#beware ye who ask me things about her

[clover-mouse]

while I'm here, i will post my beloved magpie! I've gotten to play her for a long while now, going on nearly 2 years i think! some rambling under the cut bc i like her u_u ♡

magpie's a rogue/archfey warlock whose patron is a noble of the winter court called "the lady of fallen snow." it's a tiny bit funny- her favorite seasons were always spring and summer. though, the stinging cold doesn't seem to bother her as much lately. maybe winter's been growing on her.

she used to like to collect little trinkets and odds n ends, but lately she's been a bit busy with the ramifications of their party's actions and whatnot.

another thing she used to be was silly and reckless, more concerned broadly with having fun than things like rules or consequences. one of her guiding philosophies used to be that there wasn't any sort of trouble she couldn't get herself out of. that was easy enough to say when she was the only one affected by her troublemaking. not so much when she has friends she cares about and their blinding optimism has landed them in mortal danger more than a few times.

being responsible and practical isn't necessarily her strong suit, but she's been giving it her most honest try.

[netherfeildren]

Busy, Dying. Part 1;

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT, I wrote this in a very unserious state of mind beware 

A/N: Gray November, I've been down since July - but we're so back, baby. I’ve missed this so bad. I’ve missed you all, I won’t drone on and on. I hope you enjoy, and please talk to me in the comments. Update me on what I’ve missed, let me know how you’ve been and what’s happening in your life.

A great heartfelt thank you to all of my wonderful friends who so supportively cheered me on while I struggled to write this. Sincerely the best people I know. 

Love you all madly.

Word Count: 6.5K

Read on AO3

Part 1;

The old linoleum tiles are the most peculiar shade of puce, and Joel has realized that there is someone sitting at the back of the room who smells… strange. 

More brown than purple��an ugly color. There’s something about it that fascinates him.

The woman that is currently speaking tells of her husband; it’s the only tale she has to tell. She’s been doing it for weeks, and they all know it well by now. Older, omega, the woman, and at the latter and less comely stage of life. Most of them here can say the same. They usually give their names, those that get up to share—although it’s never a requirement when you attend, it is highly encouraged—the sharing, he means—but he never pays much mind to them—the names, that is. That’s not what he’s here for after all—to make friends. Although, he does see how that’d be the initial assumption. 

Joel Miller is here for something more specific.

Six weeks he’s been showing up to these things now, and he’s yet to take a turn. He tells himself he’s working up to it. 

What that specific thing is…he hasn’t quite figured out. He’s listening for it, though, and intently, even if he does skip over the names. It’s the details of what they’re telling that matter to him. The hows and intricate whys of what it is that brought them here today.  

Her youth had been spent on a drunk, the woman is saying—her husband—and he’d been cruel to her in those days when there was still currency to spend in the form of her vitality. Joel nods at the puce—yes, he thinks, that’s usually the way of it. But later, there’s more to the story she reminds her audience, he drank himself into a fit, and had never been right since. The cruelty had been taken away from the marriage after that, and she’d been put in charge. 

“But I wonder,” she says, “If sometimes I don’t miss it, the way he’d been,” —if the reason she was here now, with all of the rest of them that were just like her in their own unique ways, was that she’d been left lonely after her cruel husband had been exchanged for a sick one. 

Joel nods again and wonders what sort of face the woman wears as she confesses but doesn’t bother to check. No matter, he knows they’re the same. If not in designation, then in heart. 

It’s easy, that thing, he does it too, to wish for the bad. To want to hold on to it, the thing that hurts. Addictive, even, in some cases. Missing it is easy. 

It’s why he’s here. 

And it’s what they promise you. In their flyers and pamphlets, when they stand on the corners of streets talking people up wearing that look in their eye and that slouch in their step, when they smell it on you—or in the lack there of—a mate or a purpose.

Welcome to our meeting. We’re here to find the cure for loneliness. 

That’s what they promise you when you come here. 

It’d been that word: loneliness, actually, that had caught him. L-O-N-E-liness. There was something attractive about it to him. Not a label but a state. 

You see, it was like this: Joel had seen a therapist once, several years ago, against his will and at the behest of another, who’d said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways. 

“You sound depressed, Joel,” the therapist had told him. 

He’d worn horn rimmed glasses and had a shiny bald head he could see the reflection of the overhead lights in. And worse—the non-scent of a beta which told him they’d never understand each other in the ways Joel longed to be understood. He’d—not hated him, necessarily—but felt an immense apathy for the man; more so than the regular apathy he felt for most things in his life. 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“Very, very sad,” was the official diagnosis.

Joel hadn’t liked the sound of the word. The label. He did not like that a word so succinct could be ascribed to him and all that had happened to him in his life. There was no word for it. It just was. 

But there was something different about a state of aloneness, which if attributed to himself, he could accept. He had been left alone, in ways. It was a tangible thing he could look around a room inside of himself and recognize. 

They’re meetings, is what this place is—encounter groups this coalition offers where lonely demi humans can come to congregate, discuss their aloneness, what had led them to such a state; their lack of attachments, connections, mates—alpha, omega. Held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church on Newbury street, right between his shop and house, although they never talk about religion which he likes because he doesn’t believe in religion. 

God is still under review. 

He wonders if the Catholics wouldn’t have them. 

Sitting forward in his seat, the metal folding chair that always leaves his back aching something fierce, he presses his elbows into his knees to distract with alternative pressure. Focusing on his fingers woven together between his spread legs, he tries to pay attention to the man who’s stood up to speak now. Older than himself, late sixties, no children, no family, no nothin’; he’d run them all off. 

But Joel is distracted. 

The smell is stronger now. Stranger too. Something full bodied, but metallic like rust, astringent bleach, built in a way that forces saliva to pool heavy between his suddenly aching gums. A mask that sits atop something of a much different chemical architecture—that’s the strange part. 

Or—no. The back of his neck itches, and Joel lifts a palm to cup his nape, quell the sting, feel the tender mark. No. The strange part is not the illusion of the smell. What it is, actually, is that he’s fairly certain what he’s smelling is someone else's blockers. Something which he’s positive he’s never consciously noticed on another person in the thirty plus years since he’d presented as an alpha. 

He has, suddenly, the quite intense urge to peek over his shoulder, certain that he’ll be caught smelling things he has no business smelling. That there will be someone just there, breathing down the nape of his neck with accusation on their tongue—boo!

Silly. But he’d known today would not be a good day. 

It’d started off wrong. The milk had gone sour overnight, the check engine light had come on in his truck, all his socks were suddenly mismatched with not a single pair to be found, and his usual route to work had been waylaid by some freak accident. A tree split in half, one side into a house, the other into the road. Not a sign of lightning in the sky all night long. 

Perhaps he might be compelled to believe in God after all. 

Joel does not like it when things are out of order or out of the ordinary. His life was organized in a way that never caused him strife or excess. And it was not that he was stuck in his ways, only that he enjoyed his routine and disliked when things were not as they should be. And this—whatever it is he’s smelling, whoever—is not as it should be. 

The older gentleman, an Alpha too, is still speaking. He had a daughter, has, who no longer speaks to him. Won’t even take his money. He’d had a long career in government that’d filled him with greed and paranoia and a radical view of life that refused to align with the way young people saw the world now. Perhaps he’d tried to change at certain times, but he was old and set in his ways. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change as badly as he should have when he still had the chance to. Happily stuck in the past. His wife had died, and his daughter had gone away from him. Too tired of his mediocrity as a father to give him another chance. 

The man sounds like he feels sorry for himself. Like he thinks himself the victim, and this one, Joel does look up at. He looks old and worn down, heavy beer pouch and thinning hair and sagging jowls. A sad and lonely man. Joel wonders if that’s how he looks to the other people in this room, as well. 

“No man knows how bad he is until he has tried very hard to be good.” Joel blinks, looks at him more closely, tries very hard to find similarities between themselves. But no—not quite right, not the thing he’s looking for. Their plight is different. This man is not alone, he’s got his weakness to keep him company. 

The one thing Joel had fought like hell to keep out of his repertoire of issues. He’d run from even the possibility of it as soon as she was dead, left Texas straight for the Northeast and from thereafter, everything he’d done, he’d done with a staunchness of character. If at the end of it, that staunchness was made up of apathy or numbness or dissociative fury, well, then at least he wasn’t still that man who’d been too weak to save his daughter. 

That counted very much in Joel’s book. 

An overabundance of cold numbness, little anger, everything a static haze—an abstinent winter. That was his whole life. But then, look at him now, he was here, wasn’t he? He’d taken that brochure handed to him on that last warm Tuesday weeks ago as he’d headed back to the shop from lunch. 

Hello, sir. Could I interest you in a cure for loneliness? The young omega had said. 

It’d started like anything—an experiment or a desperate ploy. The monotony had been steady going the past few years, getting older, colder. He’d grown hard and solitary around his wound, loneliness spread like a fungus, and he’d longed for any sort of change. 

“A cure…how?” The terrible shrink had come to mind.

“Oh, nothing to fret over.” The young man had a nice smile, Joel remembers. Kind and straight toothed. Honest in the way that a stranger knocking on your door to sell you a Bible seems honest. “We call it an encounter group. People come, share, tell the tales of their designation and their lives. In the end, the result is different for different people. Some move on to a second step if they need more. Others find what they’re looking for just through the connection of sharing. But no matter the result, you’ll see, you’ll be cured. Promise.” He’d winked, smile deepening, giving him an appreciative once over at the end of his spiel. Joel had blinked back, surprised, confused, but curiosity peaked enough he’d obsessed over it for three short days before he’d found himself stepping into the molted incense smell of the belly of a church so dimly lit he was sure not even God peaked in this sad space any longer.

“It’s that easy?” Joel had asked, childlike in his throat-strangled hope.

“That easy.”

It seemed the smile had been honest enough to sell him the Bible. 

The scent insists upon itself as the older gentleman finishes up, and Joel’s nose tickles with whatever it is it’s whispering at him. He wants to get up and walk out, run away, but suddenly his gut is tight and hot, and he isn’t sure he can actually stand up without disgracing himself in front of all these people. A wash of agonized heat moves through him, confused at what’s suddenly happening to his body. 

“We have a newcomer today sharing for the first time,” Maria, the woman who leads the group, says at the front of the room. “Everyone give her a warm welcome, it’s her first day and already she’s brave enough to jump on up here.”

There’s the shuffling of bodies in their seats, a cleared throat, the man sitting behind Joel breathes so loudly he thinks he’s gotta have some sort of medical condition, the puce turns more hideous by the second, and his own heart is beating so hard in his ears the rush of blood is dizzying. He feels each thump of the thing against his breast bone in some sick imitation of a fist begging to be let out. 

The new voice begins as nothing but a murmur. 

An introduction—he misses the name. His breathing goes shallow, he’d tip over in his seat if he didn’t have both boots planted firmly against the puce. The voice gains strength and with it, Joel wishes he’d been paying attention from the start. He didn’t get to hear her name. 

It’s a girl.

She’d run away from home in the spring of her sixteenth year to join the opera, she tells them. Had come upon the city in roaring spring and thought the rest of her life would be exactly like that, pure novelty in bloom, nothing like what she’d left behind. And was deeply disappointed when the reality was nothing such. 

And Joel hears it, that disappointment in her voice at what she’d not been able to find after searching for it so religiously. This is what makes him look up at her. This, unlike all the others, he thinks he can relate to—just by the sound of her voice. The search for a thing lost which can never again be found. The fruitlessness of it all. 

At that first vulnerable, terrified glance, she’s already staring at him, eyes catching like hooks. 

He blinks once, twice—color—is sure he can hear the movement of his eyelashes passing through the air, the stick of his lids meeting—color—bright. This is it.

That wash of heat turns into a blaze, every single bead of sweat blooming on his brow is a tell evaporating into the ether. This is what he’d sensed from the start of the evening. Maybe even from the moment he’d seen that split maple. 

“My mother always said I needed to be stronger, bolder, not so sensitive.” She looks away from him now. “I grew up in an angry house where you had to fight tooth and nail not to be overrun. Because of this, I left it at a very young age, and it was the greatest fight I could muster, abandoning that house of anger. I found myself something to bring me what I thought would be joy, a job and a city, and for a time, it was enough. But starting your lonely life so young…it’s hard.” After a pause of breath, “It’s been hard.”

“And it’s made me never want to have to—exert myself,” she says, searching for the right words, smiling when she finds them, and Joel has the urgency to smile back. “Now, I never want to have to be strong. I never want to have to try. I want to only be the way that I am. If that’s weak or sensitive or whatever it might be at any given moment, I don’t care. I don’t want to have to fight. I never want to be in an angry house again. I want someone who’ll see this in me and understand and never make me work for it, that they would give it to me willingly, easily, without me having to ask. Do you understand?” She looks about the room, and he hopes her eyes will land on him again, and even though they don’t, he feels she’s speaking directly to him. He nods, the hook of her temptation cast beneath his chin. “This is a fantasy. And it makes for a lonely existence. This idea of how I need it to be for it to be right—love.” She looks down at her hands folded atop the podium where they go to stand at the front of the group and share, and he wills her gaze to find him amidst the crowd again. “It’s so difficult. And this might seem very bad to you, weak willed, but it’s not. It’s only very honest. Which can never be a bad way to be.” That’s why she’s here, she tells them.

Finally, she looks back at him, and it’s that loneliness of two people amidst a crowd, facing one another, knowing themselves mirrored against the other and yet still disparate. There’s something indecent about the way she looks at him in front of all these people, the way he, in turn, looks back. A little bit like finding your own face on a stranger's body in a crowded room. Color rises to his face, and she gives him that same elusive smile from before. 

He’s the one to look away this time. 

As the crowd disperses for coffee and pastries after the last of the speakers, he searches for her. He needs to ask her name, feels as if he’s some blighted creature without it, swears he’ll never forgo attention during a meeting again if he can fish it out of her.

He finds her at the dessert table, Maria at her side and a hand at her shoulder. Something of a thank you is being imparted between the two women. The girl is saying she’s grateful for the welcome, grateful that they’d found each other. 

Joel has things to be grateful to Maria for, too. His brother, mainly. It’d been pure chance that Joel had met her here, that she knew Tommy also. She’d met his brother on a summer trek to Wyoming where they’d become friends and had kept in touch afterwards. The woman has a thing about her that ingratiates people by sheer force of will. Perhaps it’s that she’s an alpha, too. Perhaps it’s just the charisma and wide smile. The fact that she has a countenance that takes no shit from anyone, that makes demands of a person whether they’ve got any give or not. But whatever the case, they’d realize their connection through Tommy, and she kept Joel updated on his brother whom he’d not spoken with in many years. 

Watching the two women stand together and share that easy thanks that Joel so urgently owes, and yet which he cannot voice, he feels, suddenly, so angry. So awkward. So humiliatingly inexperienced. So unable to grapple with the pain of human contact, the fascination of it, the humiliating necessity. 

That decade old anchor weighing him in place and the guilt of even thinking of it as such. 

I feel decrepitly alone and odd, he thinks. And how strange, no? He was a normal man. He has a normal job. He lives in a normal house. Unexceptional in every sense. Everything in his life had been ordinary up until that one great tragedy. And then, as if none of the before had ever existed, it was as if everything afterwards was one great landslide of wrongness. The filth of it slinging mud all over his life so that nothing had ever been right after her. 

So that now he cannot even approach this girl whose name he needs to know, and Maria, to whom he owes the last surviving connection to his brother. 

As Maria turns to go, she gives him an encouraging nod, sending him into an agony of shyness. She’d sensed him hovering. 

The girl remains at the dessert table, perusing the pastries. He can see her fingertips dancing over the golden, sugared confections, before she settles on a plain, glazed donut. He watches the bend of her elbow, bringing it to her mouth and thirty seconds later, the empty hand reaching for a napkin. He can’t help the huff of laughter it draws from him. 

Watching the unknown creature with her back turned, he peers down the length of himself. Wood stain marred t-shirt, old work jeans and scuffed boots, he’d come straight from the shop. Looking back at her, she seems perfectly packaged and pristine. The two of them, different as chalk and cheese. He tells himself he shouldn’t do it, turn around and go, leave her alone, as he steps up beside her at the table. 

Immediately, there’s the heat of her skin, the smell of her shampoo, and he realizes, and it’s silly because it should’ve been obvious from the get go, she’s an omega. The epiphany, not that she is one, but that he’d been too stupid and oblivious to notice, leaves him feeling vulnerable and angry. 

Any sort of hello that’d been coming alive on his tongue immediately dies. And he’s about to make a run for it once again when she speaks up from beside him, “Would you like a donut?” Her small fingers are dancing over the pastries, searching once again. “I haven’t had one yet,” she lies, “I can’t decide which looks best.” 

The dancing hand pauses over a golden brown puff pastry, seemingly coming to a decision, when she turns to look up at him. The scent of her isn’t just shampoo, not just the blockers he’d shockingly picked up on before, sharp, burning his nose. It’s her skin now, too. The dry sweat from hustling under her coat to make it to her first meeting on time salted along her limbs. Hot, sweet almonds. The shocking vermillion of the morning’s split maple comes to mind. He can smell her.

“A puff pastry?” She presses, quizzical crook to her brow at his silence and glower. “I think you really need something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.”

He wants to agree, to say he also thinks he needs something sweet. All he can manage is a short grunt because she smells…indescribable. Honeyed musk, something heady, like she herself had just got done baking, straight out of the oven and full of sugar into his waiting mouth. 

That earlier anger, it kicks up a notch. Why isn’t he fucking saying anything? 

She shrugs, as she lifts the puff pastry to her mouth he finally manages sound. 

“You stink.”

He doesn’t know when he became such a liar.

A pause, mouth open, straight, white teeth ready to bite into the fluffy sweet bread. He can see her small, pink tongue, and it makes him go a little woozy.

He might be losing his mind. 

She’s got elegant eyebrows that shoot straight up her smooth forehead. The look of her skin is glorious. “Excuse me?”

Now, there seem to be too many words spilling out of his mouth. “You need better meds or somethin’. Need to sort your shit out. Can’t go gallivanting about the world smellin’ like that.” Oh god, shut up. 

“Excuse me!” She takes a huge bite of the pastry. “I do not gallivant,” she shoots back, mouth full of sugar and Joel goes hot everywhere. “What is wrong with you?” she demands, the pursing of a prim little mouth as she chews, eyeing him maliciously. 

He hasn’t the damndest clue. 

She is not wary of him in the slightest, which in turn tells him he needs to be wary of her.

Another large bite, inexplicably she extends her free hand towards him—potentially going into shock and entirely out of his depth when he takes it, the vulnerability of tendon and muscle soft beneath his strength—offering him a firm shake. She gives him her name. 

In that moment, she has a look about her that tells him she’ll bite back if he isn’t careful, even if she hurts herself in the process. 

And now he knows you. 

-

“We might as well acquaint ourselves if you’re going to insult me. Don’t you think?” Peering up at him, he’s tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Older, distinguished, but in a rough way, hewn oak, gray. “Are you typically this rude? Or is this a special occasion?”

Incredibly handsome. 

“I’m being serious.”

“I do not stink. No one has ever said that to me, and my blockers are quality. It must be a you problem.” The puff pastry really is very good. And this man really is very handsome. Coming here today was a good idea. 

One of the girls from the theater had suggested it, handing you a pamphlet with Looking for the Cure for Loneliness? emblazoned across the top, and even though she’d done it kindly, any other person would’ve taken the implication as an insult. Hey girl! No offense, but we all in the company think you’re super weird and have you heard about this support group for losers? Kind of like Omegas Anonymous!

Those hadn’t been her exact words, and you hadn’t taken offense. After the initial agony of embarrassment, you’d warmed to the idea. You’d heard of groups like these before. Congregations of demi humans where one could come to find community or connection. Be it socializing or support for people struggling with their designations and all that they implied, they served their purpose. And anyways, you weren’t in a position to be nitpicky. 

It’s true, you’re alone. 

So alone, in fact, that even the people around you could tell. Strangers, coworkers, your roommate and her girlfriend. Like some noxious cloud of loneliness following you around virtue signaling the desperate need for love and companionship and understanding you’re so in need of. 

You increasingly saw yourself as a dancer on her toes, trembling delicately all over, vying desperately to survive to the end of the song. A monster with too many heads. A Cerberus of the richest caliber. 

Two or three would’ve been acceptable—heads—but you'd long surpassed that and moved on to something unrecognizable and unpleasant. Desperately in need of a solution. 

“Maybe you’re the one that stinks. Maybe it’s your upper lip.” And voila, the monster makes her debut. 

“My—” The rude alpha, obvious, that one, lets out a choked sound, a deeper wash of color immediately flooding his cheeks. You dip your head sideways, appraising him as you polish off your second pastry. He has pretty bone structure, masculine, and after he’s done choking and spluttering, he can’t help but laugh a little bit. You see it. 

Beneath a mouth that looks forbidding, perhaps even a little cruel, you can sense that he is not an unkind man. 

Yet you’re not so green that you can’t recognize the gnawing hunger of loneliness in others. There’s always a reason people find themselves in places like these. His face, edged with the weariness of age, makes this obvious. He has good reason for subjecting himself to this. 

Reaching for the lovely eclair you’d been deciding between earlier, you take a large bite of it. Almond cream and a thick layer of icing on top, humming happily as you chew while he stares at you like the three headed dog. 

You hold the dessert out towards him, offering. Palm up, he shakes his head no, slightly disgusted look on his face. 

“So. You come here often?”

He blinks. “Really?” Patronizing look on his face now. 

“Why not? I am actually interested to know if this is worth my time.”

He rolls his eyes. Oh, he’s fun. “Yes, I come here often. Every Friday, for the past two months just about.”

“And you like it?”

“Is this the sort of place one likes?”

“Oh, come on. You never know what you might find.” He watches your mouth as you finish the eclair, swallowing hard. “Anyways, I think the world is kind of over out there. Don’t you? Might as well make the best of it in here.” 

Thumb pressed against the edge of the table, he looks down, suddenly awash with shyness once again. A shy alpha, who’d of thought. 

“What did you used to do?” He asks, motioning at the crowded room full of chatting alphas and omegas. You wonder how many of them will go home together for a fuck after this. 

“When?” You ask, sure he means in lieu of this group, if you’d ever had another form of demi human community. 

“Before this.”

“Before this? Nothing.” Smiling at him, certain he isn’t picking up on your teasing. 

“Nothing?”

“Nope. I’ve always been here.”

“But— Don’t you…I thought...” He’s cute, shaking his head like you’re just too confusing to sustain. “You sing, right?” He pivots. 

“Sing? Me? Whatever made you think such a thing?” The sly look on your face goes completely over his head and slides to the rest of the sweets. If he wasn’t watching, you’d have another. 

“You said. You said you’re in the opera,” he gruffs back, looking visibly aggravated now. 

Such fun. 

“I’m a supernumerary,” you concede as you turn, making your way to an old relic of a pew along the far wall, tragically abandoning the desserts. 

He follows as you go, sitting a respectful distance beside you. 

“I don’t know what that is.”

“We’re the actors that fill the stage at the opera.”

“No singing?”

