inseparable pair of dragon and sorceress in your dream, you knew you’d stay by his side until the very end.

Out of a playful surge of affection, you tapped his nose, and he grunted softly but didn’t wake, instead nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, seeking more of your warmth. It was cute, how he was so worn out that he sought comfort in your embrace.

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead then, vowing with everything you had that you’d never let him go, and that with him by your side, you would definitely made this life you shared a happy one.

Several weeks later...

“Thank you, miss!”

The boy bowed his head with a wide grin as soon as you handed him the red pocket money for Linkon New Year. You waved at him, smiling warmly as he skipped away, clutching the envelope in his hands.

The festive occasion inspired you to pay a visit to a nearby orphanage, driven by a desire to share more of the joy and blessings. You brought small gifts and red envelopes, hoping to bring a little light to the children’s lives and make the celebration even more meaningful for them.

Of course, Sylus tagged along too. He was the benefactor, after all.

“Sir, thank you for your generosity.” The headmistress approached Sylus, who looked effortlessly sharp in his red suit, and gave his hand a shake. “The children are really happy with the cupcakes and pocket money.”

He merely chuckled and pointed at you with his chin. “Thank her, my wife is the one with the idea.”

You joined the conversation shortly after, and it didn’t take long for the topic to shift from the orphanage to your personal lives.

“So, do the two of you have plans to start a family soon?” the headmistress asked, her tone warm and curious. “Both of you are still young, and you're so good with kids. Having children of your own might bring even more joy into your lives.”

You mustered a polite laugh, the words to gracefully deflect her comment forming on your lips, when—

“Soon,” Sylus interjected smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. “Very soon, in fact.”

You blinked at him, startled by his bold declaration, while the headmistress’s face lit up with approval. You nudged him discreetly.

As soon as the headmistress went on her way, you turned to him with a frown. “Why would you tell her that?”

Your gaze met his, clear and utterly clueless. Sylus snorted, so tempted to pinch your cheeks, but settling instead for a tender pat on your head.

“You'll see soon enough, sweetie,” he replied, his tone laced with playful mystery.

Epilogue

It was the dead of night when a sudden wave of nausea overtook you. Stumbling out of bed, you rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before retching up the contents of your stomach.

Your body trembled as you stood, dizziness threatening to topple you. Leaning heavily on the sink for support, you rinsed your mouth, trying to steady yourself. The effort left you shivering, your legs almost buckling beneath you.

Before you could even comprehend the blur in your vision, a pair of strong arms got a hold over you. “S-Sylus...?” you murmured faintly.

Without hesitation, he lifted you into his arms securely as he carried you back to the bedroom, his expression shadowed with concern.

As he settled you onto the bed, he held you close, pressing your face against his bare chest that peeked from his unbuttoned shirt. “Take deep breaths,” he urged softly, his voice grounding you.

You inhaled shakily, letting the familiar warmth of his scent calm your frayed nerves. Slowly, your breathing steadied, though the nausea still lingered in the back of your throat.

“Is it the first time?” he questioned, smoothing your hair. “Have you thrown up before?”

You shook your head. “No... I get dizzy spells but that's it... This is the first time.”

Nausea, dizziness, vomiting. It wasn't hard to piece together what it was. Amidst your dazed thoughts, the realization hit you, and you turned to your husband almost in wonder. “Sylus... a-am I...?”

Sylus broke into a smirk, ruffling your hair. “Told you. I know your period is late.”

Your heart skipped a beat—and it was the only thing you could hear in that moment. The thought that a baby would enter your lives left you briefly speechless.

“Yeah, at the rate we're going, it’s like we’re bunnies,” you quipped sullenly, trying to regain a sense of control as you leaned into his broad chest.

You really thought he would poke fun at you for your highly possible pregnancy, but instead you were taken aback when he pressed a fond, lingering kiss to the side of your head. His arms tightened around you, his soft chuckle reverberating through his chest.

And when you found his gaze again, his jewel-like eyes softened into such an extent that made your heart soar.

“Well, aren’t I the luckiest man— having this fair lady be the mother of my child?”

[greengoblinswifey]

Solace—Kang Dae-Ho/Player 388 x Fem!Reader

summary— Dae-ho has had a crush on you since day one but it takes him almost losing you for him to gain the courage to confess. Based on this request.

warnings— usual squid game activities, fluff, friends to lovers, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— hope you guys enjoyed my first dae-ho fanfic <3 been extremely busy, i don’t even have time for myself :((

From the very first day, Seong Gi-hun took you under his wing when no one else would. You stuck with his group because of his genuine care for your well being and for—him. Player 388 whom you learned to be Kang Dae-Ho.

During the first game, Red Light, Green light as per Gi-hun’s instructions, you were to keep still and hide behind a player.

From the moment Dae-ho stood beside you in the first game, he was mesmerized and had an inkling to protect you.

Before the music stopped, he ran in front of you, shoving you gently behind him. “Stay behind me! Don’t move.”

Confusion swirled your mind as to why this stranger was helping you, but you did as you were told and as you made it across the line you thanked him. Dae-ho’s breath hitched as you wrapped your arms around him reluctantly and he returned the sentiment, resting his chin on your head.

“You saved my life,” you muttered, pulling away.

“I-it’s no problem, really. It’s the least I could do.”

From that interaction, you couldn’t keep your eyes off each other. You had that effortless charm and aura that pulled Dae-ho in. He wanted nothing more than to be able to have you be his—to have you in his arms but even a marine who had encountered many dangers had overwhelming nerves.

You were magnetic, a radiant presence that drew him in like a moth to a flame. Your beauty, both inside and out, left him breathless, and he often found himself lost in your eyes, captivated by the warmth they held. Despite his shyness, he couldn't help but admire you from afar, his heart racing each time you laughed or smiled.

In your presence, he felt a mix of awe and nervousness, wishing he could express just how enchanting he thought you were. Every moment spent with you felt delicate, where words sometimes escaped him, but his gaze spoke volumes, revealing the depth of his admiration. You were his muse, inspiring a quiet affection that blossomed in the softest of glances and the sweetest of smiles.

So, he opted to show his care through protecting you in any way he could. Outside of that, any interaction you had would be filled with him stuttering and developing rosy cheeks.

He was never really shy around women in the outside world or with the other female players—like Jun-hee who was in the group. It was just you. You had that pull on him no else did.

During the Six Legged Pentathlon, Dae-ho ensured you were included in the group and he cheered you on as you successful won Ddjaki with little effort. Your confidence and ability drew him in even further.

When it was his turn to complete his game, you were right by his side, encouraging him with your kind words.

“You can do it, don’t be nervous,” you smiled softly, “I believe in you.”

Dae-ho went on to successfully complete Gonggi and you immediately pulled him in for a hug, almost toppling everyone over but it made his heart flutter.

Walking back into the dormitory, his eyes were fixated on you, tired but grateful to be alive. You all collected the small portion of food and sat around to eat. As Gi-hun spoke, he completely zoned him out, his focus remained on you.

“Uh, here, t-take this. You need your strength, you did great out there,” he stammered.

“I couldn’t. You need your strength too,” you smiled.

God, your smile. It was one of the the most beautiful things about you.

“I’m a marine, I have all the strength I need.” You chuckled, the sound music to his arms and took his share of food from him.

That night, Dae-ho only had one reoccurring thought in his head and it was you. He wanted to confess, to see if you felt the same way but he didn’t know how.

In the cold bunk, you lay on your side and unbeknownst to Dae-ho, your mind was on him. You were just as infatuated with him as he was with you, but since he never explicitly said anything, you pushed it to the side. He was just being nice. He didn’t have feelings for you and you were delusional to even think so.

He was cute, strong and sweet, there was no way he would go for a girl like you. Especially in the midst of all this chaos, there were more important matters to deal with. At least—that’s what you thought.

The game that followed was Mingle, but as usual, it wasn’t as simple as it looked and came with a deadly twist.

With your heart in your throat, you stepped onto the platform waiting for it to spin and the music to start playing. Dae-ho stood close by, trying to keep an eye on you while also looking out for the rest of the group. It was probably the most hectic game so far.

The spinning had you almost lose your footing and as the platform stopped and a number was called, chaos erupted.

Players grabbed each other, some even bouncing you and running into rooms. Meanwhile you were a chicken without its head, running away from the group when you should’ve been running with them. It was the last number and being so close to death that many times had left you discombobulated.

Dae-ho tried to scan the room for you but it was cut short when he was shoved by the others into a room. His heart beat so fast he thought it would tear out of his chest as he looked through the hole in the door for you.

Meanwhile, just before the countdown ended, you quickly ran into a room that thankfully did not have the maximum amount of players. You looked on as players were eliminated in cold blood, just grateful you were able to survive at the very last second.

Dae-ho’s room was suffocating. He sat huddled in the corner, his knees pulled to his chest, trembling hands clutched tightly together. What gnawed at him the most was you. He didn’t know where you were, if you were safe, if you were still alive.

When the guards herded the players back to the dormitory, Dae-ho didn’t care about anything else. His eyes darted around the room frantically, searching every corner for you. His breath hitched as he scanned every face, his heart dropping when none of them were yours.

And then, there you were.

You stood near the back of the room, brushing dust off your clothes, looking tired but unharmed. Relief hit him like a tidal wave, and before he could stop himself, he was sprinting toward you.

“Y/N!” he called.

You turned, startled, just in time to catch him as he practically collided with you, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“Dae-ho?” you asked, shocked.

“You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”

You smiled softly, though you were still confused. “Yeah, I am. Are you okay?”

He pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks, his hands trembling slightly as he looked at you, scanning your face as though he couldn’t believe you were real. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

“I thought—” His voice faltered. “I thought you might not have made it. I was scared. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him, so vulnerable and raw. “Dae-ho, I’m fine,” you assured him, your hands resting on his wrists.

He shook his head, as if trying to gather his courage. “I—I have to say this now. I don’t know if I’ll get another chance. I like you. I’ve liked you since the day I saw you. You’re so beautiful, so smart, and so kind. You make all of this—this nightmare bearable. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I—”

“Dae-ho,” you interrupted, your voice soft as your cheeks warmed.

“I mean it,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. And today, when I thought I might lose you, I couldn’t—”

You smiled, cutting off his rambling by leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. For a moment, Dae-ho froze in shock, but then he melted into the kiss, his hands still cupping your cheeks.

When you pulled back, your smile widened at the dazed look on his face. “I feel the same way, Dae-ho,” you admitted.

“You—you do?” he stammered.

“I do,” you said, a small laugh escaping as you watched his face flush.

A loud whistle interrupted the moment, and both of you turned to see Jung-bae standing a few feet away, grinning from ear to ear.

“Finally!” he said, crossing his arms. “I thought I’d have to spell it out for you two.”

You rolled your eyes, and Dae-ho ducked his head, clearly embarrassed but unable to stop smiling.

“Shut up, Jung-bae,” you said playfully, though you couldn’t hide your own grin.

Dae-ho held you close like he never wanted to let go. His arms were firm around your waist, his head buried in your shoulder as he whispered, “I can’t believe you’re in my arms right now.

You reached up, running your fingers gently through his dark hair. “I’m here,” you said softly, leaning into him. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. His eyes searched yours, still in awe. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice low and tender. “I’ve dreamed about this—about holding you, about just, having you close. I never thought it would actually happen.”

“I’m glad it did,” you whispered.

He smiled, his lips brushing softly against your forehead, then your temple. The kisses were tender. You closed your eyes, melting into his touch as you snuggled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

When night came and the dormitory was quiet, everyone else fast asleep, Dae-ho hesitated as he stood by your bunk.

“I should go,” he whispered, though his body betrayed his words, lingering close.

“Stay,” you said softly.

He froze, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. For a moment, he looked uncertain, but then he nodded, climbing into the narrow space beside you.

You turned to face each other, lying so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. His hand rested on your waist and you reached up to trace your fingers lightly along his jawline.

“Hi,” you said softly, a small smile on your lips.

“Hi,” he echoed, his smile widening.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. It was soft at first, almost shy, but as his hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, it deepened. His lips moved against yours with a passion that had been building for days.

Without thinking, you shifted, moving to straddle him. His breath hitched as his hands instinctively settled on your hips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your cheeks flushed, and you leaned down, your lips pressing against his again. “You said that already,” you teased softly.

“And I’ll keep saying it,” he replied, his hands gently running up and down your sides. “Because it’s true. You’re incredible. I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whispered, cupping his face in your hands. “You’re here with me, and that’s all that matters.”

Dae-ho pulled you in for another kiss, this one deeper and more lingering than before. His hands rested on your hips and you instinctively shifted, your body moving on top of him in a way that made his breath hitch.

You froze for a moment, realizing that he was hard, and then let out a soft giggle. “Oh,” you murmured, the corners of your mouth curling upward as you looked at him.

His face flushed immediately, and he stammered, “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off gently, placing a hand on his chest. His heart was racing beneath your palm. “It’s natural.”

He swallowed hard, clearly embarrassed, but you tilted your head, watching him carefully. “Do you—want me to help with that?” you asked.

His eyes widened slightly, and he stuttered, “I—I mean, only if you want to. I don’t want you to feel like—”

“I want to,” you said softly, cutting through his nervous rambling.

For a moment, he stared at you, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief. Then he nodded, his voice low as he murmured, “Okay.”

You quietly slipped out of your bottoms, and he did the same. As you positioned your pussy over his raw, hard cock, his hand found your waist. He was already leaking from the tip and you took ahold of his shaft, dragging it along your folds. With a low gasp, you sank down onto his cock, the size of him stretching and filling you.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice trembling with awe. “So perfect.”

You moved slowly, your pussy adjusting to him as your hands pressed against his chest for balance. His grip on your hips tightened, his eyes locked on yours. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he murmured.

“Believe it,” you whispered back, your bounces becoming more fluid as you found a quiet rhythm together.

“You feel so good,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice strained. His hands guided your movements, his fingers digging into your skin. “You’re fucking, incredible, y’know that?”

A soft smile came on your lips, and you leaned forward slightly, your breath mingling with his. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, earning a breathy laugh from him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck, you’re going to ruin me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You giggled softly, brushing your lips against his. “Then we’re even,” you replied.

The two of you moved together quietly, his hips thrusting upwards and meeting your bounces. Every whispered word of praise, every soft touch, made the moment feel almost surreal. He held onto your waist tightly but gently, afraid you would slip away and in awe at how you moved on top of him.

His forehead was pressed against yours, jaw agape as he felt your tight pussy move up and down his shaft. You bit your lip attempting to hold back your moans, he was hitting spots inside you no one else had.

And as you both reached your limit with him throbbing inside you and your pussy quivering, he whispered, “Please, cum with me.”

You nodded, your body trembling as you followed his lead, your hands clutching his shoulders for support. You moaned softly as you felt his load fill you up and your pussy clenched around him as your release washed over you. His arms wrapped tightly around you as he buried his face in your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

When you came down from your high, you both stilled, your breathing heavy but quiet. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his hands still resting on your hips as if reluctant to let go.

“We should get dressed,” you whispered, your voice tinged with amusement and exhaustion.

“Yeah,” he agreed, though he didn’t make a move to pull away just yet. Instead, he looked up at. “Thank you, beautiful,” he said softly.

You smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Anytime,” you replied.

The two of you quickly redressed, your movements careful and quiet. As you settled back into the bunk, he stayed close for a moment, his hand brushing against yours.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered again, his eyes soft and full of warmth.

“So are you,” you replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before he returned to his bunk.

Even as you drifted off to sleep, you could still feel the weight of his gaze on you, a silent promise that you weren’t alone.

[wtfaniii]

I can do it alone, but he can also save me

Fem reader x Hwang In-ho / Fem reader x Hwang Jun-ho

Part 1 // Part 2

•Summary: Jun-ho's girlfriend was a decorated policegirl, strong and brave, she, along with Gi-hun were taken to the games to stop them, however, there was a setback in between

•Note: Thanks for the support! Here I bring you the second part of this one shot that is personally one of my favorites.

•Warning: Maybe some drama, Some violence and attempted abuse, ¡Don't worry! this man arrives on time like a prince on a white horse

N/A: I haven't checked this yet, sorry if it has spelling mistakes

Gi-hun had told some participants that the next game would be dalgona, but it was not so and now they were upset with him, surrounding him and complaining about his mistake, calling him a "liar."

