#i promise i know the answers but this is gonna be more loose form

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Meet Hawthorne! They are a colony of magic vines inhabiting a human body. You may recognize them from a different drawing (warning for eye gore)

They're not a fan of their current situation, but can't do much about it, and it gets worse from there...

Meet Novak and Sammy! The body Hawthorne is trapped in and the witch who put him there, respectively. Novak is dead and doesn't remember much, to his frustration. Sammy bit off more than he could chew with some probably-forbidden magic, trapping both of their spirits in the body.

It's a constant battle for control between the three of them, but Hawthorne is proving to be the most powerful time and time again. No one is happy to be there, but they have to work together to solve a few puzzles:

- what the fuck happened to Novak? Also, who is Novak?

- where did Samson's body go? (It was here a second ago)

- how do you return vines to plant-level sentience? (I don't think that's been done before)

- is it still possible for Sammy to win his ex over when he's living in a possessed corpse?

- where'd the forbidden magic book come from anyway?

- is this all really just society's fault?

Stay tuned, I'm sure they'll figure out at least one of these!

[kedsandtubesocks]

In the Woods (Somewhere) - Mothman!Gojo

Ghost stories around the city whisper about a creature in the forest. They describe it as a moth like monster that only brings misfortune and death.

But what will you do as you learn these silly ghost stories are true flesh and bone… and now haunting you?

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

wc: 12.9k

warnings & tags: 18+ only MDNI, monster x human relationship, loose interpretation of the mothman legends and stories, death mentions, protectiveness & obsession that can be read as slight yandere like, lot of bug discussion, monster transformation with a touch of body horror, wound licking, blood & tear consumption, magical healing, car accident, allusion to f!oral receiving, kidnapping, character deaths (this ends happy I promise) feral and lovesick Gojo, if there is anything I missed please let me know!

a/n: this is my first submission to @willowser Haunted House Collab and I’m so honored to be part of this! Thank you for putting this together dear Willow! The title is from the lovely Hozier song. Also a big thanks to @skeletoncowboys for letting me scream about this monster & to @stellamancer for always being my dearest comrade in Gojo hell, enjoy and thanks for reading! Stay spooky!

Your grandfather once told you he believed butterflies were fairies and moths were angels.

It made sense to your child logic that butterflies could be fairy creatures. You even imagined fairies had butterfly wings. But, you had argued back in disgust that moths couldn’t be angels.

“Now now,” your grandpa had laughed. “Why can’t moths be angels?”

He gently explained moths were mainly seen in the evening and around light. He believed moths were the forms angels took to keep watch over everyone late in the night when no one believed they were being protected

“And,” he told you with all his sweet patience. “Something like a moth that loves the light can’t be bad.”

Scientifically you now understand moths mainly were nocturnal as a survival instinct for less predators and more opportunities for prey. Some were even active during the daytime. But your grandfather's words stay with you, etched into your heart.

He is why you are here after all.

The campus at night always holds a certain hollowness.

However, the storm that blew in yesterday continues looming with ominous clouds in the sky. It cast an early darkness against the city. The thick haze feels as if something could slink out of the shadows.

When you slip out of the research lab building there, against the light outside, one lone white moth flutters in the air.

Quickly glancing around the campus stretches out before you a vacant lot. In that moment of surveying, delicate wings rapidly flutter fast and wild against your face.

“Ack!” A surprised squawk leaves you at the moth’s sudden charge.

“I told you!” You hiss out waving the bug away. “You could’ve waited for me at home.”

The moth, outraged by your words, rushes against your face harder. Silk wings flap hard while it continues waving around your line of sight in a flurry.

“Calm down, you big baby!” You snap back annoyed and start stomping towards your car.

Now the little insect stops its fluttering attack to gently land on your face. As the bug travels across your cheek, its presence is a gentle tickling sensation. It finally stops and rests against you.

“Happy now?” You mutter low praying no one spots you with a large white moth on your face.

“I’m gonna pick up dinner. So are you getting in the car or meeting me back home?” You speak casual yet still within a low mutter.

With a delicate tickle again, the moth scurries across your cheek then across your nose making your lips twitch in a slight giggle.

Then the creature flutters away, your answer.

The pizzeria you end up at is adorably cozy. You spotted it during the drive to and from campus. Once you read the online reviews and got their blessing you decided to check it out.

Christmas lights hang from the takeout counter where you wait for your order. There’s even a quaint bar-like area. But what catches your attention is the small section of things littering the walls behind the counter.

It reminds you of a scrapbook.

Various newspaper clippings clutter one side. A few blurry photos are folded and pinned to the board. Plenty of hand drawn images scatter among the collage and they range from adorable to terrifying.

All of these things are about one single moth creature.

The board itself is even titled -

The Moth’s Nest.

Moth nests can be disastrous. They infect fast and are hard to exterminate. Plus once they create a nest, infestation is soon to follow.

“Ah, looking at our board.” A smooth voice purrs into the air and you turn towards it in slight embarrassment.

A beautiful blonde woman grins at you from behind the counter now.

“I heard the town had a moth thing but this…” from the drawings, which all included a strange humanoid like creature, this is far from the high moth population count it was known for.

The woman barks an amused laugh and it crinkles her rather lovely eyes.

“You could say that,” she grins. “You new here?”

“Sort of.” You nod. You’ve been here for almost a full semester now and you wonder if the newness will ever melt away.

“Well then, welcome to town!” The woman’s name is Yuki and for being a newcomer she pays for your pizza.

“Even though you got this for takeout, why don’t you stay? Eat here and keep me company.” She winks and you happily slide into the open seat she pulls up for you at the checkout counter.

“So what’s a lovely thing like yourself doing here?” Yuki asks smoothly and you almost choke on your first bite.

After she cackles a warm charismatic laugh, you swallow through your surprise and tell her.

“An en-tah what?” She caws confused like a bird and even her furrowed brows make you snicker.

“An entomologist,” you clarify.

In simple terms, you study bugs.

“Oh!” Yuki’s eyebrows fly fast up into her bangs as her eyes twinkle excitedly. “So you’re all about the creepy crawlers then.”

“Not all of them,” you reply back friendly.

You favored Odonatology and Lepidopterology.

The studies of dragonflies, damselflies, butterflies and in this case-

Moths.

“Well now,” Yuki grins and turns to glance at the board. “Looks like you’re in the right place to find moths.”

It was one of the reasons why you chose this program. The university boasted a plentiful and hands-on ecosystem to explore right within the town’s backyard. You just never expected an urban legend to come attached to the critter population.

Curiously you nudge your face towards the odd journalistic collection and ask about it.

Yuki’s face melts into a wistful look that casts a surprising shadow on her.

“It’s a creature that apparently lives in the woods…” she begins, low and steady.

No one knew how or when it began inhabiting the forest. Some argued it’s a simple folklore meant to scare rowdy kids from venturing into the woods.

“The stories say it’s an actual demon.” Yuki explains.

“There’s a belief that anyone who sees it either dies soon after or calamity befalls the town.”

Yuki’s words conjure up a poisonous fear. She adds how any sight of the cryptid, even in the strongest of nonbelievers, brought a sense of unease.

“But,” Yuki shrugs easily turning back to you. “Some people say that thing is a hero.”

The word hero gets tangled in your ribs

Your new friend explains there are those who have seen the beast and lived to tell a different tale.

Multiple children on different occasions have got lost in the woods. Yet, they always found their way out. Most of them claimed the moth creature helped them.

“There’s even an elderly man who went hiking and still swears up and down that thing saved him from getting attacked by a mountain lion.” Yuki comments.

“That’s a big claim.” You admire the thought of this monstrous creature possibly being a silent guardian. However, it festers something dangerous in your heart that weaves a sticky web.

The pizza on your plate grows cold. The lone drink you were nursing now is a watered down mess. You’ve lost your appetite and decide to head home.

There’s not much for your mind to process. It feels like the same sensation of walking out of a horror film and trying to understand what you saw. You try to rationalize this disorienting simply the same sensation you’d also get hearing ghost stories at sleepovers.

Yuki urges you with a warm charm that you’ll come and visit again, you promise her you will.

Walking out with leftovers in the box, the night greets you with a soupy fog. The lingering storms coat the streets in a mystic cloud.

You wonder if this clouded fog is inside your mind as well.

You’re about to take a step out into the parking lot when a horrifying animalistic shriek pierces the air.

It sounds distorted, a static shrill cry summoned from an ancient abomination.

The screech shoots straight into your bones startling you and making you jump in a pause.

In that moment a car speeding way too fast for a parking lot flies by you. It drives by with a whirling speed rattling the wind.

The noise, the shriek, stopped you from stepping out into the car’s path.

You mind buzzes, maybe too much. The gloomy air seeps into your skin and brings a heaviness over your body. You exhale shakily trying to just settle yourself as you head home.

When you return to the tiny closet of your apartment, there outside against the balcony door your white moth flutters furiously waiting for you.

Sliding the door open you’re about to greet your extra house guest until the text chime on your phone draws your attention away.

As you check your phone charging on the couch, a sudden thud lands against your apartment floors. The flapping of wings flutters into the room.

Before you can even turn around, a shadow falls over you. The presence of something large looms like a ghost, silent and steady yet radiating a chill besides you. Then a firm fuzzy face suddenly dives into the side of your neck burrowing against your skin.

“You need to be more careful.” A voice crystal and aware, yet flickering as if it speaks through the branches of the woods, clicks at you.

You think of the car that blazed by.

“It happens and I’m okay.” You reassure.

The inhuman face hiding in your neck draws back. Then a firm head soon enough gently butts against yours. The action jolts you out of your thoughts and you rapidly turn towards the heaviness leaning against you.

Crawled straight from the shadow of the woods, from the whispers of terrified stories, the creature before you still doesn’t seem real.

You think of Yuki and the moth’s nest board at the pizza shop. All the pictures depict the creature with haunting crimson eyes.

You wish you could have told Yuki the monster’s eyes aren’t red, but instead a piercing sky blue.

And instead of two eyes, the creature holds six beautiful eyes all over his face.

All six eyes of those eyes blink at you with the depth of a haunted lake shimmering within their gaze.

-.⊹��₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

“Why do you want to study insects?”

Discovering the cryptid could talk was honestly more surprising than discovering he was real.

Also, he had a name.

“Sa-to-ru.” He had told you, pronouncing its syllables as if your little human brain might not get it. It made you scowl. Yet the name itself sounded like something that fluttered out of the forest breeze.

Currently the moth creature, Satoru, sits happily on your apartment balcony under the dark cover of night. You have articles you need to read, lab reports to finish. But, you stay sitting on the floor beside him.

“My grandfather studied them.” You explain, giving the same answer you always do when this question is asked.

“He loved almost every type of bug there was.”

“Sounds like my type of human.” The moth amusedly chitters. “Love to meet him.”

“Honestly, he would’ve loved to meet you too.” You truthfully admit and almost grin thinking of how excited your grandpa would’ve been to see this creature.

“Unfortunately, he passed away a few years ago.” You add simply.

“Oh.” The cryptid replies quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You politely thank him.

“Is he the one besides the moth?”

You’re surprised Satoru even noticed that.

The frame sits on your eclectic shelf filled with books and trinkets. There’s two pictures in that frame. One is a photo of your grandfather during his days when he moved out here to teach at the university you currently attend. The other photo is you and him both holding up big nets when you were a little weed of a thing looking so happy besides him.

Besides those photos is his favorite sketch.

“It’s a luna moth, right?” He’s right again. Though, you’re not surprise he recognized it.

“Yup, the lunar moth was his favorite.” You fondly agree.

Actias luna.

Your grandpa used it as his example of how beautiful and lovely moths could be.

“He’s a man of good taste.” The moth compliments and for some reason it tugs at your lips. You can almost hear your grandfather's voice warmly boasting in pride.

“I wanna show you something, little human.” The moth quickly changes topic and when you turn to him, you find him grinning.

Rows of dangerous sharpened fangs flash within his mouth. They are a visible warning to not trust this creature, but you do.

“After your class this week, I’ll take you somewhere.” Satoru urges.

“Are you going to eat me?” You ask a bit stunned.

Satoru laughs, a flickering chirping noise that bounces off your apartment balcony.

“Oh little human, if I did eat humans I would’ve done that already.”

You glare at him but sighing you agree to whatever he has in store for you.

On your last class of the week, there outside against the campus street light your white moth flutters excitedly.

You think about how dangerous it is that he sticks around campus, even in this form.

With a rapid flurry he flies around your face. You can’t help but snort at the tickling sensation.

“Yeah I’m here, let’s go.” You tease.

Under the twilight hazee, you follow the moth into the woods.