You shake your head, flirting with him. “I’m a wench, I’m a courtesan,” You bat your lashes, fingertips pressed coquettishly beneath your chin, “Part of a harem. I’m every woman you’ve never known. It depends on the opera.”

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I started as a stagehand when I first got to Boston. Worked my way up.”

“How’s it work? Lines or somethin’?”

“No lines. No anything. I’m a background actor—an extra, basically. If anything, I’m given some simple choreography direction, laugh, sigh, show fear, horror, shock. Whatever. I’m playing pretend without actually having to do anything.”

“No working for it.”

Your smile melts to blandness. So he’d been listening, then. 

“Did you want to sing?”

“No. I wanted to be a supernumerary.”

“Strange. I’ve never heard of that,” he repeats.

“You did say, yes.” Now, the smile turns auspicious. Everyone’s here for something. “What do you do?” Perhaps this is it for him. 

You eye the rest of the congregation, at the far exit, there’s a large alpha helping an omega into his coat. 

“Got a shop, furniture, woodworking and such.”

“You make things?” He nods. “Ah, a man of creation.” 

Sitting back to take him in, he’s got the beginning insinuations of silver speckling the dark hair at his temples, a well groomed beard, and large, intimidating hands. 

His small huff of laughter is bashful, tinged with something disappointed. “No, nothin’ that grand.” And he’s got an accent heavy at the ends of his words, not Bostonian. Southern.

“But you know, I wanted to say…”

“Yes?” You press when he loses his courage, leaning towards him, inhaling deeply. 

“Well, that I know what you meant earlier. Sometimes I can be the angry house.”

You blink once. Sit back. “I see.” 

“It’s hard work. I have to try every day at it.” 

Hard work being the house, or not? Two opposite sides of the same coin. 

“How do you stop yourself?” You cast a line, fishing for his character.

“Don’t know. Keep myself cold, I think.”

“That’s no way to be.”

“No. It’s not.” He sounds amused. You want to bite him.

Everyone’s here for a reason. 

“Ah, well. Perhaps that’s what’s brought you here then,” you say, twisting the toe of your sneaker against a scuff on the old hardwood, leaning forward on your palms wrapped around the edge of the pew. 

“Maybe,” he says, but a sort of pained, exasperated sound follows it. Your hung head turns to peer at the handsome face, and he’s already looking at you. 

There’s something animal afoot. Perhaps in terms of designation, sure, of course, like the rest of the alphas and omegas here. Your designations weigh heavily in the air. But also intrinsic to your two personalities. You feel you know him. That the two of you might have the same sorts of problems, desires. And as you stare at him, you think you may be equally measuring each other’s character, finding that similarity in one another. 

His eyes move quickly between yours, over your face, and you can tell that prolonged eye contact isn’t his norm.

He has the most surprising set of bright hazel eyes like river stones. 

Suddenly, you feel desperate to pull out a flicker of sexuality in the man, hear it in his voice. Sure, that with him, the experience would be entirely different, exhilarating. Perhaps a challenge. He seems to be more quiet and more patient than any other man you’d ever come across, but also more stern—taking in that soft mouth held so firmly. Far more remote too, by the far away look in his gaze. You want to see how he could be moved and what the sight of it would look like. 

“Maybe not,” he finally continues. “I’m looking for something, I think.” 

“Something like what?”

“Someone like me.”

“An alpha?”

“No,” he looks away, cringing. The word out loud seems a shock to him. “Did you listen to the woman at the start—missing the bad thing? I struggle…with that. Holding on, not letting go even when I know I should.”

You’re at an age now which sometimes makes it hard to realize or accept that what you’re living is your life. That it’s been time to grow up. That you have to remember to move forward when it’s your turn in line. 

Which is to say, that you understand him—the difficulties of knowing when to hold on and when to give up.

“Sometimes you hurt yourself because you don’t have anything else to do. Sometimes, because the alternative is much worse.”

“Holding on ‘cause there’s nothing else to do?”

“Sure. Or you’re used to it.” You’ll be gentle with him, you decide. He’s in need of gentle handling despite the stern face; not a puzzle so arbitrarily solved. And those eyes are still so bright, he doesn’t seem like he needs any more hardship.

“Don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this,” he says, accent heavy. 

“Well you did come here for a reason. Didn’t you?” Discreetly, you slide closer to his side, but he doesn’t notice. Apparently lost in the realization that perhaps this was what he’d come here for, to talk to someone, to have someone listen and relate. You’re almost positive he’s never gotten up to share with the group before in all his time coming to the meetings; doesn’t look like the type.

“I came here because I’m going to take better care of myself,” you tell him. “I’m going to try harder.”

“Harder at what?” He blinks as if attempting to come out of a dream.

“Everything. I don’t want to end up like my parents; drunk, angry, alone. I’m scared of it. I’ve avoided at least two of them.”

“I’m afraid of getting older,” the dream moves in his eyes. “That I’ll forget,” he says, but you don’t ask what.

All of a sudden, he seems very real. The swells of grief and loneliness moving through him so similarly, so close to the surface. 

Springing up, you turn to face him and he follows to stand too. You can hear the crack of his knees unfolding, and when he lifts his left palm to stifle a gruff cough, the band of gold around his finger is paralyzing. 

All of a sudden, he’d seemed like what you’d been looking for here too. There’s laughter coming from the church rafters. 

“You’re a widower?” He wants to forget, he’d said he wants to let go. 

Hadn’t he?

But instead, “What? No.” You stare pointedly at the ring, and he looks down at it also. “No,” he repeats. 

“So’re you looking for a fuck, or what?” You try and hold back the bite it comes with, but you can’t.

“No. No. That’s not what I’m looking for.” 

You don’t understand, impaired by your youth, you forget you’d chosen to be gentle with him. “Maybe it’s what you need,” you tell him, turning towards the exit before you can watch him cringe.

He follows at your heels, grabbing his coat from the hook by the doors before he’s stepping out after you into the fall blister. It’s cold and wet and glorious out. 

“Don’t you have a coat?” He demands.

“Nope.” You start walking towards Arlington Street and the park. 

“Did you walk here? It’s freezing out.”

“I did,” you turn back towards him, still moving, and he starts to follow. 

“From where?”

“Downtown.”

“Where?” He scowls at your uncooperation, the married man. Alpha. The truth was that he’d smelt strange to you too. Like no one ever had before. As glorious and shocking as the cold. Like if snow had a scent. Disappointment churns in your gut alongside the excitement at the sight of him stalking after you. 

“I don’t think you know it.” Your backward walk is interrupted as a hurrying stranger bumps into you, sending you staggering. Watch it, the Boston snark spits. The alpha turns to scowl, heavy boot forward like he’s half a mind to follow after the person you’ve just inadvertently assaulted. 

And it occurs to you, “You didn’t tell me your name.” How silly of you. You’d been so distracted you’d forgotten to ask, and what if you never see him again after this? What if you can’t muster the courage to come back again next week? What if he can’t?

“It’s Joel.” 

You think it sounds right. 

“I might—know it.” Where you’re headed to. You smile at the dog with a bone. The disappointment pulses. “Is it far?” He presses. You shrug, looking over your shoulder. You’re going to lose yourself in the garden for a few hours, forget about him. “Why don’t you drive?”

“I like to walk,” you tell him, turning back. 

He looks at you like he doesn’t like the things you say much less the way you say them much less the way you’re grinning at him. Perhaps he can see the disappointment and is disturbed by the sight of it, but the possibility seems too altruistic. 

“You should try it sometime, Joel. You might like it too.”

His huge body seems to be shivering in the cold. 

“I think…” The look on his face has turned suspicious now. He takes a step towards you. “You’re very strange. And you’re very young. I don’t think we should be friends.”

Your heart gives a demanding thump. “We’re not going to be friends.” When you’d first spotted him in the crowd, the strangest feeling had come over you. A tug behind your belly button, a scalding heat at the back of your neck, at your wrists. Perhaps it’s merely imagination, the look of disappointment you think you see on his face right before you turn away from him to continue on walking. “And I’m not that young anymore.”

You’d known today was going to be a good day. Extra cinnamon in your latte, a late start to your morning, warm in bed, no rain in the sky despite the cloud cover. And your director, late for rehearsals after some freak accident had befallen the roof of his house.

“That’s what all young people say.”

Part 2;

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[6esiree]

Getting Dared to Call Them Daddy Pt. 2

Summary: You get dared to call Vox and Adam daddy.

Warnings: Swearing, slightly NSFW, angst, canon death. Beware of Adam’s part. Idk how I wrote all that out of a game of truth of dare, but I did and I don’t feel like rewriting it </3. Anywho, MINORS DO NOT READ!!!

Vox:

You had a life outside of the Hazbin Hotel, working at the entertainment district in Pentagram City. The casino you were employed by wasn’t exclusive, per se, but it might as well have been as it was a hot spot for overlords and other high-profile individuals. That’s how you became acquainted with the Vees, even though your shifts didn’t coincide with their visits half of the time. Tonight was an exception, however, and Velvette was in a particularly good mood.

Well, it actually took a few cocktails to get her there, but you weren’t complaining. She took a seat at the bar and mindlessly scrolled on her phone, only opening up when the alcohol settled in—nothing unusual. You were mentally prepared to have her talk your ear off about shit you couldn’t care less about, but she proceeded to surprise you by asking if you’d like to play a game.

Truth or Dare, Velvette suggested, leaving you wondering if you’d heard her correctly. It was easy to forget that everyone in this damned afterlife was normal to some extent, even an overlord like her. When she quirked a brow at you, motioning ‘Well?’ with her hand, you shrugged and said yes, never anticipating that she’d take the game further than most people did.

Velvette asked you to go first, so you did, glad that she settled for truth. You sucked at this game, and the last thing you wanted to do was frustrate her as you pondered endlessly over a dare. Anyway, as you whipped up an old-fashioned cocktail for a patron, you hummed, asking her to tell you something interesting about Vox. The man was a mystery to you, only ever uttering pleasentries instead of engaging in an actual conversation with you.

Velvette sipped at her drink, rubbing her chin in contemplation before shrugging and ultimately telling you that he wasn’t who he appeared to be on the surface. Vox was charismatic, yeah, but he was also weak. Blinking, you slid the cocktail to the patron, taking your money and shooing them away. Everyone knew that Vox valued his image, Velvette continued, and that he’d do anything to preserve the persona he had meticulously crafted since he manifested in Hell, but there were some things that were simply out of his control.

“What? Look, I’m not trying to call you a liar, but that’s kinda hard to believe,” You responded honestly, “What do you mean, ‘Out of his control’?”

“Trust me, he’s absolutely pathetic,” Velvette said, leaning over the counter to whisper to you, “Regarding the rest, you can find out yourself—that’s if you aren’t a pussycat, of course.”

You peered down at Velvette, knowing damn well that if you chose truth, she’d never let you live it down. Her fingers tapped expectantly against the counter, waiting for your response as you bided your time by cleaning the dirty glasses you had neglected earlier. Truthfully, you were afraid of what she’d make you do, but you eventually sighed and muttered dare.

“I knew you had it in you!” Velvette praised you before adding the next part. “Go and call him daddy, I dare you. You’ll see how he’ll crumble like that,” She snapped her fingers, “When a babe like you calls him daddy.”

You dropped your head and carded your hand through your hair, immediately regretting your decision. How the Hell would you get around to calling one of the most influential and powerful overlords daddy, exactly? As you raised your head to look at Velvette, you hoped that she had your back if he reacted poorly.

“What if he—“ You started, but then you were interrupted by one of your coworkers.

Velvette sat back down, annoyed, but also too drunk to complain. Anyway, they asked you to whip up some cocktails for the other two Vees, practically begging you to deliver it to them, too. When you quirked a brow at them, asking them why you should do their job as a waiter, they started to ramble on about how they had accidentally pissed off Valentino. Ah, fuck. Not like you’d say no anyway, especially considering what Velvette dared you to do.

Instead of giving them a verbal response, you waved your hand in dismissal, letting your coworker know that you had them covered. They thanked you profusely before scurrying off to tend to another table nearby, leaving you scowling as you got to work. Velvette watched you work your magic, assuring you that everything would be ‘Fiiineee,’ giggling when you rolled your eyes.

“Look, if I’m wrong—which I’m not—I got you covered,” Velvette added, watching you step out from your post behind the bar, drinks in hand. “Oh, wow! I’ve never seen the other half of you,” She gasped, but you ignored her.

You were so fucked—that’s the only thought that circulated your mind as you leisurely made your way to the VIP section. The bouncer at the entrance, a friend of yours, regarded you with curiosity when you stopped in front of him. ‘What’re you doing here?’ He inquired as he stepped aside to allow you access into the area, but you told him that you’d tell him later, feeling slightly anxious upon spotting Vox and Valentino.

The two overlords were lounging around on opposite ends of their booth, Valentino characteristically flocked by attractive sinners as pink smoke wafted around them, while Vox sat entirely alone, an annoyed look on his face as one claw tapped incessantly at the empty glass in his hand. As you approached them, you made sure to straighten your back and put on a friendly face.

“Hey! Uh, I got a Sazerac and a Lemon Drop here—whose is what?” You announced, holding out the drinks as you tried not to dissolve under everyone’s stares.

“Ah, I didn’t know you waited!” Valentino tilted his head, practically undressing you with his eyes, “The Lemon Drop es mío, cariño.”

Typical Valentino, but you couldn’t be bothered to feel uncomfortable by him. Unfortunately, you got used to his advances, the only one who could instill some semblance of uneasiness within you being Vox. He interacted with you the least out of the Vees, after all, but you never bothered wondering why until now.

“Apparently someone pissed you off?” You said, huffing as he enveloped your hand in his while handing him his cocktail.

“Don’t even remind me,” Valentino scoffed theatrically, “This establishment is full of idiotas—aside from you, of course. Say, you should wait for us from now on.”

Goosebumps littered your skin as you turned around to hand Vox his drink, realizing that he had been watching you the entire time, his eyes unashamedly following your every move. He didn’t shy away when you met his stare, either, which made you doubt Velvette’s words even more. Fucking Hell, why did you agree to play such a stupid game?

“Well, you’d have to talk to my boss about that, you know,” You continued the conversation, trying to quell the anxiety in your stomach. “The last thing anyone wants to do is pay someone two salaries.”

“Oh, cariño, I can easily arrange that,” Valentino chuckled, taking a sip from his cocktail, “Mm, yeah. I’ll definitely be talking to your boss tonight.”

And that was the end of your conversation with the moth, especially as his attention was stolen by one of the sinner’s next to him. Now that you had to face Vox, you never wanted to cease to exist more than ever. In fact, you hoped the next extermination would take you if things went wrong as you handed the man his Sazerac, his signature smile consuming most of his screen as he accepted it.

“Is everything alright with you?” Vox asked as his claws brushed against your knuckles, savoring the way you jumped at his touch, “You seem nervous, sweetheart.”

Your face flushed in embarrassment, watching how he took a sip from his drink. You would have recovered quickly if he hadn’t thrown a pet name at you, the way he uttered sweetheart with that voice of his making you feel slightly pathetic. But you had to get over yourself, especially because you could feel Velvette watching you from afar, waiting for you to do something.

“Me? Oh, I’m fine!” You said, shaking your head with a smile. “What about you?”

Vox blinked, confused. It was now or never, you guessed, taking a seat on his thigh and draping your legs over him. His body tensed underneath you, never anticipating that you’d do something so bold, but he didn’t push you off.

“Uh, why wouldn’t I be alright?” Vox asked after a few seconds had passed by.

When he didn’t protest to you being on his lap, you placed your hand on his chest, but it was mostly just to steady yourself. However, you couldn’t help but notice how solid he felt under your palm.

“I don’t know—you look sort of pissed off, I guess?” You said, feeling how he tried to steady the rise and fall of his chest, the act fruitless as his heart rate gave him away. “Velvette’s at the bar, Val is…being Val, and you? Well,” You gestured to the free space around him, “Do I even have to say anything?”

Vox rolled his eyes, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he slithered one of his arms around your waist, holding you against him as he leaned forward to place his drink on the table in the center of the booth. A gasp escaped your throat—you couldn’t remember the last time someone held you against them like this. He was making it challenging to maintain your composure, especially as his hold remained on you as he sunk back into his seat.

“Look, I’m usually here outside of my own volition, alright?” Vox finally said, his free hand moving along with his mouth.

You hummed, making sure that he heard you. His response was total bullshit, you thought. There was nobody paying enough attention to him to ensure that he stayed.

“How? You can come and go as you please.” You said, speaking without thinking, “Everyone is too busy doing their own thing to even care that you’re still here.”

Vox’s eyes widened as you said that, and for a moment, you feared that you had overstepped. You were never so openly blunt, not even with Velvette, and you got along with her quite decently. On the other hand, this was your first real interaction with the man, so you dearly hoped you hadn’t upset him.

“I—shit—I’m sorry,” You quickly said, “I didn’t mean to overstep, it’s just—“

“Oh, sweetheart, if I’m upset, it’s only because you’re correct,” Vox interrupted you, his eyes relaxing as he gazed at you. “Now, it’s my turn to give you a hard pill to swallow—how can you apologize for being so blunt when you sat on my lap without my permission?”

You paled at his question.

“Hey, I asked you something first,” You quickly countered, which made Vox chuckle.

“You know, I’m starting to believe that we’re both here for the same reason,” Vox said, his free hand settling on your knee. “What do you think?”

If you had understood what Vox was implying, he was here for you. He tagged along with Velvette and Valentino to admire you from afar, and that baffled you, especially as he always appeared so confident, so eager to get what he wanted. Maybe that’s what Velvette meant when she told you that Vox wasn’t who he appeared to be on the surface, however, you still had yet to figure out how that made him weak.

Anyway, while Vox was correct, it was only to a certain extent. You had never thought about the man in any other way besides superficially, only sticking around him because of what Velvette dared you to do; but now that Vox had you in his embrace, his claws flexing against your hipbone, you decided that he was starting to grow on you.

“Hm, I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of admitting that you’re right,” You replied slyly, leaning in so you were chest to chest with him.

Vox stared at you with a large, toothy grin, pleased by your words. As you peered down at him, all you could think about was how perfect of an opportunity this was to turn the tables on him.

“But you’re correct…daddy,” You whispered, reaching up to trail your finger across his screen.

As soon as you called him daddy, you felt Vox’s screen warm up under your touch—so that’s what made him weak, you thought as you observed the way his face fell at such a simple word. Truthfully, it was satisfying to witness such a powerful man dissolve underneath you, but the feeling was short-lived. You blinked, noticing the way Vox sat insanely still. You snapped your fingers in front of him to see if he would respond, but he didn’t. Ah, fuck.

“Uh, Vox?” You said, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hi? Hey? Helloooo? Vox!”

Again, he didn’t respond. But you only started to grow concerned when the rest of his body began to warm up. Vox had a TV for a head, so maybe you had caused him to overheat? Your suspicions were confirmed when his screen suddenly turned blue, the phrase, ‘A problem has been detected and Vox has been shut down to prevent damage to his systems,’ on his screen, ‘The problem seems to be caused by the following file: Daddy.exe.’ Nothing could have prepared you for the way his length poked your leg, though.

And to make matters worse, the power went out. Great. Fucking great. Vox was hard and also temporarily out of order. At least Velvette was having fun, you thought as she howled in the background, somehow drowning out everyone else as they complained. You sighed, realizing that you couldn’t just get up off of his lap, not when you were shielding whatever dignity he had left.

So, you swiped the hat off of his head and fanned him to cool him down, even though your efforts were hardly making a difference. Meanwhile, you could hear your boss yelling in the background, ‘What the fuck happened to the power!?’ spotting her using the flashlight from the other end of the casino.

“The fuck is going on?” Valentino asked, standing up as he illuminated the area around you with his phone. “Vox, what the fuck? What’s wrong with you?”

“One moment he was normal,” You said, still trying to cool him down, “And the next he blue screened.”

Valentino took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke over his shoulder before leaning down to look at Vox. You’d heard through the grapevine that his vision was shit, and it was apparent in the way he took his time reading one simple sentence with narrowed eyes.

“The…problem…seems…to be…caused…by the…following…file…Daddy.exe,” Valentino slowly read aloud. 

You tried not to shrink under his gaze as he turned his attention to you.

“Well?” Valentino asked, quirking a brow at you as the power suddenly returned. 

“I didn’t know he’d…do all that when I called him daddy,” You muttered, hoping you hadn’t pissed off the moth. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done it—I swear.”

Instead, Valentino tossed his head back, a hand on his chest as he laughed. “I can’t be mad at una cosita linda like you,” He said, petting your head.

Thank God, you mentally sighed.

Suddenly, you heard a ‘zzt!’ your head snapping to Vox. As his body jolted upwards and his face replaced the blue screen, you stilled your ministrations. Blinking, he looked at you with an undecipherable expression, seemingly recalling what happened. You quickly put his hat back on his head, opening your mouth to apologize; but then Velvette ran up to the booth, showing all of you how she got everything on video.

If you weren’t fucked before, you certainly were now, the way Vox turned to you and grabbed your jaw after she left communicating that. “As soon as your shift is over, you’re leaving with me,” He said, leaving no room for you to refuse. “Understood, sweetheart?” You nodded your head obediently, unaware of how he was going to destroy your insides later that night, forcing you to chant the word daddy as he did so.

Adam:

Ah, Adam. The first man alive. You had the displeasure of meeting him your first Extermination Day, and God, was he full of himself. It was satisfying dodging and escaping him, hearing how he cried out in disappointment when you sought refuge in the darkest crevices of Hell’s infrastructure. “Yeah, run away you fucking coward!” You heard his voice bounce off the brick walls, your hand over your mouth as you stifled your laughter. What a loser.

You continued to fuck around with Adam, though, taking advantage of his reckless fighting style. He hated how slinky you were, the way you effortlessly slipped away from his grasp when he thought he finally had you frustrating him. By the third extermination, you started to tease him, relishing in his poorly disguised groans—a meager ‘Fuck you’—as you brushed against him or touched his wings.

Adam could have killed you a long time ago, the first time you escaped his clutches being sheer luck; but he kept searching for you, locating you with ease despite the fact that you never lingered in one specific area. You were well aware of this, so when you, Angel Dust, and Cherri Bomb were drunkenly playing Truth or Dare the night before the Exorcists attacked the Hazbin Hotel, you let them in on your history with Adam.

Big mistake on your part, especially as Angel took advantage of this information to dare you to do something insanely stupid. “Dare ya to call him daddy,” he slurred, Cherri smacking her chest as she choked on her beer. “Are you trying to get them killed?” She asked between coughs. Your friendship with her was relatively new, but she liked you too much to see you go so quickly.

“Let’s see if you’ll remember tomorrow,” You rolled your eyes, but Angel was adamant that he would. “Hey, maybe we might be able to take him down if ya distract him.”

Angel didn’t forget, and for the first time since you arrived in Hell, you were afraid of what might happen. You couldn’t care less about the dare—the people you grew to love and care for were being directly targeted, and you didn’t want to lose them. If anything, the idea of calling Adam daddy only served to spur you on, even if it would ensure your death. 