—You guys decided to play these games —the girl said standing in front of Gi-hun —Face the consequences and don't expect someone to come and save us.

—He's a fraud! —Player 100 shouted at him, pointing at accusingly and with contempt.

—ibelieve in him word —001 interrupted, standing next to her.

Due to the first impression that the two made on all the players, the complaints immediately stopped and retreated.

—It's nothing, I really believe you —Young-il said with a friendly expression

—And if you allow me... I would like to be on your team.

The next game would be in teams of five players, counting the girl, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho and now Young-il, they were full, however, when they were talking to get to know each other a little, a woman with the number 222 on his uniform approached them cautiously.

—¿Can I be on your team? Please —Jung-bae was going to interrupt her to tell that they were full but the young woman finished his sentence first —I'm pregnant.

The five pairs of eyes fell on the small bulge of her belly and noticed that it was true. Immediately, the woman spoke. —I'll look for another team.

—¿Are you sure you'll do it?— In-ho asked, looking at her carefully. A person who looked out for someone else's well-being in these games was rare to see, but considering the situation, it was quite understandable. He wouldn't give up his place if he wasn't so interested in his enemy.

She nodded confidently and left to find another team, it didn't take long, after all, most people took advantage of having someone like her on their team just by considering the word "police" in their introduction.

Once the teams were formed and they were told what had to do, they sat on the floor to wait the turn.

As time passed and gunshots mixed with screams sounded in the background, the young woman thought silently.

¿Will Jun-ho be okay? She really hoped so, she had known him for four years and knew that there were times when he could go to extremes to get what wanted.

It was something she loved about him but right now just worried about.

—¿What game are you going to play? —246 asked sitting next to her, momentarily taking her out of his thoughts.

—Gonggi —answered immediately, she was very good at that game, it had been his favorite since she was a child.

The others nodded and continued talking, she didn't go there with the intention of socializing too much.

For starters.

She was only there because Jun-ho had asked her to.

Jun-ho...

She just hoped him could find her and Gi-hun in time.

The policeman had no intention of stopping now, even without having the tracker active and with the fact that apparently someone was sabotaging them from inside, he was not going to stop searching.

The woman he loved was in those games, that wasn't going to be the plan, she was only supposed to be Gi-hun's bodyguard but things didn't go as planned.

—I think we should stop, it's almost time to eat and we're a bit far from the shore.

—We can't be so close now —he said, somewhat irritated and helpless. —Every minute they spend on that island is a danger.

He felt guilty for having dragged her into his own problems.

He remembered the last conversation he had with her before he lost sight of her.

[...]

—We are police officers —Jun-ho said, showing his badge to the guard who was guarding the entrance of the place

—Just like everyone else tonight —the man said with a mocking laugh, pointing at the long line waiting to get into the Halloween party.

Jun-ho didn't have enough patience to tolerate this, so with no other choice he went up to the man and took his gun out of his pocket.

—¿Do you want to see if this is a toy?

The guard stepped back in fear, giving them free passage.

The girl smiled proudly and waved her hand as if it were hot while sighed.

—That's my man —she boasted to the guard as they crossed the entrance. Jun-ho managed to hear her and inevitably a sly smile appeared on his lips.

—We have to find him before they do —he said, referring to Gi-hun searching the crowd but no masked pink guard was visible.

—It will be faster if we separate —she added, taking out her weapon and pointing it at the ground just to be ready in case used it —When we leave here it will be fondue night —she said without losing her charming touch.

It was something they both shared, despite being in tense situations like this, comments like that were never lacking, especially from the girl and that was something Jun-ho adored, her daring was part of what made the policeman fall in love with her.

—Maybe I should drag you into my problems more often —He replied with a smile and separated from her.

The girl was the first to find Gi-hun and surprisingly they let her get into the limo with him.

Jun-ho was unhappy about that but he couldn't change her mind and just when they thought they could intercept the front man of those suicide games they were forced to make a last-minute decision by shooting at the tires of the cars.

[...]

His stomach turned just remembering what people go through inside those games, he trusted that she could survive but the odds of not making him tremble and want to vomit.

—Okay... we'll call off the search —He relented after a few minutes.

He looked up at the sky and asked whoever would listen him to keep the woman he loves alive.

Meanwhile on the island, they had managed to get through the second game alive, she was sitting with Gi-hun's team silently watching around them when 001 sat next to her.

—Hi... —he greeted her with a soft smile, hoping that the mask being Young-il was convincing enough to fool her —I'm curious... if you're a police officer, ¿how did you end up here?

—¿Debts? —She replied with a false smile —My job was to take care of Mr. Seong but it didn't turn out the way I had in mind —she admitted, looking away again but feeling Young-il's intense gaze on her.

—So... ¿you're here as an undercover agent? —he asked, feigning surprise and curiosity.

He himself was the one who gave the order to allow her to also get into the limousine to accompany Gi-hun.

In-ho knew his brother would be worried about her, searching for her relentlessly, but it was inevitable, he needed to meet her in person and be sure how good of an influence she was on Jun-ho.

Or at least he thought it was a good excuse.

—Yeah... —She looked at him silently and attentively when she noticed a certain peculiarity in him appearance —¿Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like I've seen you before...

Him face seemed familiar but she couldn't figure out why. In-ho kept eye contact with her, waiting for her answer.

It was a pity, if she recognize it him had no other option to let her die in the next games but luckily for the girl she denied it.

—Forget it, I'm just stressed ¿And why are you here?

—My wife is sick and pregnant.

She looked at him with pity as he told her his story, it wasn't a lie, it was just that it happened years ago and he couldn't do anything to keep her alive.

—I'm sorry —The girl said after he finished his words.—I promise we'll get out of here and I'll help you as much as I can with the expenses.

The police had money, not to say that she was a millionaire but she lived in a good social status, she was willing to help him only because her heart was softened by him story.

–You barely know me, ¿why would you do that?

—My boyfriend has also had a somewhat hard life and I took this job for a reason, to help others.

She did not consider herself a saint, but if she had the opportunity to do something good for other people, she would do it regardless of the consequences.

—Also... I think I'm pregnant —She said with a small smile.

How chaotic and unfair could fate be that just one night before she was to go to the medical laboratory for her results, she was taken to those games against will.

On the other hand, she could also feel a slight connection with this stranger, which was why she revealed that to him so naturally, but she still didn't know exactly why.

—I have to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back.

He nodded and watched her leave but his eyes also noticed three other suspicious looking players who followed her into the bathroom.

Without thinking twice he also stood up.

Not even two minutes had passed since she entered the bathroom when a woman grabbed her by the collar of the jacket and threw her backwards, making her fall on back.

–¿You remember me? —the woman demanded, looking at her with disdain and annoyance

—No —She answered standing up.

—You threw my husband into prison and won't be out for another twenty years —The woman pulled out a small pocket knife and another woman stood behind the police girl to hold her —I thought about how to kill you for days.

—Very cute, I still don't know who you are.

Those words only made the woman even more furious as lunged at her and tried to stab her,

Her hard training served her well in this unarmed fight.

But she was counting on another man to come in to help the two players who were trying to kill the young policewoman.

—Three against one unarmed is not fair... —she gasped for air as saw that he had a small opening in his head, her had hit himself on the sink at one point during the fight.

—¡It was also not fair that my husband was sentenced to twenty years in prison for attempted abuse!

—Oh, believe me, I tried to make it forty.

A kick to the face from one of them managed to stun her long enough to give them time to pin her down on the cold, damp bathroom floor.

She couldn't hear clearly what they were saying but when she saw how the man placed himself on top of her, their intentions were quite clear.

She didn't have enough strength to continue defending himself, her felt bleeding from his leg from the knife and the cut on his head hurt, but like a hero coming to save the day, Young-il walked through the door and shouted "Hey!"

That small interruption was enough for her to hit the man in the genitals with her knee, making him move away and moan in pain.

She was too stunned to see what was happening, but before she knew it, he had her in him arms and walked out of the bathroom leaving the two women unconscious on the floor and the man with a bleeding nose.

—¡You should do a better job as guards! —he yelled at the two pink soldiers guarding the door, she didn't know it but that scolding was enough to fire those two.

He carefully led her to the men's room where, due to his front man advantages, he was able to have a guard deny another player access until he said so.

—Thanks... —Her murmured as he dropped her on the ground—But I had it under control.

She let out a giggle that made his ribs hurt, In-ho refrained from laughing, now he had to focus on fixing her wounds.

—Being a police officer you made many enemies —He said while using his jacket with some water to clean her.

—You have no idea.

In-ho continued to clean her wounds and after a few minutes everything was better for her, the girl stood up cautiously because of the wound on her leg and thanked Young-il with a small bow.

—Thanks for helping me, for the second time.

—I hope it doesn't become routine —he said with a soft smile, looking her up and down unconsciously.

When they came out of the bathroom there were suspicious glances but neither of them cared.

It was cute, she liked the way this man treated whenever her found himself in trouble, in a way he reminded her of Jun-ho,

She liked that even though she could defend herself, there was still a knight in shining armor who would arrive in the worst situations.

Young-il, the gentleman who arrived just in time and the only one who knew about her suspected pregnancy.

tag list:

@raya4643 @lvspedri @iloveoldermen0204 @ravenslocked

[onebadassunicorn]

The Way We Were

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst, attack

word count: 2.3K

Taglist: @motheroffae @demon-master-zero

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please leave me a comment!

Image owned by Cece’s Bookart Chronicles.

To see more work by this artist, join Patreon and become a member of this artist's collections!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

********

Chapter 5

Y/n POV

The Hewn City was everything I remembered it to be—dark, oppressive, and filled with a suffocating tension that lingered in every shadowed corner. I moved through its labyrinthine streets with practiced ease, keeping my hood low and my steps quiet. The cover I had taken—posing as a low-level contact with ties to Velaris—was just believable enough to slip under Keir’s radar. But every moment spent in this place felt like a game of balancing on a knife’s edge.

Through the bond, I sent updates to Rhys when it was safe to do so. Short, clipped sentences conveying just enough information for him to piece together the web of Keir’s plans.

“Keir is meeting with a group from outside the Night Court tomorrow. Possible ties to Autumn.”

Rhys’s voice entered my mind moments later, calm and steady. “Be careful. Observe, but don’t let them see you. If anything feels off, get out. Your safety comes first.”

I didn’t reply to that.

We both knew that safety wasn’t guaranteed on this mission.

I had already accepted the risks, but Rhys’s concern lingered in the back of my mind like a quiet reminder of the family I was trying to protect.

********

Rhysand POV

That night, Rhys sat in his office, poring over the reports I had sent, piecing together the connections between Keir’s activities and the wider threat looming over the Night Court. He was leaning back in his chair, his brow furrowed in concentration, when the door opened without warning.

Azriel stepped inside, his shadows curling around him like restless sentries. His expression was hard, but there was an edge of unease in his amber eyes.

“Where is she?” Azriel demanded, his voice low but sharp.

Rhys glanced up, his expression unreadable. “I can’t tell you.”

Azriel’s shadows twisted in agitation, his jaw tightening. “Why not?”

“Because she asked me not to,” Rhys said calmly, though his tone carried a warning edge. “This mission is highly dangerous. If anyone knows where she is, it puts her and the mission at risk.”

Azriel took a step closer, his wings flaring slightly. “You should have told me. I could have helped her. Protected her.”

Rhys set down the papers in his hand, fixing Azriel with a piercing look. “She didn’t want you to know, Azriel. She specifically asked that no one be informed of her whereabouts.”

The words hit Azriel like a physical blow, his shadows recoiling slightly. “Why?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something raw. “Why would she ask that?”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because she believes she has the least to lose. She doesn’t have a mate, Azriel. No family, no ties to keep her here. She went because she thought it made her expendable.”

Azriel’s face paled, his wings sagging as if the weight of the truth had crushed him. “She’s not expendable,” he said hoarsely, the words trembling with barely contained emotion. “She’s my mate.”

Azriel stood in the middle of Rhysand’s office, his shadows twisting and writhing around him like they were mirroring the storm raging within. His amber eyes, usually calm and steady, were wild with emotion—confusion, anger, and something deeper, something raw and desperate that he couldn’t contain.

“She’s my mate,” he said again, his voice hoarse, as if saying it aloud might somehow make it real. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, trembling slightly. “And you sent her into the Hewn City? Alone?”

Rhys remained seated, his face unreadable, though his violet eyes softened just enough to show that he wasn’t unaffected by Azriel’s outburst. “She volunteered for the mission, Azriel. You know I wouldn’t have sent her unless she was the best person for the job.”

Rhys’s gaze sharpened, his violet eyes narrowing. “When?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less firm.

Azriel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “The bond snapped... when she was in your office. Before she left.”

Rhys stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he asked the question that hung heavily in the air. “Why didn’t you say anything to her?”

Azriel’s hands clenched at his sides, his shadows curling tighter around him. “Because I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I... I panicked. She’s always been my best friend, and I didn’t know how to tell her—especially not after the way I’ve treated her. And then... then she put up her shields.”

“Do you understand now why she feels like she has nothing to lose? Why she asked me to keep her location from you?” Rhys asked, his gaze steady.

Azriel sank into one of the chairs, his head in his hands. His shadows slithered around him in a frantic dance, reflecting the turmoil raging within him.

“I need to find her,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but resolute.

“No,” Rhys said firmly. “She asked for this mission to be hers, and I’m respecting her wishes. If you interfere now, you’ll only undermine everything she’s worked for.”

“She’s in danger,” Azriel snapped, his voice breaking as his wings flared behind him. His shadows surged, dark and frantic, as if they were searching for her even now, though they couldn’t feel her through the shield she had so carefully constructed. “And I didn’t even know. I didn’t even get the chance to—” He cut himself off, his throat working as he fought to contain the emotion threatening to spill over.

Rhys tilted his head, watching him carefully. “To what, Azriel? To stop her? To talk to her about the bond you’ve spent days ignoring while you’ve been playing shadow to Elain?”

Azriel flinched as if he’d been struck, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned white. “You think I don’t know I’ve made mistakes?” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “You think I don’t regret every second I spent not telling her? Every second I spent avoiding her because I didn’t know how to face what I felt?”

His wings drooped slightly, and for a moment, the shadows around him seemed to shrink. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pacing the room like a caged animal, his movements restless and agitated.

“When the bond snapped,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “it felt like everything I thought I knew about myself unraveled. She’s always been my best friend, Rhys. The one person I trusted completely. And then suddenly... she was everything.” He faced Rhys with a haunted look in his eyes. “And I was terrified I’d already ruined it. That I’d already hurt her too much to fix it.”

Rhys sighed, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “You’re not wrong. She has been hurt, Azriel. Knowing you were always looking at someone else. Because she believed she wasn’t enough. And because she loved you too much to put that burden on you. It was obvious to me how much she loves you, with or without the mating bond.”

The words hit Azriel like a blow to the chest, and he staggered slightly, his wings drooping further as he dropped into the chair opposite Rhys’s desk. He pressed his hands into his face, his fingers digging into his temples as though he could will away the crushing weight of his regret.

“I’ve been so blind,” he murmured, his voice muffled but thick with anguish. “I thought I was protecting her by keeping my distance. I thought I was sparing her from... from me. But all I’ve done is push her away.”

Rhys’s expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “And now she’s gone. She’s doing this mission because she believes she has nothing to lose. Because she thinks you don’t care.”

Azriel looked up sharply, his eyes blazing with something fierce and broken. “I do care,” he said, his voice raw. “I care more than anything. She’s my mate, Rhys. How could she think I don’t care?”

“Because you never told her,” Rhys said simply, though his tone carried a sharp edge. “You avoided her. You let her think that Elain was more important to you. And when the bond snapped, you didn’t even try to talk to her about it. What did you expect her to think?”

Azriel’s breath hitched, and he leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees as he buried his face in his hands again. “I didn’t know how to tell her,” he admitted, his voice muffled and broken. “I thought I’d already ruined everything between us. And then she put up her shield, and I couldn’t feel her anymore. It was like she vanished.”

Rhys’s voice softened, though his words still held an edge of reproach. “She put up her shield because she didn’t want you to feel her pain. Because she thought you didn’t want the bond.”