The setting sun casts a shadow over the stretching forest. The trees silently watch your hesitant trek as you follow the moth further into the thickness.

Eventually you’re in the heart of it. No noise greets you, not even the rustling of birds or the fleeing of other animals. It’s as if in this depth all life had stilled. No movement or sign of life encroaches into this space. You realize this might have been the most ridiculous idea, following this cryptid myth into the unknown.

Suddenly the moth stops in front of a large solid tree.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” You’re a bit confused. The insect flutters around you in a huffy flight then goes to spin around the tree.

Satoru himself now slides out from behind the tree in his humanoid form.

“It’s not just a tree.” His six eyes narrow at you annoyed. Your eyes roll exhausted with him already.

“Do you trust me?”

The question surprises you.

Hesitantly you nod, a quiet yes. Satoru then effortlessly scoops you into his arms as if you weigh nothing.

A wild squeak escapes you. His firm arms hold you in his grasp and your mind starts scrambling being this close to him. The fur of his body tickles your arms and the solid warmth of him curls around you.

Satoru’s chittering laugh bounces among the trees.

He then takes flight.

You swallow back a petrified screech threatening to escape and simply let the wind rush around you. A solid thud comes, a landing.

“Open your eyes, little human.” Satoru whispers excited.

You hadn’t realized you had closed them.

The nest before you is a cobwebbed cocoon. You had never seen one this big. The opening of it is carved out wide, a webbed open maw with secrets trying to draw you in.

“Go in, you can see more.” His wistful voice skitters out playful, so light it could get caught in the tree branches.

He’s eager to show you this.

Hesitantly you lean into the nest just to glance inside.

It’s actually rather cozy. Webs and branches twist in a delicate pattern to create a solid enclosing. Leaves scatter the inside floor that is rather large. You can even imagine his large form curled in here cat-like as he sleeps.

“So? What do you think?” He asks with an anticipated edge blooming in his voice. He’s showing you his home.

You remember when he first showed himself to you, even gave you his name.

The logical reasoning within you thought many times about studying this cryptid. There was even a fleeting moment you considered capturing him and returning him back to the lab.

Now you are here discovering his home. You find yourself wanting to unearth as much as you can of this incredibly infuriating but wonderfully interesting creature.

“It’s nice!” You earnestly admire the space. Yet, the truth whispers a harrowing fact.

The bigger the nest, the bigger the infection and danger.

So you instead turn to glance out to the forest around. You’re so high above in the canopy of the trees. Silence seems to settle thicker here among the sky and it mingles with the evening darkness.

The forest, even as tranquil as it appears, holds a sense of loneliness you can’t fully describe.

“Have you been here at this spot for long?”

He chirps a humming yes.

“The high placement keeps me safe and away from prying eyes.” Among the trees and leaves he is simply a shadow.

“Do people try to hunt you?” That grim thought arrives.

“A few try, but no one’s even come close.” A cocky pride brims in Satoru’s tone.

You understand why people would try and search for him. But to hunt him like some prized sport? So you have to ask why.

“Besides some humans believe killing me will solve and save them from all their disasters, a select few who want me for other purposes.” Satoru muses as his antennas twitch.

“What other purposes?” You glance back at the cryptid perched on the solid large branch beside you.

In the dark, all six eyes glimmer with an animalistic reflection, a haunting gleam and reminder of the creature's true nature before you.

All those months ago, these multiple eyes stared at you from the edge of the woods by your apartment and the campus like silent terrors. Now they watch you with intent safety right by your side.

“There’s an old legend…” Satoru answers. “It says my kind could bring someone back from the dead.”

The words spark a curious flame in you.

“Wait, really? Is it true?”

The moth being simply shrugs, an action so human you almost want to laugh.

“Some believe it. That’s enough to hunt my kind.”

So many questions cluster in your mind. You wonder more about his kind, about him. Yet there is no way to scoop all those questions out.

All you can do is gaze out at the scenery before you.

The trees pierce the darkness with their own spiked tendrils. The night sky blankets above you with twinkle stars, glimmering pockets of faint light so clear.

Yet, for some reason this again feels so lonely.

Even with the stretching comforting woods, you can’t shake the sensation of solitude slipping out.

“So why do you still stick around?” You suddenly ask not even understanding why yourself.

“What? Around you or here?” He asks.

“Both.”

A chirp of a sigh comes, heavy with an ancient weary.

“I’ve thought about leaving, migrating somewhere else, somewhere safer.” His voice drops gently, a small click in the wind.

“But…” His voice trails off even more delicate.

“Something just keeps…pulling me back here. Like I’m meant to be here. That I’ve been waiting for something.” You’ve never heard him this wistful and distant.

Then his response also has you curious.

“Do you have any idea what it is?” You cautiously and gently press.

“No idea.” His answer is rapidly too casual that you snort, shaking your head.

“And why am I still hanging around you? Who knows, maybe I just like to bug you.”

The pun isn’t lost especially on you and you groan annoyed even though a smile twitches at your lips.

Among the shade of stars and shadow of the forest, you sit with a creature of the darkness.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

The moth had first appeared at your window balcony dancing around the light like an ethereal wisp of a spirit. It happily flew around you and even spun around your entire apartment. You eventually had to shoo it out.

For a while, it was simply you and this strangely persistent moth.

After that, six eyes began appearing at night at the edge of the woods. Strange clicks like howls erupted in the air, haunting lingering sounds that rattled you.

That same week the moth showed up to your apartment flying in a bit of distress. The wings of it flapped slower and you wondered if it was dehydrated or dying.

As you had opened the sliding door to the balcony, that’s when you first witnessed it.

Like butterflies, moths go through a similar life cycle of emerging from a pupa or chrysalis. The new adult insects must crawl out of its old cocoon. The process is the blend of life and destruction.

You discovered the same applied to moth creatures.

The wings fell first then the twisting and emergence of a body from the small frame transformed to life a fully formed creature.

That first time the moth creature metamorphosed on the balcony you screamed so loud your neighbor across the hall came worriedly to check on you.

You had hoped it was all just a bad dream…

Now when you return home early, that monster rests in your bed instead of lurking under it like all the scary stories whisper where monsters lie.

Curled within the sheets, burrowed deep and taking up the entire frame, the creature slumbers. You barely can spot Satoru underneath all the pillows. A few of your shirts peek out from the swirl of blankets and you try not to linger on that.

The messy twisted bed cocoon however does make you think of the grand nest you saw.

A faint snore grumbles out into the room. The muffled animalistic noise should frighten you. Instead it echoes a soothing rumble as you go to make dinner.

In the meditative process of cutting, claws scratching against the tile floor startles you. Your heart skips at the sudden noise and your face whips to the entryway.

In this form, the moth cryptid has to hunch from touching the ceiling.

Satoru’s imposing frame fills up the entire space even with his thick wings folded to his body. The intricate beautiful antennas on top of his head flicker curious. Among the monstrous features, human-like qualities are visible in his arms, his legs, and the core of his body. Yet even in that familiarity, he is covered in sleek fur.

The sigh of this unbelievable being in this tiny kitchen almost has you laughing. Months ago this would have made you scream in terror. Now, his existence has settled into your life a strange blooming metamorphosis.

Then all six of Satoru’s clustered eyes go wide in terror.

His talons rattle rapidly on the floor as he scurries to your side.

“Your hand.” He comments sharply.

Glancing down, blood trickles over your hand and drips softly onto the cutting board. The cut thankfully isn’t deep, simply sliced the top of your finger.

“Guess that means I’m ordering out.” You mutter.

However your new companion immediately snags your hand.

Satoru’s grasp is hard, a terrified clutch as if he’s worried the cut will worsen. Flickering your gaze to him now, all six eyes focus at your hand with a startling petrified seriousness.

“I’m fine.” You reassure. “Let me just grab a band aid.”

The creature’s firm hold is unrelenting, refusing to budge even as you tug to release your hand.

“Hey-” you’re about ready to chide him and urge him to let go-

Until the moth cryptid leans down and with a long thin tongue begins licking at your wound.

Air gets knocked out of your lungs.

You mind can’t process the sight but the wet tickle of his tongue swiping along your skin grounds you. Satoru’s tongue swipes frantically and fast, a panic.

A dangerous heat runs up your arm and claws at your chest. This shouldn’t feel this intimate. Yet, it does.

You can’t even exclaim in surprise because in the small dimly lit kitchen, the moth has you under his spell.

Instead of the panic, there’s now an eased almost lazy and leisurely lap at your skin. The way his tongue slides across you is as if he’s trying to savor you. It slithers with a reverence between your knuckles, across your fingers, and your mind slowly melts.

Then with one last slow deliberate lick, Satoru draws back.

A daze has fallen over your foggy mind filled with smoke until you blink and notice your cut is gone.

Blood faintly lingers around his mouth, coloring the white fur of his face and it should scare you. And it does but the fear comes from how gorgeous he looks, and knowing it’s your blood…

The thin tongue immediately darts out to lick at the bloody traces.

The sight teeters into an overwhelming sensation and you forcibly break your focus to glance back at your healed hand.

“You have healing powers?” You croak out trying to process the sight.

“No.” For a creature that lives in the woods, he understands sarcasm rather well.

You glare at the creature who now tilts his face away. He avoids your eyes as he fiddles with the edge of your shirt.

“Moths can't heal.” You comment.

“I’m not like a typical moth now am I, little human?”

That damn nickname.

Annoying as Satoru is, you still can’t believe the sight of your healed fingers.

“Thank you for healing me.” You mutter still not able to process but are grateful all the same.

The moth creature hums a proud amused thing you quietly ignore.

Moths didn’t have healing properties. Hawk Moths could recreate antioxidants in their body to replenish themselves. You wonder if that’s how Satoru operates with his abilities.

Another part of you, one that sounds warmly like your grandfather’s voice, whispers that the creatures of this world simply hold mysteries we may not ever know.

You suppose the cryptid refusing to leave your side is the solidified truth of that.

Suddenly Satoru’s head softly plops against the top of yours.

With soft gentle rumbles he rubs his face into your hair.

“You know,” you begin softly as your fingers itch to run up against his fur. “You don’t have to keep sticking around here.”

“Hm?” Satoru hums out a bit dreamily.

“You can go back to where you’re from. You don’t need to keep staying with me out of obligation for freeing you or feeling like… you have a debt you want to repay.” You breathe the words out firmer.

The nuzzling against your head stops.

“Oh?” Satoru begins with a curious chirp. “That’s not why I stay.”

His confident reply stills you.

“Like I said maybe I just like bugging you.” He grins coy. “And besides, I stay because eating the fabric of your clothes is pretty nice free food and I like scaring away any humans that might come by.”

“You bring me closer to buying an electric fly swatter!” You screech and swat him away.

“Aw, don’t be like that!” He whines and flutters his wings almost taken back.

You ignore him and his annoying clicks vying for your attention while you order dinner for the night.

“I forget…Humans are so easily annoyed. You most especially.” He says bristly and it’s the last straw.

Healing your arm or not, this creature manages to wiggle under your skin in a way that no one else has. You blame the damn moth for how on edge you feel. Yet the truth lies in the strange unfathomable heat still brewing under your skin.

As you leave you get food you stare at him hard. You sling the balcony door open, a silent demand he leaves. His multiple eyes, shimmering sapphires, search your face.

“I see...” His reply is a brisk breeze.

Turning your back to him, you head to grab your keys. You don’t even see him leave and instead stomp to head out.

You even fully close your bedroom window. It’s the crack of an entrance you’ve recently been leaving open that allows him to flutter in when he’s a smaller moth.

Now as leave you’re thankful for the momentary space from the infuriating infestation.

Against the early night sky the pizzeria glows an electric beacon against the darkness. Clamoring chatter and an upbeat song greet you when you step inside. You’re not surprised it’s packed on a night like this.

Yuki yells a bright excited welcome at you from across the restaurant and it warms you.

Now leaning at the bar your attention can't help but find its way to the bulletin board by the entryway. Even with the annoyance and conflicting desire, seeing the arranged clutter about the local moth creature draws out a strange sinking feeling within you.

“You interested in the bug?”

A deep rumble of a voice drips out smooth and breaks your focus immediately.

Turning to the side, you discover you’re not alone at the bar.

The man is thick, solidly built and strikingly handsome. He seems older than you, with an aged weathered dignified presence about him. With only black hair and a scar across the corner of his lip, he sits looking bored at the counter with a toothpick in his mouth.

“It’s interesting.” You admit truthfully.

“Think the bug is real?” The man questions with the faintest hint of curiosity.

You shrug again. “Anything is possible I guess.”

“Indeed it is.” Now his voice holds an interested purr that sticks to your skin in an uncomfortable way.