You stood alongside everybody else as the Exorcists poured into Hell from above, visibly gratified by the sight of so many sinners in one place. When Adam and Lute finally came into view, you made sure to wave at them with a smile. Lute was completely unaware of your past interactions, the scowl on her face a testament of that. Adam, on the other hand, looked oddly horrified. 

You would only face him after Alastor’s shield was broken, having slain several Exorcists by then, the evidence plain all over your clothes. Adam was strangely unfazed by this, however, seemingly too busy being pissed off by your presence when he found you behind the hotel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Adam said as he spun you around, his grip on you piercing.

You heard the moment Adam landed near you, but you gave him the satisfaction of believing he had caught you unaware. Huffing, you shook his hand off of you, pushing him back with your foot. That pissed him off. It was easy dodging his attacks, though—too easy, you realized. You quirked a brow at him as the two of you practically danced around each other, creating the illusion that you were fighting.

“Fucking hello? Are you deaf?” Adam asked, swinging at you but completely missing.

“You might as well fight with the air,” You said, but then he knocked your spear out of your grip. No big deal, your hands would do. “Seriously, what do they teach you up in Heaven?”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Adam said, lunging towards you in frustration. “Come over here, bitch—gotcha! Fucking finally!”

Never anticipating that he would pull such a stunt, Adam managed to tackle you to the ground. Fuck, he was heavy, but you’d find a way to escape his grasp. This is what you thought until he pinned your arms above your head, placing his legs on either side of you and caging your body underneath him. For the first time since he met you, you looked at him with fear. You were stuck.

“Shit, as hot as this is, it’s time for you to die, babe,” Adam said, but you knew he didn’t mean it—the second part, precisely.

“Why now?” You panted, your heart beating violently against your ribcage.

“What? What are you talking about?” Adam asked, his eyes widening as you bent your fingers to touch his hand, which were holding your wrists together. “Hey—what are you doing? Fucking stop that—“

“You could have killed me a long time ago, you know,” You interrupted him, forcing your body to relax in his grip in an attempt to appear genuine. 

Adam had a big mouth—everybody knew that. He would curse at every opportunity, the words, ‘Fuck,’ ‘Shit,’ and ‘Bitch,’ consisting of most of his vocabulary. But as he looked down at you, completely at his mercy, he had nothing to say. Not even a meager insult.

“I—“ Adam said, but that was all he had to offer.

You closed your eyes and exhaled, opening them after a few seconds. Angel’s dare echoed in the back of your mind, and you knew that you could weaponize it, but you needed to wear Adam down a bit more, his body too tense for your liking.

“Before I die, can I at least…see how you look like?” You asked, hoping it would work.

“You’re already looking at me right now, what?” Adam shook his head.

Of course he misunderstood you. 

“Behind the mask, I mean,” You specified, trying hard to be patient. 

“Oh.”

“Please?”

Adam looked over his shoulder, clearly hesitant. The fact that he was considering your request was a good sign, however, excitement blooming in your chest. After a minute or so, he turned back to you, sighing in defeat.

“I, uh—fuck, fine!” Adam stuttered, readjusting his grip on your wrists so he could remove his mask with one hand. “Don’t move, or I’ll, uh, kill you! Yeah.”

You nodded obediently, secretly curious as to how he looked like. As he held your wrists together with one hand now, Adam looked over his shoulder again, making sure that nobody was paying attention to you two. When he was satisfied, he tentatively reached up to grab his mask, his stare never leaving you.

You couldn’t help but notice how Adam’s fingers trembled. He looked so vulnerable, and that made your stomach feel a bit funny. You wanted to call him pathetic, but the way he slowly revealed himself to you squashed that urge. As much as he sucked, he was still a person, you realized, especially when his mask landed next to your head.

Your eyes darted across his face, taking in each and every one of his features. If anybody asked you to guess what Adam, the first man alive, looked like, you would have replied with ethereal. But as you took in the sight before you, he was…average, with pale skin, hazel eyes, ash brown hair, and stubble decorating his chin. Still, he somehow managed to mesmerize you.

“Are you done, uh, looking?” Adam stammered, turning away from you.

He was growing self-conscious under your gaze, and that made you feel…bad? Oh no, why did you feel bad? You noticed the funny feeling in your stomach was only growing stronger, making you nauseous. You had no idea what it was, but if you remained underneath Adam for a second longer, you feared that you’d discover what it was.

But before you could shut down whatever this was, you had to indulge yourself first, being the sinner you were. You also justified it by convincing yourself that he hadn’t been worn down enough yet.

“Kiss me,” You said.

“What?” Adam blinked, completely caught off guard.

“I said kiss me—are you deaf?” You said, throwing back his insult from earlier.

“Now why the fuck would I—I don’t want to—that’s crazy—“ Adam struggled to form a coherent sentence, nervously laughing in between his words.

“Kiss me, daddy.”

His grip on your wrists immediately loosened, shocked. You had him right where you wanted him, retracting your arms from above your head with a practiced speed, seizing his collar and bringing him in for a kiss. Adam gasped against your lips, but that was the only form of protest he gave you. Before you knew it, he had one hand buried in your hair, the other on the small of your back with the sole purpose of joining your bodies.

It was supposed to be a quick kiss, but you allowed it to progress, enjoying the feeling of Adam’s hands desperately clawing at you. Meanwhile, all he could think about was how he couldn’t kill you anymore. He was addicted to the way your lips wetly smacked against one another, your hands glued to his face and his face only.

Your body was starting to heat up, and so was Adam’s, you realized. “Fuck,” You whimpered, feeling his length poking at your thigh. When he took the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, his hand cupping the space between your thighs, your mind instantly went ‘Nope.’ You were in the middle of a battle, for fuck’s sake.

“Adam, we need to—“ You said, separating from the kiss, but he just dived right back in.

You grabbed his face, forcefully pulling him away from you. Adam peered down at you with rosy cheeks and bruised lips, his mouth slightly agape as he struggled to catch his breath. He looked absolutely blissed out, even as his hand remained in between your thighs, your head falling back with a moan as he started to massage you through your pants.

“Stop!” You cried, grabbing his wrist and squeezing him harder than you should have.

“Ow—what the fuck!” Adam whined, retracting his arm. 

When he looked at you like a kicked puppy, you rolled your eyes and sat up. 

“We are not going to fuck in the middle of…this! It’s not right,” You said, trying to snap him back to reality. “Look around you, Adam!” You gestured wildly, regret immediately replacing the arousal you previously felt.

“Fuck, I’m so selfish. What if my friends are dead? And I could have saved them if I weren’t so busy—“ You stopped rambling when you noticed the expression on Adam’s face.

He looked everything but apologetic, and God, did that piss you off. You quickly collected your spear from the ground and moved behind him, holding the weapon against his neck.

“Woah! Hey, babe! You don’t gotta do all that!” Adam panicked, his hands landing over yours, albeit putting no effort in pulling the spear away from his neck. “I’m sorry—you’re right—this is wrong and you—“

“Get up,” You demanded, kicking at his feet when he didn’t listen. “I said get up!”

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it!” Adam said, but he had to stop halfway into his ascent.

The man was taller than you, so there was no way he could stand up at his full height without risking getting choked. 

“Hey, genius, I can’t get up without your fucking spear—“ He started, but then he felt the weapon abandon his throat.

“Get the fuck out of here,” You said, grabbing his arm and spinning him around.

“What?” Adam asked, his brows furrowed as he processed your question. “No, I’m not gonna leave. Do you have any fucking idea what just happened?”

You turned away from Adam, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You really hated yourself for what you were about to do, but it was the only way to get him to understand.

“So? Who cares,” You said.

“The fuck? I do, you stupid—ah, sorry, I’m not good at this kinda stuff,” Adam shook his head, frustrated. “But I…care, about you and whatever just happened.”

“I was only trying to save myself,” You said, but Adam wasn’t having any of it.

“Well, shit, you have a funny way of doing it,” Adam said, rounding you as he gauged your reaction. “Do you make googly eyes at every fucker who’s about to kill you, huh? Let them kiss you and touch you the way I just did?”

Screams pierced the sky, a reminder of everyone fighting right around the corner. You didn’t have the time to argue, especially as you thought about your friends, who were out there risking their lives while you were fucking around with Adam.

“I don’t want you, Adam. Okay? Get it through your fucking skull,” You lied through your teeth, seizing his collar and forcing him to look at you. “Look at what you and your dumbass army are doing! You’re slaughtering innocent souls that are fighting for a chance at redemption.” 

Adam stuttered, a look of disbelief upon his face. While it pained you to see him that way, your words were exactly what he needed to hear. If you allowed anything else to happen between you two, you’d never be able to forgive yourself.

“But what right do you have when you’re here in Hell—“ Adam tried to counter, but you didn’t let him finish his sentence. 

“I’m sorry, but you spared me out of your own goddamn selfishness, mercilessly killing other sinners because they weren’t me. I’m not special, and honestly, neither are you!” You continued, trying not to acquiesce as you heard his breath hitch in his throat. “You’re the Adam—so fucking what? I could never be with you, and you should’ve known that when all of your wives have left you.”

You bit your cheek as you pushed Adam away, trying not to apologize as his heart shattered into a million pieces before you. He could have killed you, but he didn’t, instead opting to watch you as you turned your back on him—just like everybody else he had ever loved. Little did you know that that would be the last time you saw Adam alive. “Did ya do it?” Angel joked as you observed his lifeless body, his face falling when you didn’t laugh. “Cause ya didn’t have to, but if ya did, uh, good job?” You eventually offered him a half-hearted nod. Hell had won, and Extermination Day had been cancelled, but you felt hollow as everyone brought you in for a celebratory hug.

[0luv9]

forlorn || mattheo riddle

Summary: based on this request.

Beware: angst, fluff, slightly aged-up characters, Hufflepuff reader, sweet reader, she/her pronouns used, mostly in second person, jealousy, mistreatment, a little bit of blood, slightly commanding(?) and intimidating Mattheo.

Words: 7.8k (not beta read)

Note: I am sorry luv, I don't think I did justice to the request. I also apologize for taking so long. I still hope you like it, even if it's just a bit. @cat-loves-music

Mattheo Riddle, son of Voldemort, or Tom Riddle if you will—for a more humane approach. But then, there's no humanity in the way he's treated. Always an outsider, always a monster.

There is wealth to his name; after all, he is the only living heir of Salazar Slytherin. However, his blood is corrupt, shunned by the very people who kissed the steps his baby feet took. Looked down on by the blood supremacists and not accepted by the other side, the "good side."

Even he was tired of the same sob story. He doesn't even need to introduce himself; they already have a preconceived image of him in their minds. He could try to fix his image in an ideal world, but even then, what would he say?

'Hello, everyone, I'm Mattheo Riddle, son of the man who once threatened your lives. Please welcome me with warm hands.'

Too cliché? Yes, but it's true and the only truth he knew.

Riddle didn't even know why the name Riddle was cursed and didn't know what his father did that made everyone's hate transcend generations. What made their hatred justified and his hate a crime? He didn't know until it was too late.

Mattheo was raised by the only living relative of his, his mother's aunt—the one who died recently. The one who kept all this hidden away from him hid all the Hogwarts' letters, raised him like her own, and protected him until her last breath. She loved him but all within the vicinity of the manor. He didn't know the world that existed beyond those walls.

He knew about the world outside only through the books she'd let him read. He thought it would feel liberating to step off the lavish floors onto the rich earth. It was everything but that.

"But Nona, why can't I go outside?" he remembers asking that silly question when he was about nine. What he wouldn't do to get that naivety back.

"Because, my dear, there are people out there who wouldn't like you. There are bad people outside ready to punish you," he also remembers crying when she told him that. He didn't understand why people would hate him. He just wanted to try the chocolate frogs he read about.

He just wanted to talk to all the different animals out there, the same way he could talk to the garden snakes.

"But I didn't do anything wrong, Nona. Tell them that I'm a good boy. I can even give them some of my toys. Will they like me then?" If only it were that easy. His Nona cried for the first time in front of him then, looking at all the toys he had set onto her lap, looking at her with teary eyes, pleading, "I didn't do anything wrong, Nona, I promise."

Mattheo didn't understand her tears back then, but now as he stands all alone, those same tears fall out his eyes. It's useless. "They'll know that someday, moon pie. You aren't wrong. They'll know." They'll know? What a fucking joke.

Mattheo tries to enjoy the view in front of him, you know. But how can he? When his batchmates are out there partying and enjoying life, he's been a lone wolf all his life. Yet in moments like this, he seems to forget his old ways of existing.

There's not much he can do anyway; he's not needed anywhere. In fact, they all want him gone. Finding beauty in small things is hard when misery clings to him. There's self-loathing in the way he thinks about the night and himself. There's nothing positive he can say.

You'd think that he must've gotten used to it all by now. No, he hasn't; it only got worse. At least little Mattheo held hope that people would understand someday or the other. Every bit of hope was destroyed by the very people who would've feared him had his father been alive. In moments like this, he wished he could see the man, live as the son they paint him as.

He'd have someone to lean onto then, someone to call his own. At least his father would've loved him. But this last bit of consolidation too was stolen away from him when he got to know that he was a backup plan for his father. Mattheo Riddle was not supposed to exist. His father wanted to live on forever; he was the last option the so-called Dark Lord had, to produce an heir and have them further his cause, and control his life as Tom lived on his last lifeline.

But all of it died with him. Mattheo promised himself that he would never be the man they all expected him to be, the man they wanted to point fingers at. So, he stayed in line. But then he thinks, sometimes, maybe, what if—you know?

He simply stares up at the brightly lit sky, it's a shame that he's the only one out there to appreciate the scenic beauty because he's physically and mentally incapable of appreciating anything, you can't blame him now, can you?

Cold breeze in mid-August, how fucking ridiculous just like this life of his, so unlike his peers, who were out there partying and having the time of their lives, the music vibrating through the walls was like salt on wounds. He'd like to drink a few and chat with his friends but then again, he hasn't got any. And it's the bitter truth that he's not welcome there, he'd be greeted with nasty looks if he tried to enter any such party, they'd all glance his way like the ominous thing he is. It's times like this when he really contemplates it.

Mattheo looks down from the height he's on, no one would care anyway, the fall will kill him, might just give it an actual try unlike those previous attempts- he's been a coward all his life, never ready to face the extremes of life but he has nothing to protect at the moment, he's come far too long, life was never going to be worth it.

He climbs over the railing onto the brick ledge, sitting down for a moment, to take it all in for the last time ever. Mattheo remembers all the whispers that followed him, the suspicious looks passed along the way, those words of disdain- at the same time the thoughts of a happy life enter his mind, it all feels unattainable, in fact, he's so far gone he can't even picture joy, all he sees is bright colours when he thinks of a happy life.

Mattheo had desperately sought relief all his life, but the pain only worsened with time, it's only reasonable to want to end this feeling of hopelessness. The weight of his family's legacy feels heavy on his shoulders. He slouches over and looks down once again, sighing as his eyes shift to the ring on his finger, the other Gaunt ring, he slowly removes it- a pathetic heir he is, he doesn't deserve it, couldn't live up to the name, disappointing both sides of the world.

Maybe they should have destroyed this along with his father's ring but apparently, his dear sweet Nona thought he could change their fate, change the course of history, change the Gaunt legacy for the better, fuck- he couldn't even try and change people's perception about him. Even in this sense, he's nothing like his predecessors, incapable of leaving a mark, of changing the world, be it for the better or the worse. He's just fucking worthless- he fiddles with the ring as he shifts a bit closer to the edge, ready to let go of it.

"Nice ring," he turns around startled, "Mattheo, isn't it?" not Riddle? He hadn't heard his own name in a long time, no one had directly addressed him in years let alone called him by his first name. It all feels foreign, he simply nods not knowing what to say. "Do you mind if I join you?" you don't wait for a response though and carefully bend and climb through the gaps between the two rails, settling down beside him. "Hi, I'm-" he doesn't hear it, he's too focused on your face, you were dolled up, for the party he thinks, but then why are you here of all places? Was this some kind of prank? He steals a glance back at the entrance and the seemingly empty hallway, to see if anyone is waiting for a reaction.

"You know you shouldn't sit so close to the edge, you might fall down," you grab his forearm urging him to move back, your hand feels warm on his skin, it feels unnatural, his hands are always cold. Even though it's on him for a couple of seconds he can't help the multiple emotions going on about in his mind and before he can sort them out, his mouth decides to act on its own, "Why aren't you at the party?" "Oh-" you look disappointed, and he apologises right away, not wanting to upset the only person who had the decency to talk to him, "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked," he's quick to defend himself, it's a natural response after all but you only seemed amused, "No, it quite alright, I was just surprised by your voice-" "Is it that bad?" "Gosh no! It's just not what I expected, quite rough, it's nice," you are quick to shut him up, "And about your question, I am annoyed at my friends forcing me to try more drinks and all, I just came up here to relax."

"I can leave if you'd like," you add on as an afterthought, but you really didn't want to go, it was the only place with some peace, unlike the loud corridors and dorms, where you were mad at your friends and were in no mood for a party. "No, it's quite alright, I was just surprised," he tries to lighten the mood, repeating your words jokingly, it works, you laugh and properly look at him instead of the waters ahead.

"Haha so funny," you say in a monotonous voice, trying to act like you didn't just laugh but you can't contain your smile, and he finds it quite beautiful. You look down at the ring between the two of you, "it's a beautiful ring I must say," You compliment it again since he hadn't acknowledged it before. Mattheo thanked you quietly trying to think of a response that might not make you run away from him.

It's been only a few minutes and you've said more nice things to him than he has ever heard in his whole life, it's quite ridiculous when he thinks about it, seemingly you find it quite easy to compliment him. He stays quiet not knowing how to take a compliment, but you don't let the silence continue, you look around trying to find something to talk about and soon enough you start talking and he's glad, "You know about those plants right there?" you point to the shrubs at some distance from the castle walls. Mattheo shakes his head unable to recall if he had seen them before. "It's alright but now that you know, you have something to look forward to this upcoming month!" you smile yet again, cheerful that you have something to share.

"What's special about them?" "It's not the plant itself but the fireflies that live there!" Mattheo tries hard to keep up with your energy and pace, "Why aren't they out now? They aren't migratory, are they?" "That's what makes it special unlike fireflies that are present throughout the summer, these ones light up only for the last week of August," "I'll look forward to it," "You should! I missed it last year and then everyone thought I was lying when I mentioned it." Mattheo frowns, "No one knows about them? Not even the professors?" "The professors would know but it wasn't that serious that I'd take it up to them," Mattheo finds it difficult to relate, he always would let everyone know that he was in the right if the facts favour him because no way in hell would he let anyone see him in the wrong light, he couldn't bear to be in the wrong.

And it slips out his mouth, "I would've argued till they knew I was right," "I don't like arguing though, reminds me of my parents, they parted ways because they argued a lot, so I try to avoid it myself," his lips purse trying to think of an appropriate response, "Anyway, you are in Slytherin right?" it wasn't a question, you just knew, "I'm in Hufflepuff, nice to meet you!" you turn towards him and extend your hand with a smile, he can't help but mirror your smile, "Nice to meet you indeed." Your hand feels soft in his, he was finding it hard to let go but you pull your hand back almost instantly- remembering something, "OH right I forgot, do you like chocolates?" Mattheo was quite taken aback by your energetic self, it was infectious, "Of course you do, it's a silly question, I mean who doesn't like chocolate-" you stop midway and fix him with a scrutinising look, "Unless you are some heartless monster-" "Nah I like chocolate alright," "Good good."

You fish through your jacket's pocket and pull out two chocolate bars, "It's muggle chocolate," you place one in his hand, "Muggle? I've never had muggle candy," Mattheo inspects the small sweet in his hand, "You are missing out then!" you chuckle as you take the wrapper off yours, "I'll eat it tomorrow, thank you," He pockets it and looks ahead with a small smile, tonight's beautiful now that he looks at it.

"You are a muggle born then?" Mattheo can't help but want to know more, because how dare his fucking father go after your lot, "Yep, I was surprised you know? To receive the letter, I thought it was some prank but of course, after a few days I realised how real it was, couldn't have been happier, to be away from home." It's funny because all Mattheo wants to do is go back to the gloomy old mansion and here you were saying the opposite, the stark difference between the two of you was obvious to him.

You ramble on and he listens, it's nothing but enjoyable to listen to mundane stories being narrated with such interest, he finds himself smiling a bit too much, to the point where his face hurts but he doesn't care because you are quite the lovely company to be around.

Muggle-born, the same year as him, Hufflepuff, living with your mom- it's not the best back home he gathers that much. You were angry at your friends and were going to hold a grudge if they didn't apologise. He learned a lot about you in that one hour and learned a few things about him as well, he didn't know he had jokes like that OR you were just too kind to laugh at his bad quips, whatever it was he was grateful because you didn't make him feel bad or like a burden. Mattheo was glad that you were the talkative one and that you didn't expect him to share anything if he wasn't comfortable, also the fact that he didn't want to send you running away by talking more about himself.

He admires the fond smile you wear when you talk, the stars reflect a bit too brightly in your eyes, and he inhales breathing in your scent, it's surreal, the moment. Mattheo didn't quite think properly until you left, wishing him a good night, "it was nice spending time with you, Mattheo!" He wonders if you knew how much it meant to him.

...

He finds out your name the next day and sees you everywhere, it's annoying because he was tired since he couldn't sleep thinking all night about you and now he has to see your face again. Now that he knows you, he can't seem to avoid you, earlier it was easy to be blind but now, everything else seems like a blind spot but you. Or maybe it's that his head is not hanging low, avoiding looking up at people.

Mattheo got over the irritation rather quickly, discreetly looking at you, eyes following every movement of yours. But you don't look at him once, he was just like any other guy to you, the realisation both hurts and feels nice, knowing that you don't demonise him but also the fact that he's no one special either. And maybe, he can live with that.

He notices the large number of people you keep around, you are never alone, always surrounded by a group and you are always the one talking, you are clearly popular. How had he not noticed you before? But then again he knew no one in the school apart from the professors, he never tried to get to know anyone because of course his fate wouldn't allow that.

Mattheo seeks out the solace of the library to keep you out of his mind for a while but the plan doesn't seem to work when he finds the chocolate you gave him in his bag. He simply sighs, knowing that there is no escape, unwarps the sweet and pops it into his mouth, shutting his eyes, and recalls your sweet smile. Warmth takes over his body, it feels nice like this, he has to talk to you once again because that can't be the only interaction he has with you, not when it's all he can think about. He breathes out slowly, staring down at the wrapper and mindlessly reading the information on the back, his jaw tightens as he realizes his stupid pathetic feelings. Mattheo puts the wrapper in his quill case and tries to study with a head full of you.

...

Okay, now it was really starting to bother him, he practically couldn't keep his eyes off you, it's like a spell had charmed him in. He wasn't even trying to be discreet at this point, he downright stared at you from a distance, it was creepy, he was aware of that but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn. Mattheo doesn't like this new feeling you've instilled in him, it's sweet and it's fucking uncomfortable. He finds it extremely difficult to get rid of you from his thoughts, so he gives up on trying and lets his mind go on autopilot.