Azriel sat back in the chair, his shadows coiling tightly around him, his amber eyes hollow. “I need to find her,” he said finally, his voice trembling but resolute. “I need to tell her. I need to fix this.”

“No,” Rhys said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “She asked for this mission to be hers alone, and I’m honoring her wishes. If you go after her now, you’ll jeopardize everything she’s worked for.”

Azriel looked up, his amber eyes filled with desperation. “But what if she doesn’t come back?”

Rhys’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained unyielding. “Then we will all live with the loss of her and we will grieve. And now, all you can do is hope she comes back so you can tell her what you should have said all along.”

Azriel’s wings sagged further, his head bowing as his shadows curled around him protectively.

For the first time in centuries, he looked utterly defeated.

********

Y/n POV

The air in the Hewn City was colder than usual, an icy edge that seemed to creep into my bones as I walked through the shadowed streets. The tension was palpable, heavier than it had been days ago when I first arrived. Keir’s people were starting to notice me—lingering glances that lasted too long, whispers that quieted as I passed. The disguise I’d woven was unraveling, and I could feel the danger growing with every step.

I ducked into a quiet alcove, my breathing steady despite the unease curling in my stomach. I pressed a hand to the bond and reached out to Rhys.

“Keir’s starting to notice me,” I said, keeping my voice calm despite the pounding of my heart. “His people are suspicious. They’re watching me.”

Rhys’s reply came almost instantly, his voice sharp with concern. “Get out. Now.”

“I can’t,” I replied firmly. “I’m so close, Rhys. He’s meeting with someone tonight, someone from Autumn. If I leave now, we’ll lose our chance to confirm the connection.”

His frustration burned through the bond. “I don’t care how close you are. If Keir suspects you, you’re in immediate danger. I’m ordering you to come home.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, though even I wasn’t entirely sure. “I can handle this.”

There was a pause, the bond silent as Rhys seemed to wrestle with what to say. Finally, his voice came again, quieter but no less urgent. “This isn’t a game. If Keir finds out who you are, he won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“I know the risks,” I said, steeling myself. “And I’m willing to take them. This is my mission, Rhys. I can do this.”

His frustration was a palpable force through the bond, but he didn’t argue further. He simply said, “Contact me the moment anything changes. If it gets worse, you’re out. Understood?”

“Understood,” I replied, though I could feel his lingering concern as I severed the connection.

The dim, cold air of the Hewn City pressed against me as I stood in the shadows, my hood drawn low to conceal my face. The meeting I had been waiting for was finally happening, the figures I had tracked for weeks now gathered in one of Keir’s private chambers. I couldn’t hear everything, but I heard enough. Enough to piece together the plan, enough to confirm the danger Rhys had feared.

I slipped away, finding a quiet alcove to focus as I reached out through the bond to Rhys.

“They’re planning to strike during the Spring solstice,” I relayed, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. “Keir has been working with Eris’s enemies in Autumn. They’ve arranged a coordinated attack—both on Velaris and the borders of the Night Court. I have all the names and details. It’s in my notes.”

Rhys’s voice came back immediately, tense and urgent. “You’ve done enough. Get out now. Come home.”

“I just need to get a little more—”

“No,” Rhys snapped, his voice sharp with worry. “You’ve done enough. Get out of there before—”

I never heard the rest.

The blow came from behind, a sharp, brutal force that knocked the air from my lungs. I stumbled, blood rushing in my ears as I realized I had been discovered. Shadows surrounded me—Keir’s guards. I fought back, my instincts sharp, my training keeping me alive as I dodged and struck, my blades finding purchase in flesh.

But there were too many.

Another strike landed against my side, and I gasped as I felt something warm and wet trickle down my ribs. My vision blurred as I sent one last desperate message through the bond to Rhys.

“I’m sorry.”

And then, nothing.

Chapter 6

[gloomwitchwrites]

Would love to see something on possesive/protective Alex Keller if you're up for the challenge! Otherwise let's go Soap! 😍

While I know Alex Keller from the game, I’ve never written for him, but I have written for Soap (a lot!) so I’ll be talking about Soap’s possessive/protective behavior.

Most of these headcanons are with gn!reader with one or two exceptions. Enjoy!

Content & Warnings (MDNI): possessive/protective behavior (obvi), suggestive themes, one brief NSFW headcanon at the end

Word Count: 536

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 1k follower event masterlist

Of all the 141, he’s not really one to hide his emotions or be silent about something that he doesn’t agree with. He’s fairly upfront, but in private, I can see Johnny being more protective/possessive with his significant other.

In public he might put an arm around his partner to show that they belong to him, but behind closed doors, Johnny is marking them. Loves bites are his specialty, and he always puts them in spots where no one will see them but him and his partner.

Johnny prefers it when you wear his clothes because it leaves his smell behind on your skin. It’s just another way for him to mark you, and while you might notice, Johnny does, which means others do.

While out shopping, running errands, etc., Johnny likes to act as a buffer. While he’s good about giving you plenty of space, he is also good about picking up on when others might get to close to you. Johnny is really spot on about making sure others respect your bubble. They can get in his, but not yours.

When it comes to social gatherings, events, and parties, Johnny is the life of the party, and he knows that you’re there to have fun too. While he will genuinely leave you alone to spend time with others, he is always keeping a close eye. If someone is being overly friendly, Johnny will step in but he’ll always be polite the first time. Second time? Not so much.

Sometimes Johnny can’t help himself when the two of you are out. If the two of you are at a party, he might insist that you sit in his lap.

Johnny’s protective/possessive instincts skyrocket if you’re pregnant. While he’d usually never outright act on these tendencies in public, he’s more likely to do so when you’re carrying his child.

Johnny would absolutely lean down to inhale your scent when its been too long.

Maybe it’s the stresses of his work, but sometimes Johnny can’t help but see danger everywhere. He doesn’t always fall into this headspace—and it can often be difficult for him to get out of it—but it certainly activates those instincts. He’s more likely to stand close to you, to give the people around the two of you the “stink eye” if he thinks they’re far too close (they usually aren’t).

Touching you in public is a show of possession. This could be something small like an arm across your shoulders but could also be his hand planted on your butt.

PDA is another way Johnny shows possession. He might hug and kiss you openly in front of others, and if he’s feeling really bold (especially after a few drinks) he might even smack your ass.

In public together, Johnny keeps tabs on you, making sure you’re always in his line of sight. Otherwise, if you’re going out somewhere, he’ll keep a close eye on his phone’s “find my” feature, making sure you’re safe and where you should be.

For a more NSFW headcanon: Johnny loves nothing more than finishing inside you, knowing that you’ll only do that for him. Might even pull your hair and call you “mine” during the act.

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[mysteria157]

Pairing: Sheriff!Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Summary: You have a system, and it's worked perfectly until now. But in this dusty Western town, Sheriff Nanami Kento is making things...complicated.

By day, you're the town's sweet schoolteacher, loved by all. By night? You're the very secret that drives Nanami to sleepless nights and relentless pursuits.

You're drawn to each other, so it makes keeping your worlds separate a dangerous game that you can't help but play.

Rating/CW: slow burn romance, mild intoxication, brief violence, cowboy activities?, fluff, suggestive content, eventual smut, angst, explicit sexual content (eventually). MDNI!

WC: ~12k (strap in, I guess lol)

Author notes: Hello! It's finally here! I had so much planned for this story that I had no choice but to break it into parts. I struggled a little because there was a lot more world-building than I expected, but I'm proud of the result. This will be a slow burn, so please don't expect any smut right off the jump, lol.

Thank you so much, @pmpmyread @rahuratna, not only for looking this over, but for your advice and support! And thank you all for your motivation as I put this together!!

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated.

Happy reading!

Header: myself (image from pinterest) | Divider: @anitalenia @saradika network tag: @pixelcafe-network

JJK Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Part Two

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

The saloon door creaks open, letting in a blast of scorching summer air that does little to freshen the stale interior. Nanami steps inside, the cool dimness a refreshing difference from the blazing afternoon sun previously on his back. It smells familiar—scents of whiskey, tobacco, and sweat wrapped around camaraderie like an old, worn blanket.

Tired eyes flicker up from cards and empty glasses, recognition dawning on weather-beaten faces. A chorus of solemn nods greets him, a silent salute to their town’s protector. Nanami returns each nod mechanically, his own gaze carefully schooled to hide the bone-deep weariness that threatens to consume him.

His leather boots, caked with the dust of another fruitless chase, thud heavily against the worn floorboards. Each step feels like a defeat, a reminder of always arriving too late or right before his goal slips through his hands, touching his fingertips like a tease.

“Whiskey,” he grumbles as he plops onto a stool, the wood creaking under his weight. “The bottle, preferably.”

The young bartender—who he knows means well—sends a knowing smirk that sets Nanami’s teeth on edge. How many times has he found himself here, drowning his frustrations in amber liquid? Far too many, he thinks, as a tall glass of whiskey appears before him like a mirage in the desert.

Nanami snatches the Stetson hat from his head, slapping it onto the bar with a force that sends a small cloud of dust into the air. His fingers, calloused from years of handling a gun and reins and rope, curl around the glass, lifting towards the bartender in question. The young man simply shrugs as he cleans a cup with a dirty white towel.

“You drank an entire bottle two days ago, Sheriff. Gotta save some whiskey for the rest of us.”

Nanami doesn’t offer a remark because he has been drinking a lot more lately. While he’s never been one to be too many sheets to the wind, lately, consuming until his vision is fuzzy seems to turn off his thoughts. He takes a generous sip, the whiskey burning a familiar path down his throat but doing little to ease the sting of failure. As he watches the strong alcohol slosh in its glass, he gets lost in its color. The flaxen hue morphs into the fluttering of long lashes and mocking eyes, of a form quick and nimble—always just out of reach.

“You’ll catch ‘em eventually, Sheriff,” the boy offers, more out of habit than conviction. He’s seen Nanami here too many times, that frustrated look etched on his face, chasing something far too fast for him.

Nanami huffs an admonishing chuckle. “Maybe,” he concedes, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “Or maybe I’m chasing the wind.”

He takes another swig, the alcohol doing little to dispel the sour taste of defeat or replace the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of justice served. But it’s all he has right now. As the waning daylight stretches long and hazy into the sky, somewhere out there, a thief laughs at the law’s futile efforts—at his futile efforts.

He downs the rest of his whiskey, slamming the glass on the counter and ignoring the eyes of patrons who dart up to him from the mild disturbance.

“More,” he demands, sliding the glass across the counter to the bartender. As he watches the whiskey pour, he wonders, not for the first time, if he’s lost more than just a criminal in this endless game of cat and mouse. His integrity, his purpose, his peace of mind—all sacrificed on the altar of justice. And for what? A town that still suffers, and a thief who dances just beyond his grasp.

While the whiskey offers no answers, it at least dulls the ache of what he can’t achieve. But that comes at a price. As his mind fades from the present, it ruminates on the past. On how he grew increasingly disillusioned with his responsibility to protect. It broods on that fateful day when a bullet tore through his dear friend’s body, losing momentum enough to strike Nanami’s badge with a dull thud—a cruel reminder of how close he’d come to joining Haibara, and how utterly he’d failed to protect him.

For a time, he disappeared, carving a new life miles away on his family’s ranch. It was quiet there, peaceful and free of the failure he feels now on a daily basis. But eventually…it wasn’t enough. It was one too many desperate souls who stumbled upon his doorstep, knowing that he would be the only one to help, that he finally decided to come back.

Not that it’s made any difference.

Nanami’s reputation precedes him—the best sheriff this side of the state, a lone wolf who gets results. His name alone makes outlaws think twice before darkening his town’s doorstep. Or at least, it used to.

These past few months, a shadow has been making a mockery of him. A bandit, cloaked in night and silence, slips through his fingers like smoke. Jewels, coins, and the like—all vanish under the cover of darkness, present one morning and gone by the time the sun rises again.

The most maddening part? It’s a woman. He’s caught glimpses—the curve of a hip, a mask of charcoal smudged behind alluring eyes, a whisper of a deep laughter on the wind. She’s a riddle wrapped in black leather, a ghost that haunts his waking hours and torments his dreams.

In all his years, he’s never encountered a more elusive creature.

He lifts his glass, ready to down the contents and ask for more when the rays of sun catch, making the amber gleam like a beacon. The flash of light makes him turn to the saloon’s grimy windows, eyes squinting against the sudden blinding glare.

That’s when he sees you.

Framed by the dusty window pane, across the street, you stand in the golden rays, a vision that seems to part the haze of whiskey and self-pity that’s been clouding his mind. Your smile always seems to make his breath catch; it’s warm and genuine and lights up your face when your smooth lips curl at anything you hear. Right now, he sees it as you bid farewell to your students. They swirl around you like an autumn breeze, their laughter permeable through the glass.

The pink-haired boy—Yuji—who loves to follow Nanami around, wobbles from around the schoolhouse, both hands on the reins of your beautiful Palomino Morgan mare, Buttercup, as he yells to you with a toothy smile.

Nanami blinks, realization slicing through his slightly alcoholic haze like a sharp knife. He’s lost track of time, nearly forgetting his daily ritual that you both share. With a muttered curse, he pushes away from the bar, throwing a few coins on the wood and leaving the half-empty glass behind.

The sudden brightness of the outdoors makes him wince, eyes adjusting to the shift, but never leaving your form. With a soft click of his tongue, Nanami’s handsome chestnut stallion, Flint, nickers at his approach on the side of the saloon, nuzzling his master’s cheek as Nanami strokes his mane and grabs his reins. The horse’s hooves kick up small clouds of dust with each step, matching the steady rhythm of Nanami’s spurs. As he crosses the dusty road, he hides his gaze beneath the shadow of his Stetson to take you in fully.

Nanami’s seen many pretty women in his lifetime. Delicate desert flowers that bloom and wither with the changing seasons. And for the sake of not being the hopeless romantic that Deputy Gojo makes him out to be, you are different. From the moment he laid eyes on you, stepping off that dusty stagecoach with determination set in your jaw and hope shining in your eyes, he knew you were something else entirely. It took him weeks to even speak to you.

Your hair, usually neatly pinned back for teaching, has come slightly loose after a long day with energetic children. A few curly strands dance in the hot breeze, catching the sunlight. Your dress, modest but well-fitted, flows down your body in pale blue, the hem slightly dirty from the grass and dirt. You stand with a posture that commands attention—an undeniable grace in the way you move and Nanami is victim to the call of your hips when they sway.

There’s a smudge of chalk on your cheek, dusty white against smooth brown skin that glows in the sun, and the slight furrow in your brow makes the side of his lips flinch to fight a smile. You’re tired—happy to have another day with children, but ready to get home and relax. You’ll probably take a bath, brush Buttercup’s mane, and try a new pie recipe. It’s little details about you that he’s learned over the years since you moved here, the small moments you’ve both shared that seem to make his heart pound faster than what it should when he’s near you.

Your beauty isn’t just the curve of your cheek or the curl of your lashes. It’s the gentle patience in your voice as you help a struggling student. It’s in your laugh, rich and uninhibited, ringing through his ears when he has the blessing to be near you. It’s in the fire that burns in your voice from ranting about yet another student leaving school to help his family’s farm, a passionate frustration that both terrifies and mesmerizes him.

The sun in this small town is unforgiving, but it paints you in hues of amber and gold, careful with its rays so as not to burn you. Nanami realized a long time ago that ‘pretty’ doesn’t begin to cover you. You’re breathtaking, in every sense of the word. A force of nature wrapped in pale blue calico and lace, stealing his breath and his weary heart with each passing day.

You ruffle Yuji's hair, taking the reins from him and nudging his shoulder to move him along, smiling as he takes off down the street towards his home. Sensing his approach, you finally turn to meet his gaze.

For a moment, Nanami feels exposed. Surely you can’t see the slight cloudiness in his irises from the whiskey? Hopefully, you can’t smell the alcohol that carries in the wind from his breath. Your smile only widens, a hint of knowing in your eyes, and his heart skips in his chest, missing a beat.

“Sheriff,” you greet him, a harmonious voice carrying a note of warmth that bubbles like hot oil in his belly. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”

Nanami clears his throat, fighting the rush of blood to his cheeks. “Never,” he manages, one hand resting on his horse’s flank.