Your eyes flicker back to him and you find his attention however is on the board.

“Some say it’s a demon.” He suddenly adds.

“I’ve heard.” You agree calmly.

“Whatever it is…it’s bad luck.” The mystery man says briskly.

You heard that as well.

“Some say it’s not.” For some reason, a small protective spike rises in you and you even think about Yuki calling it a hero.

“Yeah well, everyone can read an omen wrong I guess.” His words cast a dangerous thickness into the air that slithers up your skin.

“Besides, there’s an old legend I heard once.” he continues.

“It says…if a moth flies into your home it means someone is going to die.”

Dread crashes into your body and consumes you quickly. You’ve never heard that saying before and it bubbles an awful bile in your stomach making you feel sick.

“That’s awful.” You can’t help but answer back sharply it even surprises you.

You think of your grandfather, his belief moths were angels, and how that guided you to where you are now.

And you can’t help but think of the moth in question.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you.” He leans back into his seat to stare at you.

No response for him seems to come to mind. If anything, a strange chill trickles down your spine as if you’re staring down a creature surveying and waiting to strike.

Yuki calls out your name and breaks your focus.

“Wish I could stay and chat but we’re a bit busy tonight!” She winks at you and now you grin, eased at her presence.

You wish her a good night and begin gathering your order to leave.

“Be careful out there.” The stranger mutters. Your eyes flicker to him. His attention is back on the slice of pizza before him.

“Don’t know what might be out there trying to fly into your house this time of night.”

His words create a sticky cobweb of emotions in you. You simply take your food and rush out.

Driving back to the apartment you glance at your hand fully healed and still lingering with the phantom sensation of the moth’s tongue licking at your skin.

You think of how effortlessly this strange creature carved a space in your life.

Now a sense of danger prickles against your skin, like the way the air tightens electric before a storm.

When you arrive home, a silent apartment greets you. The emptiness clouds your space and the walls creep in close and cold.

A piece of you expected him to return, maybe even hoped. But trying to sort through those emotions again bubbles a strange ache in your chest.

Before you go to bed you slightly open your bedroom window and settle under the covers. Closing your eyes, you accept the silence and solitude lingering in your room and heart.

Sleep trickles in faintly. You fade in and out of being awake.

Then your bed shifts.

A heaviness immediately curls against you. The softest brush of moth wings graze your arm. Soft chirps, faint and delicate, float into the room.

Satoru’s face burrows against the top of your head, a silent apology.

This is new.

He’s never done this before. He’s never slept on your bed with you. But your heart races too fast in your chest and your mind still feels so clouded from this night that you can’t even react.

Or, you don’t want to react.

This is new, yes. But a wild desperation inside of you sinks its claws into this new proximity. You simply keep your eyes closed and shift to settle deeper into the bed, deeper into his warmth.

The smell of the brisk forest, clear and earthy, lulls you to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, you’re alone.

A part of you wonders if you dreamed his return.

Yet on your nightstand rests a sweet plucked wildflower that wasn't there before. It greets you a bright good morning.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

Your open apartment balcony door brings in a warm evening breeze. A favorite series of yours plays on the television as you grab another mouthful of popcorn.

“Can I have some?” Satoru whimpers.

“No.” You answer through the mouth of popcorn.

“So mean! Why are you so cruel to me, little human!?” He pouts and you simply ignore him.

Even with the moth creature crouching on the floor his body still looks frightfully full and large. His fur is fluffed out more and he almost looks adorable like this simply sitting beside you.

His presence should create a distorted sense of reality. Yet no sense of panic rises within you. If anything, only more curiosity has started gnawing in you.

What kind of moth species did he originate from? Where was he even originally from? Did he have a family?

“What’s your favorite human activity to do?” It seems you were not the only one curious.

Recently Satoru has begun pestering you with a plethora of questions from what foods did you like the most to these more strange human specific ones.

“Don’t know, I have a lot.” You answer truthfully.

You rationalize all the questions you have and that he even asks are mutual inquisitive curiosity about the other’s species, a chance to learn.

Except, for you, the source of your curiosity masquerades as a yearning you don’t want to hunt out yet.

“Humans are terrified of the oddest things.”

Satoru’s comment breaks your thoughts.

You turn towards the creature who stares at the television with all six eyes.

The series you had put on had been an old favorite of yours, supernatural and fantasy based. The main heroes in this episode were being terrorized by monsters that came alive from a children’s book of old fairy tales.

“Well this series is older so the effects and monster makeup isn’t all that impressive.”

“Not that.” The moth corrects you quickly. “I mean that creature isn’t even scary.”

You want to make a comment about how of course a creature that crawled from the woods and haunts a town would not find this terrifying.

“What are you afraid of?” Again the moth humanoid questions.

You shrug. “A lot of things.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of anything.” He chirps so matter of factly it surprises you. “Especially because I’m here now.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his cocky boast. Yet your heart flips at the protective claim.

“But…I do think humans may be the scariest creatures of all.” Satoru notes with a wistful distance in his voice.

You wonder if he’s trying to tease you or even be a bit poetically pessimistic.

“I agree.” You nod reaching for popcorn. “Humans can sometimes be scary.”

In all the beauty that comes with being human, you know there is a darkness that comes with the territory. The lovely prickle of rain starting to fall soothes you as the episode jumps to the next.

It’s one of your favorites. The main character gains a secret wish stone that transforms into her love interest because she desires and wishes for him most of all.

You rise to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“What do you wish for most, little human?”

His words stop you frozen. They come out so simple, a curious purr almost.

Your mind tries to reach towards something noble and grand like to wish for world peace or wish for climate change to end. You think of wishing for a better car, better apartment, to get rid of your money problems.

Yet it all cultivates into a simple easy response.

“Love, I guess.” It’s a simplified answer.

“That?” Even Satoru sounds dubious.

“Yeah…love. If you have love, then everything else sort of just falls into place.” With love at the cornerstone, everything can build from there.

A chittering like sigh dances into the room.

“Boring. At least say something interesting like an endless supply of sugar or something like that.”

You can’t help but snort at such a silly answer.

“Is that you’d wish for then?” You now ask the creature.

“Mhm…maybe. Or maybe something extra special your little human mind couldn’t comprehend.” Such a coy response only makes you roll your eyes.

But for some reason, that answer feels heavy like it needs to be unearthed. You don’t push the answer, or him.

As you clean up around the kitchen, you glance back to the living room. There Satoru rapidly consumes all your popcorn as fast as he can.

“You freaking pest!” You screech annoyed and he simply blinks his six blue marble eyes at you as if he did nothing wrong.

“I’m not a pest.” He replies innocently and it annoys you even more.

“You’re literally a moth! What is more pest-like than that?!”

Satoru’s monstrous face flickers. It faintly crumbles until his eyes hollow out a cold downcast.

“Right there? You just sounded just like every other human.” His words, low, raw and sharp, rip through you.

He doesn’t say it but you hear the undercurrent.

I thought you were better than that.

A festering ache swells in your chest as the weight of his words drag you under.

Quietly you start making two bowls of popcorn now. You grab the chocolate syrup. Satoru had a fierce sweet tooth. It took you by surprise when your gas station candy treat went missing and his sticky fur said enough.

So you drizzle plenty of chocolate over the salty snack then you quietly speak.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

A moment of silence fills the space.

“It’s alright little human... Sometimes I forget your little human brain makes so many mistakes like that. I can’t get too mad.” He chirps so bored.

You’re tempted now to throw away the chocolate popcorn.

Thankfully the air seems to lighten as you head back to the living room two popcorn bowls in hand.

There Satoru’s multitude of eyes are entirely glued to the television now. The familiar dialogue comes and you whip your attention to the screen as well.

The big realization between the main heroine and her love interest unfolds as he realizes what her wish manifested as.

The moment is heated, drenched in undeniable chemistry. The magnetic pull even has you entrapped. Then the love interest without hesitation pulls the heroine and kisses her with a fierce released love.

Now it feels so intimate, too raw to watch. You turn away under the guise of grabbing more popcorn.

“Is that how humans show affection?” Satoru’s voice is a curious twinkle of a chirp.

“Yup,” you weakly agree while you check your phone hoping to seem disinterested.

“Seems aggressive.” For some reason his disgusted comment makes you snort.

“Uh, it depends. Kissing is…” there’s much you can say on the manner but you simply shrug.

“It’s nice.” A simple but true answer.

“What’s it feel like?” The question drips with an inquisitive click but for some reason it slithers dangerously under your skin.

“Uh…again, it depends. There’s different types of kisses for different situations and the emotions can change with them.” You explain.

“Sounds complicated.” Satoru muses and you snicker relaxed with the episode ending.

“I thought you knew all about human interactions?” You now ask, curious yourself.

“Not in that way.” That’s fair.

“Or really…I’ve just never been interested in seeing humans interacting in that way.” He adds rather low.

“Until recently.” That addition he gives cuts across you as if it’s covered with sharp glass edges.

“Guess this series does that, even to moth creatures.” You lightly try diffusing whatever shift starts to swirl in the room and drag you into its current.

Satoru stays quiet, curled into himself and his wings. Very faintly his antennas droop, enough that you notice it.

Rain now steadily prattles on peacefully mixing with the episode playing. Yet in the silence your skin crawls with something unspoken you can’t evade.

You close your eyes hoping to avoid any more questions and pretend you’ve fallen asleep. Naturally, a nap overtakes you and you jolt awake when a text message brightly wakes you up.

“So what episode are we on?” You sleepily ask, noticing the cryptid hasn’t left. Evening would be arriving soon, the time Satoru normally slipped back into the woods.

“A weird one.” He mutters and now curiosity flickers in you over which episode it is.

Your eyes widen.

Of course it would be this one.

The heroine’s best friend falls in love with a monster living in a cave. It’s another one of your favorites. Now, the obvious reality sinks its fangs into your throat.

“This is the most ridiculous one by far.” Satoru scoffs. “No human would actually love a monster like this.”

His words deflate something in you. All the nerves and prickling emotions scatter.

“I don’t know.” You offer back lightly. “Maybe there’s something extra human to love a monster.”

All six eyes rapidly blink towards you. Their glassy yet sharp attention focuses so intently and it’s unnerving.

“You don’t mean that.” He snips and it distorts his voice more than normal.

You shrug.

“What do you mean by that?” He annoyingly asks, persistent.

What you mean is sometimes humanity can see through what society deems as monstrous and instead love the core of what a being is.

“I mean, it’s like what the episode says,” you nudge towards the television.

“If love is fanged even between humans, why can’t a monster find that same love?” You quote it vaguely but enough to capture the core.

The same goes for humans you explain.

“Cause like what we said earlier, humans are a bit scary from time to time right? A little bit monstrous ourselves?”

So why not settle with a love fanged and coated in the shadows.

The episode takes a shift when the heroine’s best friend greedily kisses the bat-like creature. An electric desire jolts across your spine as it dries your throat.

“I never knew humans could…desire something like this.” Satoru’s eyes now unabashedly stare at the television with a religious focus almost afraid to look away.

“Some do.” You try sounding casual, but your voice croaks.

A heavy fog clouds your mind. Before he can ask or comment anything else you brightly announce you’re going to take a shower. You scurry to the bathroom without even once glancing at the moth monster.

It’s a pathetic excuse but it’s early evening now. This decision isn’t entirely out of the blue. You just need to cool down and take yourself away from the moment.

However, under the weight of the water, under the heat of the steam, you try washing away the festering arousal seeping into your veins.

The episode flashes in your mind. Except this time you picture yourself in the arms of the towering moth creature.

This danger has been brewing well beneath the surface and now slips past its shackles.

It rips you open raw and wild, unrelenting in a way that a slick heat already pools between your legs. You should not, by all rational means, be attracted much less so attached to this monster. Yet, you are.

You remember how easily he swept you into his arms, how solid and built his frame is. He is stunning. You can’t even deny that.

You even think about how comforting a presence he was in your bed. Those thoughts melt and mutate dangerously.

Now, you imagine how warm and solid he would feel against you, between your legs. What he looks like drunk on pleasure-

Exhaling shakily, you turn the shower as cold as you can.

When you return to the living room after the shower, the sliding door is still wide open. Rain continues to twinkle its beautiful song into the living room, a living room now very vacant.

No moth creature is in sight and the bowl of chocolate drizzled popcorn remains untouched.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

In the research lab you grade quizzes from the class you work assisting with. This time during the week the lab is thankfully empty and it gives you time

to catch up on your articles and work.

A surprise knock however disrupts that peace.

Your advisor walks in with a warm grin. Besides her is the man from the bar.