The way you talked to him without any judgement in your eyes that day, the images of you repeated over and over again in his mind. Even when he sees you with someone else he can't help but think you are in front of him telling him a story, with those animated expressions of yours, but then seconds later he comes to his senses and sees the smile that's not directed at him, the one you gave to everyone, him too. He thinks it was your pity, that made you talk to him. He didn't feel like he was burdening you then but now when he thinks of approaching you, he knows he'd be burdening you. Your life looks no different, every day is full of joy, and you aren't smiling any less.

Why would you talk to him of all people? Perhaps, you only talked to him that day because you needed a change of scenery and not because you wanted to, he's wrong in thinking that but he's also deluded. It's the only way he keeps himself at peace, to not see meaning in your words, to not long for your company.

But he's a Riddle after all, some things just run in your blood, he has his eyes set on you and he finds it difficult to look away. New dream of his, and he'd like to have it, no matter how unattainable it feels. Yet he hasn't got a clue, it's all too new, and he doesn't know what to do, he'd like to have a plan but what would the plan even say? Go and talk to her? Yeah, like he's about to embarrass himself in front of her.

...

Your eyes stretch at the sight of him sitting in the library, alone but not in some deserted corner, he had claimed the whole couch in the centre of the room, sitting right in the middle, reading a book leaning back, a frown on his face. He looked intimidating, and to be honest, you were scared of him, the little beer in you that night had given you the courage to approach him, maybe your fate was too kind to let you find him that night but now your nerves were on fire.

It was no secret to you that he had been staring at you the past couple of weeks, but you couldn't understand the look on his face, his jaw was always clenched, eyes narrowed, and not a hint of emotion on his face. Was he mad at you? Was he the planning on-

No. You didn't like to think about it, you didn't want him to be the man they paint him as, he's just a boy, your age, maybe that's another reason why you hadn't approached him. Staying away because you were scared that they'd be right, you'd rather delve into what ifs than actually be heartbroken, your imagination brought you bliss.

But would it really be your mind if it would let you just forget it? You think and think, getting worked up over every little interaction you've had with him. How could he be evil? He talked to you so nicely the other day, even- even though you were a muggle-born, a mud blood. But when you see how he looks at you, you can't help but feel scared.

It really was an intimidating sight, your courage wore thin but you had made up your mind. You approach him cautiously, as you greet him, you start feeling jittery and flushed, "Hey Mattheo."

Mattheo jerked his head up as he heard your voice, surprised, caught off guard in fact, he didn't trust his words just yet so he simply nodded at you, acknowledging your presence, closing the book and setting it aside, all his attention on you. "I came here to study and noticed you," you look around bashfully before continuing, "I just wanted to ask you if you liked the chocolate I gave you the other day, you know the one with dark brown wrapper-" "Yeah I did," He stops you from rambling on, not that he had any problem with it but you clearly seemed nervous, he just wanted to ease your nerves, "Right so-" you quickly pull out a small pack of the chocolate from your sling bag placing it beside him, straightening up, "I'll go then, enjoy-" you are quick to turn away from him, cursing yourself in your mind, blaming yourself for making things more awkward than they already were.

Mattheo stops you in your tracks as he calls you by your name, you turn around, and he speaks in that cold voice of his, "You said you were here to study right?" you nod timidly, clutching onto the straps of your bag, he leans back and with a flick of his wrist, a table and chair are summoned in front of him, "then study," he motions to the chair opposite of him.

You were quite taken aback, you stood there for a bit before actually registering his words, and you quietly sat down, you didn't have it in you to disobey him, he was Mattheo Riddle for fucks sake, he looked and sounded like someone who doesn't take no for an answer.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you carefully sit down, looking down, not meeting his gaze, he couldn't believe it, you obliged his wishes? Mattheo leaned back fully, arms folding as he watched you, brown eyes capturing each detail, amusement crawled over his face as he watched you pull out multiple books all at once, various colourful stationery items sprawled out all over the table. You looked pretty like this, stray strands of hair framing your face, lips pursed in concentration. He knew how creepy he was being, so he opened his book again and tried to read but he simply couldn't not when you were sitting in front of him, he relished your presence and this was so unlike the others, every time he had looked at you- you had been surrounded by people, so it was a sight to behold, only for him to admire. So he did, in secret, glancing up at you, every few seconds.

It's been two hours and not once did he get bored of looking at you, a small smile lingered on his face as you closed your books and looked up at him, "How's that book?" you nod towards the book in his hand- the one he was supposed to be reading, "Good, good" he bites the inside of cheek as he lies through his teeth, "Got everything done?" he sets his book aside, fixing you with a soft stare, "Yes, I just wanted to revise a bit, I forget stuff easily if I don't revise regularly," you tilt your head a bit, his eyes were much softer now, and it made your heart flutter a bit, feeling a lot more comfortable than before, so you do what you usually do when you are comfortable- talk.

"By the way, did you study for the upcoming herbology test?" And before he could answer, you pulled out a piece of paper from your bag, "This is like the holy grail, a senior gave it to me last year, it has all the specifics, of recognising plants and how to make generalised guesses about their uses-" you speak in a hushed voice, slightly leaning over the table, eyes wide as you shared your little secret, "you can have it, I have it memorised haha" You bless him with that pretty smile of yours, pushing the paper towards him, you don't let him refuse the offer and start talking about something else, he gives you a small smile, and it makes your insides turn into mush, you bite your lip trying to contain your smile, eyes shy as you start fiddling with your hands on your lap.

You talked for hours, he was much more open this time, and the conversation flowed smoothly between the two of you, it was you who mostly did the talking but he didn't seem to mind he looked more than pleased, he didn't like talking much, it seemed, so you filled in the gaps, made it look so effortless like it was easy talking to him, maybe it was easy for you but to him, it made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. You two stopped only when the librarian came in and told you it was curfew time, your eyes widened as you turned to look back at him, an amused smile on your face, both of you got up, walking beside each other, not uttering a word till you were out of the librarian's stern gaze.

"I made you miss dinner-" your eyes widened further as soon as the two of you got out, stepping into the empty hallway, "it's alright, I don't mind," you playfully rolled your eyes at him, he chuckled at your antics, "yeah sure, but your stomach would, but- we can sneak into the kitchens, you know, sneak some food out," you wiggle your eyebrows at him with a sheepish grin on your face, he scoffs in disbelief, a fond smile gracing his face, "something tells me, this isn't your first time sneaking around."

"No, it's not," you chuckle a bit before continuing, "So, are you coming or not?" you purse your lips, looking up at him with doe eyes and he questions your motives right then because there's no way you didn't have a clue about what you were doing, "would be an idiot to say no," he muttered under his breath shaking his head, "I didn't catch that-", "Yes, I am."

You give him a pleased smile, you looked so happy at that moment, he was rooted in his position as you started walking ahead of him, he had to look away to catch his breath, "Merlin" he exhaled, a hand reaching over to his chest to soothe his loud thumping heart, and in that moment he knew he was a goner.

"Mattheo-?" you turned around since you didn't hear him walk with you but soon he rushed to your side the moment you looked back, you gave him another smile as he walked beside you, he looked straight ahead then, you needed to stop doing that because no fucking way- would he be able to let go of you.

You lead him to the kitchen, both of you cautious, well just you- he was having the time of his life, getting a detention would be worth it, just a small price to pay. Mattheo repeatedly stole glances here and there, the moment you entered the kitchen, you grabbed his arm and pulled his painfully slow self in, "gosh- you sure do walk slow," you glare at him, but there's no malice in your eyes, instead they are just amused, you roll your eyes when he just shrugs in response, moving over to the tables. Mattheo just looked at you with fond eyes, he was just trying to buy more time with you by walking slowly and he didn't feel one bit guilty about it, he felt a bit too proud. 

You sigh dramatically before returning to him with a small tray in your hands, "I didn't find anything else, apart from these blueberry muffins," your eyes wander around once more trying to see if you missed something, "usually there's still stuff left, that's weird- oh well, at least we have these," you give him a small defeated smile, setting the tray on the table, shrugging as you felt that muffins weren't worth the effort of sneaking around and that you only troubled him further. Mattheo saw through you and he hated that you were feeling that way, "didn't I mention this to you? I love muffins, especially the blueberry ones." he gave you a small smile, picking up the muffin, taking a bite, "yeah, that's good, way better than the dry vegetable and chicken pies they make." He didn't look at you as he said that, but you smiled, realising what he was trying to do, you wanted to cry, why was he being so considerate? You were now beginning to go down a spiral, of all the times you thought of him in the wrong light, how dare you even think like that? 

Mattheo caught you staring and it was hard for him to control the heat that rose to his cheeks, he cleared his throat, "What? You don't like these? Well, guess they are all for me-" he teased, taking the tray in his hand and started walking away, "Hey! No-" you rushed after him with an amused smile, "I want one too," and the tray was shoved back into your hands, "better not eat all of them, yeah?" he gave you a small cheeky wink, leaning against the table, finishing the muffin in his hand. 

Mattheo offered to walk you back to your dorm, he didn't have to insist much, after all, you wanted to spend time with him too, you easily agreed after a couple of tries. You two walked in comfortable silence, as you neared the Hufflepuff dormitory, you were thinking about how you'd part ways, overthinking about what would be appropriate and in the mix of it, you just gave him an awkward side hug, squeezing his arm a bit before mumbling a quick "goodnight" and rushing in. 

He couldn't believe his eyes, were you blushing? No way, he must be imagining things. Mattheo could still feel your warm touch lingering on his side, the scene playing over and over again in his mind, he wanted to scream out of excitement- he was getting cuteness aggression, had to be it, his fists clenched at his side as he stared at the door, for god knows how long, if he could- he would've squeezed you into a bone-crushing hug, but you were quick, left him speechless. 

He walked back to the Slytherin dorm without any trouble, he closed the door behind himself and leaned back against it, he was pretty sure his skin was burning with all the warmth that was flowing through his veins. Merlin, he was embarrassing! Mattheo sighed contently, a big smile on his face as he replayed the whole day, your smile- 

...

The next few days, you guys didn't talk at all, he was back to staring and this time, when you did catch him in the act, instead of pretending you didn't see him, you gave him a knowing smile and a wave. Lingering looks, and subtle greetings, were sweet, Mattheo was now on a new high, he couldn't get enough. But for some reason, he maintained his distance, he stuck to looking at you from afar, it felt comfortable this way, not wanting to taint your reputation by talking to you in front of others, he'd talk to you if it was only you but you were never alone. 

Mattheo starts seeing life for what it is, when he looks at the trees outside, the castle in its entirety, he feels like he is seeing it for the first time. How had he missed this? He finds himself back at the astronomy tower, he looks at the lake ahead, it was a sight to behold, and he is starting to appreciate the view, these days he didn't care about much, you were all he could think about and you were more than pleasant, it was as if the grey lens of his life was replaced with a coloured one, and it would be foolish to credit anyone else but you for it, and he was fucking grateful for it. The reason he was here was, that it was the end of August, and the fireflies you so damn wished to see would be out tonight, he came here just in the hope that he'll get to see you alone. 

He was zoning out when some movement near the edge of the lake caught his eye, it was you- with a few of your friends, his smile faltered the moment he saw some blonde Hufflepuff dude pull you to his side, slinging a hand over your shoulder, you all walked towards the shrubs and didn't have to wait long before the fireflies lit up and started raising above the shrubs. He was about to leave, he was mad for some reason, really pissed- but then he took another look at you. You were standing a bit behind your friends, who had all their attention on the flies ahead, you seemed sad, looking down, messing with the soil beneath your shoe, hands in your jacket. Mattheo could make out the pout on your face, the deflated shoulders, you then turned to look right where he was, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Your posture straightened immediately, the pretty smile returning to your face as you looked up at the astronomy tower balcony, having spotted him, you waved at him. Mattheo nodded, forearms on the railing as he leaned forward, a smile gracing his features, the anger leaving him. You excitedly pointed at the sky, and he nodded, you turned back around when your friend called you and he couldn't look away, he was staring at you till you left, Mattheo started feeling the warmth creep up to him when he saw you making an effort to steal back glances at him. He felt seen, fucking special- 

...

Mattheo still hadn't talked to you, he couldn't catch you alone really, it was starting to get to him, he longed to hear your voice, hear you talk to him- and yet, he didn't have it in him to approach you in front of others, it would ruin you, you thrived in the company of others, he couldn't snatch that away from you. Maybe if he was a bit more selfish, he'd do it, snatch you away from others, have you all to himself but he wasn't about that life, it was something his father would do, he's sure of it, go after what he wants, not caring what others would think- 

Mattheo feels like passing out when you deliberately look at him just to give him a shy smile, a flushed look on your face. He walks away because he cannot handle looking at you, the urge is too strong, to just take you into his arms, he walks out to the empty hallway, a hand over his chest- it had become a subconscious habit of his, whenever you gave him that smile, the one that felt like it was just reserved for him, yeah that one, he felt like he was in heaven, you sent his heart rate through the roof when you did that, it borderline hurt him since he couldn't do much to satiate this feeling. 

The longing was etched into his eyes when he looked at you, one thing he realised was, that when he had his head up, no one dared to look his way, he was enjoying that power for some reason, it filled his veins with something dark, he liked seeing people look down instead of him looking down, it felt fucking nice, and it felt even better when the only person that did look at him, was you. People averted their eyes when he entered the room, choosing to ignore his presence but the fear was very much evident, so he knew they didn't see him staring at you but at this point, he really couldn't bring himself to make an active effort to look away even if someone noticed. 

It was no lie, that Mattheo wasn't up to date with all the gossip and news, he just lived life passively but now that he was out there more, he couldn't help but hear the words that fell onto his ears, Yule Ball, huh. WAIT- ball dance? That meant having a date, who were you going with? Fuck his mind was rambling shit to him, he could not let someone else take you to a fucking dance as their date, no, he wouldn't let that happen. He had to get to you before someone else did, it was nighttime, and tomorrow's the weekend, approaching you will be the first thing he'll do after he wakes up, he has to plan shit out, you know, make it special and heartfelt, you deserved nothing less.

But his heart nearly broke when he overheard two Slytherin guys talking about you. The way one of them talked about you made his blood boil, his jaw clenched tight, nails drawing blood from his palms as they dug into his coarse skin, "I told you not to ask her out, plenty of guys tried and guess what? She rejected them all." the guy who was being talked to only scoffed angrily, "She's a fucking slut, that's what she is, leading people on-" the other boy just stopped him and Mattheo exhaled, a bit relieved because if it wasn't for him, Mattheo would've smacked the guy and pushed him to the fucking wall, "dude, come on, that's not true, all she did was smile at you when you gave her your seat, she's a nice girl," these guys were in the fifth year, he recognised that much, "sure, whatever," the guy walked away to his room, making sure to loudly slam the door behind him. 

Mattheo then gets up and walks towards the guy left behind, the one who stood up for you, when he stands in front of him, he sees the dude cower into the seat, Mattheo tries to speak in a polite voice but the anger is still radiating off him, his irritated stare didn't help either, "she doesn't have a date, yeah?" his hands were behind his back, over one another, the blood still fresh, "who-o?" the guy stutters out, looking around for help but no one was there- "You know who," he fixes him with a glare, before uttering your name out loud, "no no, she doesn't, rejected them all." Mattheo then nods at him and leans back, then finally he walks back to his room, allowing the guy to catch his breath. 

Mattheo feels relief wash over him as he lets the information sink in, okay good, you didn't have a date but then again, why were you rejecting them all? What if you reject him as well? Yeah, he couldn't handle that wound, he'd fucking die, he contemplates whether he should ask you or not but he's done fucking waiting, waiting for his fate to fuck things over, if things are going to be fucked, he'll be the one to do it. 

...

Mattheo puts on a black shirt and black pants, not caring to tuck his shirt in, the cold metal ring stings him as he puts it on, the feeling is grounding, he's doing something his dad would've done and for some reason that doesn't feel half as bad, he feels like himself, it was like something had possessed him, the confidence was unwavering, even as he stepped out into the crowded hallway, hands in his pockets, looking ahead, people parted, giving him space and Merlin, did that feel fucking powerful. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows as he approached the room you'd be in, you always were there on the weekends, with your friends and he didn't think before he stepped into the room, heads turning towards him in shock, even yours but the shock on your face was soon replaced with a smile, quietly waving at him and that right there, fed right into his ego.

He walked over to you in a few quick strides, eyes zeroed in on you, nothing else mattered at that moment, "Can I talk to you?" To say you were surprised would be an understatement, you were ecstatic, you've wanted this for so long, to talk to him in front of others, you never knew if you should because he might've felt uncomfortable, "Yes ofcourse, what is it?" you nod, a smile still on your face, "Alone," his voice was cold, "oh yeah, sure-" you step towards him, thinking he'd lead you somewhere private but he stayed rooted in his place, eyes never leaving yours, he stayed quiet for a bit, taking in your whole self, the bright clothes you were dressed in, the equally bright smile on your face. Then he looked over your head, to the shocked faces of your friends, "Alone." It came out as an order, he couldn't care less. 

Mattheo liked this newfound authority, he also relished in the fact that you were being so compliant as if you wanted this to happen and he couldn't be more glad, "Guys, I'll be back, you can go ahead, don't worry," you explained, seeing their hesitance, his unwavering gaze was back on you, brown eyes were intense. The apprehensive group slowly emptied the room and just went the last person was out, Mattheo muttered something under his breath, and the door slammed shut, locking itself. 

Mattheo cursed that pretty smile of yours before smiling back, "You have a date? For the ball?" you lowered your eyes to the ground at the question, a shy look grazing your features as you shook your head, the more he looked at you, the more positive he got. "Good."  He finally pulled his hands out of his pocket and suddenly there was a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand and a velvet box, he wordlessly handed them to you, your eyes were wide, full of amusement, face warm, you noticed how the lights around you got dimmer, the small mock firefly charms that floated in the air, you didn't have a clue on how he was doing all this without his wand but you couldn't bring yourself to think of it, not when you had him standing in front you, in all his glory, about to ask you to the ball, gosh you felt like you were on cloud nine, the guy you were waiting for had actually approached you? You had to be dreaming. 

Then out of nowhere, you hear your favourite song but on strings, you look down at the box curiously- "It's the muggle chocolate you were talking about, the one you said was hard to get your hands on," he shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal but in reality, he was finding the courage to finally tell you what he was feeling, ask you out. Your brows pinched together, as you noticed that all of it was a muggle, even the flower arrangement- the song, how did he do all of this? You looked up at him with an amused look. "No questions please," he breathed out like he was out of breath, you then smiled at him gratefully, and he quickly averted his eyes, his hand subconsciously reaching over to his chest, "Oh Merlin," he exhaled quietly, not being able to look back at you. 

He then slowly gathered the courage to look back at you, you were just looking at him patiently, the smile still on your face, Mattheo cleared his throat before opening up, "I have never been the one to be graceful but I want to do this properly." he inhaled sharply before continuing, "Ever since that night, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, I think I've gone mad honestly," He lets out a dry chuckle shaking his head, looking into your eyes, "I��think I've taken a liking to you, your voice, your smile-" and then he interrupts himself, forgetting the little speech he prepared as he watches your smile widen at his words, "yeah that, more of that please," and that makes you blush, the genuine interest in his eyes, the way admiration shines in his eyes, you are so close to him, that you can hear his heart thumping loudly, "I'd like to have the honour of taking you to the ball," then he says your name quietly, "would you like be my date?" 

"Yes yes!" you couldn't be more excited, you are quick to throw your arms around him, and all the worries leave his body as soon as he is subjected to your embrace, he closes his eyes, pulling you closer, finding everything comfortable in your grip. His heartstrings thrum at the moment, it was embarrassing how quickly you got him flustered but he didn't seem to mind it. He whispered a small "thank you," before hugging you tighter, you just giggled into his chest and Merlin, did he feel like he had just won the lottery.

...

<<prev work: this love || mattheo riddle

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

aaron hotchner x jacks nanny/babysitter

she’s got a crazy ex that stalked and threatened her so she moved far away to live a simple, under the radar life and started working for hotch. he knows her situation and does his best to look out for her, maybe she’s like a live in nanny ? neither of them is bold enough to make a move first until her ex finds her and hotch and the team race to save her. ends with love confessions and all the sappy stuff

could be a one shot or a short lil series i’m sure whatever you write will be amazing !

༉‧₊˚. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨-𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size babysitter!reader

— summary: your new life as a live-in nanny was wonderful, and with your dark past behind you, there was nothing that could ruin this. but as they say, what goes around comes around.

— warnings: heavily detailed violence BEWARE, surprisingly light angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, physical hurt/comfort, mutual pining, abusive ex's :[, guns, and a horribly written action/fight scene (forgive me).

— wc: 1965

⋆ a/n: okay this is a heavy fic so beware once more, but aside from that this takes a fully turn! i don't really have anything else to say besides enjoy!

masterlist | AO3

“Backpack? Check. Lunchbox? Check. Shoes are tied? Check.” 

You placed your hands on your hips triumphantly, a proud smile on your face as you examined the little boy. 

Being a live-in nanny came with being organizational and making sure that Jack was ready for school everyday without fail. It wasn’t like Aaron was super strict on you; he understands when you have your days where things are a bit out of place, but honestly it was a personal preference, and totally not because you have a big fat crush on the FBI agent.

You had been very skeptical about your babysitting position at first because of your ex who was absolutely bat shit crazy. It was a situation you had barely escaped from, and it had taken almost everything in you to get where you were now, so you were a little afraid of men in general. But Aaron was kind, and welcoming, and fatherly, someone that you felt safe with.

And then, you fell in love.

It had scared the shit out of you of course, but now it was a feeling that you welcomed with open arms, even if you couldn’t act on it. 

Your phone began to ring as you searched for the car keys, the contact name read ‘Aaron <3’.

“Morning!” You greeted with a smile as you picked up. “Good morning. How are you guys?” The older man asked. “We're doing just fine, as always,” You successfully found the keys. “How are things?” You knew better than to ask how he was, because if you had the kind of job that he did, there was no way you could answer positively. 

“We pretty much have everything we need, so we’ll probably be able to wrap this case up early.” 

“Oh Aaron, that's great!” You cheer happily and make your way back to where Jack was waiting for you. “You ready to go, little man?” Jack looks up at you from his toys. “Is that daddy on the phone?”

“Yeah buddy, you wanna say hi?” 

“Yes!” Jack’s answer was full of excitement, and you can’t help but smile. “As much as I enjoy talking to you, it looks like I’m handing you over.” You swear you could hear Aaron chuckle.

Yeah, this was a life that you could get used to.

Having the house to yourself was weird.

With Jack away at his aunt’s for the weekend, it was strangely quiet due to the emptiness of the child’s presence. You suppose you’re grateful for the break even though taking care of Jack really isn’t as tiring as one might think. 

Despite Aaron rarely being home, he’s managed to raise the boy well when he could, and it’s honestly very admirable. It’s one of the many things that made you fall in love with him. You gaze down into the wine glass at the thought, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Ugh, why does love make you such a loser?

Your bashful train of thought was stopped by a suspicious thump coming from the back of the house. Your smile dropped and a feeling of anxiety and worry twisted in your gut as you grabbed your phone that was lying on the kitchen counter.

You’re quick to dial Aaron’s number and your fingernail finds itself in your mouth as you chew on it anxiously. It’s an old habit, one that you had picked up back in your old relationship.