“Still in the whiskey?” you tease, lifting an elegant brow. “My, my Sheriff, I didn’t imagine you to be the man.”

It’s easy for you to slice him open and leave him exposed to the open air, vulnerable. Nanami has never been one to be caught by surprise, but you always have him on his toes. In a gesture as old as the West itself, Nanami reaches up and removes his Stetson, holding it respectfully to his chest.

It’s a mechanical response, born from years of ingrained politeness from parents that have long gone, but it’s also more than that. The removal of his hat is an unspoken apology, a show of respect, and a moment of vulnerability all rolled into one.

He falters, unsure and throat tight as he struggles for something to say. To prove to you that he’s a good man and not the drunkard he feels like the mornings after a failed chase. He’s sure he looks like a schoolboy caught in mischief. But as he opens his mouth to defend himself, you chuckle, a rich timbre that makes the bubbling in his belly drip in thick rivulets down his pelvis.

“I’m only teasin',” you insist, stroking Buttercup’s mane, a mischievous smile doing little to help Nanami’s resolve.

Relief washes over Nanami’s face and he visibly relaxes, still not used to just how much you kid with him when you’re both together. He can’t bring himself to answer you or admit that drinking was exactly what he was doing. So he simply clears his throat, offering a gentle pat to your horse.

“Shall we?” he offers, moving to help you mount.

You nod, holding your breath as Nanami’s strong hands encircle your waist. With seemingly effortless strength, he lifts you onto Buttercup’s back, watching to ensure you’re secure before returning to his own horse. He swings himself up onto the saddle with ease, sliding his Stetson on carefully parted blonde locks. Side by side, you begin the ride home, your horses falling into a comfortable trot.

You never speak much, content to bask in your surroundings as you both walk together, but to him, just being close is everything he could ask for. He wishes he could whisk you up onto his horse and nuzzle his nose into the soft skin of your neck as you recall your day. He wishes he could smell the lavender soap you bathe with and the rosemary oil from your silky strands that he’s seen you buy at the general store. When he’s around you, he wishes for so much—he wants.

But an unmarried woman and man, both of position no less, would only garner gossip that he refuses to make you the center of. And his job is a dangerous one, filled with brutality and misery, of justice that seems to never be fulfilling, and he won’t be a man that leaves you in pain when he’s unable to come home.

As you both walk, the familiar sounds of the town surround them—the distant laughter of children, the creak of wagon wheels that pass them on the dirt road, the rhythmic sounds of hoofbeats and the occasional jingle of Nanami’s spurs, the smell of fresh-baked bread that floats in the cooling breeze, mingling with the earthy scent of dust and grass.

“How were the children today?” Nanami asks, trying to break through the self-inflicting resignation that clouds his mind.

You smile, launching into a story about Yuji's latest escapade with a frog in the classroom. Nanami listens, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he imagines the always enthusiastic boy causing a fuss. He marvels at the way your eyes light up when you talk about your students, the passion evident in every word.

As you speak, Nanami can’t help but think of all the times over the years he’s wanted to ask for more. To invite you for dinner, to teach you to shoot on the acres of his ranch, to ask for a dance at the town social when you’re sitting alone, clapping along as Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara scuttle wildly in the lantern-lit barn. The words have been on the tip of his tongue countless times, but he always swallows them back. Content to tell himself he’s doing something noble even as every fiber of his being screams the opposite.

Your laughter pulls him from his thoughts, guttural and melodic in the air, and he realizes he’s missed part of your story. It feels like a crime to not be fully in your presence.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asks, feeling the flush return on his cheeks. His mind has only wandered off for moments, but already your house is in view, the front door signaling another end to a conversation with you. Another walk over, another day done. But you’re safe, and for now, that’s enough for him.

“Sheriff, do you actually listen to me when I speak?” you begin, playful in your accusation.

“Of course I—”

“Or you just like hearing me speak?” you interrupt, a smirk growing, mirth sparkling in beautiful eyes that always make his throat dry. “I didn’t realize my voice was so alluring.”

Nanami chuckles softly, dismounting Flint when you reach the gate on the side of your one-story house. “I’m not sure I can answer truthfully, ma’am.”

You hum, pursing your lips as you smooth the invisible wrinkles off your dress. He refrains from tracing the movement of your hands as they ebb and flow generous curves that rest beneath the fabric. “So you just like me then?”

I do.

Is what he wants to answer. Because he wants, and wants, and wants.

Instead, he guides you down from Buttercup, savoring the meat of your waist between his fingers, the warmth of your body in his hands. He waits patiently as you guide her through the gate and inside the stable behind your house. When you return, he can’t help but note the subtle disappointment in your eyes, the way one side of your lip pulls in as you bite into it. He wonders if his own face conveys the same, if you can see the subtle sag in his shoulders of having to leave you so soon.

“Same time tomorrow?” you ask, eyes simmering with what he wants to think is hope.

“Because I like to hear you speak,” he unwittingly teases, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, ma’am.”

As he moves to mount his horse, you’re transfixed by the fluid grace of his movements. He places one scuffed boot in the stirrup, strong corded hands gripping the saddle horn as he swings himself up and onto the Flint’s back like it’s nothing.

Atop his chestnut stallion, Nanami cuts an impressive figure. His sheriff uniform fits him perfectly. A tailored deep blue shirt with long sleeves rolled to his elbows and tucked into denim around a lean waist. A sturdy brown leather vest creased from long days under the sun emphasize his broad shoulders. On one side of his chest rests a gleaming tin star, a symbol of authority and responsibility with a bullet-sized dent beneath the words that signify him. On his left hip, a lasso is coiled neatly, ready for action at a moment’s notice. On his right, his gun rests in its leather holster—a weapon you’ve seen him use a few times—and a constant reminder of the dangers he faces to keep the town safe.

The late amber light casts a warm glow over his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes—a man who’s seen both laughter and hardship. Laughter he gives you when he can, hardship he refuses to indulge. His Stetson sits low on his brow, casting a shadow over umber eyes that make his gaze seem even more intense as he looks down at you.

No matter how many times you are both together, you are always struck by how handsome Nanami is. Rugged and weather-worn, yet with a gentleness in his eyes and kindness in his warm voice that makes your heart flutter. He’s the embodiment of everything a cowboy should be—strong, capable, and undeniably attractive.

As if sensing your admiration, he clears his throat loudly, dramatically, the corners of his lips twitching as you blink back to the present.

You retaliate in the only way you know how. “And stop calling me ma’am, as if we haven’t known each other for a few years.”

You insist on this every single time the title slips past his lips. And like every time before, Nanami smiles softly, reaches up, fingers grasping the brim of his Stetson, and tips his hat to you in a gesture that’s both gallant and a little playful.

“Have a good night, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, mouth pulling into a small smile, heart beating like a drum in your chest, before you huff. “Goodnight, Sheriff.”

He watches you enter your home, waiting until the door closes behind you before clicking his tongue and shifting his weight, setting Flint into motion. The ride back to his office seems longer somehow, the town sounds a little dimmer as he gets closer, and the alluring smell of fresh bread he noted on the way to your house is now replaced with an enticing whisper of more whiskey now that you’re no longer by his side.

The church bells chime softly as you settle into your usual pew, absentmindedly picking lint off your lavender Sunday dress. You nod politely to Mrs. Watson, the baker’s wife, as she shuffles past with a hand on her youngster’s shoulder. Your eyes, soft and inviting to all who meet them, scan the congregation with practiced nonchalance.

Pastor Roberts steps up to the pulpit, black hair slicked with too much pomade, enormous silver rings on too many fingers, his voice booming through the small church. “Before we begin, I’d like to thank everyone who contributed to our new railroad station fund. And I’d like to give a very special mention to Mrs. Thompson, whose generous donation has brought us significantly closer to our goal. Your generosity truly embodies the spirit of our little community.”

The crowd breaks into genuine praise and applause. Mrs. Thompson, always seated in the back pew in her faded but clean dress, ducks her head modestly with a sheepish smile. Your heart clenches in despair, knowing she works grueling shifts at the general store just to make ends meet, her children practically raised by her neighbors. You’re sure that she’s only going above and beyond so her husband, who works many miles away, can come home often. She probably has nothing left—you just know it—and the thought makes your blood boil.

“Now, regarding the final sum we need,” the pastor continues, clearing his throat, “I’m sure we can count on our more…fortunate members to help us reach our goal.”

From the front pew, Mrs. Jones pipes up, her haughty voice carrying over the congregation. “Oh, we’d love to help next time, Pastor! We would’ve contributed more, but we had an unexpected expense with some…essential purchases this past week.”

She adjusts the luxurious new fur draped over her shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the irony of her words. You glare at the offensive garment, boiling blood now thickening with unquestionable anger.

Like so many other wealthy families in this town, the Jones are always eager to flaunt their excess, parading their luxury with heartless disregard for those who sacrifice their last penny for the common good. Content to take what they want, they turn a blind eye to those who truly need help, their indifference as cold as the coins they keep to themselves.

To others like them, poverty is a personal failing. In their minds, if people like Mrs. Thompson would try harder, work longer, or simply stop being sad and hungry out of sheer will, they too could reach the heights of wealth and respect. Preaching a gospel of bootstraps and self-reliance, willfully ignorant of the walls that keep the poor trapped.

Stepping foot in this sweltering church each Sunday is a test of your patience and resolve. But, you push through, hidden behind a mask of piety. As the pastor’s words fade into a monotonous hum, your attention shifts to the whispered gossip around you, ears poised for information that might prove useful. If Mama was still alive, she’d probably scold you if she knew your true intentions.

“Shameful,” Mrs. Clark mutters to her friend, her tone leaking with disdain and disbelief. “The Jones had enough for that fancy social at their house last week and an entire shipment of new furs, but not enough for something that we were all asked to contribute to? Just shameful, I tell you.”

“And here’s Mrs. Thompson giving what little she has just so her man can come home more often.”

You shake your head as you pretend to join in the gossip, your resolve hardening by the second.

Bingo.

After the service, you linger, making small talk with a widow about her new rhubarb pie recipe, when you spot your target.

“Oh, Mrs. Jones,” you call out, your voice dripping with misplaced sweetness. She turns around to face you, regal in cosmetics, a shade too bright, her fur sitting nicely on her neck even as she sweats like a sinner. “I meant to tell you earlier. Your fur is lovely.”

Mrs. Jones preens, her chest puffing like a peacock, basking in the attention. “Why thank you!” she gushes, dripping with false modesty. “Got them fresh last week. I would love for you to see the rest when I’m back in town. Jimmy and I leave for Millbrook and we’ll be gone for a week or two. It’s so refreshing to meet someone who appreciates fine things.”

You offer a small smile, excitement filling your body of your plans unfolding before you. “You’ll surely be missed. I do hope you have a wonderful time.”

She beams again, red lipstick cracking down the middle. “Make sure you stop by when we return, won’t you?”

You do stop by, but it’s a day after the Jones leave, a shadow among shadows. Buttercup leans into your touch when you brush a gloved hand along her glossy mane. You hop on her back, clicking your tongue to urge her into the night.

It’s further out of town, which makes this better for you—the fewer eyes, the better. The Jones estate looms ahead, dark and silent. You leave Buttercup a few yards away, patting her side as she lowers her head to graze. “I’ll be right back, girl. Just wait for my call.”

You circle to the back of the Jones’ house, glaring at the clean paint and beautiful greenery. A flickering light from a first-floor window catches your attention, and you duck down on impulse—the night watchman, no doubt. The Jones have enough money but spend too excessively to afford a maid. While this is a hindrance you can easily deal with, it’s still a thorn in your side. Patience has always been your ally, but tonight, it’s tested.

You know the town’s law enforcement, led by Sheriff Nanami, has been increasing patrols around wealthy homes because of your activities. The thought of him potentially catching you always sends a confusing concoction of thrill and dread through your veins.

Still, you wait, hidden in the shadows and the lush greenery around you, watching the guard’s routine. He leaves every ten minutes to patrol the house, returns, and scratches the sparse hair of his beard before plopping in his chair. His yawns grow more frequent as the night wears on, but he seems to alert himself with each distant noise. It takes a few more patrols and a few deep breaths to soothe your anxiety when you think you hear hoofbeats in the distance, but eventually, he settles one final time, his chin dropping to his chest as he dozes off, and you make your move.

A few windows over, a trellis catches your eye—perfect. Years of practice have taught you to distribute your weight evenly to avoid creaks as you climb the lattice. At the second-story window, you pause, listening. From your vantage point, the only source of light dimly from the living room below is the guard’s open door. The sound of his distant snores sets you back in action.

With ease, you manipulate the window latch, easing it open slowly to avoid any squeaks. You slip inside, your feet silent as they land on a plush carpet. The lavishness is an immediate assault on your senses—the air tinged with rose and peppermint, your eyes widening at the guest bedroom walls covered in paintings and deer heads. You grimace. Extravagant niceties that those less fortunate would give their soul for the value.

You pause at the top of the stairs, eyes scanning the house around you for anyone else, ears straining for any sound from the guard below or, worse, the approach of patrol outside. Satisfied, you ghost through well-decorated hallways towards the master bedroom. Without a moment to waste, you scan the ornate space. You know to secure your exits, and your entrances, and you smirk when you spot a sturdy chair on the other side of the room.

Silently, you wedge the chair under the doorknob, its back legs lifted slightly off the ground. It’s not the best, but it should buy you precious time if needed. You turn back to the master bedroom, eyes narrowed as you move on to your next step.

You’ve seen it all before, and no matter what, they keep their valuables in the same predictable places. A bookshelf with too much space that you can push against to open a second compartment. A floorboard slightly elevated than the rest. But for the Jones, it’s the garish family portrait above their bed—the same one Mrs. Jones boasted about at church weeks ago. Another unexpected but essential expense.

Your fingers work quickly as you carefully remove the painting, revealing the gleaming safe behind it. You press your ear against the cool metal, your fingertips ghosting over the dial. With precision, you begin to turn it, listening intently for the telltale clicks of the tumblers falling into place.

First to the right, slow and steady. Click. Back to the left, past the first number. Click. Right again, slower this time, feeling for the slightest resistance. Click.

Your breath catches as the final tumbler falls into place, heart racing with the promise of success as you slowly turn the handle. The safe door swings open with a satisfying creak, and inside, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight streaming through the window, sits your prize. Stack of crisp bills and glittering jewels, a physical manifestation of the good that they can do in the right hands.

As you transfer the wealth into your satchel, a floorboard creaks downstairs. You freeze, every muscle in your body taut as a bowstring, lungs seizing in your chest. You hear the rustle of clothing—the guard stirring in his chair. It feels like seconds stretch into an eternity as you wait, hand hovering over the gun on your hip. Just as your lungs scream for air, his snoring resumes, and you exhale slowly, your racing heart gradually steadying.

You’re hyper-aware of every sound as you work. The whisper of the bills, the soft clink of jewels—each seems magnified in the stillness of this gigantic house. You’re nearly finished, only two more stacks, when another creak echoes through the house, this one closer, more deliberate. There’s no settling floorboards from a new house or snoring night guard.

Someone’s here.

Suddenly, the doorknob jiggles violently, a voice on the other side booming through the previously silent house. You know the voice anywhere, one that haunts both your waking hours and your dreams.

Your heart picks back up, ice water filling your veins as the hairs on your neck stand up straight, but your hands remain steady as you gather the last of the valuables and ease the safe closed. Even in the face of being caught, you have to remain calm. It’s what’s kept you unnoticed and alive this long.

You replace the painting, your eyes already scanning the room for escape routes. You can easily go back out through the window, but the trellis you came upon is in the guest bedroom a few doors over. The jump from this window won’t be damaging, but it’ll hurt, and you don’t have time to use your rope to help you down.

Banging erupts against the door, the wood jumping from the force of the assault. “Sir! I’m here!” The night guard’s voice joins in beneath the noise, and you hear his hurried gait up the stairs.

You don’t have time for schematics. Time’s up. You throw the satchel around your shoulder and bolt for the window, only seconds before the door frame splinters from the strength of two men, the chair tumbling across the floor.