A confused anxiousness seizes your heart and you try keeping your face composed.

You politely smile as your advisor calls your name.

“This is Toji Fushiguro. He’s an agent from the local conservation group trying to investigate where our dear little moth friend went.” Your advisor explains polite and casual.

Your heart sinks rapidly.

The unknown moth had been in a large observation box the first time you saw it.

It had been a new and recent find. Being a first year in the program, you simply were allowed to watch and observe the new species.

Bigger than a typical silk moth, the unidentified moth had beautiful intricate designs on its wings you’d never seen. The little creature was also incredibly feisty. On multiple occasions it flew into the side of the box as if trying to push its way out.

Now that glass enclosure sits empty.

“Do you think it would be alright if he asks you a few questions?”

You happily agree hoping that cooperating will divert any attention from yourself.

With a grin your advisor leaves the room to give you and Fushiguro space. Now alone with the man from the bar, he sleepy grins a coy amused thing.

“So, we meet again.” That deep voice sulks out with a lure that feels poisonous and sticky.

“We do.” You nod politely.

“Shouldn’t be surprised you’re a bug fan.” He scratches at his jaw and for some reason his casual attitude towards you twists your stomach.

You want to make a witty comeback but nothing comes to mind. Instead you stare down this mysterious man.

“What makes a cutie like you get into bugs huh?” He asks casually.

“My grandfather.” You answer truthful and curt.

“Hm, that’s nice.” Fushiguro nods understandingly.

His eyes begin scanning the lab with that same boredom he wore at the restaurant bar.

“So when did ya let the moth escape?” His relaxed question makes you choke.

“Excuse me?!” You snap. “I didn’t let the moth out.”

Except you had.

The first night you stayed late at the lab you accidentally forgot to close the windows.

In that mishap, the moth escaped. You were thankful another class used the lab after you and disrupted the possibility of anything being pinned to you.

The department of course was a bit disheartened. However, everyone warmly joked about half of the job of being an entomologist is chasing after things way too fast to catch.

That happened months ago.

“I’m going to be honest with you.” Toji Fushiguro leans against the table with a brazen ease. “I’m here looking for that thing cause it’s dangerous.”

For some reason, you don’t fully believe him.

“Remember what I told you about moths? They’re bad luck.” His stare is unwavering and cold.

“That’s arguable.” You surprisingly fire back.

Toji Fushiguro shrugs. He slides his hands into his jogger pant’s pockets.

“If that’s all you wanted to discuss, then I need to ask you to please leave. I have work to do.” You answer sharp and composed.

He simply shrugs again and pushes himself off the table he leans against.

Without another word Toji Fushiguro simply heads to the door. Before he leaves the man stops.

“That bad luck I told you about? S’gonna catch up to you soon, pretty. Just want to give you a warning.”

It sounds like a threat instead of a warning.

At his words a venomous bile pools in your mouth and you almost want to snarl at this man. He leaves with just a casual wave of his hand and not another word.

The rest of the time in the lab you can’t focus on anything. You simply float in this strange inertia.

When you leave, no moth flutters outside to greet you.

A new wave of terror wiggles through your stomach.

Your apartment is also deadly silent. Worry prickles all over your body as you slide open the balcony door. You even peer out into the woods hoping to find six gleaming eyes staring out.

Yet only the darkness, eternal and empty, stares back an ancient unforgiving warning.

So try pushing aside this rattling worried energy. You try to make dinner, even put on a favorite movie for background noise.

Your mind however can’t leave the thought of Toji Fushiguro. Mainly, you worry about the absence of your moth. Fear eats away at you as if an actual creature has crawled inside.

And maybe he has.

You miss him. You miss Satoru. You’re worried about him.

He’s become a staple in your life, a strange fixture pestering you. You can’t imagine a day without his presence now.

Then a realization trickles in a slow and sticky truth.

He is a creature of the woods, a myth of the darkness. Maybe he never meant to be yours.

Now here you are. A selfish human simply trying to keep him all to yourself.

A sudden clash of something solid rams into the balcony rail. You can’t help but shriek.

Thee moth creature rapidly shoves his way into your living room. He crawls inside feral like something out of a horror movie.

“Satoru!” You cry out his name and rush towards him.

Satoru’s piercing sky eyes, all six of them, are wide and frantic. His gaze darts around the room. Then he begins sniffing around the space.

“Someone’s been in here.” Satoru’s voice drops, a waterlogged frantic gurgle.

“Wait what?” You ask terrified. “How do you know?

You start glancing around the room now and follow Satoru as he continues rapidly smelling the space. There are no signs of someone breaking in and entering. Nothing even seems out of place or stolen.

“I smell something new. It’s not either one of our scents.” Satoru’s voice drips with a sharp dread and it chokes you.

“What does that mean?” You croak trying not to get caught up in the terror and panic, but their current is so strong.

Suddenly Satoru whips around.

There in the hallway of your apartment he completely consumes the entire space with his imposing frame. The darkness of the hallway and dim lighting casts a grim shadow over him. His wide frantic eyes are animalistic, more than you’ve ever seen.

His shoulders heave with rapid breaths. In a blink Satoru suddenly crams his body against yours.

This giant of a monster curls down to crouch into you. His face begins rubbing against yours. Soft growl like purring rumbles into the air.

You can’t help but whimper his name as fear has you in its maw.

What’s going to happen? What could you do?

You try to voice these questions, these worries, but the words get tangled in your throat.

“Nothing will harm you.” Satoru snaps deadly as the edge of his tone wavers into a frayed growl.

Those strange humming clips and chirps he makes float into the air while he continues comforting you.

Clawed hands curl into your back with a noticeable pressure. There’s a hint of danger in his tight grasp. But then you realize you’re also clutching onto him with an iron hold.

Frustratedly you try blinking away tears managing to stubbornly spill down your cheeks.

Satoru, who still rubs his monstrous face against yours, immediately notices your tears.

A distressing chattering noise comes and you’re readying to reassure him you’re fine.

His tongue instead moves to lick at your tears.

The action stills you immediately. The slick appendage rapidly slithers across your face trying to quickly wipe away your tears.

You think about when he healed your hand, when his tongue wiggled across your skin to lap at your blood. Now here he is again, consuming you, trying to heal and comfort you.

His tongue however slides down across your cheeks tasting the salt of your skin. It immediately sparks to life an intoxicating heat that drowns out the panic.

A part of you wonders about the danger swirling around him and how there might be a possibility that doom is seeping into you.

This might be your doom, to adore a creature composed of myth and nightmare.

You blink and a few lingering tears rapidly run down your cheek straight to the corner of your lip.

Satoru, fast as ever, moves to lick them up. In the process his tongue slithers close to your lips, running across the edge of them.

You inhale sharply and your eyes can’t help but snap open wide. You’re breathing heavily. The way Satoru’s large shoulders begin heaving, so is he.

Suddenly he breathes out your name and it gets tangled in your heart.

“Mine.” Then his voice, animalistic and monstrous, cracks the air with a low possessive growl.

His tongue begins running across your lips without hesitation. The wet wiggling intense sensation has your eyes closing in absolute bliss. You sigh and want to open your mouth to let his tongue slip inside.

“You’re mine.” He snarls out feral and wild. Those strange clicks of his come faster and soon enough his claws draw you closer.

Suddenly Satoru inhales deeply against your skin.

Then he groans a terrible wonderful noise that makes your knees buckle.

“Oh you smell so good.” He slurs. He continues to smell every inch of your skin, trying to map and memorize your scent.

A whimper escapes you and Satoru rumbles out a comforting click.

He begins dragging his down your body with a focused intent.

“Stronger, it’s getting stronger.” He mutters against your clothes.

“Satoru-” you say his name a bit worried.

The moth creature shoves his face unabashedly against your clothed sex. He groans loud, almost debauched and all thoughts float out of you. His antennas rapidly twitch.

“Oh it’s here.” Satoru mumbles in awe, possessed, as if he’s found a deity. “You smell so good here.”

He growls frustrated as he tries burrowing his face closer and closer to your dripping arousal.

You croak out his name waterlogged.

Satoru snaps to look up at you from his knees. All six eyes are glossy and frantic.

“Please? Please, my little human, can I have more?” He begs.

That’s when you notice his mouth is wet drenched with saliva. He’s drooling at just the thought of you, drunk on your smell.

All you can do is nod, caught in the same intoxication desire.

Effortlessly he claws apart your pants at the seam and dives in. You can’t even chide him for that.

Your mind goes blank, consumed by pleasure and lost in its woods. As you cry out while his thin tongue runs up and down every inch of you, you realize Satoru is right.

You are his. And maybe he is yours.

Satoru arrived in your life and never left. He instead stayed in the safety of your light with you under the cover of his wings.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

“Don’t go to class today.” The moth mumbles.

Satoru has been glued to your side since the discovery of your intruder last week. He barely leaves the apartment and when he does it’s only because you need to leave. Currently he sits on the bedroom floor with wide sleep deprived eyes.

The antennas on top of his head flicker quickly. He’s tried been pushing himself to stand guard even during the day.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just a lecture.” You reassure him.

“Besides, you should take this time to sleep. You need to rest.”

“I’ll be fine.” He mirrors your words back to you.

Your monster’s six eyes hold a daze focused like he’s trying to be aware of everything all at once. Slowly and delicately you let your hand run against his soft face.

The delicate fur, now a tangible dream under your fingertips, is so sulky. The touch jolts the creature into awareness.

Satoru’s eyes all flutter you and instantly his face melts against your hand.

“Don’t go.” He whispers a static like mumble.

“I’ll be okay.” You even lean down to kiss the side of his face.

“Fine, then I’m going.” He snaps a firm unwavering decision and you can’t argue with him.

As you walk to the lecture hall building he flutters so swiftly and dizzying in his normal moth form. He even flies all around your face, another angry urging for you to not go.

You gently hold out your hand. Slowly the moth flutters to land on top of your hand.

He is gorgeous in every form including this one. Shimmering wide eyes, large intricate wings, all composed in this sweet creature furiously crawling over your hand.

“I know you’re still upset, but I’ll be fine.” You softly reassure him for the hundreth time.

He stops and stares at you. Gently you run a finger across his fuzzy little head careful to not touch his antennas.

He flies from your hand and lands immediately on the corner of your lips.

A goodbye kiss.

Your lips twitch amused and deeply fond.

“I’ll see you when class is over.” With that you head to class.

Walking into the classroom, one of your peers excitedly speaks to everyone present in the room.

“Did you guys hear?! Someone just saw the mothman thing on campus a few minutes ago?!”

Terror unfolds in you and your heart collapses among its cage. He must have transformed in the woods, or in flight.

“Really? Are you sure?” A skeptic quickly emerges and you cling to their words.

“No I swear! Everyone’s been talking about it online! So many people saw it fly into the trees by the woods!”

You haven’t been this terrified since the contained moth was missing or since you first saw six reflective eyes staring at you from the dark.

Chatter breaks out immediately with so many discussions. Some of your classmates show their disbelief while others eagerly ask for more information.

You try to keep your composure as you slide into your seat.

“Hey,” someone says your name. Your friend that sits next to you stares at you with a scrunched up face of concern.

“You okay? You look kinda sick.” She frowns.

You wearily smile and use the excuse that you have been under the weather. A cold chill even runs up your spine.

“Then head back home,” she comforts you with understanding eyes. “I’ll send you the notes from today and let you know if you miss anything.”

Grateful you wearily thank her and she nods warm, reassuring, wishing you rest. As you turn to head out you catch the last bit of conversation bubbling along with your classmates.

“Well…if someone saw the moth thing, doesn’t that mean something bad is gonna happen soon?”

“Yeah that’s what the legend says.” Someone grimly agrees.

Scrambling, you shove yourself out of the classroom before you hear anything else.

Now out of the room you shakily exhale trying to calm yourself down.

At this time in the evening the hallways are deathly silent, harrowingly so. Unlike the lab building, so open and light with its many windows and expanded hallways, the lecture hall building’s tight corridors create a haunting clustered stillness.

That stillness seems to be creeping in more and more.

As you walk towards the elevator, sudden footsteps begin stomping behind you.

They are solid and firm, staying a decent pace away from you. The anxiousness from these past few days create an unbearable itch that crawls over your skin.

So you turn around.

And the hallway is dead empty.

No one walks behind you.

Fear tastes icy and rotten as it infects your body. Instantly you whip around to rush to the elevator.

You clash straight into someone.

The collision knocks you out of your thoughts and you quickly blink into focus.

A rush of apologizes stammer out of you.

“Hey, it’s okay.” The man you ran into warmly reassures you.

You finally get a good look at him. He’s handsome with a strong jaw and a faint mustache. He looks official in his suit. The smell of cigarettes surround you.