“Hello?” Rasped Aaron. 

You knew he had just recently flown in from wherever he was because you could hear the foot traffic of everyone grabbing their luggage from the plane’s storage.

“Hey,” Your greeting was nervous and it was something that Aaron easily picked up on. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” He asks with a furrowed brow. “Yeah, just um - I’m just hearing some weird things so I just wanted to know when you think you might be getting home.” I miss you.

“Honey what type of weird things?” Before you were able to answer, there was a loud crashing sound. You instantly dropped to the floor to hide behind the counter; you cradled the phone to your ear, “Okay uh - change of claim,” You attempted to joke. “Someone is most definitely in the house.”

Aaron tries not to panic at the way his insides turn cold, “You remember what to do, right?” He asks with a hardened voice. You gulp, stretching slightly to peer over the marble. You stare out into the darkness and a frightened shiver shoots up your spine. 

“Get to your room and enter the safe.” You reiterated what he had told you almost a year ago when you had first moved in. You’ve never shot a gun before but tonight might be the night where you learn how too.

“That’s right, and do you remember the code?” 

As you went to answer him, you were snatched up by your hair and a scream rang out and into the phone. Even though you weren’t on speaker the others that were currently standing outside with Aaron could hear it.

Aaron desperately calls out your name, and with your silence he takes off without any explanation, but his team knows to follow close behind.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing since you tried to leave me?!”

You cried out as another blow was delivered to your gut but a heavy boot. Your lungs burned and there were tears streaming down your face. He had pulled you so hard over the counter that it made your scalp burn, a blistering headache beginning to form at the base of your skull.

“Fuck you!” You spat as you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbows. 

There was a fine line between anger and fear, and this was one of those moments where they blend together. If you ended up dying tonight, at least you didn’t go down in vain.

This time he punched you in the face before snatching you up by your arms. There was a metallic taste in your mouth, a bruise already developing near your eye. “Why’d you leave me, huh?! We had a good thing going and you just… you just ruined it!”

“I didn’t ruin shit asshole!” You screamed and pushed at him but it was no use. “We were gonna get married but you… but you wanted to play house with an old man, really?!”

“You’ve been watching me.” You said in disbelief. It made your stomach twist in nausea and horror at the thought of him watching Jack, what he could’ve done to him. You had actively put the man you loved kid in danger and it devastated you.

“I had no choice!”

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“Put your hands where I can see them.” Aaron’s voice rang out throughout the house.

Before you knew it you were spun around with a gun to your head, his arm locked against your neck, faintly strangling you.

“Aaron!” You called out in relief, but it turned into a grunt as you tugged further into your ex’s chest.

Aaron’s gun was raised steadily, his eyes focused on your attacker, but he doesn’t hesitate to cast you a reassuring look. When he sees your bloody and bruised face his jaw tightens, the vein in his neck popping and visible through his skin.

“Boyfriend to the rescue, huh?” Your ex sneers into your cheek. You shudder. 

“Put the gun down.” Aaron continues to coax, and out the corner of your eye you can see Morgan approaching through the darkness. 

“Why do you want to save this slut? Don’t tell me you’ve already -” A shot rings out into the fair followed by a scream of pain.

Your ex collapses to the ground, cradling the gunshot wound in his knee as blood spills through his fingers. Aaron was the one that pulled the trigger and Morgan is already in the kitchen by the time he’s tugging you away and into his arms.

“Oh God.” You finally cried. “You came, you came…” His arms are wound tightly around you, purposefully tucking your face into his chest. “I’m here, I’m here.” He shushes and rocks you side to side in order to try and lull you.

Aaron – softly – orders you to sit down while he cleans up the blood when the rest of the team has already left.

You can’t help but watch him from where you’re sitting on the couch with his sleeves of his white button up rolled up and his hands gloved. “I’m sorry.” You decide to say, because you really were. “I’m sorry for everything.” There was so much more you wanted to say, but you felt your throat tighten with unshed tears.

“No, don’t apologize.” He says softly, abandoning the rag that he was using to scrub up said blood. “No Aaron you don’t understand. I put you and Jack in danger because of my bullshit and I thought that I had put it all behind me and I don’t -” 

“Stop.” It’s a bit firmer this time. “I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I offered you to live with me and my son. Nothing that has occurred tonight has swayed my trust or opinion about you, you know that, right?”

“Right.” His hand holds your cheek and strokes the soft skin of it. “Good.”

Your eyes flicker down to his lips before peering back into his eyes, “If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I promise this isn’t like a trauma bond thing. I’ve liked you for as long as I’ve worked for you and I didn’t want to tell you because I have nowhere else to go if you say no. Plus,” You sigh, “I just don’t want to make things difficult or uncomfortable for you.”

“You could never do that, feelings reciprocated or not.” He reassures.

“Well are they?”

He grins at your question, “I’d be an idiot not to feel the same way.” You laugh and he leans forward to join your lips together.

A warm feeling spreads in your gut and you knew that this is what love was supposed to feel like.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna @moonysreid

[talesfromlissom]

Hello!!! Your inbox looked loney :). Spare HC's for Optimus, Megatron, Smokescreen and Arcee for a bot!reader who's bigger than them? 😀😀

Reader whose taller than OP, Megs, Smokes and Arcee // TFP || Could be seen as either romantic or platonic

WARNINGS/TAGS - None, enjoy :)

A/N - I go feral when someone makes the reader bigger/stronger than the character they’re shipped with. Guys, give me big af and buff readers; cmon!!!

MEGATRON

He will try to fight you, like 100%. It doesn’t matter if you’re even more loyal to the Decepticon cause than Soundwave. He will try to fight you and won’t stop until he wins. What’s worst is if you let him win, he’ll demand a rematch. 

He thinks your size is excellent for virtually everything except that people will sometimes mistake you for the leader of the Decepticons (if you’re nearby) instead of him. This is primarily the rare, isolated species that the Decepticons stumble across when they travel the galaxy that know nothing of the war. 

If you want to mess with him, put his stuff in high places. Depending on your relationship, he might use you for spare parts, beat the shit out of you, or just begrudgingly ask you to get the object off of the high shelf. 

If you’re strong enough and can pick him up, he’ll be the angriest mech in the galaxy (he already is, but even more so). He’ll flail around, swear at you, and everyone will be shitting bricks and looking away from your ass whopping. Scruffing him like a kitten will guarantee this, but again, depending on how close you are, he might become a grumbling idiot. 

He might ask you to mass displace to feel better about himself sometimes because he’s an asshole

Laughs when your forehead or frame gets stuck/hits doorframes before doing the same thing probably 5 minutes later because he’s also tall 

OPTIMUS PRIME

The shared pain of being tall af is the first thing he thinks of before being wholly weirded out

The only person taller than him on Earth is Megatron, but Megatron also turns into a jet, so he isn’t sure if that counts. 

He most likely gives you a map of the base, marking off doorways and other entrances that are either too big or too small. He’s a big bot and has this map on hand at all times in his own data banks. Its most likely pulled up in the many, many tabs on his HUD. 

Don’t scruff him either. He doesn’t have much plating on the back of his neck, and his back is extremely sensitive due to it mostly being kibble, wiring, and being hit in his back way too many times for comfort. Picking him up regardless will most likely just prompt him to ask you to put him down before he threatens cleaning duty for the next month if you don’t. 

He won’t put you on cleaning duty don’t worry 

If you tease him about it he’ll tell Ratchet and then Ratchet will put you on cleaning duty. Beware the doctor. 

ARCEE

everyone is taller than her, so she doesn’t really care. Is having to crane her neck to look up at you annoying? Yes. 

Imagine that meme of the police officer having to stand on his car to flip the taller person off; that’s her to you on some days. 

Don’t pick her up either; she’ll stab you; she absolutely hates that. She’s like an angry chihuahua when that happens.

She’s less likely to fight you if you are helping her. Sometimes, she likes to use you as a perch to climb onto things or just to be high up. Sometimes, she also likes to sit on your shoulders to pretend she’s tall. 

She’ll probably use you for shelter during rain, snow, etc. 

She claims she does it with everyone and you’re not special (you are) 

SMOKESCREEN

He’ll also perch on you like Arcee, but it's for silly reasons rather than a tactical advantage. 

If you have audio fins or something along those lines, he’ll grab those and pretend to use them like joysticks. Indulging him will encourage this behavior; do not fall for it. 

He likes to feel tall and will ask a lot of questions about what it's like to be tall, which is ironic given that he technically is of average height. 

Failing to answer these questions will result in more. 

Honestly, he’ll also hide underneath your frame while it's raining. He hates the rain because it gets mud all over his paint and undercarriage. It's annoying to clean out, and you’re the perfect umbrella, in his opinion. 

He can and will laugh at you for banging your head on doorways before he walks into the wall right next to you or trips over something. 

WORD COUNT - 686

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[moonpascal]

LESSONS IN HUMILITY

summary: Remus can’t help but embarrass himself time and time again in front of the twins teacher. pairing: single dad!remus x teacher!reader au. warnings: fluff, remus is a stumbling idiot, fem!reader. use of y/n wc: 850

a/n: still new at writing but @amiableness gave me the idea and just had to write this. also i totally forgot about luna lovegood and theodore nott, when naming the kids so ignore the similarity. (i loved the names too much and didn’t feel like going back and changing them). i’m american so beware some errors. gif from @/ewans-mitchell

Remus Lupin had never been particularly good at this sort of thing. Parenting, yes -at least he thought so. He was pretty sure he had that down, thanks to years of patience and the help of his friends. But the whole navigating Theo and Luna’s school life, especially the interactions with the teachers—one teacher in particular—was an entirely different subject.

Every time he went to the twins school, he felt a mix of anxiety and excitement. Most of that excitement could be attributed to seeing Miss Lovey. A name picked out from the students on account of being their save space. She was always kind, never without a warm smile that made Remus’s heart race and his palms sweat.

Today was no different.

As he arrived at the school and signed in for a visitor’s pass, his heart raced with anticipation. Remus stood awkwardly in the hallway, holding two slightly crumpled permission slips for the upcoming museum trip. He had meant to get it signed yesterday but had completely spaced till this morning. Now, he was faced with the prospect of another conversation with her, which simultaneously thrilled and terrified him.

As he approached the classroom, he could hear her soft voice reading aloud to the students. Waiting until she finished, then knocked gently on the open door. Miss Lovey looked up and smiled, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.

“Mr. Lupin, how can I help you today?” she asked. No doubt wondering what brought in today’s visit.

Remus felt his face heat up. “I, uh, I forgot to turn in the twins permission slips for the upcoming museum trip. I’m really sorry about that. I know having things late isn’t helpful and I don’t mean to add to your plate I-”

She cuts off his rambling, and gently takes the slips from his hand, their fingers brushing briefly. “Mr. Lupin, it’s no problem at all. I’ll make sure it’s added to the others.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, feeling foolish that he couldn’t stop rambling. He always seem to turn into a blithering idiot around her.

Just then, the bell rang signaling time for play-time, and students began to file out of the classroom. Theo and Luna saw their dad and immediately ran over, giving him a big hug.

“Dad! Did you remember my permission slip?” Luna beams looking up at her father, while Theo hung off his leg.

Remus ruffled Theo’s hair before answering Lu. “Yes, I did. Miss Lovey has them now.”

She smiles softly as she hears her name. “Luna, your dad is very responsible. You guys are lucky to have him.”

“I know! He’s the best dad ever!”

“The bestest!” Theo countered back.

Remus felt a lump in his throat. He was never quite sure if he was doing enough for them, but hearing those words from them meant the world to him. He glanced at Miss. Lovey, who was watching the interaction with a soft smile.

“Well, I should get going. Only have so long of a break myself,” Remus said awkwardly. “Thank you again, Miss”

As he turned to leave, Remus stumbled over a chair leg, nearly losing his balance. He managed to catch himself, but not without looking like a complete fool. Adjusting his glasses, Theo started wheezing and Luna giggled, Remus felt his face turn crimson.

Miss Y/L/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Careful, Mr. Lupin there’s a chair right there.”

“Yes, right. Thank you. Bye!” he said hastily, nearly bumping into the door as well.

As if he couldn’t be more embarrassed, Y/N poked her head out and shouted, “Have a good rest of your day, see you at pick-up.”

Despite always making himself a fool he couldn’t wait.

The rest of Remus’s day dragged on. He tried to focus on his work at the Ministry, but his mind kept drifting back to the school, to the warm smile of Miss Lovey, and the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke to him. He wondered if she noticed his awkwardness, or if she just found it endearing.

Finally, the clock struck three, and he gathered his things, eager to see Theo and Luna again—and, of course, Miss Lovey. As he arrived at the school, he saw her standing at the gate, chatting with another parent. She looked up as he approached and gave him that heart-stopping smile.

“Hello again, Mr. Lupin,” she said warmly. “Bump into anything else today?” A small smirk adorning her face.

“I- I uh, managed to stay upright with no more incidents,” he replied, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Before further embarrassment, the twins ran up to him, chattering excitedly about their day. Miss Lovey handed him their backpacks and gave Theo and Luna a gentle pat on the head.

“You two behave for your dad, alright?”

“We will, Miss Lovey!” they chorused.

As they walked away, Theo and Luna talking a mile a minute, Remus glanced back and saw her watching them with that same soft smile. He knew he was hopelessly smitten, and for once, he didn’t mind.

[haza1ll]

animation for THE NEON VOIDD BABYYYY

this post is for @sugarpasteltmnt

‼️‼️MEGA YAPPING AHEAD PLEASE BEWARE‼️‼️

this might end up being really long and rambly and sappy but maybe not who knows.( it was) (and also featuring numerous spelling errors i am way too tired to fix and i am not re reading what i just wrote) SO. yknow how when chap idek..25(?) came out and i was all like “yeah so i made this animation for TNV and ill drop it when the fic ends” in your ask box? so. I FINISHED IT RAHHH. technically it has been finished since i sent that ask but ohhh my goodness did it need polishing. i haven’t animated in 4 years before that and omg it felt so good getting back into it but IDFK SOMETHING IS STILL NOT UP TO MY STANDARDS. i feel like i could have done so much more with it and i deffo wanted to but as soon as i told myself “oh yeah this is basically done” art block literally sucker punched me in the gut out of NOWHERE. I COULD NOT PICK UP MY I PAD. I COULD NOT DRAW. I WOULD STARE AT THE WIP ANIMATION AND BE UPSET BC I DDINT WANNA WORK ON IT AHH. that goes with saying. i kept having this thought in the back of my head “you need to finish it. you have a wip sitting. finish it. go do it. what are you doing are you STARTING ANOTHER PROJECT??? anddd yeah i got super distracted with other stuff and other projects and then i started spending my free time rewatching 2012 turtles and omg this summer has been a mess. i have all the free time in the world and i choose to be the least productive as possible with it even though i have a job that lets me literally sit on my phone and do whatever i want if no one is there. (i’ve brought my switch to work numerous times ☠️) what i was trying to get at is the fact that TNV has inspired a lot of the old me to come back and i lowk missed her. i really missed the point in all those words up there but im here now so whatever. BUT. TNV made me make a tumblr account, i got back in to animation AND digital art in general, got back into longfics that are ongoing, AND it also helped kickstart ideas for writing. i’ve got so many stories now!! you are such an inspirational person pastels i just- every time i read a new chapter of yours it made me wanna go get up and do something. i wanted to create something. because at the end of each chapter, i would think- “woah. a person out there just wrote this. they just sat down one day and committed. i wanna do that” so i did that. just huge thank you and shoutout to you pastel. like damn. idk no words from me here. just a bunch of platonic hugs and kisses and thankyouthankyouthsnkuou for this lovely heart wrenching but also sweet story. i love this fandom (tmnt) so SO much and i think it’s so awesome how interactive you are with your own personal NV fans. crazy how we’re all here because of a bunch of turtles. 

STUFF ABOUT THE ANIMATION:

okay i really like to talk and if you let me, i will run my mouth. this is the internet so im gonna do just that. so more words for you to read 😁. AHEM. so like i stated before in the genuinely scary mess of words up there, i haven’t touched animation in a while, like, 4 years a while. yes i’ve done digital art here and there along the years, i haven’t been doing it nearly as much as i need to to use some programs to their full potential. layers are still confusing, and don’t even get me started on multiply and all that jazz. shading never comes out right on digital for me, i gotta work that one out. so, for this animation, i decided to go with a very rough style. nothing needed to be perfect, i just wanted to live my little life of trying to experiment with a bunch of different things all at once in one short animatic. I wanted to do that little ball bounce thing all animation artists start with (i kinda included that with the key). i also wanted to have a go at lip sync (no hate it was my first time) and also timing the animation with the music. i wanted to see how smoothly i could move a figure in and out of and out of the screen as well, which honestly, i think that part might be my favorite. i think i did a good job, and thats what matters. the animation itself lost a bunch of quality on importing it- no clue how it happened but now the ending is grainy af. ignore that pls lol- but it was sitting in my flipaclip for god, i dont even know, 3 months now? i kept going back and forth on if i wanted to share it or not, so im throwing it to the wolves and i guess whatrver happrns happens and im good with that. yay. im actually rrwlly tired now sooo *leaves this absolute pile of words with a video attached at your feet and stumbles away quickly*

also i’ve genuinely never posted anything so i’m learning how to use tumblr too ☠️

[slut4thebroken]

Exposure Therapy pt. 10

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane × reader

Summary | Jon let’s you go on a trip with him, then can’t control his weird, freaky sex fantasies lmaoo.

Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, breeding, kissing, consensual sex, attempted sex trafficking?? (but like not really?), fear play (but consensual this time), actually everything’s consensual this time lol, masturbation, voyeurism, bondage, degradation, verbal humiliation, praise.

Words | 4.2k

Notes | Kinky smut ahead! Beware😼 I really played into the “he hates everyone but you” trope in this chapter and I’m so here for it.

Ao3 link | <3

Fic Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Part 9

“I’m going out to meet someone about something, I shouldn’t be gone long.” 

“Oh… okay. Can I come?” He examined you and after a while you couldn’t help but squirm under his gaze as you backtracked. “I- I don’t have to… I just,”

“Fine.” He suddenly said, making your face light up. 

“Really?” 

“Yes. Stop wasting time and get dressed or we’ll be late.”

“Sorry.” You hurried to change into your stolen clothes, looking a little odd next to him in a full suit. He instructed you to bring the wristband he gave you along with the gas mask and then you were leaving, walking along the docks closer to the water now. When he put his mask on, you did the same, not sure what to expect. 

“No talking.” He said quietly when a few guys were in your eyeline. You nodded in response, following him until he stopped in front of the men. 

“Didn’t know Scarecrow had a partner.” A man snickered. 

“Yeah, who’s your pet?” 

“Enough. Do you have what I need or not?” He snapped, voiced distorted by the modulator in the mask. 

“We got it. But I think we might want a different form of payment now.” The man in front smirked, the other men muttering agreements. 

“We had a deal.” 

“Yeah well, our terms changed.” He shrugged, eyeing you with a grin that made your stomach twist. 

“You’ll give me what I want and in exchange, you don’t want money, you want her?” He confirmed, making you stiffen. He wouldn’t… Would he?

“Yep. With a pretty thing like her, we’ll make plenty more than what you’re willing to give.” 

“Fine. We have a deal.” You turned to him with wide eyes, silently asking what the fuck he was doing, but he didn’t even glance at you. The main guy motioned to someone behind him who walked away to grab something. 

“C'mere, sweetheart. I wanna get a good look at you.” He sneered and your heart dropped to your stomach. Was he really going to do this?

“You can have her after I receive what I paid for.” He said sternly and as if on cue, the man returned holding a large briefcase. When the leader gestured, he handed it to the man by your side. He grabbed your arm and walked you closer to the men, making your heart rate and breathing speed up. Once he was in front of them, he pushed you forward and you landed against the leader with a startled grunt. 

“We’re gonna have some fun with you before we start selling you, don’t worry.” He smirked, making your blood run cold. Hands were running over your body as all of the men focused on you. When someone reached for the mask, a cloud of his toxin was suddenly surrounding you, making the men cough as they staggered back. A hand grabbing your arm made you jump and you turned, finding Jon pulling you away from them as they started screaming. 

You waited until you were back inside and he set the briefcase on the desk before saying anything. Starting with a shove, you ripped the gas mask off, letting it fall to the floor, then pushed him again, making him stagger back. 

“You— dick!” When you tried to push him again, his hands circled your wrists in a bruising grip. 

“Stop.” He warned, the modulator making him sound even more intimidating. “You’re mine.” He explained firmly. 

“That’s supposed to automatically make me assume that you’re not going to do what you literally said you would do?” You hissed, voice shaking from anger that was concealing fear. 

“Do you really think so little of me?” He asked, making you falter. He released your wrists then removed his mask. 

“You scared me.” You whispered with a frown. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, never breaking eye contact as you searched for any sign of a lie. “I had to improvise. If it’s any consolation, I’m planning to spend that money on a mattress for you.” He said softly, making your frown relax. 

“I’m sorry I called you a dick.” 

“You get a pass this time because I deserved it.” He chuckled and you couldn’t help but smile. “On the bright side, you seem to be coping with your fears much better now. Did you cry?” 

“No.” You furrowed your brows at his words. 

“How did you feel?” He asked, stepping into your space. 

“Scared.” You whispered. 

“Tell me about it.” He said lowly, eyes darkening with arousal. You swallowed thickly as you processed his request. 

“Tell you what?” 

“How it felt, what you were thinking. Tell me how scared you were.” He rasped and you could feel arousal pooling in your stomach from his tone. 

“I- I was shaking… and nauseous. I thought you- you… I didn’t want you to leave me with them.” You whimpered, giving him a pout that had no visible effect on him. “The last time I was that scared was when you used the toxin on me.” You whispered. He was suddenly pulling you into a kiss and you let out a startled moan as you landed against his body. He walked you back until your thighs hit the desk, then lifted you onto it, never breaking the kiss. Placing your hands in his hair, you pulled, making him groan against your lips. When he pulled back, you let out a low whine, trying to lean forward to chase his lips, but he stopped you by putting a hand on your neck. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asked, tilting his head slightly to emphasize the question. When you nodded, he tightened his grip on your neck. 

“Yes.” You quickly corrected yourself. He set the mask next to your thigh on the desk, then brought his hand up to brush your hair behind your ear, keeping his hand near your face. Making sure you were watching, he placed his fingers only centimeters above the lever on the wristband he was wearing. You stiffened, swallowing thickly against his hand as you eyed the threat only inches from your face. 

“Are you scared?” He asked quietly, making your eyes snap to his. Despite the very obvious threat, you knew that he wouldn’t do it, especially because he wasn’t wearing a mask. 

“You wouldn’t gas yourself too.” You tried to sound brave and confident, but the tremble in your voice was obvious. His lips curled into a small smirk, making your stomach twist. 

“Smart girl.” He picked up the mask and put it on, then moved his hand back in front of your face. “What about now?” Your gaze moved between his hand and the icy blue eyes through the small holes in the mask. Even though, logically, you knew he wouldn’t because he told you before he couldn’t even if he wanted to… the threat was definitely still there. But instead of the nauseating twist, your stomach was twisting in a different way. A way that made your skin flush and your core ache. 