“Freeze!” A deep baritone barks, harsh and volatile, but you’re already halfway out the window, your leather boots pressed to the paneling, your hands holding you up like a spider monkey. You can’t help but pause, your wide-brimmed hat and black bandana obscuring most of your features. Coal-smudged eyes, their true color blending with the blackness surrounding them, meet the gaze of the man before you. He’s never been able to get a photo or any sort of evidence from you, not in times like these. He’ll never know who you are. But you know exactly who he is.

Sheriff Nanami Kento stands in the moonlit room, his stance wide and authoritative. Protector of the town, your number one purser, and a man who, despite your best efforts, has made a permanent home in your thoughts.

Mysterious mahogany eyes, usually kind and warm when they look at you during the day, now burn with determination and anger. That gun that you’ve seen him use to shoot targets and make Yuji laugh now points directly between your eyes.

As you look at him—the tension in his broad shoulders as they rise and fall beneath his shirt and vest, the dark circles under his eyes that speak of sleepless nights chasing your shadow—a pang of guilt slithers down your chest. Maybe if you take a small break with your escapades, he could get some sleep. You hate it when he’s tired, especially when you’re the cause.

But these thoughts are dangerous. Over the years, you’ve let him get too close, allowed him to see much of the real you, and now you’re beginning to feel the consequences.

But you can think about this another time; you’ve stayed longer than necessary. Right now, you have a job to finish. With a hitch in your breath, you drop to the ground. You land with a thud, your ankles absorbing the impact. A sharp pain shoots up your right leg, but you grit your teeth and push through it. You can’t afford to stop now.

The wild grass is thick as you sprint through the open fields, the satchel of stolen valuables bouncing heavily against your hip. Your breath slices through your lungs in short gasps, the cool night air burning in your chest. Behind you, you hear the chaos of pursuit. Nanami’s commanding voice mixes with the night guard’s confused shouts, and the sound of boots hitting the ground tells you they’ve made it out of the house.

You ignore the ebbing pain in your ankle, pushing yourself harder, faster. The grass gets taller with every inch you gain, whipping at your leather-clad legs as you tear through the field, the darkness both a hindrance and a shelter. You use the moonlight to guide you, your eyes scanning the landscape for the rock face you left Buttercup at on your way here.

A distant whinny in your ear cues you instantly. You whistle for her sharply, praying your faithful steed is close enough to hear. Her thundering hooves answer your prayers, growing louder by the second as she matches your sprint.

She appears like magic, slowing enough for you to leap onto her back and urge her into a gallop with a click of your tongue and a squeeze of your knees. With your view no longer obscured by the tall grass, you turn back to the disappearing estate, your heart dropping when you spot several riders—Nanami’s men, no doubt—headed toward you.

Gunshots pop through the air, the whoosh of silver bullets whizzing past your ears and missing their mark. But they’re getting closer. You hold your breath, absorbing the minute fear that blooms in your chest as you risk another glance behind you. Nanami is now at the front, his face grim and emboldened.

A snort from Buttercup turns your attention ahead. You fold low over her neck, your thighs contracting and relaxing in harmonious sync with her thunderous gallops. You taught yourself how to ride after Mama died, determined to do whatever it took to make it through the world. You found Buttercup then, neglected and forgotten, a mirror of your own lost soul. Now, years later, you both move as one, you anticipating her every move born of trust and time, she responds to the smallest shift of your weight as if reading your very thoughts.

Up ahead, the path narrows, winding through a rocky formation that makes you pull in your shoulders on reflex, as if you’re squeezing to fit. You guide Buttercup with a slight shift of the reins and a coo to her twitching ears.

There’s a fallen tree a few yards away, blocking most of the path and making it almost impassable. But you know what you can do. With a click of your tongue and a minuscule pressure of your knees into her sides, she reads your message immediately, huffing before launching over the thick oak in a magnificent leap. She lands with grace on the other side, hooves kicking up dirt in victory. It buys you the seconds that you need, but it won’t be enough. Nanami and his men will find their way around, and you need this chase to end. Now.

Ahead, a boulder ten times your size, with jagged edges and thick cracks, creates a fork in the path. You form an idea that is risky but will buy you the time you need to get home safely.

You guide Buttercup down the left path, your hand reaching for the pistol on your hip. You wind up the reins in one hand, squeezing the leather to hold you steady as you swiftly turn in your saddle to face the dusty world behind you. With the change in position, your hips work against the momentum of Buttercup’s stride instead of with it, and your tweaked ankle stings with every slap against her side. But you’ve practiced this before, and your balance is perfect, hand steady even as you move at breakneck speed.

Nanami and his men emerge from the curve of the path, eyes locked on you with deadly intent, and in that split second, you take your shot.

You’re not aiming to kill or even injure—your target is the lanterns that hang from each saddle horn. Amidst the bucking of your hips and the wind that whizzes past your ears, you hold your breath—forcing your heart to slow as your vision tunnels, and your finger squeezes the trigger. Before Nanami and his men can even reach for their guns, the air cracks, gunshots from your firearm hitting their mark to make the lanterns explode. It has its desired effect—their horses are startled, bucking onto their back feet as they whine in fright.

Nanami doesn’t want to, you can tell from the look in his eyes, but he has no choice but to look away. His eyes leave you as he tries his best to console his stallion and the rest of his gang. You take advantage of the chaos and twirl back around, relaxing your hand on the reins and exhaling the painful breath that was lodged in your lungs.

“Good girl,” you murmur, patting Buttercup’s neck as you coax her into a more fierce gallop and disappear into the night, the sounds of pursuit fading behind you. The satchel on your hip bucks with your mare’s kicks, reminding you of a job well done.

Even with the adrenaline of success thrumming through you, your mind always wanders back to the ‘why’ of it all.

When the guilt tries to curl in your chest when you least expect it, you remember Mama’s sunken face as she divided a molded loaf of bread between the two of you. You remember the hollow eyes of your neighbors too proud to beg. You remember the day you and Mama stood outside the general store in your hometown, staring at a display of fresh fruit, its price more than your weekly earnings. You remember being shooed away by the store owner, muttering about “ill-bred women,” lowering the tone of his establishment.

That night after Mama finally fell asleep, you stole for the first time. So skinny that you could slip through the gap in Mr. Thornton’s fence of his apple orchard. You took only one—a small, slightly misshapen apple covered in dirt—fear rattling your bones at the thought of being caught. But its sweetness, shared with Mama the next morning, was everything you could have asked for.

The concept of right and wrong has always been blurred for you. You’re certainly not right in the eyes of the law, or perhaps even in the eyes of God that Mama believed in so much. But when you distribute your spoils in the dead of night, slipping money through house doors. When you see the disbelief turn to joy on a widow’s face because she can feed her children another week. When you watch a frail old man cry over a warm coat that will see him through the winter—you sleep a little better.

The world isn’t fair. You learned that lesson far too soon in your life. But in your own way, with these midnight heists and heart-pounding adventures, you’re trying to balance some sort of scale. It’s not justice…but it’s something. Something that lets you look at yourself in the mirror each morning, that calms the angry, helpless, and hungry child still living in your memories.

Tomorrow, you’ll begin distributing this wealth to those who truly need it. Yuji's grandpa will have enough to buy his grandson new clothes. Mrs. Thompson will have enough to make up for the remaining savings she gave to the church. And come Monday, you’ll greet Sheriff Nanami with a warm smile as he walks you home from a day’s work at the school, your secret safe for another day.

The thrill of every heist, the satisfaction of outwitting the law, the knowledge that you’re helping those in need—it all mingles in your veins like the sweetest whiskey you tease the Sheriff for indulging in. As the stars twinkle overhead as you wash the coal from Buttercup’s nose that hides her white markings, you allow yourself a moment of pride. It’s probably not much in the grand scheme of things, but to someone in this town, it’ll mean the world.

“Did you hear about Mrs. Jones’s place?”

“Ma says the bandit struck again, cleaned them out in seconds!”

You keep your face carefully neutral as you pick up on your student’s conversations that dance on the hot air, but you’re filled with pride and guilt. You can’t help but think of Sheriff Nanami, of the frustration you see etched on his handsome face so often. Even yesterday, those determined eyes flickered with hints of shame. For a moment, doubt creeps in, whispers in your ears like a tease, threatening to unearth everything you’ve worked for.

But then you look at Sarah’s new turquoise ribbon that compliments her wheat-colored hair as she twirls in a circle on the dusty road. You remember Tommy’s gait as he said goodbye to you just minutes ago, no longer wobbly now that his toes have room to move in new shoes.

The whispers of your students and how surprised and elated they were to find money under their doorstep make you steel yourself. Despite the risks, despite the growing complexity of your feelings—it’s always worth it.

Your life is a study in contrasts. Mornings are quiet affairs—a cup of coffee, a soothing hand down Buttercup’s mane as she eats her breakfast, the silence of an empty classroom. Afternoons explode with energy—eager questions, laughter, and the occasional disagreement amongst your students. You think of Mama, how she read to you as a child, planting seeds of knowledge that would one day bloom into your passion for teaching. It’s another way you give back—maybe some form of atonement you aren’t ready to address—but to fill another generation’s head with knowledge is a gift you wouldn’t trade.

Coming to this town years ago was an escape—from the pain of Mama’s death, from the constant fear of your life as a thief. You only meant to stay a few months, take what you needed, give it back to those like you, and vanish. But loneliness has a way of anchoring a soul.

Months became years. A solitary existence morphed into friendships with neighbors and an undeniable connection with the stoic sheriff who walks you home, an unspoken affection blossoming between you.

Years of experience have made you attuned to the whispers in town. You know how much Mr. Fletcher has hidden away in his safe. You know what date and time certain shipments come in and who they are going to.

Lately, though, whispers of a different sort have caught your ear. Tales of a hidden treasure in the old mine outside of town. Yuji talks about it almost every day, how his grandfather is convinced the treasure is real. The town’s cobbler rolls his eyes at the rumor, often grumbling about how the citizens should focus on earning revenue through hard work and no shortcuts. The more adventurous of the town have scoped the plains around this town time and time again. But it’s never bore any fruit.

Even you have dismissed it as just another local legend. But the thought nags at you, a persistent itch you can’t quite scratch. While you do not doubt the well-meaning residents of this town, they may not have your experience. They may not know how to scale a rocky mountain or where to look. But you do.

You’ve spent years justifying your actions, convincing yourself that the end justifies the means. That it’s a necessary evil in a world that turns a blind eye to suffering. To walk away now feels like the biggest betrayal of everything you’ve fought for, everything your Mama taught you about standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. Even last night, you went through your routine of reiterating that what you’re doing is for a good cause.

But the twinge in your ankle when you woke up this morning. The bleariness in your eyes from little sleep. The exhaustion weighs heavily on you. The loneliness is more palpable every morning when you roll over to an empty bed. Because you can’t share the darkness of your secrets with anyone. Is it selfish to want a normal life after being exposed to the rotten core of it? To want stability, a future untainted by the shadow of your past, to want love? Or is it more selfish to continue on this path, risking everything—including the hearts of those who’ve come to care for you—for a cause that seems never-ending?

The infinite revolving of these thoughts makes you think twice about those rumors. So…what if the treasure is real? What if there’s enough hidden away to help everyone in town, to right all the wrongs you’ve seen? Enough to let you hang up this hidden life for good, to just be the schoolteacher—no more lies, no more risks, no more seeing the weight of failure in Nanami’s eyes.

Hours later, after your students have long gone, you’re atop Buttercup, having decided an afternoon ride might clear your head. You break through the bustle of town, the sun painting the landscape of open plains. As you crest a small hill, you scan the horizon, absorbing every detail with practiced observation that’s served you well in your double life.

You remember it all from your first few weeks here—a dilapidated shed outside of town, a small lake where wild animals drink from to the north. But with more focus, to the West, you spot unfamiliar rocky terrain. What catches your eye is how the rocks seem to fit together—not stacked with the random chaos of nature, but with an almost deliberate precision. It’s as if the hands of a giant stacked them long ago, their edges now overgrown and softened by wind and time.

If you were to slowly move the rocks over time, you could find an unexplored cave on the other side—not a mine like the rumors claim. Whatever it could be, it’s definitely worth investigating. You make a mental note of its location, your innate sense of direction and topography—honed by years of midnight runs—ensuring you can find it easily again.

As you make one last sweep across the landscape, your ears pick up on the stressed mooing of cows and the yells of men. After riding toward the source for a few minutes, you finally spot the commotion. Mr. Williams’ well-maintained fence is broken with wooden boards sprawled on the plains as a group of cattle amble and run free. They shuffle as fast as their heavy bodies will take them, mooing loudly in distress.

You’ve done some wrangling as a young girl, a grueling job that paid you very little to feed you and Mama, so you immediately hone in on the weak points of the fence and the patterns of the cattle’s movement.

You spring into action, clicking your tongue and squeezing your thighs around Buttercup to make her take off. The wind whips through your hair, loosening curls from your usually neat bun. As you draw closer, your heart leaps in your chest.

There, in the midst of the chaos, is Nanami. He sits on his stallion with an easy grace that makes your mouth go dry. Eyes narrowed with determination, cheekbones glossy with sweat and dirt. His vest is gone, and you note the navy long sleeve that squeezes his thick form, his forearms exposed and veiny. His strong biceps flex as he twirls his lasso, long fingers cinched tight around the base of the noose, wrist twirling in a motion you’ve thought about late at night with your fingers buried deep inside of you.

Gods, he’s handsome. Even that first day when you both met in front of the general store, Nanami reaching down to collect the books you had dropped, you knew then he would be your undoing. He has proven to be the one constant in your mind when you should be thinking about your goal.

He’s the kind of man that you could bring home to Mama, though you’d have to keep a watchful eye on her so she doesn’t flirt herself. He’s the kind of man who can work the fields and protect a town, that can fend off criminals and walk children the school, that can come home after a long day and kiss you until your eyes roll into your skull. That can grunt in appreciation from the fingernails that dig into his back, your legs wrapped around his waist as he buries himself to the hilt and—

“Need a hand, Sheriff?” you call out, shaking yourself back to reality, swallowing the saliva in your mouth. You can think about him later. Right now, that adventurous itch comes to life at the base of your spine. You love being a teacher, but you miss things like this—the thrill of the ride, the tingling sensation of a challenge, and Nanami’s presence all combine to create a heady rush of adrenaline through your veins.

Nanami’s head turns at the sound of your voice, deep brown eyes widening in surprise. The movement of his wrist stops, and his lasso plops on his head, musing perfectly parted blonde locks as the rope smacks the sides of his face. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, yes, but adoration and something more pungent that makes your skin tingle.

“Ma’am, this isn’t exactly—” he starts, but you’re already taking off.

A whistle from your lips springs Buttercup into action, galloping a wide birth around the scattered calves. You free your own rope from your saddle horn, the weight in your hands a comforting reminder of late nights practicing in your stable. You hitch up, bunching your thighs with hidden strength, twirling the lasso once, twice, feeling the perfect balance of it.

Then, with a fluid movement, you send the rope flying towards the calf closest to you. It arcs through the air before finding its mark, settling around the calf’s neck with perfect precision. You ignore the feel of Nanami’s eyes on you as you wrestle to rebellious calf back into Mr. Williams’ yard. The man himself is already releasing the rope and ushering the calf away from the fence that is slowly being repaired by his ranch hands.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Nanami asks when you pace up next to him. The lasso is still haphazard over his head, lips parted in astonishment.

“Are you implyin' that I shouldn’t know how to do that, Sheriff?” you tease, guiding Buttercup in a slow trot around Nanami and his stallion. He fumbles to correct himself, cheeks heating as he pulls at the rope around his neck and shoulders. “Should I only know teachin' and how to care for a home?”

“N-now you know that’s not what I—”

You cut him off with a sharp chuckle, making another rotation around him and his steed, a mischievous glint in your eye. “You’re so gullible.” He throws you a wary look, finally pulling the lasso off his body in a huff. “Now, are you gonna help me, or not?”

You and Nanami fall into sync, working in tandem to herd the cattle back into Mr. Williams’ enclosed space. It’s perfect choreography—when Nanami moves right, you’re already swinging left.

Before long, you spot a flash of white in your peripheral vision. Deputy Gojo leans against the fence, his shock of white hair practically reflective in the sun. He’s been practically absent up until this point and, unlike you and Nanami, seems in no rush to join the action. He eyes you with a charismatic smile, flirtatious in his gaze, but you’re quick to roll your eyes playfully and get back to the task at hand.