“Actually, I was wondering if you could help point me in the direction of the main office.” The man smiles warmly.

This had to be the source of the footsteps you heard. The dread you have slowly simmers at the sight of him.

“Oh course.” You grin weakly at the man, thankful your fear is calming down. “You have to go down to the other end of this hallway-”

A sudden hand comes up from behind you.

It slaps over your mouth with a painful grip. Then something sharp pierces your neck.

The scream from your throat fades along with your focus.

The last thought flashing through your mind before you fade into darkness is that Satoru was right.

You shouldn’t have gone to class.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

The jostling of your body wakes you up.

Groggily you blink into focus. You first notice it’s late at night. Next, you’re laid across the back seat of a car and your hands are tied.

In the front seats sit the man you ran into at the school and Toji Fushiguro. You go to scream but a tightly wrapped cloth blocks your mouth.

“You’re awake.” Toji drawls out slowly and surprised.

You screech at him through the material.

“Yeah, I knew you were with the moth this entire time.” He grins at you through the rear window.

You continue to scream as best as you can, sounding feral and panicked as tears fill your eyes.

“Guess living with a monster makes you sound this wild.” Toji Fushiguro’s accomplice mutters without even glancing once at you.

He begins typing away on his phone.

“We got more buyers willing to pay if we bring the moth in alive.” The man comments.

Everything clicks.

They were after Satoru. And you’re the bait.

Maybe Fushiguro’s accomplice is right. Maybe living with a monster has leaked into you because the noise you make doesn’t sound human.

Your scream, still stifled, carries so many emotions. Your pain, terror, anger and frustration, all of it courses through your veins and rips out in waves.

“Hey.” Toji Fushiguro glances back at you from the rear mirror. “Keep it down. I don’t wanna get too aggressive, but I will.”

He casually pulls out a gun and waves it around.

The horrifying casual threat causes your eyes to go wide and now all the fight you had trickles out.

“Watch it!” Suddenly the man in the driver's seat screams out.

Your eyes flicker forward.

Against the darkness, illuminated by the car’s headlights, a looking figure stands in the middle of the road.

Six eyes stare out from the darkness a brilliant terrifying electric blue. Delicate wide moth wings flare out and break against the night.

Through the fabric you scream out his name, except it gets drowned out by the revving of the engine.

Toji speeds up with full intent to hit the creature.

“What are you doing?!” The other man cries out.

You even scream in panic. Your moth however flies up, missing the impact.

He’s gone from sight.

A solid clang lands on the roof.

A sharp stab pierces the top of the car with a snap. The screeching of metal being ripped away follows fast. The eyes of the monster stare into the car with a disastrous terror.

Satoru smiles wild and gleeful at the men, a predator that's captured its prey.

Then…Everything happens in a blink.

The car swerves. The speed makes you feel as if you are flying. The colliding noise of scraping metal and then a solid impact. Everything becomes distorted as if you are in a snow globe spinning and trying to focus on a dizzying fuzzy world.

An unholy monstrous scream rips into the air. It’s all you hear as you fade in and out of consciousness.

You blink and suddenly twigs from the forest floor press against your body. A sharp object pierces your side. Every inch of you screams in pain while also a numbing sensation starts creeping in.

An inhuman roar screeches out and your eyes snap open.

Off to the side along the trees you see the faint edge of Satoru within the darkness. Faintly you hear a wet ripping sound. It’s visceral, like a vulture digging into a macabre carnage.

You watch his clawed hands viscously dig into whatever he stands over. You try gathering your voice trying to say something, anything.

Then six electric eyes snap up to you from the dark forest. He is the terror of the woods, a feral monster interrupted from its hunt.

Your vision however goes blurry and it gets harder staying awake.

A wreck howl of your name breaks into the air.

Tender clawed hands scoop up from the ground. You’re cradled against him gently and tight. The fabric in your mouth gets ripped away and now the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth fast.

You wheeze out Satoru’s name. There’s so much you want to say. But you’re getting so tired.

“Stay awake!” He snarls desperately sensing your exhaustion.

Nothing feels real. Even staring up at your creature, his six eyes seem to become twelve, like clusters of galaxies carved out in the night sky.

But you’re fading. You know and he knows it.

Breathing hurts and now a cool chill runs across your body from the inside.

Your grandfather's words about moths being angels float into your mind.

You recall how terrifying angels are sometimes described. Some of them are composed of wheels of fire, with many wings.

Yours has many eyes.

You’re grateful Satoru is here with you at the end. You’re grateful this angel found you.

Water droplets plop onto your face and you wonder if it’s raining.

Satoru screams your name with absolute anguish. A darkness crawls over your eyes. Soft and peacefully, you fall into its waiting arms.

-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-

A soft steady beeping pulls you out from the darkness.

Wearily you open your eyes. But the bright light of wherever you are immediately has you shutting your eyes tight.

A cold hand touches your arm.

The touch jolts you awake. In a panic your eyes immediately snap open and your body shoots up only to find yourself tangled.

Tubes run from out of your arms. One tube even rests under your nose. The beeping noise you faintly recognize is a heart monitor and realization hits that you’re in a hospital.

Then when you turn to the side, a man you don’t know sits beside you.

You have never seen a man as gorgeous as him. Striking cloud white hair, a chiseled jawline, broad shoulders and then…

The brightest blue eyes, clear as a summer sky, stare at you so frantic and hesitant.

The man says your name, his tone faintly pleading.

For some reason his voice sounds vaguely familiar. But that thought is put on hold when the door to your room opens and a nurse walks in.

“Oh thank goodness you’re awake!” She sighs genuinely warm to see you and even seems a bit surprised.

What happened? You were dying. You were sure of it.

“Do you remember anything that happened?” The nurse asks gently as she checks your vitals.

“I…” your voice wavers as the memory clips at you, terrifying and heartbreaking.

“It’s okay if you don’t.” The nurse says comfortingly. “It’s common for accident victims to have a foggy memory. Plus after the one you were in it’s understandable.”

Weakly you question about what happened, how you got here.

With soft eyes the nurse explains it all.

You were the only survivor of the car crash. A part of you vividly remembers Toji Fushiguro and the man with him. A part of you dark and hollow gleams grateful they are no longer here.

You however didn’t walk away unscathed. You have a few broken ribs, a very bad concussion and light internal bleeding being monitored.

“We even found damage near your heart that could’ve been deadly-”

Yet, you were alive.

“And….” The nurse’s eyes twinkle warm and adoring as they flicker to the man behind you.

“This man found you and brought you in. Came into the hospital with you in his arms like some kind of bloody guardian angel.”

You whip your attention back to him as well. The man’s blue eyes stay so intently focused on you.

They remind you so much of the pairs of six eyes that watched you with the same unwavering gaze.

Then the nurse’s words click.

An angel.

No. This couldn’t be…

The idea so wild and unbelievable barrels into you fast. It knocks you breathless that you can’t help but cough out.

Everyone instantly scrambles to grab you something to drink. It’s your mystery man who hands you a cold water first and you guzzle it down with a frantic speed.

“I’ll let you get some rest. Please hit the call button if you need anything.” The nurse squeezes your shoulder and you thank her with a weak cough.

Now in the quiet safety of the hospital room, your attention snaps to the man still intently staring at you with glossy blue lake eyes.

You take the jump. It might be the most far stretched idea and you can blame the concussion but -

You whisper out Satoru’s name.

The white haired man nods fast and a sob escapes you.

It’s him.

Through tear soaked questions you ask him how.

“Remember that legend I once told you? About us being able to bring someone back from the dead?”

His voice is now clear, so distinctly him even in this form you can’t miss it now.

His words are a chilling breeze.

“I died.” You whisper the cold realization.

And he brought you back.

“But you…what happened?” Your eyes so clouded with tears scan his very beautiful and human face.

The Satoru before you is so familiar yet so different. The deep inhale he gives moves his shoulders. You’ve seen it before when his wings moved with the same exhausted exhale. Instead now a weary weight, a very human one, colors his stunning features.

But a sudden eased smile tugs at his lips and the sight is stunning.

“We’re allowed to bring someone back…it’s just at a little cost.” His voice flutters out light and his words get trapped in your throat.

You can’t fight the tears. They come in waves and your shoulders shake as you cry.

“Wait,” Satoru rapidly panics as he slides closer to you. “What’s wrong?!”

He gave up everything. His form, his livelihood, his essence as a creature of the myth, he gave it all for you.

That solid truth rips so much sadness and guilt through you all you can do is angrily cry, frustrated.

“Why are you crying?” He asks concerned and a bit confused.

“Because,” you hiccup. “Because I did this to you.”

You would carry this guilt for the rest of your life.

“What? Don’t like the way I look? I thought I was pretty handsome in this form, yeah?” He lightly teases to perk you up.

You give him a look of disbelief wondering if you should call the nurse to escort this headache away from you.

“Okay okay,” he says, thankfully understanding your heartache.

Gently Satoru’s hand moves to rest against you on top of the itchy hospital blanket. Fondly he runs his hand over your leg. You watch as his eyes follow the path of his hand like he’s trying to solidify your presence beside him. A sadness shimmers within his blue pools.

“If anyone’s to blame…it’s me. I did this to you.”

Quickly, through a teary blubbering mess you reassure Satoru he did nothing wrong. His hand softly squeezes your knee.

“Do you remember when we were watching that weird show and you asked me what I’d wish for? What I wanted more than anything?”

Suddenly Satoru speaks firmer, eyes still not facing you.

“I wished I could be with you. I wanted to live a full life by your side.” His answer is low, but so beautifully clear it’s like dawn breaking over the forest.

Those endless blue eyes turn to you.

Gingerly Satoru raises his hand. He runs his fingers against your face with a tender touch, a delicate brush like that of a moth’s wing.

“Never feel guilty about what happened. I would make this decision over and over again. I don’t regret it and never will.” He says firm, absolute and devoted.

Tears return again but this time for another reason, one so beautifully overwhelming it consumes you.

Satoru gently draws you into his arms to hold you steady against his sturdy chest.

“Can't get rid of me now, little human.” He teases but the faintest edge of emotion cracks his voice.

A laugh escapes you among the tears.

“You’re a little human now too, bug boy.” You joke as the new nickname comes so easily to you.

“There’s nothing little about me, especially in this form.” He deeply purrs.

You’re about to snap at him for being crude until he shrieks.

“And bug boy?! You never even called me that before! If anyone is the bug freak it’s you!”

You laugh, truly laugh, and a warm buoyancy floats within your entire body. He joins in alongside you. His laugh is such a wild and free noise you want to keep it forever.

“This being a human thing,” he suddenly mutters against the top of your head. “Might take me a little while to get used to it.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper back, fully resting against him. “We’re all still trying to figure it out too.”

Satoru’s hand begins rubbing against your back effortlessly, so human and natural.

“You already seem to be doing a good job.” You mumble feeling sleepy again.

He hums amused. “I know. I’m just that good.”

You want to make a snide remark but then Satoru kisses the top of your head. Your heart jumps at feeling his lips.

“I get to do this all the time now.” He whispers slightly in awe, like he spoke a hidden thought out loud.

You can’t help but grin giddy.

Before, you had begun experimenting very enthusiastically about getting to learn how to kiss him in his old form. But you understand.

This felt right. It always did, even when you never wanted to admit it before.

“No more mothman.” Satoru mutters a quiet realization and you clutch his shirt.

“You’ll always be my pest.” You reassure him.

“Hey.” You can hear the mock frown in his voice and you snicker.

You think about Satoru as your cryptid emerging straight from legends.

If he was seen as a harbinger and warning of danger, it strangely has you thinking about love.

For what is love if not a warning? A ‘be careful, don’t run too fast, please be safe, please let me protect you’ warning morphed into a wish and want to keep someone safe. Horror and love sometimes walk hand in hand together after all.

In the arms of your harbinger, you wearily start falling asleep. Satoru senses it too and places another kiss on your head.

When he gently moves to rest you back on the bed your eyes glance to the window. The dark evening night stretches out deep and wide

Against the glass, you notice a fluttering movement.

Soft green delicate long wings catch the light from the hospital room.

Actias luna.

More tears brim in your eyes.

The beautiful lunar moth dances against the window, against the darkness, as if to greet you a warm hello and wish you well.

[leaawrites]

Lie to Girls (LH44)

Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader

Summary: in which, both lie to themselves to keep the butterflies alive.

Warnings: angst, lying, bit toxic behavior, swearing,

Wordcount: 0.8k

Masterlist, Short n'Sweet Series

It could’ve been different if she was someone else. Someone who was able to confess their own thoughts and not let the mirror blind her when looking at him. The pink tinted glasses of life taking over her whenever he did something he swore not to do, reminding her of all good he’d done for her.