“Yes.” You whispered. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Your cheeks heated up and you looked away from him, embarrassed. 

“No.” Your voice was barely audible. The low chuckle he released behind the modulator made you shiver, not used to hearing something so ominous. He suddenly stepped back and you almost whined at the loss of his touch. 

“Strip.” He ordered, making your eyes widen. You tentatively slid off the desk onto the floor, then started undressing. Once you got to your underwear, you hesitated, but when he didn’t do or say anything, you slid them down your legs with a blush. “Sit on the desk again.” You obeyed and he stepped between your legs once you were seated, then placed his hands back the way they were, one on your neck, the other in front of your face. 

“Touch yourself.” Your eyes widened as you stared at him in surprise. When he moved his fingers closer to the lever though, you immediately brought your hand to between your legs. Staring through the holes in the mask, you watched as his eyes trailed down your body, focusing on the way you were rubbing your clit. 

“You like this don’t you?” He asked curiously, making your face flush. “Being at my mercy… Feeling humiliated, vulnerable.” He elaborated. “Knowing that what happens to you is under my control. It scares you, but it also excites you.” Letting out a shaky breath, you rubbed your clit faster, already feeling your orgasm growing. “I could use this at any moment and you’d have no choice but to take it.” You eyed his hand for a moment before looking back to his eyes. 

“Jon,” You whispered, voice barely audible. 

“No. Scarecrow.” Your eyes widened slightly, not expecting that request at all. “Say my name again and you’ll be punished. Understand?” You nodded, feeling breathless, but his hand tightened on your throat in a warning. 

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” 

“Yes, Scarecrow.” You whispered, cheeks flushing at the unfamiliar name for him. 

“Good girl.” He muttered, making your breath catch in your throat, still barely used to such praise. 

“Can I come please?”

“You think you deserve to?” You could only stare into his piercing gaze for another moment before you had to look away. 

“I- I don’t know.” You whined. When he suddenly stepped back and let his hands drop to his sides, you let out a heavy breath. 

“Get up.” He ordered as he started removing his tie. You obeyed and waited eagerly on shaky legs. “Turn around.” Once you were facing the desk, he pulled your hands behind your back and restrained your wrists with his tie. 

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly, voice no longer distorted. 

“Please don’t stop.” You whispered. The thought of him stopping was enough to bring tears to your eyes. 

“God you’re such a fucking slut, aren’t you?” His mask was back on now, modulator distorting his voice, making him all the more intimidating. He suddenly fisted your hair and yanked your head back, pointing the wristband at your face as he held you still. “I bet you want me to use this on you.” He snickered and you did your best to shake your head as you whined. 

“What was that?” He used his grip on your hair to push your head down and then back up, as if you were nodding. “‘Yes, scarecrow’? If you insist.”

“N-no,” You whimpered, pressing your body against his to try and escape the gas that could invade your senses at any moment.  

“No? I don’t know… Seems like you want it.” His hand moved from your hair to your neck, squeezing tightly and pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder. “You sure you don’t want just a small taste?” You could barely hear him behind the mask, even with his lips so close to your ear. 

“Please…” Your voice trembled in fear, but you still ached to keep touching yourself. 

“What if I said the only way I’d fuck you is if I got to have my fun? Are you desperate enough to sacrifice your sanity, my love?” You whimpered and squeezed your thighs together, just needing him to fuck you already. 

“Jon…” You whined, pushing your hips back into his, but his hand on your neck tightened significantly and he let out a low growl. 

“What did I say?”

“I- I’m sorry! Scarecrow! I meant Scarecrow— Please, I’m sorry.” You rushed out, worried you had pushed him far enough to follow through on his threat. 

“Poor thing…” He cooed mockingly. “You touch yourself for only a few minutes and already you’re too dumb to follow a simple order.”

“I’m sorry.” You cried, tears welling in your eyes, but from humiliation of the situation and his words, not because you were genuinely upset. 

“What do you think you’d see? You said you’re not scared of me anymore so what would you see, little one?” The hand with the wristband remained by your head, which made you stay planted to his shoulder. The other started dragging down your body, over your sternum, to your stomach, then teasing your thighs. 

“I- I don’t know…” You whined, squirming to try and get his hand where you wanted it. 

“No?” You shook your head with a whimper and his hand snaked back up to your stomach, teasingly rubbing the soft skin. “You don’t think you’d see yourself with my child? After all, a come hungry whore like yourself is bound to get pregnant at one point or another. It’s just a matter of time, isn’t it?” 

“J- …Scarecrow,” You whimpered, writhing against him. “Please.”

“Please what? Find out?” 

“No! Please— please fuck me.” He suddenly removed his hands from your body, then pushed you over the desk. Grabbing your hips, he pressed his covered bulge against your ass, teasingly grinding against you, making you even needier. 

“You want my cock?” 

“Yes,” You gasped out, pushing your hips back against him. He pulled back and you were about to complain, but quickly shut your mouth once you heard the rustling of his clothes as he freed his length. He swiped the head through your folds, making you jump at the sudden pleasure. 

“Beg.” 

“Please, Sc- …Scarecrow.” You whined, embarrassed. When he remained silent, you whined even louder. “Please! Please fuck me!” He relented and you choked on a gasp when he applied more pressure until the fat head of his cock was breaching your hole. He didn’t stop until his hips were flush to your ass, feeling so incredibly deep that you couldn’t tell if it hurt or not. 

“Fuck— oh my god.” You whimpered, clenching your fists behind your back as you struggled to adjust to his size. The low, distorted groan from behind you made you shiver. “Please!” You cried, trying to wiggle your hips under him. He slowly dragged his length out, then pushed back in at the same speed, maintaining that rhythm. 

“Shh, just take it. Be a good little flesh light, close that fuck hole, and just take my cock.” Despite the warning, your mouth remained open, loud moans slipping past your lips as your walls fluttered around him. “That’s a good whore— shit… Making me feel so good, little one.”

“Oh god- please,” You sobbed. He sped up a little, grabbing your hips tightly and holding you still as he rocked into you. “Faster.” You said through a moan and surprisingly, he obeyed. He sped up even more, pulling you back by your hips with each thrust until you were moaning uncontrollably and babbling out senseless pleas. He suddenly leaned over your body, his cock pushing against your cervix almost uncomfortably as he kept thrusting. 

“Can you hear how wet your fucking cunt is?” The distorted voice right next to your ear made you shiver as you let out a quiet whimper. You could hear it. The sound of your wetness was almost deafening, even with your moans and the sound of his hips hitting against your ass. “Such a fucking slut getting off on me threatening you.” As your knees buckled and weakened, you were glad the desk was holding your weight up. 

“You want it, don’t you? You want it so bad, your pussy is practically drooling for it.” He suddenly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, aiming the wristband on his other hand at your face again. You let out a loud moan and he chuckled quietly. “Fuck- your pussy squeezes me so tight when I do this. How’d I get so lucky, huh? I mean, I have my own personal whore at my disposal. And not only is she desperate for my cock, but she’s desperate for my toxin as well.” You whined and shook your head, the humiliation and pain on your scalp making the tears in your eyes threaten to fall. 

“No..” 

“Yes.” He said simply. “You can deny it all you want, but your body knows what it wants.” 

“Scarecrow,” You sobbed, quickly approaching your orgasm. 

“I know, little one. It’s okay.” He cooed, moving his hand to your neck and lifting your torso off the desk, making you put your weight on your shaky legs. “Are you close?” You nodded rapidly with a loud moan as he kept fucking you, his cock feeling so much deeper in this position. 

“I’m going to count down from ten. If you don’t come, I’m going to use this.” He moved the hand with the wristband to your eyeline to make sure you knew what he was talking about. “Do you understand?” 

“Y-yes.” You whimpered. He sped up his thrusts significantly, making your release a startled moan. 

“Ten.” His hand on your neck tightened, making your head feel light and floaty from that and the pleasure. “Nine. Think you can do it little one?” You nodded with a whimper, already feeling incredibly close now. “Eight.” Through the modulator in the mask, you could hear the way he was starting to breathe heavily, nearing his own orgasm as well. 

“Seven… God- maybe I should just use it anyway. You’d look so pretty coming on my cock as your fears consumed you.” He said quietly, making you let out a choked sob.

“Please.” You cried. 

“Six. Do you want that, pretty girl?” 

“N-no.” You whimpered, but it wasn’t believable when you moaned before you could even finish getting the word out. 

“I think you do… Why else would you be squeezing me so damn tight? Five.” His thrusts turned frenzied as his own orgasm grew even closer. “I can’t wait to feel you milk my cock while you scream and writhe in fear. Four.” Even though you were still mostly sure he wouldn’t actually gas you, the more he spoke, the less confident you felt in your answer. Regardless, it was hard to focus on— hard to care— with his cock pistoning in and out of you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Three. I hope you’re close.” You nodded as much as you could with his hand on your neck. “Yeah, I can tell. I can feel it… Two.” Your breathing grew rapidly, from fear or arousal you weren’t sure. 

“Ready?”

“Please— please, oh god.. please let me come.” You cried, trying to make yourself come, but struggling without his explicit permission. 

“One. Come, baby. Squeeze my fucking cock like your life depends on it, because it does.” You let out a loud sob that turned into a moan when the knot of arousal in your stomach finally snapped. He fucked you through it, hand tightening on your neck as he held you close, fully pressed to his body. “That’s it. Do a good job and make me come.”

“Oh god,” You sobbed walls fluttering around his length, making his hips stutter. “Please- please come. I need it… Need you to fill me up.” You whined as the tears in your eyes finally started to fall. They weren’t from fear, but rather desperation with a hint of overstimulation as you came down from your orgasm. His hand moved from in front of your face to around your stomach, pulling up against his body as he rutted into you eagerly. 

He stilled with a low, distorted groan and you could feel his cock twitching against your walls as he obeyed your request. You panted heavily, doing your best to ignore the new fire growing in your belly as he moaned and whined, trying to bury himself even deeper in your warmth. 

When he finally stilled and his moans died down, he removed his hand from your neck and wrapped it over your chest, still holding you against him. 

“Jon?” You asked quietly, making him startle as if he forgot you were there. He took the mask off, then pushed your hair behind your ear to place a kiss on your neck. 

“Are you okay?” He mumbled against your skin, both of you still panting. 

“Better than okay. But if you let me go, my knees are going to give out and I’m definitely going to fall.” He chuckled quietly as he stayed buried in your neck for only a moment longer before reluctantly pulling back. 

“Let me help you onto the desk, then I’ll carry you to the couch, okay?” You nodded and he maneuvered you to sit on the desk, both of you wincing when he pulled out. He settled between your legs then reached around behind you to undo his tie. “I wasn't too rough?” He discarded the fabric on the desk then lightly grabbed your wrists to pull them in front of you and massage them gently. 

“I loved it, Jon. Honestly. It was perfect.” He didn’t respond and instead just wrapped your legs around his hips to lift you and carry you over to the couch. He gently laid you down then took off his shirt and pants, laying them neatly over the back of the couch. When he grimaced as he started tucking his softening cock, still wet from your arousal, back in his underwear, you stopped him. You moved forward enough to wrap your lips around it, moaning at your combined tastes. 

“What— oh fuck… What are you doing?” He asked, hissing as you licked his sensitive cock. After a few more licks, you pulled back, giving him a saccharine smile. 

“There. All clean.” You said, tucking his semi back in his underwear. 

“Tease.” He muttered with a small smile, laying down and pulling you into him. He was quiet for a while as he stroked your hair and let you trail your fingers over his torso, but eventually he broke the silence. “Are you sure it was okay? I didn’t mean to do all of that. I- I shouldn’t… have done all of that. Not when you were on the verge of tears after what happened.” Honestly, you had forgotten about what happened until he mentioned it. You leaned up so he could look into your eyes as you spoke. 

“I loved it, Jon. We’ve never.. done anything like that,” You meant the consensual part of consensual non consent, “and I really really liked it. It was fucking hot.” He didn’t react to your confession as he studied you carefully, searching for the hidden truth behind your words. “And honestly, you made me a little curious about how your toxin would affect someone who’s that horny. Almost enough to make me want to try it.” 

“Are you mad?” He asked in disbelief, making your cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

“I- I just… It would be interesting to study, don’t you think?” You said sheepishly, feeling more foolish the longer he looked at you like you truly belong in Arkham. “Sorry… Forget I said anything.” You laid back down, feeling incredibly embarrassed. 

“I was only referring to you wanting to try it yourself.” He explained. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” 

“It was stupid anyway. I’ll leave the sciencey things to you from now on.” You tried to lighten the mood, but your tone didn’t convey the lightheartedness you meant for it to. 

“Would you like to be involved in the.. sciencey things?” You were only mostly sure he wasn’t making fun of you. “You can’t help with the chemistry behind it obviously, but if you want to be involved in the rest, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“I- I don’t know… I didn’t handle myself very well tonight. It’s probably not a good idea.” You muttered despondently. 

“Can I ask you something?” You nodded in response. “Was that the first time you’ve ever attended an illegal deal as a fugitive?” 

“…Yes?” Obviously it was. 

“That is my point. You’ve never done anything like that before, of course you didn’t handle it very well.”  

“Oh. Yeah I guess that’s true.” You trailed off into silence as your thoughts consumed you. Should you? It sounds… not necessarily fun, but like it could be something you wouldn’t exactly hate. You’d get to spend more time with him too. 

“Think about it for a while.” He said, dragging you out of your thoughts. 

“Okay.” You sighed. Then, “Jon?” He hummed, telling you to continue. “Why did you take off your clothes when you were already dressed?” You asked, continuing trailing your fingers over his bare chest. You didn’t mind it— not even a little bit. You were just curious. 

“I assumed you’d prefer it.” He said simply, minding his tone. 

“Why do you think that?” You asked, then, “Not that you’re wrong— I’m just wondering.” He let out a quiet sigh and you laid your palm flat against his chest to feel his heart that was beating only slightly faster than normal. 

“Because I prefer it.” His heart pounded faster and harder, but so did yours. “It’s different like this than being dressed.” Jealously, you wondered who else he’s laid like this with. Surely with any previous girlfriends, maybe even his mom. But at the same time, you’re not sure if you believe that. The way he expresses physical touch is almost awkward, unpracticed, as if he doesn’t have any previous experience laying with anyone but you. While the thought made your stomach flutter, it also made your chest ache with sympathy. “Falling asleep on me?” He suddenly asked. 

“No- sorry. Just thinking.” You said quietly, picking up the motions of your fingers against his chest again. You couldn’t believe that Jonathan Crane— the Scarecrow— was such a softy. But not just a softy in general- only for you. The thought was enough to make you almost nauseous with butterflies. 

Part 11

Taglist

@arcanebabe @quietnymph11 @dynamitehacke @pedrisgatorade @mandowhatnow @thefandomdiaries07 @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @mrkdvidal1989 @nx-0w @yrluvvr @arieslost @some-clever-username @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @geekmom3 @pleasant-meadow (didn’t let me tag —>) @imlikefrhungry @melanieani @oopy @slay-walker @annalauras-stuff @anakin-dilf @riddler-zs @tumblin-theworldaway @fire-treasure-iii @ephiiphanyy

[onlyseokmins]

$$60 billion (part 1) • l.s.m.

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

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

Everyone wanted Lee Seokmin. 

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

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

You shiver. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But curiosity eventually overturned the initial fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you both dissolve into laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Obviously."

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

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

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

"And that's why you'll be the —"

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

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

"Technically, that's true."

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

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

"Well —"

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

" — Think fast!"

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

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

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

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

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

"It's… it's never been loaded or…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you have the most demerits this week."

"And whose fault is that?!"

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

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

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

"Hey… thanks."

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

"Mm-hm."

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

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

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

Fascinating little things those Earthlings created!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you do?"

"What haven't I done?"

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

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

"Goodnight, Chan."

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

But tomorrow never came.

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

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

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

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

You're struck with the damning realization.

The gods — they have completely abandoned humankind.

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

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

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

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

"Nothing guarantees —"

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

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

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

Sister Constance doubts.

And something about that thrills you. Terrifyingly so.

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

A sandstorm brews on the horizon.

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

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

The Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood.

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan?!"

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

"What about you?"

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

"But —"

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

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

"Chan, what's —"

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

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

"You hate those kinds of things."

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

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

The bangs of carnage draw closer. Louder.

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

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

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

What was going on?

Boom!

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

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

It's gone.

"No…"

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

"No… no… no…"

Gone.

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

"No!"

And most importantly, he has to be alright.

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

For now.

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

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

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

"Don't. Move."

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

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

"Go ahead and shoot."

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

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

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

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

"I —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt.

"I — I —"

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

"Should've… It should've —"

"Hey, hey…"

"It should've been me!"

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

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

Your body shakes as the tears finally slip free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?"

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

You don't.

"And what do you call this lovely lady?"

"Nothing."

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

"Just haven't decided."

"I see! Mine's Geranium."

"Oh, like… the flower?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's stale too.

Fucker.

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh-huh."

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

"Hey, now —"

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

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

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

"'Ol Needle Noggin, eh?"

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

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

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

"Wasn't tryna scam —"

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

"Anyone told ya how irritatin' ya are?"

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

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

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

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

You feel a funny sensation.

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

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

"Oh, go to hell, Choi!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that's anything new."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you're on edge.

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

"Now who's staring?"

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

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

Hope.

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

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

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

"Can I pour you another drink?"

"Sure," you chuckle, pleased.

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

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

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

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

"'Lo, Wonu."

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

"Past yer bedtime, lil one?"

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

"Oh, Lina…"

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

"Huh, what a darlin' angel!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, how your heart aches.

"Even prettier."

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

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

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

"I am strong!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Choi —"

"Yeah!" Lina claps ecstatically.

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

"I swear!"

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

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

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

"Really?!"

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

"Y'see the man in all purple?"

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

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

"Choi!"

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

"Yes, sir!"

"Attagirl."

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

"Dunno, cute?"

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

"No need for apologizin', man."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'S not what I meant!"

"Yeah, yeah."

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

Meanwhile, the pastor's grin turns wolfish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just a bounty hunter."

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

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

"Oh? Same here."

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

"He's…?"

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

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

"Yeah, tell me about it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pastor. Pleased to meet'cha."

"Oh! Really?"

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

"Do you, hm, officiate weddings?"

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

"M-maybe."

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

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

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

"No one even has sixty billion double dollars!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fill me up again?"

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

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

But you know the truth.

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

"I'm turning in for the night."

"Smartin' idea."

"Don't get too smashed."

"You should get smashed."

"Bye, Choi."

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

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

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

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

"Hey, you."

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

"So, you're staying here tonight?"

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

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

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

"You hella reek."

"Says the one who drank over seven shots."

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

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

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

"'Cause that's what he is."

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

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

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

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

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

"Only if you get one, too."

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

"As you wish, m'lady!"

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

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

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

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

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

"M'kay."

"You're so agreeable when drunk!"

"And you're still just as annoying."

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

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

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

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

"'Kay."

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

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

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

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

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

"All mine?"

"Yeah."

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

"Aren't you going to bathe?"

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

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

"Total slaughter…!"

Splash!

"… Total slaughter…"

Splash!

"I won't leave… a single man alive."

Splash! Splash!

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

Splash.

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

"Let's begin… the killing time."

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

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

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

Rem Saverem.

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

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

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

"What's got you making that face?"

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

"What face?"

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

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

"There is."

"Tell me."

"You need to dry your hair properly."

"Do it for me."

"… This is on purpose, isn't it?"

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

"Well, Seok? You gonna answer me?"

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

"You."

"Hm?"

"Was… thinking about you."

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

"… Yeah. I like you."

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

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

"… Mhm yeah, you've been drinking."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why are you acting like that?"

"… Like what?"

Perhaps you were too hopeful.

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

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

"It's… none of that, it's just…"

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

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

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

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

"I'm not the only one!"

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

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

"You don't know how I feel!"

Silence.

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

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

"You're right. How dare I?"

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

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

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

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

Yet, it hurts all the more.

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

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

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

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

Yelling. Crying. Screaming. Pleading.

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

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

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

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

Don't leave me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even Seokmin checks in. Four times.

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

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

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

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

"Beast… reported… Tonim town… !"

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

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

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

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

"You're just weak."

"Wha'zat say 'bout you?"

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

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

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

How typical.

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

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

"Soonyoung's coming."

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

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

"Tuned the VERnon last night."

"'Course you did."

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

"It never hurts to be too prepared!"

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

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

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

"Or… it could be Jeonghan."

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

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

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

Antagonize.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, 'Kwan?"

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

"Sure you are."

"You would absolutely look dashing!"

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

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

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

"All that does is make me cringe."

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

"Who's acting like what?"

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

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

"There's no way!"

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

"Uh-huh."

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

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

"The hell did you even throw for?"

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

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

"Someone just doesn't wanna give in."

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

"Wait… No fucking way…!"

"Literally shut up, Boo."

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

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

"Dirty cheater."

"You expect anything less from someone like him?"

A sigh. "No."

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

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

"Don't recall!"

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

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

"Aw, see? You still care!"

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

"Sure you do."

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

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

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

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

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

"As far as we know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even if it kills 'im?"

"Even if it kills him."

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

"Dokyeom. DK."

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

"Absolute pain in my ass?"

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

"… Deadly Knives?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You admired him. Truly.

"Un-fuckin'-'lievable."

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

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

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

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

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

"… Remind me to never drink again."

"I told you —"

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

"… Mistake?"

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

You wonder how long he's known.

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

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

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

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

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

Who is it you're trying to reassure?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Course they would."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Surely you know what —"

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

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

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

"Still following him around, I see."

"'S a lot comin' from —"

" — Hasn't gotten rid of me yet!"

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

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

"You're delusional."

"Why are you here?"

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

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

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

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

Click!

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

"Uh, so… how many times is this?"

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

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

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

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

"Felnarl. Jeneora Rock. Descartes. Dankin."

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

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

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

"Why you —"

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

"You forgot one."

"Pardon?"

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

"… Huh?"

"Little Ivywood."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn you —"

"Stop it."

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

"You don't want this."

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

"We do."

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

"He's not a monster."

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

To us?

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

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

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

"… Excuse me?"

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

"We would've left peacefully tomorrow."

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

"Because you took a bribe!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"…. I —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Conflict resolution. How very touching."

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

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

"What about that was 'getting good'?"

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

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

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

"Hm. But I think you do."

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

Lina.

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

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

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

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

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

"… Wonu?"

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

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

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

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

It doesn't end there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ooh, thanks, Seungkwan!"

"Pay attention, you blockhead!"

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

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

"Seokmin, switch!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bang!

Bang!

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

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

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

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

Nails.

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

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

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

Drip.

"It's all your fault!"

Drip.

"Their blood is on your hands…"

Drip.

"Don't you feel guilty?"

Drip.

"Don't you feel responsible?"

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

Someone's screaming. Maybe it's you.

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

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

Click.

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

"… out of it!"

"Hyperventialing -"

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

The Crimsonnail sneers.

Your cheek stings.

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

Someone.

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

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

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

"I know, mayfly."