There’s a grace to Nanami’s body as he works. His hips roll with each movement of his horse, the rock back and forth, a rhythm hypnotic and alluring. The muscles in his denim-clad thighs flex as he grips his mount, powerful and thick. His face maintains his usually iron-faced composure, focused on the task, but an undeniable beauty to his concentration. The setting sun enhances his features, the shadows accentuate his strong jaw and cheekbones. A bed of sweat traces a tantalizing path down his neck, disappearing beneath a collar that’s three buttons undone.

As you drive a cow forward, Nanami is there to lasso and guide it home. The way he hands his horse, the quiet commands and clicks, the subtle shifts of his body, and the grunts that leave his form when he throws his lasso—it all speaks of a man completely in control, and you find it mesmerizing…and utterly arousing. There’s something primal and enticing about watching him move, about being in such perfect harmony with him. It’s a blaring reminder of the attraction that’s been simmering between you.

At one point, you end up riding side by side, so close that your legs brush against each other. The contact, even through the layers of your dress, is scalding. You steal a glance at Nanami, darting through the disheveled curls in front of your eyes, only to find him already looking at you. Those dark eyes are smoldering—intense with an emotion that radiates from you both and squeezes your throat tight.

As the last cow meanders through the repaired fence, you both are panting from exhaustion, guiding your horses to a slow stroll. Mr. Williams jogs towards you both, followed closely by Gojo, a lazy saunter and an ever-present mischievous look on his face.

“I had no idea you could wrangle so well,” Mr. Williams exclaims, waving enthusiastically as he reaches up and takes the reins of both your horses to lead them towards a water trough. “That was incredible. I have no idea how to repay you.”

You wave him off, trying not to preen under the praise. Gojo's incredibly rare and well-bred snow-white Quarter Horse saunters up to you, the animal indignant in his strides just as much as its owner.

“Well,” Gojo drawls, crystal blue eyes sweeping appreciatively over your form. “Didn’t think a schoolteacher had fine lasso skills. Any other skills I should know about? You can show me at the town festival in a few weeks.”

It’s undeniably forward, enough to make a dignified man turn beet red in anger and a fragile woman faint. But it’s Deputy Gojo Satoru—uncaring of the world that he feels revolves around him.

“Gojo,” Nanami snaps, harsh and biting with an undercurrent that makes your spine straighten. “For once in your life, stop pestering every woman within a few feet of you.”

You can’t help but chuckle, shrugging dismissively and patting Buttercup’s neck as she drinks. “No harm done, Sheriff. I’m sure Deputy Gojo here was just being friendly, weren’t you?” You ask, voice laden with a double meaning that makes Gojo smile warily, suddenly apprehensive. “Though I’d caution against mistaking friendliness for interest. Wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea and end up disappointed…again.”

Gojo's jaw drops, Mr. Williams chokes on a snort a few yards away, and you hear Nanami stifle a harsh grunt that cracks on the edges.

Gojo sputters, pale white cheeks burning, his usual confidence faltering in the night air as he flaps his gills. “I’ll have you know, I’ve never been disappointed in matters of the heart.”

You hum nonchalantly, pursing your lips in disbelief. “Oh? So that wasn’t you I saw sulking behind the saloon last month? What was it you were muttering? Something about Geto turning you down for the second time?”

At the mention of Geto's name, Gojo's blue eyes widens, a squeak eeping from glossy lips. Nanami, unable to contain himself any longer, lets out a bark of laughter.

“I—that’s not—how did you—” Gojo stammers, looking between you and Nanami with wide, suspicious eyes. You simply shrug, glancing at Nanami. There’s a glimmer of amusement there, a shared moment of mirth at Gojo's expense. At some point, Gojo grows tired of entertaining you both, clicking his mouth in annoyance and taking off towards town. You snort at his retreating form, giggling with the rush of excitement of the evening.

When Mr. Williams sees you both off, the night is a cool blanket around you both. The moon sits high, a silver pendant on the velvet black sky, while the stars twinkle like scattered diamonds. For awhile, you both ride in silence, the rhythmic clop of hooves a soothing melody to your turmoil from earlier in the day. The air carries the scent of grass and wildflowers, mixing with the sweat that lingers on your skin. It’s Nanami who breaks the quiet, his deep voice a relaxing current of electricity down your spine.

“He will only take your wit as a challenge,” he muses, mildly amused.

“Gojo will forget all about me the minute Ms. Foxworth bats her eyelashes at him.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, casting his face in a brief flash of masculine flirtation that makes your heart skip. “And Ms. Foster,” he adds, catching onto your game.

“And Ms. Chamberlain,” you continue, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“And I’m pretty sure Mrs. Jones,” Nanami finishes, snorting to himself because she’s married, and that’s never stopped Gojo before.

Your eyes meet, scandalous realization settling over you both, and in that moment, the ridiculousness of it all bubbles up inside. Laughter erupts from you first, a released cascade of glee as your head tilts to the night sky. The sound of Nanami’s deep chuckles mingles with your giggles, creating a harmony that seems to resonate in your very bones. It feels good to laugh with Nanami. Just like any other time you spend with him. It takes your mind off the thought of leaving this town—of leaving him—forever.

The night is cool against your skin, but your chest blooms with warmth. You’re about to comment on the beauty of the star-studded sky when you notice Nanami reach into his vest pocket. He pulls out a cigarette, lips wrapping around the filter with a firm but gentle grip.

Your heart sinks, a leaden weight pulling it further down your rib cage. You’ve noticed he only smokes when he’s particularly stressed, and the sight of it now, after such a wonderful evening, makes you frown. You know it’s because of his work, the harshness he sees every day, and his relentless pursuit of the bandit—of you—only makes it worse for him. The remorse gnaws at your insides like a rabid animal.

Doing your best to mask the torrent of emotions threatening to consume you, you aim for a teasing approach. “Stressed, Sheriff?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow and hoping he can’t hear the slight shake in your voice.

Nanami pauses, the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks at you with a flicker of embarrassment, highlighting the tired lines around his eyes that you wish you could smooth away with your fingertips. “Ah, my apologies,” he says, moving to put it away. “The smell—”

You wave him off. “I don’t mind. Not much of a smoker when I need to relax.”

He hums but doesn’t respond, striking a match and cupping large hands around the flame. The brief light illuminates his face, casting shadows across his face. You find yourself transfixed by the way the flame reflects in his dark eyes, like embers in the night.

He takes a long drag, the tip brightening in burnt orange and gold. Nanami exhales, the smoke curling seductively from his nose and into the air, the sight more enticing than it should be. “So, when do you smoke, ma’am?”

His voice is entirely too low, entirely too deep. You playfully glare at the use of ‘ma’am’ for what feels like the nth time since you’ve known each other. You decide to be mischievous, precariously throwing caution to the wind.

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, looking up at the sky as you try to emit an air of faux innocence. Nanami looks at you cautiously, raising a dark blonde eyebrow expectantly, eyes narrowing as he picks up on the teasing tilt in your voice. “You smoke when you’re stressed. I smoke to unwind from a job well done. Preferably, after taking a good man for a ‘ride’.”

Heat simmers beneath your skin as you speak, low and husky and loaded with suggestive humor that surprises even you.

It’s an immediate effect and more satisfying than you could have ever imagined. Nanami sputters, choking on the smoke. His eyes go wide, and crimson erupts up the glimpse of open chest and neck, visible even in the moonlight, spreading to his cheeks in a way that makes you want to trace its path with your lips.

You can’t help but giggle as he coughs. “You make it too easy sometimes, Sheriff,” you say between laughs.

Nanami clears his throat repeatedly, desperately trying to regain his composure. But you catch the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting a smile that makes you bite into your bottom lip. His chest heaves as he takes in deep breaths, and your eyes watch the way his shirt stretches across his wide shoulders with each inhalation.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he finally manages in a rough voice, glaring at you with a mix of exasperation and fondness that warms you from the inside out.

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink, reveling in the way his breath catches again at your boldness. He shakes his head with a chuckle, turning back to the open plains in front of him.

You notice that some of the tension has left Nanami’s shoulders, his posture relaxed once more. Your guilt eases a little, knowing that, at least for this moment, you’ve managed to lighten his burden rather than add to it.

“Gojo likes trouble as much as he likes wit. Stay away from him and pick someone else.” He pauses, opening his mouth as he weighs his next words with delicacy. “I imagine you have a line of suitors with far more promise than Gojo hoping to escort you to the festival.”

Nanami’s voice is soft, almost wistful, wrapped around an overwhelming cluster of resignation that makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. His eyes are fixed on the horizon as your horses walk side by side, but you can see a tightness around his mouth, a tension in his jaw that speaks volumes.

“I haven’t really paid much attention, to be honest,” you admit, surprised at his sudden remark. You try to keep your tone light and nonchalant, praying he can’t hear the slight tremor, the silent truth that threatens to spill from your lips—that the only man you truly notice is him. Every day, all the time, from sunup to sundown, it’s always Nanami Kento.

Nanami hums thoughtfully, fingering the sharp cut of his jaw. “That fellow from the saloon a few weeks back? He seemed taken with you.” He pulls in a deep drag, sunset orange ebbing to life at the tip.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. The memory of that particular encounter was both amusing and exasperating. “He was three sheets to the wind, Nanami. Claimed to know my drink of choice and got it wrong when he recommended scotch, of all things.”

Nanami exhales a smoky breath, the wisps ghosting around a smirk that makes him look statuesque with the rolling plains behind him. “You prefer moonshine,” he muses, “The kind Kilmer makes, if I’m not mistaken.”

Your heart skips a beat at his casual observation. Moonshine isn’t exactly legal in town, but when the bartender Kilmer works the saloon on Wednesday nights, most of the residents ask for his prized moonshine if no deputies are around. Of all the things for him to pay attention to, your drink of choice seems like such a small, insignificant detail.

You bite the corner of your lip to keep from breaking into a wide smile, belly warm at the thought.

“Not like I can admit to that,” you tease, digging your teeth harder into your bottom lip as the simmering grows in your stomach. “Aren’t you supposed to be upholdin’ the law?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you want to snatch them back. You’re aware of how much pressure the sheriff places on himself. How he feels unworthy of the badge on his chest. There has never been a day in your knowing him where you felt he was undeserving. Of the town, of all of its citizens, of you. If you could turn his face to a mirror and stand by his side while you tell him just how deserving he is, you would in a heartbeat.

Nanami’s smile fades slightly, a heavy weariness etching onto his features. He takes another drag and turns his head away as he exhales. “This town is small, and times are hard. Sometimes…moonshine is all someone can afford if they need to get away from the world for a while.” He pauses, his eyes meeting yours in the moonlight. “A good lawman knows when to look the other way for the sake of his people.”

It’s times like these when you admire the man Nanami is. He’s rough around the edges and stern with the law, but he’s also empathetic enough to know when some rules should be lax based on those they affect. Maybe he could think the same about you? Maybe he could understand your self-imposed noble acts and forgive you for causing him so much pain.

Nanami clears his throat, seemingly eager to change the subject. “The man at the general store two months ago? He could hardly string two words together around you.”

“He was at least five years younger than me,” you counter, giggling at his persistence. “Hardly appropriate. What will the town think?”

“That you’re incredibly picky—” he starts, but you cut him off with a playful swat to his arm.

“Or maybe,” you chuckle with a playful roll of your eyes, “they’ll think I have standards. Is that so wrong, Sheriff?”

“Not at all. Though, I can’t help but wonder what those standards might be.”

Oh.

You’re immediately aware of how dangerous this conversation has become. You’ve never flirted so blatantly before, never with such clear intention. The banter between you and Nanami has always been a harmonious push and pull, as natural as breathing, even though you both treat it as a forbidden dance. But this shift now—it’s palpable, exciting, and terrifying all at once. But the night air, the lingering adrenaline from the cattle drive, that pump of electric fire that pulses through your veins when you can feel free for a moment, all of it makes you bold.

“Someone kind,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment. “Intelligent also helps, dedicated to his work and cares about the people around him.” You risk a glance, hiding beneath the curtain of your curls. Your heart races, each beat echoing the recklessness that coats your tongue with every word. “Someone who notices the little things…like a lady’s drink preference.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. It’s as if you’ve finally given a voice to the undercurrent that’s been flowing between you, transforming your ocean of subtle flirtation into something more tangible, more precarious.

Nanami’s gaze, usually so controlled, molds before your eyes. In the flickering embers of his cigarette, you see something molten, a desire that slides down your body with liquid arousal. His lips purse around his cigarette, your eyes flickering to the muscle that curls around the filter, watching with rapt attention as he inhales deeply, slowly.

When you slide your eyes up to meet his, your breath catches at the still-burning intensity. Your vision tunnels to the reflective desire in his eyes, the moonlight on his face, the tension that crackles between you like lightning before a storm. It’s almost too much, your chest tightening with still stolen breath in your lungs.

But just as quickly, he looks away, severing the connection and turning to exhale a plume of smoke into the darkness.

“He sounds like a fool.”

The tension breaks like a dam, and you find yourself choking on a surprised laugh, chortling at the full smile he shoots your way as if bashful. He seems like a flirtatious teenager, basking in the attention from his crush, and you hold on to the sight—to the way it’s making you feel.

As your laughter fades and he puts out his cigarette on the heel of his boot, the atmosphere shifts again. The sizzling lust that danced around you both softens into something more intimate, more tender.

The moonlight catches in Nanami’s hair, turning the golden strands liquid silver. No longer the pristine part he maintains, the strands fall in gentle tufts around the tops of his ears and over his eyebrows. Your fingers twitch on the reins of Buttercup, itching to reach out and brush those disheveled strands away, to feel if they’re as soft as they look.

Nanami, soft when he speaks again, almost reverent. “You’d be surprised, you know,” he murmurs, looking at you once more. “Just how many people notice you.”

His words sway in the air, loaded with meaning. You find yourself frozen, caught in the earth of his gaze, the sincerity making your throat dry. Even as your hips move with Buttercup’s trot, it feels like the world narrows to just the two of you, eyes on each other as everything else fades into insignificance.

Suspended in time and bathed in moonlight, you wish you could push a little further, draw out a confession, or make a declaration of your own. You want to stretch this moment into eternity, to live in this space where you only exist as a schoolteacher, and Nanami could put his own happiness first, just for once.

But reality intervenes, as it always does, with a painful wave of guilt that crashes over you. The weight of your secrets, of your double life, of your part in his pain, settles heavily on your shoulders like lead. So, instead of the words you long to say, you offer only a gentle smile, letting the serene silence of the night envelop you both.

As the first glimmers of the town’s lamplights come into view, you allow yourself this moment of peace. You bask in Nanami’s presence beside you, in the rhythm of the horses’ hooves, in the soft ‘plop’ of his Stetson against his back with each step. You breathe in the memory of shared laughter and adventure, storing it away like a precious treasure.

It’s dangerous—this indulgence—you know. Every shared moment, every word, every loaded glance yanks you further into a web of feelings you can’t afford to have. But as you ride side by side through the moonlight, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Not tonight.

Instead, you hold this memory close to your heart, a keepsake against the long, lonely nights ahead. It’s a bittersweet reminder of what could be, in a world where you aren’t who you are—a world that exists only in these fleeting moments under the vast, star-studded sky.

By the time you clamber up to your doorstep, Buttercup is already resting in her stable, and that terrible feeling of guilt and confusion roars to life in your chest. You wrap your hand around your doorknob before turning to look at Nanami. He’s still there, with messy hair and sweaty skin, as he reaches into his vest for another cigarette. Handsome and otherworldly and right there. He catches your stare as he places the filter between his lips, one eyebrow quirking up in concern.

“Everything alright?” he asks, the unlit cigarette dangling as he speaks. “I’m not leaving until you’re safely inside.”

You wish you could relish in his concern, bathe in his care, and savor the warmth that blooms in your chest. But you’re not sure you’ve even earned it.

“I’m goin’, I'm goin',” you joke, cracking the door as you step one foot inside your home, still angled to him.

“Well, hurry along then,” he insists, a gentle demand lingering beneath. He lights the cigarette, cheeks pulled in as he inhales full-chested and exhales a deep plume of smoke. Through the haze that dances around him, you find mischief as he smirks. “Ma’am.”