“Lewis, why is the bottle standing there. Half empty?”

She knew he’d been drinking, more than before. She knew he lied to her about it. She knew he wouldn’t stop now and be honest with her all of a sudden. It wasn’t his way of life. Whatever happened, as long as it was bad, never happened because of him. It was always something outside of his control.

“Baby, I swear, I only had one drink. It was already this empty when I took from the cabinet.”

It wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t, because it was a new one he bought yesterday. Replacing the empty one in hopes of her not noticing the difference, but she did. She always noticed, but she never said anything.

Putting the bottle back in the cabinet, she heard him walk up behind her, his arms wrapping themselves around her waist as if out of instinct. His face snuggling into the crook of her neck, leaving little kisses on her skin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against her skin. Tickling her with the stubble of his beard and making her giggle, the doubts flying away to the back of her mind like they always do. “How was brunch?”

“Good,” she answered, turning around in his arms and looking at his face. God, he was gorgeous. “I missed you too though.”

She could smell the alcohol lingering on his tongue and the endless excuses forming in his head. The unbearable truth catching up to her before she could let herself fall into him once more, ‘you’re gonna loose your mind if you keep going like this.’ The endless arguments catching up to her and coming back like they were love confessions. The pictures that kept her up at night, which he brushed off as isolated incidents that wouldn’t happen again. But they did. Everything he swore wouldn’t reoccur to them, happened over and over and over again.

Still, his lips tasted so sweet when they touched hers. His hands on her body still felt so comforting.

And in the end, he woke up next to her, right?

People could say what they wanted, about them and him, in the end they still ended the day together and they would until the end. She was sure of that.

“Sometimes, I’m afraid you’re just a dream I’ll wake up from,” she confessed, her hand brushing over his cheek, watching his face lean into her touch. Watching him take in her tenderness.

“I’m real,” he promised her, “and I’m only here for you.”

Butterflies erupted in her chest, her heart feeling like an exploding volcano. Filling her body with love and affection and tearing her doubts in two individual pieces before burning them completely, turning them into ashes. She’ll most likely look back on this in years time and see how stupid someone clever can be for love. An embarrassing thing it is; love. Something so simple hurting someone so much. Like a simple touch can break a vase. It was fragile and delicate, but with the right care, it can stay alive for centuries to come. And he was willing to provide her with the right care, when he was around.

“I had a talk with my mother and my sisters today over brunch,” she started telling him the thing pondering on her mind the whole drive home. “Lou, my friend from college - you remember her right?”

“The one with the glasses?” He asked back, making sure he knew who she was talking about.

“Yes, she married a few months ago and - as you know - I never really liked the guy.”

“Yeah, you never tried to make it unknown.” Lewis laughed at the memories of hours of her complaining and telling him all the shit he’d done.

Rolling her eyes in playful annoyance, she continued talking, “Anyway, Sarah was at her house a few days ago . I think, Monday or something - and the whole house was a chaos. Lou, she looked terrible and her husband he was sitting on the sofa, watching some shit TV-show while she did all the housework. It just - I hate men sometimes. They are terrible and she just lets him do it and says that he isn’t usually like this, but I can’t believe that.”

Her sister, Sarah, knew that feeling all too well, who didn’t? She knew what the situation in a relationship was when the house looked like that. She had been there, telling herself that he wasn’t usually like that. She told it everyone she passed on the street and who cared for her. Lying to everyone, including herself.

“You know I would never do stuff like that if that’s what you’re worried about, right?” He assured her, taking her face into his hands and looking at her with sincerity filling his eyes.

He was just as pathetic of a liar as she was.

“I know.”

It was the terrible faith of a woman falling for a boy.

[schemmentis]

Like I Can - Pt. 4

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7k

“Break up with Gary.” You say. It falls from your lips instead of everything else you may have chosen to say first.

Melissa looks at you, still laid across her lap. An eyebrow raising at you. “Tell me why.” She softly answers.

You sit up, the distance between your faces closing until it is scant. Your hand reaches to softly caress her cheek with her fingers. “Because I want to kiss you for everything you just said but I’m not doing anything until I know you’re mine.”

Melissa sucks in a breath, her eyes steadfast on yours. “I am yours, Y/N.” She all but whispers in answer.

“Prove it.” You answer. Your hand moves from her cheek to gently grasp at her jaw to keep her from surging forward. You see your own want clearly mirrored in her eyes. You want nothing more than to let her close the distance and properly prove everything she said. Except one thing. 

“Break up with Gary.” You repeat. “Then, get back to me.”

You move to get up, to leave for your own apartment. It would be safer that way. Minimize temptation. Melissa’s arms wrap around you though.

“Stay.” She says softly, her chin pressing to your shoulder. “I’ll be good, swear.”

In spite of yourself, you laugh. Your hand reaches back to gently brush fingers to Mel’s cheek. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Still…stay. Please? It’s the weekend and I’d rather spend it with you. I promise I’ll take care of Gary Monday.”

“Please don’t say it that way. It just makes me feel like you’re gonna take your bat to him and they’re gonna find him in a river.”

“No. You still don’t have bail money.” Melissa shrugs after a beat. “And Gary ain’t pissed me off.”

Lightly, you reach behind you to hit her shoulder. “Fine, I’ll stay.” You mutter your agreement. As if she really had to twist your arm about it. She definitely didn’t.

In return you get a squeeze of the arms around you that trapped you to her lap. Plus, another hour or so of Melissa keeping you there as she finishes her show. When you begin to feel sleep tugging at you again, she ushers you from the couch to her room. A pair of pajamas all but placed in your hand before she’s fetching an unopened toothbrush for you to use. That is placed on the clothes still resting on your palms before she’s gently guiding you by the shoulders into the bathroom. 

“And now, I leave you to it so I keep my promise of being good.” She teases with a smirk, though she does bend the rules just a little by kissing your cheek before she goes.

By the time you’re crawling beneath Melissa’s covers you aren’t certain you’ll be awake once she finishes getting ready for bed herself. Your eyes are heavy and you're draped in soft clothes. Surrounded by the covers that smell like Melissa. 

You blink when you feel a shift next to you. A soft shush from Melissa slipping into bed next to you when she notices. Still, you’re shifting just enough to get your arms around her. You can’t help the content hum you let loose when she returns your embrace easily. You shift a bit more into her side, drifting back to sleep with your head on her shoulder.

You spend the rest of the weekend with Melissa. Making meals together. Even though most of the time there’s something involved that Melissa is teaching you. Some of what she does you already know, but you never say so. It’s more fun to learn it again from her. Plus, you could listen to her go on about cooking as much as you could anything else. Especially with her passion leading the way.

You offer to help her grade come Sunday night though Melissa only waves you off. You settle against her side, pretty much how the two of you have been all weekend. You’ve stolen a book from one of her shelves, paging through it and blindly holding your hand out every once in a while. You take the ones she’s finished grading, forming a pile in your own lap. At least, you reason, you’re helping her stay organized.

You intended to leave that evening, even if it was a little late. Melissa manages to convince you to stay again. Reasoning that you can part in the morning when you both leave for work. You’re helpless to argue, especially when she adds at least then she won’t be worried about how late it is that you’re traveling. So you stay, a third night curled up next to her in her bed. 

Reluctantly, you do separate the next morning. Melissa promises to call you that evening as she walks you to your car to leave her driveway first. You don’t mean to but your brain on autopilot guides your hands to her shoulders. Before either of you realize, you’ve leaned into her space and kissed her softly goodbye. There’s a pause when you pull away, as you realize what you’ve done. You’re not sorry, certainly, but you had intended to withhold from kissing her at all until Gary was out of the picture.

“You alright?” She asks softly, her hands on your cheeks. She must read the small bout of panic you’re having about skipping ahead suddenly despite the last few days.

“I’m fine.” You reassure, smiling to back it up. 

“Will you still be fine if I ask to do that again?” She questions, a smirk upon features.

You roll your eyes but tug her closer and kiss her one more time. “Damn you and being irresistable, Schemmenti.” You mutter against her lips before you pull away completely.

“Says you.” She throws back, winking when you look back to her once you’re in your car. “Drive safe, yeah? I’ll talk to you tonight, Hon.”

“Talk to you tonight.” You confirm just before she shuts your door for you. You wait until she’s about to get into her car and looks back at you. You blow her a kiss with a wink of your own before you pull out of her driveway.

It’s only once she’s made it to Abbott, and gotten most of her morning situated and ready, that Melissa thinks properly about Gary. She sends a text that they need to talk, as soon as he’s free to. She wants to get it over with. The sooner she does, the sooner she can focus on the two of you.

It isn’t until she’s walking into the teacher’s lounge at lunch that she realizes her mistake. She blinks once or twice at the extra, non teacher or staff, body in the room. On reflex alone she’s returning Gary’s hug.

“There ya are!” He’s greeting her with a large grin on his face. Melissa wonders how she liked him enough to start dating now. In your words, Gary is fine. Nice enough. As she stands across from him, though, she’s wondering why that was enough after the last weekend spent with you. “You said we needed to talk?”

Melissa ignores the looks from the others in the room, especially Barb raising an eyebrow at her. There isn’t an adult alive that doesn’t know what that phrase usually means in a relationship. Unless they were in denial. Like Gary kind of seems to be as he looks at her expectantly.

She sighs. She wants to get it over with, and she might have realized her feelings for Gary are next to nothing compared to the ones for you. Still, she isn’t trying to be cruel. Doing this in such a public way, in front of the other teachers, it seems cruel. After a moment she waves it off. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I figured it out.” She mutters.

“So, we’re still good for dinner Thursday?” Gary checks, still smiling.

Melissa does her best to return his smile but even she knows it’s muted. “Yeah, sounds good. Thursday.” She agrees as she slips into her usual seat next to Barbara.

After a few minutes, Gary says his goodbyes. He kisses Melissa’s head on the way out. Only because she hadn’t turned to him to kiss him properly like she usually would.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Melissa grumbles at Barbara staring at her.

“Something’s going on. What is it?” Barbara tries to press the redhead sitting next to her. In Melissa fashion, the pushing only makes her push it away even further.

“You’re ridiculous, Barb. Nothin’s goin’ on.”

“So you are going to dinner with Gary Thursday? Because it quite seemed like you didn’t want to.”

“Yes.” Melissa repeats with a light glare. “I’m going to dinner Thursday.” She states pointedly. If Barbara or the others still lingering in the break room notice how annoyed she sounds, they don’t say. Probably knowing not to say anything is for their own good.

You're late leaving your job that evening. Which means you miss Melissa’s call, unfortunately. You’re setting your things down once you walk in the door, preparing to call her back. You notice she left a voicemail so you quickly hit the button  to have it play. Your phone held to your ear with your shoulder as you made your way to your bedroom to change from the clothes you’d had to steal from Mel for today.

You stop short, pausing in the doorway to your bedroom. Your hand reaches to grasp your phone properly. You quickly stop the voicemail playing. You don’t want to listen to the rest of it. You quickly dial Mel’s number, pressing your phone back to your ear.

“Hey.” She answers after only a few rings.

“Hey my ass.” You return, your anger starting to simmer. “You’re going to dinner with Gary? You said you’d deal with all of that today.”

“I was going to! I told him we needed to talk but then he had to take that as a sign to have the conversation in the break room in front of everybody! I’m not tryna embarrass or humiliate him, Y/N. It woulda been pretty fucked if I had done it then.”

“It’s pretty fucked you didn’t, Mel!” You toss back. You know, on some level, you’re being unreasonable. She’s trying to do a good thing. A kind thing. Yet you can’t help but feel like it’s an excuse to have you both.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I told you as soon as I could so you wouldn’t be surprised. It’ll be done with Thursday, I promise.”

“Then call me Friday.” You snap, hanging up before you can hear her say anything else.

[yourbestprincess]

omg please tag me in the next part

A Dark Kind of Love ~ Pt 2

☆♡︎☆♡︎☆♡︎☆♡︎☆♡︎

YA’LL. I AM SO SORRY!!!! The 7 month delay… HERE YOU GUYS GO PLS ENJOY IM SO SORRY…

Too many warnings, so…Ghostface is your warning 🤗🤗🤗

————————————————————————

It’s been exactly a week that you haven’t seen ghostface, or “D.J”. The thought of him not being around has more than pissed you off.

That motherfucker. He can just take my virginity and leave?? The thought lingers in your mind way longer than you think it should.

You’ve been getting weird “No Caller ID” calls almost all week, you’ve been declining them, but today, you decide to answer, just to tell whoever it is to fuck off.