Part 2 | Read the whole thing on AO3

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

[scattered-dreamers]

What I find absolutely hilarious about my AU is the amount of fucking sticky notes Tim will keep finding long after Jon has left the Institute.

Because Jon—the autistic MF that he is—will break into the archives and the research department and scour EVERY FUCKING THING and make notes for Tim.

Like he remembers EVERYTHING! He’ll leave notes in the beginning that have Tim going “what the fuck?”

“Don’t let Sasha hide in Artifact Storage”

“Have Elias install a CO2 system”

“Tim, you and Sasha had better not make out in the artifact storage”

“Beware of worms”

All the while Tim is like, the fuck?? Are you in the walls?? Where are you fucking motherfucker. You obviously didn’t die. Stop being ominous and come back to work.

Because, I figure, like any office job, the Archives are only scheduled M-F, Jon is just an obsessive MF who lived there 24/7.

(Why else would he tell Georgie he “needed to find an apartment”? He couldn’t have told her “I’ve been fired and my apartment is being sprayed for bugs”? Instead he told her “I’m out of work and homeless”. The fuck?? Really, who says that, unless they ACTUALLY ARE in that situation?)

So, while Tim, Sasha, and Martin work in the archives M-F, Mr. I’m Gonna Live In The Tunnels is there Saturday and Sunday sitting among the boxes leaving notes for Tim.

Dead

Didn’t die

Spider freak

Check the basement

Yes, being encased in web is very much a thing of how he died. Don’t be like me

Leitner is in the tunnels

Let Martin sleep in the archives

Martin isn’t sick. He just can’t leave his house.

Check on Martin

Don’t destroy the table whatever you do. The NotThem is attached to it

By that point Tim is like “What the fuck is the NotThem??”

All the notes are attached to the files, by the way—Unless they have to do with the archive crew. Then they’re all over the top of Tim’s desk instead—and every note on a file that can be cross-referenced with another has the other file numbers on it.

Eventually, Jon had a system worked out where all the files can be cross-referenced by locale, entity, person, year. Like, the man has it figured out.

At some point, Tim realizes Jon wasn’t off his rocker because everything is falling together. Martin gives his statement about the worms and Tim realizes Jon was right. Eventually, he asks to hear more of his nightmare and Jon leaves him a tape that goes through all his encounters and he went through and everything.

Tim is floored and awed and enraged while listening. And then he hears Jon “while I know you want to set the place on fire, if you do, you’ll all die.” Tim almost does it, but he turns his rage to Orsinov and the circus instead.

[caffedrine]

Matias Asbrink - Fake Lovers for a Day - Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

As a warning - this event goes into some dark things with Matias. Beware.

Matias, the First Prince of Achroite, the Land of Snow and Laws was a serious man who deeply respects the laws. Yes, he has some rather eccentric aspects to his personality, but deep down, he was honest and good. However, when he appears in court as a Judge, he only embodies the face of the cold impartial justice of the law. 

After finishing her role as Belle with no romantic entanglements, Emma went to Achroite with Akatsuki. Akatsuki, too young to be her father, travels around various countries to their bookstores, buying and selling rare and valuable books. 

Since coming to Achroite, Emma has grown accustomed to the sight of snow falling like flower petals, but the sight still makes her heart jump with joy. Snow was rare in her home country of Rhodolite, so she has never had a chance to get used to the fairytale scenery. Then again, the person who truly looks like he stepped out of a fairytale illustration is walking next to her.

Up close, Matias looks even more fantastical, with hair the color of fading twilight and eyes the color of snow in the shadows. His aura is as pure and beautiful as the white snow falling around them.

Matias notes that Emma has been exploring parts of the city and asks if she has some favorite places yet. 

While marveling over how approachable and personable he is, Emma tells him about a bookstore in the center of town. She’s been visiting almost every day and can’t stop. Matias recognizes the place; he’s been visiting it since he was a schoolboy. They both agree that the owner is what makes it so welcoming, with his cheerful, friendly, and all-around decent persona. 

Emma heard recently from the bookstore owner about a museum that specializes in romantic exhibits. She asks if Matias has ever been there.

Unfortunately, no. It’s a relatively new museum, but the owner is an eccentric with particular requirements for people to even enter. For one, all his customers must be in a romantic relationship, and come as a couple. 

Since Matias is single, and unless he misunderstood, Emma is too, they are both out of luck. 

That’s a shame, Emma heard that one of the limited exhibits would be centered around her newest favorite novel (set in Achroite). It’s a shame she’ll probably never get a chance to see it.

(Now she knows what it’s like in Keith’s route when you want to read a romantic book/see a romantic scene but can't)

Matias pauses, deep in consideration. They both want to go visit the museum, but they’re both woefully single. Maybe . . . Maybe they could work something out?

Matias quickly assures her that he doesn’t intend to break any rules. But, if they become a couple for the express purpose of visiting the museum, and then break up right after, that wouldn’t be technically breaking any laws. Right?

Also, Matias isn’t the type to normally rush things, he knows the social etiquette rules around becoming lovers, and he doesn’t intend to have a whirlwind romance. 

After a fateful encounter, they would slowly grow closer over an appropriate amount of time. As they fall deeply and helplessly in love, they finally confess and soon, are united as one . . . 

Emma gives him a good shake, calling his name. This brings Matias back to reality, and he coughs uncomfortably, centering himself. Anyway - before he got distracted - he was saying that he’s not the type of person to push boundaries and rush into relationships. 

However, the exhibit they’re both interested in is on display for a limited time. Without wishing to offend, perhaps they can be lovers for a short amount of time, just to visit the museum?

Honestly, Emma is the only one he can depend on in this situation. As a friend, does she agree?

Emma understands completely. Matias is very popular with the women, and if he were to propose being temporary lovers, she has no doubt it will end with the other person in tears. Honestly, this arrangement works out for both of them. 

Emma agrees to Matias’ proposal. Even though they’ve been friends for such a short time, she knows that deep down he’s a good man. Besides, there is nothing weird about friends being fake lovers. Right?

Matias beams at her, his expression suddenly switching from friendly to sexy. He assures her that he will take good care of her.

Emma thought the princes of Rhodolite had prepared her on how to handle attractive men. However, their collective attractiveness could not hold a candle to the radiant sun of Matias’ charms. Emma has to take a deep breath to steel herself and then bows politely to Matias. She is in his (temporary) care as his lover.

Suddenly Matias holds out his hand to her. At her confused expression, Matias explains that he wants her to hold hands with him.

Wait a minute. Are they starting right now?

Yes, Matias doesn’t think he can escort her adequately on the day of their museum trip without some time to get used to thinking of her as his (temporary) lover.

From this moment until after they visit the museum, he intends to be lovers with her. That should give them enough time to go on at least one outing as lovers too. 

Wow, Matias does not do things by halves. Looking into his earnest eyes, Emma can tell that he is absolutely serious. 

Well then, they’ll be lovers for only a short while, but she will give it her all too. She timidly accepts Matias’s hand, and he grasps her fingers, rubbing them. As her lover, he noticed that her hands were cold, even though she was wearing gloves. He grows worried, Achroite is famously much colder than Rhodolite - is she having any trouble adjusting?

(Now he cares)

Emma assures him that she is fine - it’s cold but she doesn’t mind. The country of Achroite is very beautiful, so to her, the positives far outweigh the negatives. 

Matias is relieved, Achroite is the land of snow, it would be difficult to stay here without enjoying it. So that she can enjoy the scenery even more, he grasps her other hand to warm it in his.

Matias is truly doting on her. Emma looks away bashfully as he brings her hands to his face to blow hot air on them. 

He touches her hands like they are precious treasures. The edges of his mouth lift in the beginnings of a smile as he exhales over them.

Forget her hands, the rest of Emma is growing uncomfortably warm. Maybe it was a mistake, to agree to be his temporary lover. 

They make plans for a date later in the week, and part ways to return to their respective duties. 

On the day of their date, Emma arrives at their prearranged meeting place a little early. She is still surprised by the events of the last few days; she has received a letter from Matias every day since she agreed to be his (temporary) lover. Andrea what Matias wrote . . . Her face grows red remembering. She knew that he was a romantic at heart, but those letters . . . 

Emma is taken out of her reverie by the sound of the people talking next to her. They’re discussing the bookstore in the center of town, and how it is running a fraudulent business. Their book prices are outrageous, and the owner has a nasty temper just because one of the two was a bit rough with his books. They agree to warn their friends to stay away from the bookstore.

Emma recognizes that store as one of her favorites. Yes, the prices are high, but the owner sells rare books. Also, as a fellow book lover, her heart sinks at the thought of a book being handled roughly.

Emma starts to interject gently, telling the two men that there must be a misunderstanding.

The two men immediately accuse her of being an agent of the bookstore owner. They ask if she’s in on the fraud and close in around her, threateningly.

Matias asks if the two men are prepared to make that statement in a court of law. He reminds them that perjury and defamation are very heavy crimes in Achroite, and they will need to be prepared to pay for any crimes. 

The two men fall silent, only now noticing Matias. He continues, that if the bookstore owner wanted to, he had two witnesses to them making false statements. He warns them that while they are free citizens of Achroite, they are still responsible for behaving in accordance with the law.

Emma rarely gets to see Matias like this, as the impartial arbiter of justice. 

Matias ends by adding that he personally will not tolerate continued disrespect to his girlfriend. Who totally loves him, as much as he loves her. Which is a lot.

Smiling beatifically at her, Matias drapes his arm around her shoulders and leads her away from the two thugs.

(Step one of dating - make sure the local thugs spread the news)

After they leave the area, Emma thanks Matias for protecting her back there. Matias assures her that it was fine, besides, she did the right thing back then. Emma is confused and Matias elaborates. Like he said, those men were slandering the store owner. Granted, it’s not a crime if the victim, the store owner, doesn’t report it, but those men were still behaving criminally. He is proud that his ‘girlfriend’ can recognize and call out criminals so quickly. 

Oh, how awkward. Emma wasn’t calling out those men to uphold the law, she just wanted to clear up any misunderstandings about the store owner. She’s not a champion of justice or anything, and probably wouldn’t have intervened if those men weren’t talking about someone she personally knew.

But Matias seems happy with it, and it’s such a small matter that Emma decides to leave it be. She promises Matias that she will do her best to be a woman worthy of him.

After that, they went to the various places Matias had planned out on their date, and Emma’s appreciation for the country of Achroite grew. She tried candy with frozen fruit, admired the intricate woodwork, and freaked out when Matias seemed to look at her too closely. Matias immediately backed down from the last bit, explaining that he’d never had a girlfriend before and that this was a new experience for him as well.

Matias was also able to explain Achroite culture to Emma, which helped her gain a deeper understanding of a scene in one of her favorite romance books. Matias admires the fictional couple, as he too wants to find a love that he would risk his own life for. 

He adds though, that he thinks the male lead is entirely unreasonable, letting the main character get into all these dangerous situations. If he could switch places, he would keep his princess in a safe cage place free from all danger where he could keep her pure.

Matias notices the side eye Emma is giving him and apologizes for saying all that in front of her. His girlfriend. 

No - that’s not the part Emma was worried about. What’s this about a Princess? Is Matias cheating on his real lover with Emma?

Oh, no, not at all. Matias is talking about his future wife whom he has yet to find. 

Matias begins to describe his ideal future wife: a woman full of noble dignity, a warm heart, and an honest appreciation for things. 

As he continues, Emma is amazed at how specific Matias’ ideals for his future wife are. It’s almost as if he’s describing someone he knows.

Eventually, Matias winds down his explanation, finishing up that his future wife would be a lot like Emma herself. 

Emma gives him a puzzled look and Matias coughs uncomfortably. 

Wow, he is really looking forward to seeing the couple’s museum. Isn’t Emma?

They continue their date long into the day as the sun begins to set, dying the town red. 

Suddenly the air around Matias seems to change, and he pulls them both to a stop, staring at the crowd of people. Looking at him, Emma thinks he has gone as cold as ice.

Just as she starts to ask him what is wrong, Matias apologizes and asks her to wait just a moment. Before she can respond, he sprints out into the crowd. He jumps a man walking through the crowd, pulling him to the ground and pinning his arm behind him. Matias has recognized this man as a criminal who intends to break into Ultima Thule, free some of the prisoners, and escape the country. Matias knows everything, and this man will pay for his crimes.

This man has enacted illegal means to acquire restricted information, bribed some of the guards, and, worst of all, had made contact with an individual in Obsidian for his escape route.

The man is shocked at how much Matias knows. Matias tells him not to underestimate the National Guard, they haven’t apprehended him yet only because they were looking for his hideout. Thanks to this man, this criminal, walking through town, the investigation can be brought to an end. 

The man wails that ‘her’ body is failing and that she can’t take it anymore.

Matias nods, the man was waiting for the right time to strike but became impatient and moved ahead. 

Of course, even if Matias hadn’t just found him, the man would have failed. Ultima Thule’s security would have stopped him, no one can escape. 

The man screams that it’s not ‘her’ fault. She was just trying to help someone; she didn’t realize that person was connected to Obsidian. 

In a monotone voice, Matias pronounces that anyone who breaks the law is a criminal.

Matias notices Emma watching and a small thaw in his demeanor appears. He assures Emma this will all be over shortly. 

The man on the ground has heard that Matias has a lover. Matias tells him that his relationship status is none of the man’s business. 

The man shouts that if Matias has a lover, he must know exactly how he feels. The wish to do anything for your lover, even at the expense of yourself.

Yes, the man has committed grave sins, and he will commit them again and again for ‘her’ sake. He will bear any punishment, even if it costs him his life, just please show his lover mercy. 

Matias tells the man not to lump in his girlfriend with criminals. Unlike them, Emma is a pure and righteous woman. 

By this time the city guard has come, and Matias hands the man over to them. Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, he comes back to where Emma is standing.

He immediately notices that she’s shaking and smiling gently and asks if she’s okay.

Emma assures him she is and asks about Ultima Thule.

Ultima Thule is Achroite’s forced labor prison. Criminals who’s crimes are not so bad that they’re executed are sent there to work off their debts to society. It’s in the coldest, most remote, and most desolate place in Achroite. 

Matias apologizes for the scene that Emma just saw. He understands that she isn’t one for violence. Would she mind continuing the date with him and giving him the chance to apologize?

Matias is trying to cheer her up, but Emma can’t shake the realization that Matias is being so kind to her because he thinks she is someone that she is not. Emma isn’t a crusader for justice, if anything, she’s sympathetic to that criminal’s plight. She couldn’t say for sure that she wouldn’t break the law if she and that man’s places were switched. 

Emma is one misstep from being hauled away to prison under Matias’ cold, unforgiving gaze. 

She realizes that Matias is dangerous.

Matias gently strokes her back as if trying to soothe her. He tells her that he made reservations at a nearby restaurant and suggests they head there for a break.

The food, which Emma had no doubt tasted delicious, tasted like nothing at all.

Sweet End 

On the day of the museum date, Emma looks at the exhibits with Matias, but she is still trembling with fear. The joy of the exhibits fails her as she focuses on the man next to her.

Matias stops her from going to the next one - he’s noticed her state and wants to apologize. He understands that what she saw during their date frightened her, and he wants to apologize for subjecting her to that scene. 

Emma thinks that it must be difficult for Matias, who is just doing his job, to have everyone afraid of him. She apologizes too.

Matias shakes his head and assures her that her feelings are natural. It must be a blow to realize how far into the country criminals connected to Obsidian can infiltrate. As a member of the criminal justice system, the fact that the criminal got so far in his nefarious plot is a stain upon his honor. It’s not only her whom he should apologize to but to all the good citizens in the square that day. He came so close to failing to protect everyone.

Er . . . Matias doesn’t quite get how she feels after all. Those words the man had flung at Matias, about having to understand him since he knows what it’s like to have a lover, ring in Emma’s ears. She wonders if Matias was unable to understand that man at all. Matias is nice and fun, but she truly has no idea what is going on in his head.

And that is what she’s afraid of.

In reality, Matias apologizes to Emma for failing to protect her. Emma shakes her head, reminding Matias that she wasn’t hurt at all. In fact, no one at the square was hurt. 

Matias disagrees, as her lover, it’s his job to protect her physically and mentally. And right now, she is full of anxiety and fear. 

Matias wants her to feel safe and have a fun time. He wants her to only feel happiness.

For that goal, he will put everything he has, everything that makes him Matias on the line. He tells Emma to relax and enjoy herself and reminds her of that exhibit she wanted to see. 

Matias wishes she would smile.

Emma is still afraid, but Matias’ passionate speech has touched her heart. She looks at him, trying to shake off the fear, and smiles. He smiles back at her, relief on his face.

And, oh, that smile. Emma can feel her face heat up.

Oh no. Emma can’t take her eyes off Matias. Not just her face but her whole body is heating up. She’s about to explode from the heat boiling up in her.

Suddenly Matias grabs her by her shoulders, and Emma realizes she was listing to the side. He asks if she’s okay, supporting her.

Emma snaps back to herself and shakes her head, trying to return to normal. She assures him that she’s fine and lets Matias lead her through the museum. 

That charm of his is something else.

Emma has seen a few ladies her age standing in a daze next to Matias, but she never thought she would be one of them. Ugh, how humiliating - Emma wishes she could just crawl off into a hole somewhere. As she considers cutting the date short to save whatever is left of her dignity, Matias catches her attention and directs her gaze at a painting.

Oh. That painting. The one Emma wanted to see more than anything else.

Matias had said that this painting was supposed to evoke the feelings of spring love, but that description falls flat. Emma’s heart leaps at the sight of it, entranced in the beauty before her.

Matias nods, this isn’t that far from how he imagined the scene. The man was fine, but he thought the woman should be smaller, like Emma, with long brown hair, like Emma. Hmmm . . . Oh, he gets it now.

(Does Emma have a single/available sister by chance?)

The woman in the book was described as the most beautiful woman in the world, which is why he thought of Emma. 

In Matias’ imagination, her hair would sway in the southern wind, and her eyes would sparkle in the sunlight. She would turn towards him, smiling as if the whole world was celebrating. 

Emma cuts him short - he is praising her too much. Matias disagrees, as his girlfriend, it is no exaggeration to say she is the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Well, Matias sure has a strong imagination of his girlfriend. 

Matias suggests they move on to the next painting. He has created an itemized list and flowchart to look at the paintings he thought Emma would like the best. Emma agrees that this sounds like fun.

You know, Matias was looking forward to the paintings, but he thinks the best part will be seeing them together with Emma.

They walk through the paintings, admiring the exhibits. Before long, they find themselves at the exit.

Emma peers at the exit - it appears there are rules to leave the building. They must demonstrate how their love has deepened before they leave.

Matias muses that the rule leaves it open for interpretation but wonders about the various ways people can demonstrate their love. Emma thinks words or declarations of affirmation would probably be the most popular, though she grows flushed at the idea of saying such things to Matias.

Well, rules are rules. And Matias, who researched this in advance, is prepared.

He wraps a cute, fluffy pastel scarf around Emma’s neck. He explains that even with her gloves on, sometimes Emma looks so cold. 

He also has gloves for her, which match his own. They go past the wrist and are waterproof so should keep her warm longer. 

Matias’ idea to prove his love for her is to protect her, in this case, from the elements. Emma thanks him, now, not only is her body but her heart warm. 

And now it’s Emma’s turn. Her heart is fuzzy and warm, she takes a deep breath and begins.

When they leave the museum, the city is red with the sunset. Matias thanks her for being his temporary lover, he had a lot more fun than he expected.

So much fun that he doesn’t quite want their time together to end just yet. Didn’t they agree that they’d be lovers until the end of the day today? He asks if she wouldn’t mind grabbing dinner together. 

Emma’s heart pounds in her chest as she looks into Matias’ snow-colored eyes. They were endlessly kind when they looked at her, but she has seen them become frozen at a moment's notice. She’s curious about Matias, about the way he thinks. Maybe if she spends more time with him, she’ll find something that will satisfy her and wipe away the fear that lingers in her heart. Feeling hopeful, Emma agrees to spend the rest of the day together.

Premium End

On the day of their museum date, Matias arrived early at their prearranged meeting place and had been waiting for Emma. She apologizes for keeping him waiting and he waives her off - she was waiting for him last time and he hadn’t wanted to make her wait for him a second time.

Emma thinks that Matias really is a nice person. That time at the town square, he had just been fulfilling his duties as a guardian of the law. If anything, Emma should be relieved that he was truly impartial and egalitarian in dispensing justice.

But she is still afraid.

Emma tries to stuff the fear somewhere down in her stomach and smiles at Matias. 

Matias pulls out a notebook from his pocket and proffers it to Emma. He explains that he was researching the exhibits, and thought there were a few that depended on a deep cultural understanding of Achroite. He thought she would like to look up and understand those points at her leisure. 

Emma accepts the notebook and opens it, realizing that it is all in Matias’ own handwriting. Matias explains that while he hoped that it would be useful to her both as a reference for the museum and as something to aid her grow accustomed to Achroite.

Just as Emma begins to open her mouth to thank him, Matias beckons her closer, he wants to give her a souvenir from their last date. He takes out a package and starts touching her earlobes. Afterwards, she looks at her reflection in the window of a nearby shop and admires the wooden earrings. He also gives her a package of sweets from the coffee shop they visited.

(This man is the reason why women's clothes should come with more pockets)

These gifts remind her of the good times they had yesterday and show his care towards her. Really, she had been having a great time until that scene at the end. 

But she’s still afraid.

Emma resolves herself to face Matias without being trapped by fear. The gratefully thanks him.

Matias’ snow-blue eyes narrow slightly and he reminds her that they’re lovers. These gifts should be as natural as breathing. Emma shakes her head, a lover wouldn’t take their partner for granted, and she can feel the time and effort he put into these gifts. She might not have experience with a lover before, but she is certain Matias would make his partner the happiest woman in the world. 

Matias assures Emma that she has been the perfect lover, the time he has spent daydreaming about her has been too perfect for words. 

Uhh, what?

Matias quickly assures her that he wasn’t skipping work to daydream about her, just when he had a quiet moment to take a break. He would picture the smile she would give him, and every moment basking in her radiant prescience.

Oh, that’s what he meant. Yeah, that’s okay then.

The feeling of fear hasn’t left Emma completely, but she thinks that she can enjoy their museum date. Seeing her smile, Matias smiles back. They haven’t even started their date, but Matias is having a great time already. That said, they probably should start making their way over. 

Matias courteously holds out his hand and Emma accepts it without hesitation.

After the museum date, Matias brought them to the dance hall in Achroite Castle. It was completely different from the one in Rhodolite, with soft wood tones and candles illuminating the national crest carved into the wooden floor. 

Matias admits that he hasn’t had many good experiences in this place, but he has always fantasized about dancing here with his lover. He thanks Emma for coming with him and asks if she would like to dance with him. Emma agrees and accepts Matias’ hand. 

Matias is impressed, Emma is a much better dancer than he was anticipating. Emma admits to practicing hard in the past. She is happy it worked out for them, after all, if she couldn’t dance then she wouldn’t be able to be his lover, right? After all, Matias is a member of the royalty, and his beloved would need to be a noble.