The laugh leaves you before you can stop it, rolling your eyes at his deliberate use of the title he knows annoys you. With a final wave, you step inside, closing the door behind you.

The laughter dies on your lips as soon as the door clicks closed and you press your forehead against the cool wood, eyes stinging with the promise of tears. The clop of Flint’s hooves slowly fades as Nanami gets further away from you, and the only thing you wish at this moment is to yank open the door and run to him. To run away from your terrifying thoughts and forget everything.

Next week, when Mr. and Mrs. Phillips leave town, you have another heist planned. It should feel promising. Another chance to do good, to make others happy at the expense of your safety. But the thought sits heavy in your stomach, the lightness you felt moments ago with Nanami leaving in a flourish.

That nagging feeling from this morning, the festering loneliness born from your decisions, finally breaks free now that you have nothing else to distract you. It makes everything so much harder now. The thrill that once drove you feels muted now, overshadowed by something else—something warm and achingly intimate that’s taken root in your chest.

You slide down to the floor, back against the door, bottom lip quivering as conflict rages like an inferno within you. Tomorrow, you’ll have to start preparing. But tonight, you can’t help but wonder if your heart is truly in this anymore.

Thanks for reading! Here’s Part Two!

[clowntiggles]

I'M BACK AND I COME BEARING HEADCANONS

DOEY MY MAN DOEY THEY COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE YOU

He is a tickle monster first and foremost. He's giant and a shapeshifter, it's practically hardwired into him.

And he's a caretaker, as if he needed any more coding.

Games of tickle monster are very common in the Safe Haven, and he's honed his beastly performance to a fine art. Even the older toys run in (fake) fear. He takes any chance he gets to play monster, it's as much a distraction for him as it is for them (and he likes being little devious).

SO teasy, terrifyingly teasy. When he's not playing monster, he's baby talking you into an early grave or playing innocent, like he's never even HEARD of tickling before and he has NO IDEA why you're laughing so much and he simply MUST investigate this.

Sprinkles puns in there for good measure. What do you mean they're bad -- you're laughing, clearly you find them hilarious!

Of course, even the mightiest beasts have their own weaknesses.

Since he's a shapeshifter who can bend metal beams with ease, it's safe to say tickling him is a challenge. But no matter how many arms he gives himself, he doesn't have eyes in the back of his head, and he can be caught off guard and overwhelmed as much as anyone else.

Ticklish basically everywhere, mostly because his torso is 90% of his body. He doesn't really react much to light touches, but kneading and other such things have him cackling in no time.

It only takes a few rounds of tickle monster for the others in Safe Haven to develop a taste for vengeance. At the end of the day, it doesn't take much planning or coordination to go "everyone get his ass".

It's one of the few situations where his strength is actively detrimental. He can't risk hurting the 30-odd kids and teens viciously attacking him, so he has to stay as still as possible while being tickled half to death.

His immediate reaction is to curl up like a pill bug and tuck all his limbs in, both to protect himself (it doesn't work) and to protect whoever's tickling him from potentially dangerous flailing (this part works, fortunately). However, if he doesn't get his nervous energy out somehow he'll simply explode, so all of it goes to his legs, disrupting his protection ball. His habit of kicking and stomping can betray his ticklishness before something even tickles enough to make him laugh.

His laugh is the silliest collection of sounds ever. It changes cadence wildly the way his regular voice does, oscillating from loopy giggles to belly laughs to rough barks, and unlike his voice he has no control where it chooses to go.

DOES NOT SHUT UP; any time he can talk though his laughter he will be talking, even if all he can get out are muddled words and scraps of sentences. Yet oddly enough he never tells whoever tickles him to stop huh that's so weird I wonder why that is.

Whenever someone tickles him he kind of HAS to let them do it for their own safety, but aside from that little concern he genuinely enjoys it. Protecting the Safe Haven (and being basically the only adult figure in the area) is a stressful, exhausting job. Seeing the kids happy lets him know that his efforts are worth it, and being able to laugh so freely takes his mind off of things, even if only for a few moments.

Final note, does stuff going through his body tickle? Yes and no. It mostly doesn't. Both inside and outside have pretty much the same level of tactile perception because it's all the same material, so when something goes through him he can feel it like he were touching it "normally", and it's generally not a ticklish feeling the way most things you touch aren't ticklish. But because it's the same amount of feeling, it CAN be ticklish.

Stuff inside his body can't move very freely due to the pressure of being surrounded by several hundred pounds of playdough, so it generally isn't enough to make him laugh, but it can be enough to make him squirm and kick and his voice wobble.

The scenario I'm imagining is that the player tries to grab him with he grabpack, only for him to grab it right back by letting the hand sink into his torso. He intends to hold onto it while giving them a scolding about how we do NOT use our grabpack on others, but the player constantly tugging on the cord and making the hand move quickly begins to take the bite out of his voice, much to his chagrin.

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter thirty: Fractured Lines

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 30 | next

Series Masterlist

The room felt emptier without him.

You sat still for a moment, staring at the closed door as if willing In-ho to come back, as if that soft click of the latch hadn’t been the final word in a conversation you weren’t sure how to continue.

But he wasn’t coming back—not yet, at least.

With a slow breath, you pushed yourself out of bed, feeling the ache in your muscles from the tension of the night before. The bathroom was dimly lit, the glow from the vanity lights casting soft shadows across the marble countertop. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, studying the way your face seemed different, like something had shifted inside of you overnight.

Maybe it had.

The Panther Mask was gone. And you knew better than to ask how.

The thought should have unsettled you more than it did. Instead, it felt like an unspoken answer to a question you hadn’t dared to voice. A reminder that In-ho wasn’t just the man who shared this space with you—he was something much more dangerous.

And yet, you weren’t afraid of him.

You turned on the faucet, splashing cool water onto your face, letting it ground you. The morning was already creeping in, and soon, the world outside this room would demand something from you. A performance. A role to play.

And you weren’t sure if you had the strength to play it today.

By the time you left the bedroom, the halls were already buzzing with quiet activity. Guards moved in disciplined formations, their masked faces unreadable as they passed by. The air smelled of something rich—breakfast, maybe—but you weren’t hungry.

You expected to find In-ho in his usual place: standing at the main observation deck, overseeing everything with that same unreadable expression. Instead, you found him where you least expected—alone, in the lounge.

He was seated on one of the leather chairs, one hand resting against his temple, his other gripping a steaming cup of coffee. His mask was back in place.

For a second, you considered walking away. Giving him the space he so clearly wanted. But instead, your feet carried you forward.

“In-ho,” you said, your voice careful, testing the distance between you.

He didn’t look up at first, just took a slow sip of his coffee before finally acknowledging you. “You’re awake.”

“You left.”

His fingers tensed around the cup. “There was work to do.”

You exhaled through your nose, stepping closer. “That’s not why you left.”

A beat of silence stretched between you.

“I warned you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “That it’s better this way.”

Better for who? You wanted to ask. Instead, you crossed your arms. “You think shutting me out is some kind of protection?”

In-ho didn’t answer, but you could see it in the way his jaw tightened.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you pressed. “Letting me in one second and shutting me out the next.”

Still, no response.

Your frustration simmered. “I’m not afraid of you.”

At that, his gaze snapped up to meet yours, something sharp and unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “You should be.”

You shook your head. “I’m not.”

The tension in the air was suffocating, charged with something unsaid, something neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

And yet, despite everything—despite the walls he built around himself, despite the violence that lurked just beneath his calm exterior—you couldn’t bring yourself to step away.

Because, in some way, you knew this was as close as he could come to protecting you.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want him to stop.

———————

30!!!!! We’re getting up there in numbers! I think I might drag the burn on a little bit more, I once read a slow burn that took 80 chapters for them to hold hands, I won’t make it that extreme tho lmao. Lemme know what you think!! :)

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[sprunkisunshinesuburbia]

Resident List pt III

Clukr Electrum

Age: 25

Gender: Male, He/Him

Height: 4’7

Color: Silver

Him and his husband make alot of the technology around the Sunshine Suburbs (Thus them and us council members work very closely together!- Heck, one of the council is their robot daughter.) Clukr is pretty lively- Almost a bit too much for me as he darts around working on projects and such that I’m too afraid to go near. (He tells me that potentially any button on there is a “Orphan crushing machine activation switch”- I know he’s joking but… A small part of me is terrified it actually is and that every orphan in the vicinity is in danger.)

He does mean well with his inventions despite his brash nature and strange jokes that often involve things being obliterated in some fashion. Also I think his music taste is nice (It’s um Punk Rock- Which I never thought I liked but hey! New things to listen to aside from recorded cave ambience!) He’s also a bit more comprehensible when it comes to getting explanations on how him and Garnold’s machines work.

Garnold Electrum

Age: 26

Gender: Male, He/ Him

Height: 6’5

Color: Gold

He’s… Odd… Like I mean everyone is in some way but I just cannot get a good read on him! Even without the robot suit, I legitimately can’t tell if he has something on his mind or… maybe nothing at all. He’s got this sort of mildy bored expression he has like almost all the time. What I can glean from hanging out with him and Clukr is that he really likes arcades and animatronics (I’ve never seen either of those before meeting the two of them… I didn’t live anywhere near any cities.)

He’s also real quiet- Shows up when you least expect him and goes “ooga booga” and it spooked me really bad at first (I’m a little bit of coward…) but I think thats one of the few times I’ve seen him smile so I assume he’s about as mischievous as his spouse.

He also does of the more dangerous tasks down in their laboratory due to the suit he made… Which he wears all the time! And its to the point where I kind of need a moment to recognize him without his suit on- Kind of like when you see your friend without glasses for the first few times. (I’ve been on the opposite end of that situation before-)

“Funbot” Felix Funsie Funnington Electrum

Age: 3 (Operational years), 13 ( Mentally)

Gender: None , It/Its

Height: 4’5

Color: Dull Gold

The first of Clukr and Garnold’s kids! Its very hyper and loves to play games- Like tag! (I can never keep up… I get so tired so fast.) I assume its so hyper since its solar powered (like almost everything here! It only makes sense since the sun’s always here-) It’s also very adventurous too- Along with its friend Laffy! Probably too adventurous because someone usually has to reign them back in and get the two back home. (Usually Tunner since he lives a bit on the outskirts, Sometimes Syno and Nymn when they get really far like, Practically out of town.)

Overall it’s a good kid! I’d offer to babysit it if I wasn’t so busy with sorting out papers inside most of the day- It gets pretty sluggish and sleepy (Can a robot get sleepy?) after like awhile indoors.

“Mr. Fun Computer” Felicity Electrum

Age: 3 (Operational years), 20 ( Mentally)

Gender: Female , She/He/It

Height: 6’5

Color: Velvet Blue

She's my co-worker! One of the council members (Though she'd rather have her info here alongside her family's than in a separate page-) . She was made specifically to help the town (Which she does so well!- Couldn’t have imagined getting all the documents sorted in a day without her or like… Uh she’s actually also the whole electric transmission system too- And other things- It’s alot-)

She’s generally pretty friendly to everyone though more so to the residents in the town registry (She says it’s nothing personal, It’s how she was programmed. Security reasons and all.) She also likes telling random fun facts like “A Blinker takes about 3 to 4 hours to mow a lawn.” and “The color of a sprunki, While dependant on genetics is also effected by environment.” kind of sometimes feels out of the blue but I suppose thats how she starts conversations without someone asking her for help . Speaking of that!- If you do need help she’s almost everywhere in her booths in town. All you need to do is ask!

I will also warn that she kind of got her dad (Garnold)’s habit of popping out and scaring the living lights out of people but!! It’s all in good fun! Don’t take it personally when she does it— She’s just having fun!

<< Part II Pinned Post Part IV (WIP) >>

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Do Ghost and Jade's kids don't know about their careers (or in Jade's case, former career)? Cause the comic you made of Andrew seeing Ghost in the middle of the night sorta implies they don't know about their parents' military background.

HMMM HM HM Good catch right there 👀👀

So this is also a part of what I've been thinking inside the Riley family after they have kids.

- I feel like the kids would definitely know about Simon's career as a soldier. BUT, as they are still in their early teens, I'd imagine that Andrew, Gracie, and later Orion know that their dad is a soldier, but that's the extent of their knowledge. They do know about Simon's nickname "Ghost", but they don't know how Simon operates inside the Task Force, they're not aware that their dad is an officer of one of the most elite and dangerous task force in the world. As far as they know, their dad only has edgy hobbies that involves black outfits and skull/skeleton themed. Heck, they even made fun of his preferences in outfits.

- But dear God, they never saw him in a full-on combat gear, in the dark of the night.

- Ghost is an officer, so day by day, he'd left the house with open face, and only wears the mask inside the car. After work day, he'd take off the mask before entering the house. If he's too tired, he'd try to sneak in in the deep of the night without making a sound. He'd sworn to himself that 'Ghost' will never enter his family and children's house/lives. They do not need trouble and his dangerous line of work to enter the one thing he cherishes the most.

- However, once you have kids, you can't hide anything forever. They'll find out by themselves (in this case, Andrew is entering his puberty and needs some midnight munchies). Simon and Lottie knows this, so they already have everything figured out. What would Andrew's reaction be, what would Gracie's reaction be, what would Orion's reaction be. They've discussed what they'd reveal, and what they'd still keep a secret, again, until they're old enough to know. They tread VERY carefully about it.

- About their mother though, that's a whole different story. After their marriage, Jade has strictly commited to be a mother for her kids, and opened a branch of The Garden in Herefordshire. She's an ✨ entrepreneur ✨. She's not that active to be called into deployment as before she had kids. If she's used to be 60% florist and 40% TF141 ally, after she had kids she'd be 98% Mum and Florist, and 2% TF141 Ally. Her kids literally only knows her as a florist, and that's it. Up until their late teens, Andrew, Gracie, and Orion would have no clue nor idea about her past with MI6. She didn't lie, she's just holding the truth until they're big enough to understand.

- In fact, Ghost BEGGED and asked Jade to not be active inside the TF141 or any conflicts anymore, considering Ghost would be deployed a lot (and how he's promoted to Captain and above), he'd want his wife to be with her kids. Jade herself also agreed, but she also told Ghost to not die and do stupid stuff. Even though married and less involved in the TF141 business, her resolve stayed the same. If he's missing, she'd pick up the guns in a heartbeat.

- Now, back to the kids. I'd imagine that because of how eventful each of Simon and Lottie's lives are, it sort of like become a game to the family. Each birthdays of the kids, Simon has established a "3 Question" rule game, where the kids can ask their parents anything about their lives. From Andrew and Orion, it's usually trivial and simple stuffs like "What's the naughtiest things you've ever done" "What's your favorite bla bla bla". HOWEVER, with Gracie, its always "What's your favourite mission?" "What's the worst condition of a dead body you've ever find?" "Who's the most difficult bad man you've ever encountered?" "Where is he now?"

- Ghost and Jade would answer with only two sentences. Looking at each other for approval. Gracie is most definitely Simon's daughter with that line of questioning. BUT, again, with every birthdays, and with their increasing age and they become more mature, they'll reveal everything bit after bit.

- By the time they finally know everything about their parents, they'd be in college years, probably, and Simon would no longer be the Ghost (he might be one of the higher ranked officer at this point), and Lottie would be completely out of the Task Force 141 game, becoming a regular civilian. Still, it'd be a legendary story to tell.

WOOHOO I kinda yapped a bit there, but hope that answer your question!

[rottenpumpkin13]

I keep thinking about what would happen if the firsts+Turks had to take care of children/babies they had to rescue from a village while they wait on their parents to get them. I feel like it would be a nice mix of pure chaos and wholesomeness.

➜ Genesis gathers the kids around for storytime (don't ask him how he had a children's book readily available on hand), doing exaggerated tones, dramatic gestures, and silly voices that make the kids hang on to his every word. Hearing them beg for "just one more story" makes him feel all warm and gooey inside and he's definitely holding back tears. He also plays dolls with the little girls and teaches them a few swear words because he comes up with telenovela scenarios that are not fit for children but shh focus on the good (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

➜ Zack is like a giant kid himself, so he has no qualms about playing pretend (and taking it seriously, okay? the man will scream his head off if a kid says there's a dragon in front of him and will fight the air). The kids adore him because his energy is contagious. Definitely the most popular with the kiddos but shh don't tell Angeal. But Zack also encourages the kids to climb trees and play in the mud so perhaps he's not the best influence…

➜ Reno, surprisingly, turns out to be a natural with the kids. He’s quick to organize a makeshift sports team with Rude, splitting the children into teams and coaching them through impromptu games…He did pull a whistle out of nowhere and refers to the kids as "snot noses" but he's surprisingly patient as he explains the rules and makes sure everyone is playing fair…until one boy questions his authority and Rude has to hold him back from fighting a child.