You get comfortable on your couch, taking a sip of your hot chocolate, which had been spontaneously delivered to your house. You’ve felt watched ever since ghostface had left your house, you even felt watched at work too. Before you can fully settle down, the call you’ve been waiting for comes.

Your arm hesitantly reaches out to pick up your ringing phone from the coffee table by your couch. As soon as you press the answer button and put the phone to your ear, you hear breathing on the other line.

“Hello??” You snap, feeling a little pissed off.

Whoever you’re talking to, chuckles before taking in a low, sugarcoated voice, “Looks like you can finally answer your phone now, can’t you?”

Goddamnit. You think to yourself before speaking.

“If i knew it was you, I would’ve answered sooner.” You bite back, a bit harsher than he was. You stand up from the couch to look out the window for him.

“No need to get up, baby. I know where you’re at.” He sneers behind the mask, letting out a quiet giggle before moving even closer to you.

You sigh and and walk to the window facing your front yard. Your eyes looking for a suspicious looking man. “Well, at least tell me where you’re”your words get cut off by him holding your waist.

“How’d you get-“ you ask in shock before he interrupts a second time, his gloved hand, cold against your bare waist.

“Someone left their window open again.” He giggles as he lifts up your loose black t-shirt to reveal his initials on your back. He caressed your healing cuts with his gloved hand, making it hurt a little more than it already does.

“What does It mean?? I have letters on my body and I don’t even know what they mean.” You snarl at him, pulling away from his touch to face him.

“Listen, princess. You’ll find out eventually, but you’ll need to stop being a little bitch about it first.” He tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him, but before you can even speak, he pulls your hips to meet his.

“You wanna be a bitch? Might just have ta’ kill ya.” He chuckles just a little.

You try to speak and you furrow your eyebrows, but before anything comes out, he puts his hand around your neck. It wasn’t with a tremendous amount of pressure, but more gently, as a warning. He removes his hand once he sees tears form in your eyes. You gasp from the relief and fall on him. He was much bigger than you.

“I’ll be good, I promise.” You say, gently crying into his cloak. He sighs and pets your hair as he swiftly picks you up and carry’s you to your bed.

“Ya better be a fuckin’ angel for me tonight, doll.” You know already by the tone of his voice and the grip he has on you, that he isn’t going to be gentle tonight at all.

As soon as he reaches your bedroom door his foot swings, and in one harsh kick the door swings wide open.

He practically throws you on the bed, making you huff from the force. He’s looking at you, you can’t see what’s under his mask…but god, you know he’s smirking at you.

He shoves his gloved fingers into your mouth, coating them in your thick saliva. He grunts out a ‘Fuck’ and something else incoherent. His words, breathy and broken from you being such a tease for him. You let out a weak whimper from feeling so eager to take him.

“Are you just gonna sit here and cry? Better take it like a good whore.” As soon as his words end, he drops your body on the bed. It’s almost as if you’re weightless to him. He takes out his Polaroid camera from his back pocket and plays with the settings as he towers over your limp, weak body.

CLICK

Your body limply lays on the bed as he snaps a quick picture of you. Seeing you like this, under his mercy really gets him going. He reaches into his side pocket to grab his knife, already stained in blood, god knows who’s. You squint your eyes and brace yourself as much as possible, whimpering under him.

“Oh, Angel, I’ll keep you alive. Don’tcha’ remember?” you loosen up your body up a bit from its braced state, looking up at the ghastly mask above you. Instead of driving the knife into you, he slices your camisole down the middle.

CLICK

“Jesus.” You catch him whispering under his breath. You’re pretty sure he’s losing self control as he’s literally stripping you with his knife. He takes off his leathery gloves, his hand look so rough, calloused, and damaged. But when he touches you, he’s so warm. His warm hands come up to play and kneed on your breast, and he just sits there, watching them bounce and jiggle.

He’s so starved for you. He waited as long as he could. Yes, he was busy, but fuck, he needed his muse. He needed you to let some steam off, to fuck the anger out, to use you as his fucking toy.

“Use me.”

He steps back, his breath hitched and his heart racing. His calloused fingers tug at the elastic waistband of your shorts, pulling them down as fast as he can. He looks deprived for you as he aggressively rips them off, tearing your pink panties next. Say bye to how cute they were, because he’s taking them, and you’re not getting them back.

His thick finger dips into your dripping wetness, sliding up your folds and wetting your throbbing clit.

“Is this want you’ve been wanting? Hm? Making me go batshit crazy? Like a horny fucking bastard?” He snaps, shoving his middle and ring finger into you, pumping and curling in just the right spot. You can’t even form words from how good he feels. You can’t help it when he makes your back arch.

“mmm, fuck!” Is the only thing you can make out, and it’s all slurred together.

“Yeah? Can’t fuckin’ talk now can ya?” You look down to see him unzipping his painfully hard erection, only wanting inside of you.

“Goddamit look what you fuckin’ do to me, dollface.” He says as he pumps his cock before sliding it up and down your wet, throbbing slit, practically clenching around nothing.

You whine and whimper waiting for him to finally put it in your drenching, throbbing little pussy.

Before you can think anything else, he shoves his thick cock in with some force.

“Fuuuckkk. Jesus Christ.” He can only say under his breath.

All you can do is moan and whine. His cock fills you all the way up.

“M’ Sorry, s’ only my second time!” you cry out to him even though he knows this. He already took your virginity and he wouldn’t let anyone else inside you but him.

“goddamnit, so fuckin’ tight-“ His voice was shaky, you didn’t even know it but you were driving him over the edge. He attempts to pick his camera back up but gives up because anytime he moves inside of you it just gets him closer.

When he does start to slowly thrust into you, it feels like you’ll never need anything else in life besides to fulfill his needs.

“Fuck! Ghostf-“

“Danny. Goddamnit.” He swears under his breath as if you weren’t supposed to know that.

“Danny? Oh my god, Danny please! Just keep going!” It’s barely registered that that was his real name and not ‘Ghostface’. But, by how fast his thrusts are getting, you’re starting to catch on.

“Say it again.” His breath hitches every time that you say his name, it sends him farther and farther over the edge.

“Oh my- Fuck, Danny!” He finally gets the will power to grab his Polaroid and snaps a photo of you so open and vulnerable.

CLICK

“Gonna cum! Im so close, please!!” You sob and whimper as he fucks you with a vigorous passion. Your walls are so tight around him, basically sucking him back in every time he thrusts backwards.

“Say my name. S’ fuckin’ slutty, can’t fuckin’ take it anymore.” You can see him coming apart at the seems now.

“Mm-fuck! Danny!” You finally release your tight walls all over his thick shaft. Your orgasm triggers his. He lets out an almost pornographic whimper as he comes as deep into your pulsating pussy as physically possible.

———————————————————————-

After cleaning up a little bit and getting back in bed, you feel like you should go back and ask him what’s been on your mind. Even if he didn’t care, at least you could get it out.

“Danny, huh?” You chuckle, pointing to the ‘D’ on your back.

He sighs deeply, “Yep, that’s the name, don’t wear it out, princess.” You wish you could see his face right now.

“Then what’s the J?!” You furrow your brows and cross your arms. You really wanted to know but didn’t want to push.

“You’ll find out, I promise ya.” He giggles and turns the light off before comes to sit next to you.

“Come see me sooner next time, please. I missed you.” You frown and reach out to hold onto him.

“Well, can’t stand to see myself get so close so soon, so I think I’ll have to doll face.” He scoffs jokingly and slips just a tiny bit of his mask. He sits next to you and lets you crawl up onto his lap.

You lean into him, letting him kiss you deep. Tongues touching and lips getting bit. He can barely hold himself back from doing you again.

[jungle-angel]

A Bed For My Family (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett can't stand the thought of having to temporarily leave the ranch with Amy, but you know that you'll be safe in Montana for just a little while

Warnings: Breastfeeding, Perry being a douche canoe etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse

Rhett had just finished brewing a mug full of the flavored coffee, ready to close up the house for the night, when Royal came striding in, hanging his cowboy hat and jacket up on the hook.

"You ok Dad?" Rhett asked, noting the tired, worried expression in Royal's face.

"Ran into the judge when I went to go and get mine and (y/n)'s meds at the pharmacy," Royal explained.

"Somethin happen?"

Royal didn't want to tell him, but knew that he'd have to anyways. "Perry made bail this mornin."

Rhett's eyes went a little wide. "The fuck happened?" he asked.

"I dunno," Royal answered. "All I know is that he made bail and he's loose. I asked if there was anything that could be done, but he said not for a while."

"So what does this mean for me and (y/n)?" Rhett asked.

"Means ya'll are gonna have to completely disappear for a while," Royal told him. "You both need to take Amy and leave Wabang until things can get settled."

"How long till we can come back?" Rhett asked again. "What about the ranch?"

"We'll manage," Royal answered. "We've got the hands and it's a good thing too, they hate Perry's guts, same as the rest of us. All I know is that it's gonna be a while, Rhett. I don't know how long, but it's for our sake as well as you guys. I don't want nothin happenin to that baby, you or (y/n)."

Rhett could feel a hot lump burning in his throat, his chest tightening and his eyes beginning to blur at the thought of it. "Dad I......I dunno if we can even do this?"

"Rhett," Royal said. "Do not ask me to watch you risk life and limb for Amy. She needs you and you're the only dad she's got. Her biological father's a piece of shit and the mother ran out on her. You and (y/n) are all she's got in this world. If I tell ya'll to go, then ya'll need to go now."

Rhett's jaw clenched a little. His father was right. Ever since you and him had taken her from birth, you and Rhett were the only parents she would ever know. God forbid something should happen to the both of you or to her.

"Ok," he croaked. "Ok......"

Royal hugged his son, himself strained by the thought of you and Rhett leaving with his and Cecelia's grandbaby. "Promise ya'll it'll be ok," Royal croaked. "One way or another."

Rhett trudged his way up the stairs to see if you were still awake and sure enough, you were, snuggling Amy in the rocker. The dim glow of her little Sleeping Beauty nightlight was the only light to be found in the room. You looked like a goddess in Rhett's eyes as you held her, himself taken by your soft features that seemed to show more in that dim light.

"I finally got her to sleep," you whispered.

Rhett knelt next to you and kissed Amy's little head. She had only been home a day and a half, so brand new to this world and the both of you desperate to protect her.

"Dad says we've gotta go," he said.

"Where?" you asked as a pang of fear welled inside of you.

"Up to John's in Montana," Rhett answered. "He said Perry made bail this morning and there's a chance he could come after us."

You were terrified. You knew that Perry had been arrested for trying to go after Rebecca and had almost succeeded. You remembered after Amy had been born by C-section, Rhett sitting in the hospital rocker with her, Amy's tiny form snuggled against his naked chest as he vowed to protect her from any danger in the world.

"When do we have to go?" you asked nervously.

"Tomorrow night," Rhett answered. "I'll pack a little tonight and in the morning and then we'll load up and be gone by dinner. Whatever we can't take with us, we'll get on the road."

You felt the tears coming, unsure of how long it would be until you and Rhett could return. But one thing had been certain, that no matter where you and Rhett would go......you would always return.

*************************

It was a hectic night and morning, packing what little you could both take with you and loading up the truck for the six hour drive ahead to Bozeman. Cecelia had packed a few of Amy's blankets, her favorite lovey that she had made and her little flop-eared bunny stuffie.

"Lets get ya'll bundled up, princess," Royal said, his clumsy fingers snapping the last little gold button on Amy's pink knit sweater.

"Dad, you got her?" Rhett asked him.

Royal carefully slipped her little knit cap onto her head before picking her up. He kissed the side of her head as she sucked away on her pacifier, not wanting to let her go.

"Dad?"

Rhett hadn't seen his father shed a tear in a long time, not since Grandpa River had passed away. Royal sniffed back the tears as he handed Amy off to Rhett, a cry beginning to well in her throat before Rhett calmed her right down.

"Ya'll take care son," Royal told him. "Give our best to John."

Rhett nodded. You and him both hugged his parents before you gently laid Amy in her carseat, buckling her in and covering her with one of the knitted blankets Cecelia had made for her. Much to your surprise too, Ruby and Diesel jumped into the truck as well without a single objection from Royal or Cecelia. Both of them assured you that things would be fine and that Tiny and Willie were safely locked up in the book barn with their kittens.

It saddened you both to have to pull out of the driveway and get on the road, but you watched and waved until your in-laws and their ranch were nothing more than a speck in the distance. You heard Rhett sniff back his own tears from up front and a high pitched whine from Diesel, the burly rottweiler who had been Rhett and Royal's companion since puppyhood.