Actually, not necessarily. It would be better if his queen could dance, but it would be fine if she learned how to between their engagement and the actual wedding. Achroite is less class-conscious than other countries, so his wife could come from any class. 

Besides, the Asbrink family rules are very vague on the qualification for their wives. The only real rule is that she be worthy of the distinguished Asbrink family. Which is why Matias wants someone he can love and cherish and make happy. Emma notes that Matias looks so happy when he talks about his future wife. 

Choosing his wife is technically one of the few personal choices Matias can make in his life. He wouldn’t be constrained as a keeper of the law, or as the scion of the Asbrink family. He would be able to just be Matias and choose and love someone just for himself.

Emma understands that as both the keeper of the law and the first prince of Achroite, Matias has many responsibilities and rules he must follow. The time spent with his lover is probably the only time he gets to be himself.

Matias begins describing his ideal lover to Emma. Emma nods, she understands why he speaks so enthusiastically about his future lover. Matias adds that since his lover would be marrying a guardian of the law and the first prince of Achroite, the most important thing is that she is righteous and pure.

Emma thinks that his definition of the last bit would be that Matias’ wife would never violate the law no matter the circumstances. Emma doesn’t have it in her to live up to those standards. But she is his lover until the end of the day, so she should enjoy it while it lasts. She asks if they could dance a little longer, and Matias mutters that he wishes he could dance with her forever. She hopes that at least until the end of the day, Matias feels a little bit of freedom.

Suddenly Matias grabs her waist and spins her around. Emma is surprised and impressed, she never thought she’d be able to spin like that. Matias admits to trying it with her for the first time, he’s only read and fantasized about it.

Surprised, Emma asks about all the dance parties he’s been expected to attend as a royal. Matias reveals that he has always tried to keep a certain distance between himself and the ladies. If he gets too close, he will suddenly find it difficult to get away.

While Emma would normally think it’s nice to be liked, she can see the downsides. But with Matias’ seductive aura, she’ll need to be careful too. Subtly, Emma tries to move away from him, at least so she feels less of his body heat.

Oh no! Matias has noticed and asks why she’s pulling away. The hand on her waist tightens, pulling her closer to him. 

His snow-colored eyes exuded such sensuality that it made chills run down Emma’s spine. The shock of his face so close makes Emma lose her breath and forget how to breathe. A heat stirs in her body, and she suddenly can’t look away from his face. 

Her head was full of Matias, just Matias, and she climbed onto him and his heat. She wants nothing more than to cling to him.

A sudden image of a young woman dazed and confused next to Matias flashes through Emma’s head. She remembers that Matias doesn’t like women like that and awkwardly tries to push him away. Emma explains that she’s trying to put a little distance between them. She pushes at his chest again, but the arm around her waist only tightens. 

Matias reminds Emma that she’s his lover, so he needs her close to him. Emma refuses, if this continues, she’ll get in trouble.

With the saddest eyes, Matias asks what kind of trouble she is talking about.

Oh, that did it. The last of Emma’s strength leaves her body as Matias calls her name.

Epilogue

During the last night as Matias’s lover, she and he attended a dance party. Unfortunately, the prolonged exposure to Matias’ seductive aura overwhelmed Emma, and she came close to fainting. Thankfully Matias was able to steady her, and she was able to pretend that she simply missed a dance step and injured her ankle. Which did happen.

Suddenly she is in Matias’ arms as he lifts her. He tells her that they’re done dancing, instead, he’ll bring her to her room. And, since it’s late, he’ll arrange for her to stay in a guest room tonight.

Matias bridal carries Emma into a room and places her on the bed. He fetches a small box of medical supplies and begins tending to her ankle.

Emma apologizes for the trouble, but Matias assures her that he’s used to doing this in the National Guard. Weirdly impersonally, Matias rolls up Emma’s skirt, so her leg is exposed up to her thigh before he starts manipulating her ankle. Emma wants to preserve some modesty and lower her hemline, but she doesn’t want to get in his way.

Looking at Matias, it is clear that he has barely even noticed her state, and instead is focused on her ankle. She reminds herself that this is just a medical treatment, something that Matias is used to and has done to his fellow soldiers before. She tries to think of something else, but her thoughts just keep on returning to Matias bent over her ankle.

After what seemed like a small eternity has passed, Matias pronounces his field treatment as complete. He instructs Emma to keep her ankle elevated so the swelling will go down by tomorrow-

Matias suddenly freezes, as if realizing the position he and Emma are in. He immediately apologizes, explaining that he moved by instinct and had no ulterior intentions toward her. 

Oh, even though she’s his lover, he has gone too far to pin her down to a bed, and even touched her bare skin with his ungloved hands- 

Matias’ panic is making Emma feel embarrassed all over again. She quickly assures him that she understands he had nothing but the best of intentions and concerns over her injury. Honestly, she’s grateful that he was so quick and efficient in his medical treatment. Emma bows her head and Matias snatches his hands away from her leg.

Well, okay then. Matias nods to himself, regains his composure, and sits next to Emma on the bed. Once again, he is close enough for her to feel his body heat.

Well, there’s only one last thing for a couple to do on a night like this. Suddenly, Matias’ face draws closer to Emma’s. She begins to protest.

But why? They’ve just finished their second date, so shouldn’t they do the proper thing? Sit close to each other and talk about the parts they enjoyed and what they want to do next. And, as they talk, the bond between them grows and the feelings they have are reflected in their softening gazes and then-

(Besides, according to the Asbrink family rules, no sex before the third date)

Oh, okay, Emma gets it now. She feels embarrassed - Matias apologized for touching her just to treat her injury, of course, he wouldn’t expect to go further physically. Emma sighs in relief and tries to objectively look at Matias. He seems to really enjoy being a ‘temporary’ lover, to the point that he’s forgotten that there will be no ‘next’ for them. 

Matias asks Emma to tell him more about herself - for future reference.

At Emma’s puzzled look, Matias explains that while they won’t be lovers, they’ll still be friends. Besides, now that he knows her a little better, he thinks they could be great friends. So, he wants to know more about her.

Emma understands that Matias’ words are saying that he wants a deeper friendship, but something about his sensual gaze makes her feel like what he really wants is something else.

Still, Emma agrees, and Matias smiles like the sun reflecting off of ice crystals. Maybe he’s still in the headspace that they’re lovers since the night isn’t yet over.

[fuctacles]

Happy DM Day or something

Happy GM Day to our favorite Dungeon Master and anyone who ever had the honor of leading a party into their demise

@steddiemicrofic "pin" | T | 388 | getting together, transfem Stevie | continuation to of swords and holes | now w part 3!

Once he accepts the earrings, it’s like the floodgates have opened. 

He hadn't even noticed them at first, they were small enough things to look over. Bringing him coffee to work, his favorite snacks for the movie night, a shirt she “found in the back of a closet”.

It didn't hit him until the beginning of March.

“Munson! Catch!”

He doesn’t, of course, but the small object lands harmlessly in his lap.

“What’s that?”

“A gift,” Stevie answers with a shrug. “Happy DM day or something.”

“A what day?” he asks confused, and turns the little thing, a pin, over to take a look. 

Beware the smiling DM.

“Oh my gods.”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He looks up at the girl with enough audacity to ask stupid questions. His favorite, beloved bimbo. “Sweetie, darling, I love it,” he says reverently, pressing the badge into his heart. He stands up from the couch and reaches for Stevie’s hand.

“Pin it for me?”

It’s a small gesture, and completely unnecessary, but when she attaches the badge to his battle vest, becoming a part of it, it feels like a religious experience.

“What’s the occasion again?” he asks when her hands are on his chest and her lips are slightly pursed in concentration. 

“Dungeon Master Day.”

The pin is secured but she’s not stepping away.

“You gave me a gift for a nerdy holiday,” he clarifies.

“Yes?”

“A holiday I didn’t even know about?”

She looks away while her cheeks turn pink.

“Well, I had to google it, so…”

“Girlie.” He puts his hands on her cheeks and squishes them gently. “Did you google nerdy holidays, just for an excuse to give me something?”

“Well, Dustin told me about Star Wars Day, so I figured–”

“Can I kiss you?”

She closes her mouth with a click and frowns.

“Like a friend?”

“No.”

“Then yes.”

He presses in and pulls her close into a lingering kiss. 

“Sweetest, prettiest, loveliest thing,” he murmurs while kissing every inch of her face. Stevie giggles and squirms in his hold with delight in her eyes.

“I also have a Tupperware of D20 cookies.”

Eddie dives back into her mouth and kisses her until there’s no air left between them.

“Fucking,” he gasps for air, pulling away only to wrap her impossibly close. “Marry me.”

[sh1-n0bu]

I, 🦝, see a lot of people write about Venti in a way that I'm not sure I find appealing. Don't get me wrong I prefer dom reader (with anyone but Beidou she can do whatever the fuck she wants to me I don't care) but for some reason I feel like many Venti fics are kinda.... predatory.

In many of them the reader treats him unkindly in a very under-negotiated-kink-with-no-aftercare- way.

BUT I WANNA DO THE AFTERCARE BRO. I WANT TO.

I fucking live for that shit.

I want to take a bath with him, wash his hair for him, maybe give him a scalp massage because no one can tell me braids don't get uncomfortable long term. I want to cuddle him. I mean have you seen him he's so skrunkly. And then fall asleep together like a plain boring old married couple.

Aftercare is good. Aftercare is friend. Intimacy is a scrumptious thing whether sexual or not but especially with someone who's that pretty. I mean have you seen him? I have. I am looking. I am looking intensely.

♡︎ 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙙 ♡︎

characters: sub!venti x gn!dom!reader

warnings: overstimulation, praise, edging, fluff, feminization

notes: decided to try a headcannon format with this since my brain just can’t come up with a good sex scene lmao. i’m sorry my most loyal 🦝 anon. also dedicated to @junerixi aka the biggest venti simp that i know.

i haven’t exactly seen any sub venti fics tbh, since i don’t follow that tag, so idk what kinds of fics are lurking there

but i’ve seen quite dark types of sub character fics at some points and oh dear, as a soft dom it just doesn’t feel right to me

for reasons i really can’t see venti being a sub. maybe a power bottom???? the gremlin in his just excludes that aura

will definitely tease you out in public

will hold eye contact with you at the bar while pulling his already short shorts upwards with a shit eating grin on his face

i can also see him liking all different kinds of lingeries

the soft satin dress ones, the two piece lace ones with stockings, the cute frilly sleeping dress ones etc etc

definitely wears his favorite satin dress with nothing underneath as a gift for you, whenever you come back from work or a long commission late and tired

put on the brightest lipstick so he can leave marks all over your face and body

likes to put on make up because he knows you likes it when it runs down his face while you absolutely fucks him silly

the type of power bottom who would push you down on the bed and ride your cock/strap until he’s satisfied

but beware he gets too into the pleasure and forgets to say thank you

so just cover the slit of his cock and tell him to keep riding you. it will get him begging in no time

“aaangh.. you’re so mean [name]~”

“p-please? please let me GYAAH! please let m-me cum! i-i’ll be.. i’ll be good nyaagh”

praise him for being a good boy for asking. call him your good boy, your precious bard, your sweet prince. he lives for those praises

as someone who used to braid her hair all the time when they were long, yes wearing braids for a long time can cause headaches

have a nice warm bath with him in your aftercare. massage his head while scrubbing soap on it

“giggle thank you windblume. feels really nice..”

might doze off during the aftercare but it’s alright. your sweet bard will get the best rest of his life in your arms with the biggest, dorky smile on his face

[alannybunnue]

Ok, Imagine: Muzan Kibutsuji with a Wife

Don't question it, ya'll asked for this

But i doubt you imagine something like this...Anyway, enjoy my nonsense :3

[THERE MIGHT BE TRIGGERS WARNINGS, SO BEWARE]

The Demon Queen

= The Backstory =

(I get it, the title is not original, but it makes more sense than anything)

So Muzan is a arrogant little shit and everyone knows it.

But imagine him being married to a unbreakable sunshine

So everything began 1000 years before the main events, in the Heian Era, when Muzan was still a human.

Political marriages were pretty common back then, so you may be asking "Who in their sane minds would marry their daughter to a man on the brink of death?!" Well, our dear reader's shitty parents :3 (Which technically...her mother is me 0-0)

It obviously wasn't a very enjoyable marriage, especially with Muzan's depressing and negative personality, but his wife never change her demeanor, it didn't matter how many times he would cuss at her, she remained at his side everytime with kind smile on her face.

Muzan honestly saw her as a stupid woman who settled down for a impossible dream (Which was them living a normal married life)

So in his mind, he couldn't understand what made her stay with him day and night, waiting for the moment he somehow would be cured from his disease.

She even kept her mouth shut when he killed that Doctor :|

...But then he began to change

And it wasn't impossible to notice, he seemed more energetic, didn't stayed in bed all day like before.

However, he no longer stayed away for shades, his poor wife only found Muzan where the Sun couldn't touch him.

Which made her confused to the extreme, and the poor thing couldn't handle curiosity for long, even if her bitch of a husband wouldn't say a thing...until that one night.

At first, Muzan was going to kill her, at least he was, until she saw him walking towards her normally and became extremely emotional, and went up to her husband and hugged like her life depended on it. (No, she didn't notice the bodies nor the blood)

And as annoying as that would be to the Demon King, he indulged on it for a while, until his brain began to work and he remembered all the times this woman stayed by his side when he was at his worse.

So he transformed her :)

= Muzan as a Yandere + Some details =

One thing that must be made clear, is the detail that Muzan is not in love, he sees his darling more of a living possession than someone he is infatuated with. Using her ultimate devotion for his mere benefit.

Of course, the other reason is because he is already used to his wife's shiny personality and having to look for another woman to disguise himself among humans is too much work.

And yes, after some centuries, he begins to feel bothered whenever she isn't around him, or whenever someone else is with close to his wife.

But that isn't love! It's more like if another child stole his favorite toy.

Surely enough, he won't punish the poor woman too much, she is naive, he knows that...so giving her the silent treatment is enough to make the bubbly sweetheart cling onto him for attention. It still annoys him? Yes. But does he also finds it endearing? Also yes.

Now, does she sees his cruelty and lack of empathy? Yes, however, she is now a demon, she lived centuries with her husband telling her not to mind what they do to humans, nowadays she just can only focus on how much she loves him (My child, wtf-)

Now with demons...it's another story, you see, since she was a human, she always wanted children, but considering the man she got married to...yeah, that was impossible :D

So in her mind, the demons are her children, so whenever Muzan is agressive with them...she is really upset (Let's not comment about when he killed the Lower Moons...my baby cried all night) However, she doesn't say anything, because she can't.

Whenever Muzan can't stay with his wife, he only trusts two demons to take care of her properly

Yeah that's right, Mister Six Eyes and Basketball Man, Kokushibo and Akaza

Both are the most responsible in the group anyway, so they are more than enough to keep the woman in one place...

...But they don't stop her when she wants to stay with others too, except Akaza when she wants to visit Douma.

And Muzan can't complain much, cuz she is safe and sound when he returns, so why bother? (Or that is what she tells him, so he won't lash out on her kids •-•)

So in resume, Muzan is a bitch to everyone but his sunshine wife, but he is not in love- Or that is what he tells himself? :)

〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓〓

A/N: This honestly is kinda funny and cute somehow?? Muzan is one of the characters that i most despise and i still gave him a Wife...and i gave the Demons a Mom. Hope y'all enjoyed

[sunseed-fandump]

Beware the Fae King

Another quick Liar's Circus blurb! This one is about how Shadow Milk Cookie describes Elder Faerie Cookie to the Kids!

Enjoy!

“Are not!” Wizard Cookie snapped.

“Are too!” Came Gingerbrave’s well-thought-out reply.

Gingerbrave and Wizard Cookie had been arguing like this since they got back from their trip into town to get groceries. The trio were lounging in Gingerbrave’s tent, the boardgame they had been playing forgotten in favor of a petty argument. Strawberry Cookie had given up on trying to break them up and resigned herself to watching with a tired sigh.

She had been winning too…

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s going on over here, my Little Stars?” The Ringmaster floated over from who-knows-where, putting himself between the bickering friends.

“We’ll ask the Ringmaster about it, then!” Wizard Cookie said, not taking his eyes off of Gingerbrave, “He knows everything, which means he’ll know that I’m right!”

“Well I do know everything…” The Ringmaster said with a pleased chuckle, “But I must admit I am ever so very lost on what you two are fighting about! Mind filling me in, kids?”

When Wizard and Gingerbrave just kept glaring at each other, Strawberry decided to fill in the Ringmaster herself.

“It’s about faeries.” She said, failing to notice how the word made their mentor twitch.

“… Faeries?” His smile grew a bit strained, “Now wherever did you kiddos hear about… those?”

“A nice old lady in town told me a story about them!” Gingerbrave finally broke his staring contest with Wizard. “She said they might give us gifts if we’re nice to the forests! I was talking to Wizard about it but he says they’re not real!”

“They’re just rumor and superstition!” Wizard Cookie huffed, “Faerie Cookies are just something adults made up to trick kids into behaving! Tell him, Ringmaster!”

“They’re totally real and cool and nice!!!” Gingerbrave stomped his foot with a huff.

Both boys turned to the Ringmaster with expectant looks, wanting him to settle this argument once and for all.

Shadow Milk Cookie barely contained an amused chuckle at their adorably serious expressions. Why did kids always have to take such frivolous things so seriously? And why did their expressions just look so goofy?

The Ringmaster cleared his throat.

“Well…” He pressed his hands together as he thought about how to phrase this. “Yes, Faerie Cookies do exist.”

“HA!” Gingerbrave puffed out his chest, feeling victorious. Embarrassment colored Wizard Cookie’s cheeks as he glared at his friend from under his bangs.

“However, the myths of them being nice are wrong.” Added the Ringmaster.

“Whaaaat?” Gingerbrave wilted, disappointed that he might not be able to make a faerie friend.

Strawberry tugged on the Ringmaster’s sleeve, gaining his attention. She shuffled her feet as she asked, “Have you ever met a faerie, Ringmaster?”

He timed his hesitation before responding, “I have a bit of a history with them, yes… Though I must admit, I’m a rather biased party! After all… It’s hard to feel fond for one’s jailors.”

“HUH?!” The children gasped, taking the bait - hook, line, and sinker.

Shadow Milk Cookie turned his back to them to hide the small grin he could feel spreading across his face. He covered his mouth with his fist to sell the idea that he was slightly distraught.

“But didn’t you say it was the Witches who locked you up?!”

“You’re a really powerful cookie, how could a bunch of faeries keep YOU locked up?! How strong are they?!”

“But the story I heard said they were guardians of the forests!”

“Alright! Alright!” The Ringmaster turned back around, putting his hands up to stop the barrage of questions and exclamations, “I’ll answer all your questions… In the form of a story! And it’s about your favorite characters too!”

The children perked up in interest at that.

“The Five Great Heroes?!” Gingerbrave had stars in his eyes. They all loved the Ringmaster’s stories, but Gingerbrave seemed to have a special fondness for them.

“That’s right!” With a flourish, the kids were lifted off their feet and three cushions were brought over from Ginerbrave’s bed. They were gently seated as, with another wave of his hand, the Ringmaster summoned a small puppet theater before the trio. “But I must warn you, I’m afraid your favorite heroes don’t come out on top this time…”

Gingerbrave, who had practically been vibrating in his seat, paused. The other two children looked rather confused as well. The Five Great Heroes always won in the Ringmaster’s stories…

The Ringmaster vanished behind the puppet theater. The lights in the tent visibly dimmed, immersing the group’s focus on the little stage before them.

“Now… Where to begin…” The Ringmaster’s voice filled the entire tent. “Well… Can’t beat the classic opener! AHEM!”

Once upon a time…

There were Five great Cookies. Baked to be perfection incarnate! Great heroes who were so radiant, so glorious! They rebelled against their evil creators and began to forge a new future for the Cookies! One free of the tyranny of Witches!

Ah, but their greatness drew envy from many Cookies. But one Cookie’s jealously rose above all the others! He was known as…

The Faerie King!

A loyal servant of The Witches, he believed he had been baked to be the strongest in the world! Any Cookie who challenged him was dealt with, without mercy!

He stole the Life Powder from the Cookies foolish enough to give him their names…

He cursed the Cookies who wandered into the Faeriewood to wander lost forever…

Any who dare challenge him to battle? Was swiftly cut to pieces!

And should the Witches will it, he would kidnap small cookies into the night… To offer them to the Witches to EAT! Ah! How terrifying! I can barely look!

 Oh, but he was the REAL fool! Yes! Such a fool indeed…

And yet, despite his foolishness, he was dangerously sneaky, oh, so sneaky!

“Great Witches! How do I defeat these foes so I may become the strongest Cookie in the world?” He asked his dark masters.

“Alas, there is no way you can best them in battle…” Replied the Witches, “However, we know a way to remove them from the world forever!”

And so their evil plan was put into action…

The Faerie King challenged the Five to a great battle! But just as it looked like he would loose…

WOOSH! BOOM!

Silver rained down from the skies! Chains wrapped around the Five like snakes! It was a trap!

The Five Great Heroes, their bodies reduced to crumbs, had their spirits sealed away inside a magical Silver Tree. What a tragedy!

And so the selfish, cruel, but ohh so so foolish king punished the Five Great Cookies according to his own whim!

“HA HA!” He laughed, “Now I will protect this tree and all who stand against me will be offered to the Witches!”

The Faerie King still protects the Silver Tree to this day. For he refuses to ever give up his title as the Strongest! And any Cookies who have tried to free the Heroes and bring about the end of the Witches? Wind up as crumbs!

He rules the forests with an iron fist! His faerie knights attack any wingless cookies they see! And if you’re alone and wander too close to the wood… You might just wind up never being seen again!

They’re tricky! They’re evil! They’re sneaky! They’re cruel! Yes, the fae are not to be trusted one itty-bitty bit! And you should never be foolish enough to meet their King!

So be wary of the forest, kids! And never come home late!

Lest you meet the Faerie King and wind up on a plate–!

“EEEK!” Strawberry Cookie’s scared cry startled Wizard Cookie and Gingerbrave, who replied with their own screams.

The three of them instinctually huddled together, seeking the safety they knew came with being close.

“I’m sorry, kiddos! I didn’t mean to scare you THAT badly!” A voice behind them cooed and suddenly they found themselves being wrapped in the Ringmaster’s arms.

On the inside, Shadow Milk Cookie thought their reactions were hilarious.

“Th-Th-That story isn’t REAL is it?” Strawberry asked, eyes already watering.

“I’m afraid it is, sweetheart.” Said the Ringmaster, “Elder Faerie Cookie is super-duper dangerous! And the last thing I want is for any of you to get cut down by his sword or offered up to the Witches!”

“Y-You just wanted to warn us…” Wizard summed up. His little body trembling like a leaf.

“After that story, I hope I never meet any faeries, ever!” Gingerbrave shook his head vehemently.

“If you do, you’ll have nothing to worry about!” The Ringmaster said with a sunny smile, “I’ll protect you! Alright? You can always rely on me!”

The kids cuddled closer to him. Though he was a spirit and lacked any warmth, they still felt safe in his arms.

Yes, they would definitely be able to rely on their Ringmaster to keep them safe…