➜ Sephiroth is visibly uncomfortable in the presence of so many tiny, inquisitive humans. He tries his best though, answering their endless questions with serious consideration, as if he's in briefing—he refers to the kids as 'sir' and 'ma'am' and they love that he treats them like tiny adults. And then the children start playing with sticks as makeshift swords. He steps in, adjusting their forms and offering practical tips while sharing stories of how he made good use of sticks as weapons when he was a boy…..Ignoring the fact that Sephiroth taught a bunch of kids how to wield stakes, he somehow ends up in a braid train with some older girls. Eventually one child falls asleep in his arms and he refuses to move a muscle. He feels fully responsible for this child now.

➜ Tseng is initially stiff and uncomfortable around the children, but then he encounters a little girl with wide green eyes and a brown hair who reminds him so much of Aerith at that age. He crumbles immediately. Tseng is now playing with dolls and enduring the pang of guilt, remembering how innocent Aerith was, and how much she’s endured since. He pushes the feeling down, focusing on making the little girl laugh, determined to protect her if only for a little while.

➜ Angeal and Cissnei are dealing with the aftermath of Sephiroth teaching the kids how to successfully use sticks to attack each other, and are actively running around confiscating the sticks.

*Zack sees Cissnei taking away a stick from a child* Zack: Aww, what are you? The fun police?? *Angeal is wrestling a stick out of a child's hands in the background—he's losing* Cissnei: Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Someone could get seriously hurt! *Angeal is thwacked in the face with the stick* Zack: Don't be silly! Sticks are great toys for kids! *The child hits Angeal in the shins. He falls down* Cissnei: ….Hm…I guess you're right. Do you want to come help me gather more so we can assemble an army? Zack: Do I! *More children have appeared with sticks to gang up on Angeal. Sephiroth will pay for this dearly*

[acourtofchaos]

👀👀👀

Aaaa I have just the wip in mind for you... it's from a slightly unhinged mattheo wip (and the song inspo is hypnosis)

He watched you play your little game with the boys who broke girls' hearts like it was a competition, the way you filled yourself up on the vengeance of it all as if to push out the ache of hollowness and sadness that lingered when you went back to keeping everyone at arm’s length at the very end.  

It made him wonder if you craved and buried it to the point of suffocation as he did. 

If you knew how badly all those little pieces of information about you that he unearthed and hoarded like fine jewels only served to draw him in deeper. A moth enthralled to his funeral pyre. 

It made him want you more, and he knew at least some part of you wanted him.

You had looked at him differently than the others since he adjusted his approach. There was a glint of curiosity, a slight gleam of hunger instead of boredom, and a newfound wariness no matter how much you tried to hide it from him. The challenge luring you as it did him.

And mattheo knew you had decided to see it out when the little game you played changed. 

When it became less about punishing him for his degenerate sins against the overly-trusting, the innocent souls he’d stained with the grief of heartache, and more about the addiction to the scorching swell of this thing between you that neither was willing to soothe too soon.

You actively led the chase, denying your own want to uncover the extent of his. 

You wanted him to drown in it, for it to wreck his insides until he bled that hunger you had glimpsed in him all over you. You wanted it to drive him mad, wild enough that he clawed you apart, shoving his hands beyond your ribs and dragging your own hunger out from where it was buried deep within the heart of you with bloody fingertips. 

You welcomed him with open arms to do his worst. 

And he did.  

But still you always remained just slightly out of his grasp, re-packing steel around your bones in defence against his onslaught and leaving him with nothing more than a taunting whisper in his ear of ‘if you want me, Riddle, then all you have to do is admit that I’ve won.’

Because Mattheo stubbornly refused to yield. 

Not to the need that charred his veins and spat fire in his bloodstream.

Nor the dangerous levels of sheer insanity that he felt from always being so fucking close but never quite close enough.

Not to you - he would never bend to you.

Instead, he denied you the way you did him, never willing to admit just how desperately he wanted you. Or how raw the intensity of it was, hot and pulsing with life, like it had warped and grown into its own entity - a wild, caged thing, all needle-sharp nails and snapping jaws that mauled at his insides. Carved them up to blood-soaked ribbons of meat and devoured him piece by piece. 

His pride wouldn’t allow surrender even if he was picked apart and swallowed down until nothing but a husk remained.

And neither would yours. 

[teecupangel]

I've had some thoughts on what elements(not really ATLA) fit Ezio, Altaïr, Desmond, Basim and Ratonhnhaké:ton(just a curiousity thing). And i think Fire fits Ezio alot. It burns fiercly and destroys things in it's path, but the aftermath leaves nurishing, lifebringing ash. It burns down forests, leaving it clear for new growth.

For Desmond it's definetly Water. He bends around the rock in the river, but also violently crushes into obstacles. If we include ice into water(which i often do, it just makes sense imo), it also fits with a slow, but guaranteed death. It can also cut and freezeburn anyone who touches it, who doesn't know it's dangers.

Altaïr is a bit trickier. He also fits Fire, but i also like the idea of him being Lightning. Violent, quick destruction, easily seen and recognised, often turning on it's wielder if improperly handled. But with the right amount, it leads to incredible technology, life altering in it's wonders.

Ratonhnhaké:ton i think is Earth or Wind. Earth is steady, lifegiving, solid. But it can also be devastating in it's power, shaking the very foundation of cities, tearing everything apart. Wind is similiar. Gentle, cooling breeze on a summers day or a warm wind in autumn, but it can also bring devestation. Storms, hurricanes and tornadoes. Tearing things apart, leaving destruction in it's wake, terrifyingly unstoppable.

Basim i think fits with Wind. He is very stubborn and willful in Mirage, like an incoming storm. And with the hallucinations, nightmares and the memories of Loki, he can probably go from a mild breeze to a hurricane in an instant, unstable in it's strength.

Idk about the others protaganists, i still haven't played most of the games(procrastenation is a bitch XD), but feel free to suggest your own ideas of other elements that could fit and how the elements can fit the other characters. ^^

So, before we get to the others, I feel like we should only focus on 5 main elements: Water, Fire, Earth, Wind and Lightning since that’s the elements you suggested.

I agree with their elements and I kinda like the idea of Ratonhnhaké:ton being Wind more than Earth because I want to suggest that we mess with Edward.

He gets the Earth element. Of course, the Water element is right there and it would certainly make sense for him to have a Water element as well but just imagine how funny it would be for Edward to have Earth element and he’s still a pirate. He’s gonna have to be creative and maybe bring a pouch of dirt with him. Or Jackdaw’s captain quarters have a minigarden. Edward having Earth element could work. Earth and plants in general can be stubborn sons of bitches that won’t die even when they’re out of their natural habitat (take dandelion growing on concrete for example). But Earth is also adaptable and steadfast.

I would also like to add, Basim is also like a fog (which is Wind adjacent) because of the secrets he hides in the ‘illusion’ called Basim (as someone who don’t even know it or as Loki who actively uses that facade)

Now, for the other protagonists:

Bayek would be Fire. He brings warmth and safety to those he loves and suffering and death to those against him. The rage and desire for vengeance burns inside him but, at the same time, it is that warmth that helped him move on and create a path forward.

Shay would be Lightning as well, his name as an Assassin hunter similar to the thunderous roar that warns those of his presence but not of where he would strike.

Arno is Wind. At the start, he is carefree summer breeze, just fleeting around and enjoying the life he has. Later on, he becomes a mist, present but not the center of attention, satisfied of being of service to the woman he loves. After her death, he becomes a brewing storm that could just as easily be destructive to himself and others.

Evie and Jacob. Now, these two… they would be Earth but of ‘different kinds’. Jacob would be more of a plant-based Earth elemental wielder, a symbol of his desire to make his own path, away from their father’s legacy. Evie, on the other hand, is more of a stone-based Earth elemental wielder, signifying the fortitude of her loyalty to their father’s legacy. Both of them are Earth because they both hold their grounds on the belief they have.

Kassandra is Fire, mainly because a lot of her abilities in the game had a fiery effect. Her destructive capabilities coincide with the destructive force of flames devouring everything it touches but it’s also those powers that could provide saftey and warmth to the people she loves.

[writingforatwistedworld]

If requests are still open (and if it is within the rules) may I request a shot for the Reader who casually refers to TWST guy as her "dream boyfriend" on a daily puzzle? For self-aware!Au and Leona/Jsmil/Riddle if possible? Thank you.

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, death, murder, violence, unhealthy relationship, implied family problems, threats

Riddle Rosehearts/Leona Kingscholar/Jamil Viper-Referring to them as your “dream partner”

Ah yes, cricket. The sport that the Queen of Hears loved so dearly and was the reason why many flamingos and hedgehogs probably planned a rebellion against humans

But here he was, Riddle Rosehearts himself, fueling that fire of hatered of his supposedly feathery friends when he felt the presence of the Overseer again

What a surprise, but he was happy none the less

Playing a perfect game because if he didn’t there was no way he could be worthy of your attention

And then you said those words

Riddles flamingo was this close to going bananas as it felt his grip getting uncomfortably tight around its’ legs

Getting called your dream partner… has he ascended to heaven?

And it didn’t stop there, the next few days you continued to fo that

You better believe me when I tell you that everyone was almost screaming in fear when he was about to punish someone only for him to freeze and stare with glassy eyes onto the distance

Mhm, you said it… only that you saw him on your home screen instead of telling a student that it was “off with his head”

But what if one day you didn’t want him anymore? What if you found someone else whom you thought was better than him?

That was the moment he started to turn into his old self

Only that he didn’t act like this because of his mother but because he thought that if he followed your roles perfectly you wouldn’t divert your attention to someone else

Dark days, my friend. Dark days…

Sometimes though even he misuses them, claiming that someone did something wrong whenever he feels threatened

Never mind that one time when something inside of him snapped and Trey had to wash suspiciously red clothing

Leona isn’t someone who desperately wants to be in a relationship but if you were to ask...

So here he is, laying like most of his free time in the greenhouse, sleeping away...

And it would have been a normal day if it weren’t for you, suddenly appearing as if you had planned to give him a heart attack

They said this wasn’t a horror game… tell that to Leona who is now clutching his chest from the jumpscare of you appearing

So, the housecat extravagant over there is expecting your visit to play out like usual, make students study… making Deuce nearly break his neck during flying lessons

What he did not expect though was you suddenly going all “Awww I like him so much!”

Well… apparently he is a heck of a fresh snack since you are suddenly like “He my dream partner!”

Charming. Absolutely charming. And absolutely not making him go into cardiac arrest for a minute

Leona thought this would be a one-time tingy but no. You are persistently trying to make him loose every single one of his nine lives

You repeat it. And repeat it. And repeat it. And… can someone help Leona over there. I’m starting to think those bad jokes are slowly turning into reality

Suddenly sleepy lion who doesn’t take care of himself is high fashion. Is Vil seething? Maybe but what I can guarantee you is that he plans to turn Sunset Savannahs second prince into a scarf

Malleus over there also looks like he might implode any moment but we don’t talk about the end of the world here… at least not now

Leona is not dangerous because he is very active but because he has his way with words and if that doesn’t work then he can literally grind people to dust… all I am saying is that his magic worked on Ruggie

So whenever he sees someone getting close to him so that they can also get close to you then they better be prepared for intimidation tactics which Lilia hadn’t seen since the war and they will definitely might end up with a few healthy bones less… especially in the neck are but this is a sunny side blog! We- we don’t talk about dark stuf here!

And yes, of course, this is bad for his ego but Leona knows that him changing in any way that is a bit more egoistical will probably end up in a negative way

After all, not even he is sure what he would do would you stop to refer him as someone you consider as husbando material

Uh… Jamil… poor in the shadow standing Jamil…

Now this is someone I can definitely assure you thinks he has absolutely no chance with you

Although that changed after his overblot, with him finally getting a good session of screaming at Kalim his self-esteem was definitely in better waters

So here he is, still a servant but at least he got his problems off of his soul

Which ends up with him dreaming. Would a kind and all-knowing soul like yourself even look at him? If yes, how would it be?

One day, that one darn day, you came and did what you ususally did

Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, just some guidance

And then he feels your attention on him, his body going into “plank-mode” as he started to become nervous

All the years of serving someone like the Asim family was not able to prepare him for you

And then he is suddenly perfect boyfriend material

What’s even funnier is that he was puring Kalim a drink and at your words he gave the young heir an unvoluntary shower

Huh? The incense has probably gotten to his head, he thought whilst carrying food over to Kalim but then you started to squeal about him again and… I know, what a waste of good food.

When you repeat it every day his self esteem gets even better day by day, you repeating yourself on a daily basis

But what if someone were to take this away from him? What if some lowly insect were to question his position

Jamil can be frightening. Not the normal kind tough. No. Frighting frighting

SUdddenly that students’ social life is ruined because he did something horrible, even his family can’t look him into the eyes. WHat Jamil is always alone to those recently violent becoming people? Nah, that must be wrong, right?

[missycolorful]

I think I'll just say this: I don't agree when people call any of the islanders "bad parents" just because their parenting is flawed.

Like, parents and their parenting is flawed. Inherently. One parent cannot meet all the demands of their child; it is literally impossible. As humans are imperfect, there will always be something missing or lacking in one's parenting. Hell, sometimes even two parents can't meet all their child's needs, depending on their personalities. If that's the case, then I guess all parents are bad parents. But that's not the case, so I don't get why people are so adamant when they see that a parent isn't handling things 100% perfectly and go "wow this person's parenting sucks."

And this is even more so when you take into account... pretty much everything going on in Quesadilla island. These people never really planned to be parents, yet here they are! And this island is out to kill these kids, so it's also a dangerous game of survival now, too! There are horrors around pretty much every corner. Plus, outside or inside forces are making the islanders suffer very often. The islanders are never okay. How they take care of their children is going to be different just by the very basis of their environment. The standards of parenting are different here. Their relationships with people, including their children, were never going to be 100% healthy or positive or okay. It's just not possible.

so, no, I don't think that just cause, say, q!Tubbo or q!Phil aren't great in regards to their emotional intelligence and often isolate themselves, or when any other parents in general don't handle what their children are going through perfectly, that they're bad parents. That kinda statement feels like it diminishes pretty much all the hard work and effort and love they put into taking care of their kids and even kids that aren't their own. Tubbo gives his everything for Sunny, and was/is an active babysitter for a lot of other eggs. Phil works so hard to love and teach survival to and take care of his two eggs equally. (Like, being 'basically' a single parent, of one or WORSE, two, is already hard enough in the real world - imagine being one on this fucking hellscape they're on).

Like, I don't think there's anything wrong with pointing out the parents' flaws. Their flaws make them human, and it'd be foolish to disregard their humanity. And it's interesting to analyze their flaws and what they say about the character, and how they impact their family. There's nuance there, and it should be discussed.

But I think when you're just going "oh, they're bad at parenting in general" because they fumble the bag in other departments lacks nuance. Sure, if you're just saying "they're bad when it comes to certain aspects of parenting," that's a different story, because that's understanding their flaws while recognizing that those flaws don't define all of their parenting. But to just say they're bad at it in general isn't productive analysis of their characters in any way. I haven't watched q!Phil take care of his egg for a whole year (followed by a second egg more consistently shortly after) only for people to shit on his parenting just because his lack emotional intelligence is more noticeable as of recent due to all the trauma and bullshit he's endured. And I haven't seen q!Tubbo put his whole heart into taking care of Sunny as well as multiple other eggs, being Chayanne and Tallulah's reliable godfather, just for people to put down his efforts because he's not always great at more emotionally in depth conversations. They're good parents in a lot of ways, and those strengths shouldn't be discredited just because they aren't good at other things. Their characters deserve way better than that.

tldr these parents are all good in many regards and are just trying their damn best in the worst of circumstances, can we cut them just a bit of slack, please?