It was without a doubt, the longest road trip the two of you had ever been on, much longer than the one you had taken when you and Rhett were in college. Amy had slept a good three and a half hours before she woke up hungry and just in time for Rhett to pull into the nearest gas station for snacks and to fill the truck. You fed Amy as soon as you had pulled in, amazed that she had latched onto you so quickly. Being on the lactation medicine had been a pain in the ass, but you knew it would be better for Amy in the long run.

It wasn't too long before you had at last crossed into Montana, the traffic in Billings reaching ludicrous proportions as the sun began to set. After another good two and a half hours, you finally reached the Dutton Yellowstone Ranch, the truck snaking its way up the long gravel drive and into the bright porch lights.

John ventured out into the subzero, snowy night to greet the both of you. "Your dad told me ya'll were comin," he said.

"Took our sweet time gettin here too," Rhett laughed, his teeth beginning to chatter.

"C'mon, ya'll get inside," John told him. "It's gonna dip down into single digits tonight and nobody's sleeping in their cars."

John hurried to help you both unload, taking Amy's carseat with the sleeping baby inside and leaving Rhett to help you out of the truck. Diesel and Ruby went ahead of you both, scratching at the front door until you opened it and John let you both in.

He let you leave your suitcases at the door before you could kick off your boots and coats, hanging everything on the hooks and sticking your shoes on the hard plastic mat. Rip and Beth were still up but Kayce and Monica were busy elsewhere putting two year old Tate to bed.

"Alright, one for you," John said, handing you a mug full of coffee. "And one for the cowboy."

"Thanks Uncle John," Rhett replied, taking the mug.

"Not a worry," he said, lifting Amy out of her carrier. "Heard ya'll had a hell of a time gettin up here."

"Yeah but we're damn glad to be here," you told him.

John could agree one hundred and ten percent. It may not have been the best of circumstances, but he was glad to have you, Rhett and Amy on any given day, especially now.

[onlyseokmins]

$$60 billion (part 2) • 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: 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, guns, injuries, medical tingz, destruction, mentions of knives, violence, unsettling space western things, slight body horror and hints at altered dna, weird religious cults, mentions of eating/food, alcohol, threats, bets among friends, tame-ish alien/monster/plant sex (????? listen it'll make sense - think of him like howl's bird form on steroids idk), mating, possessiveness!, marking, bruising, jealousy, smelling/scent kink???, wet messy sex uwu, wing kink (??? listen i was gonna explore it more but decided not to ok??), BITING (bc it's me), mechanical/robotic fingering???, gagging, bulge kink, oral sex (explicit male receiving and brief fem. receiving), seokmin's dick is like SLOPPY TOPPY LORGE w/ a mind of it's own, lowkey forgot how to write smut sorry </3 WC: 13.2k of 32.7k | Part 1 | 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 hope everyone enjoys the conclusion and please check out the other writers in this amazing collab ❤️PS, I know nothing abt chess lmaooooo but let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any questions regarding this au's intricacies!! This part might get a little confusing because of a flashback!! (starts right after the italicized paragraph and ends with "...in this moment...")

The silence is palpable.

"Does it hurt more to get stabbed in the back or shot?"

Only the continual rustling sound answers your philosophical question. Not that you actually care because you weren't really expecting a reply.

So, you keep talking.

"I think it would be more painful to get stabbed… but it would take longer to heal from a gunshot wound."

There's a brief pause in the motions behind you. But the quiet resumes, though the practiced skill of a needle threading through your skin quickens. While the local anesthetics Tonim's doctor supplied is doing its job for the most part, you swear you can still feel the tug of flesh being sewn together.

Or maybe you're just thinking too hard.

"Look. I'm… I'm sorry."

If tension could personify itself right at this moment, it would do so with ease, given how heavy its presence currently sits in the room. A low voice finally speaks up, gravely and roughened after such a long period of silence and the hairs on your neck rise.

"Are you really?"

"… Yes."

A heavy sigh — one burdened with all the worries of the world — follows. You wince and then tremble, wishing you could turn around. It's easy to guess what he's thinking but god, do you wish you could see his face to confirm. The fear of the unknown paralyzes you.

"I seriously am."

"Doubtful. I know you only asked me that question to subtly say you'll be okay and heal just fine but it's not that simple."

The callousness in his tone and the sharp way he says your first name makes you want to shrink down, shrivel up, and quite frankly die on the spot. Gritting your teeth, you succumb to the apparent silent treatment until the snip of scissors signifies your surgeon has finished treating you.

You think twice about your options upon hearing the click-clack of medical supplies being put back into the first aid kit. Then you think, "fuck it!", and use your good arm to keep the fabric of a spare t-shirt pressed against your chest and shift so you can face the man who just rather aggressively threw a handful of unused alcohol prep pads back into their designated slot.

"I'm super duper, utterly, and truly apologetic, Seok."

The gunslinger heaves another grand exhale of irritation. He doesn't even so much as glance at you, frowning sourly down at the roll of gauze in his hands instead. The temptation to reach out and touch him — soothe him — is strong but you decide against that (for various reasons) and resort to huffily pouting instead. Amazingly it seems to work, because he notices right away and folds way too easily without much of your sway, finally facing you with a reluctant but serious expression.

"Then what did you learn?"

Your gaze lowers, eyelashes fluttering while you drown in your feelings of shame and wrack your brain. The urge to toy with the silver chain around your neck is strong though you resist the tick and hesitantly answer instead.

"Um, that I need to fortify my mental block better?"

"Try again."

"Uh…"

"How about the way you're not supposed to play the hero?"

The tin of the trauma kit rattles as Seokmin slams his left hand down on the bed, leaning menacingly toward you. Though narrowed, his eyes seem to glow. You can't help but whimper at the intense ire dancing in those irises paired with his sharp tone. Like the desert's suns, it simmers and radiates off of him with rays of heat that you can easily feel given how close he is.

"I'm, I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not," he states sharply though the rigidness in his body relaxes after your squeak of another apology. "You almost died!"

You'd defiantly cross your arms if you could. "Between the two of us, you were most at risk of dying."

"Was not! And we both know my chances of injury are much, much lower than yours."

"You can't lecture me and flex your stupid powers this time! It's different 'cause Jihooon was fuckin' with my mind."

The harsh bitterness is more so directed at yourself and the damned Crimsonnail than Seokmin. But as usual, you vent all your frustrated emotions out on him, especially whenever he brings up the fragility of your mortality. You both stare stubbornly into each other's eyes, thinking back to what happened and what could've happened.

Lina's protected. The Tonim residents were all immobilized. Seungcheol, Seungkwan, and Mingyu are in good spirits. You are safe.

A burst of air rushes into Seokmin's lungs, relief filling him as he idly scans your figure for injuries. Casually reloading his revolver just in case, he beams as you approach. The mirrored expression of victory on your face accompanied by a hand reaching out causes his whole body to shudder in pleasure. There's nothing he'd like more than to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Instead, he settles for returning your enthusiastic fist bump. Nudging his shoulder against yours, Seokmin chirps out, "Good job, partner!"

"Partner?"

"Yeah, partners."

You shake your head like you can't believe him, amusement tilting up the corners of your lips. He wants to tell you everything, all of it. But his ears catch the faint click of a contraption behind him and he looks over his shoulder just in time to see Jihoon's crossbow assemble.

Joshua looks mightily displeased but makes no effort to put a stop to the Crimsonnail's actions. Seokmin can only thank his lucky stars that Soonyoung remains in a catatonic state. Dealing with a ginormous worm so soon after being in its stomach a couple days ago was not appealing in the slightest.

The fingers of his prosthesis splay out, cybernetic arm lowered and extended outwards in front of you as you turn around as well. He knows you hate unwarranted protection but you'll have to forgive his instincts this time. Nevertheless, he trusts you. And as Jihoon opens fire, Seokmin leaps into action, expecting you to do the same — only to do a double-take when you don't move despite a flurry of nails breaching the air.

Your eyes remain unfocused. Glazed over and cloudy, posture tense but still. He sneaks observatory looks your way from afar while firing Geranium. Round after round, breaking nail after nail to prevent any harm befalling you. A maniacal laughter rings out and Seokmin freezes, putting two and two together.

Then he snarls.

Jihoon must've sicced his killing intent — a nasty ability to project and create illusions of destruction in someone and break their will — on you. Cursing, he starts making his way closer to you, inwardly reaching out to you and begging that you'll break free of the blonde-haired man's clutch on your psyche.

You're obviously more than capable. He knows this. But your movements are sluggish, slowly releasing Sirocco from your grasp. The empty pistol lands on the sand with a muffled thud and Seokmin's pretty sure his heart mimics it. A look of terror and horror spreads across your facial features, surely subject to something awful within the confines of your own mind.

And while you're experiencing visions of things you fear coming true, he's stuck in the vivid reality where they do.

You spin around with a wild look in your eyes — full of rage and anguish. He stumbles back as you teeter one foot at a time toward him and in the distraction, a nail pierces right below your shoulder blade.

Someone wails behind him.

You scream.

Seokmin rushes forward. But he's tackled suddenly to the ground and ends up flat on his back. Completely winded and left with his vision smarting, blinking in confusion at the blurry double halos that definitely shouldn't be around the duo of suns in the sky.

Then your face comes into focus. And god, forget the suns — in all your glory and in all your fierceness, you shine brighter than them all combined — hallucinations be damned.

It takes a bit of wrangling around, given how you try to wrestle and pin the man down. The clunky gun you're waving around goes off several times, harmlessly lodging bullet holes into the sand cushioning around Seokmin's head.

"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself!"

Moving and lashing out like a wild animal before it's fully sedated, his words don't come through the hellish haze Jihoon's trapped you in. You pull the trigger with no regard for the injury to your shooting arm.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

He dutifully counts each round fired, multitasking between that and the effort it takes to contain your struggling movements. Once again, thanks to the overpowered strength of his prosthetic, the man's finally able to sit up with you secured in his arms to cease any further movement.

"Lovely, lovely mayfly," he murmurs. The stable cybernetic hand gently feels around the impaled shoulder while a trembling thumb rubs your abnormally chilled cheek. "C'mon and snap out of it, pretty."

Not a spot of recognition in your blank glare. His eyebrows furrow as cold metal presses in between them. Seungcheol is cursing, Mingyu and Seungkwan are shouting loudly. Jihoon gloats.

But none of that matters. Seokmin drowns all of it out by diving in the pooling depths of your empty irises. Searching, calling, begging. Biting his lip, he delivers a quick slap and pleads, "Come back to me, love."

And like a mist that rises after dawn, you return to him. Your stunned grip on the gun falters, the final bullet rattling in its chambers. The pained expression on your face slices open his own heart but its shredded form takes flight in utter relief.

You're back. You're going to be okay — he'll make sure of it. And even if you don't know it, you're his and he's yours.

"Y-you're dead," you choke out and all he can do is smile despite feeling like he's on the verge of crying. Elation, anger, guilt, hope, longing, worry, joy — all of it turns and tosses within him like a rustling flurry of winged creatures struggling to break free.

So, he smiles at you and grasps the barrel of the old pistol aimed at his forehead. "I know, mayfly."

Jihoon howls in fury. Joshua finally steps forward, striking a military pose with his hands behind his back. Composed as ever, his voice remains its deceptively sweet self compared to the harsh jerking movements he's subjected upon the gray-eyed man via telepathy.

"You've crossed the line, lost number thirteen."

"Don't call me that!"

It's no surprise that the pecking order in Dokyeom's henchmen sowed seeds of dissent. Though Joshua was simply a right-hand man, he remained the only unnumbered member, proving the lack of disposability DK saw in him versus the others.

"Know your place."

"Which has always been at the top! But because of you — !"

" — The top of those already at the bottom, perhaps. Respect your superiors and your orders, Crimsonnail. You were not to lay a hand upon Master Dokyeom's brother. Ever."

"I didn't!"

"Or a member of his little group." His indifferent gaze swept over Seokmin protectively cradling your body. "This voids our involvement and nullifies any further implementations of the game."

Joshua would thank his lucky stars that the humanoid typhoon is letting them leave scotch-free if he was a decent man. Unfortunately, he's not — already considering what punishment to enact upon Jihoon per his master's orders. The Crimsonnail feels a shiver down his spine, further enhanced by Joshua's frosty, disdainful look of disapproval as he telepathically drags Jihoon to the car.

Still, it's a good thing Seokmin's a pacifist by nature, that he's more preoccupied by your well being than anything else. Your brow begins to bead with sweat, the pain of your wound finally sinking in past the adrenaline rush wearing off. Black circles dance in your blurring vision, the gun falling from your grasp as you droop forward and rely on the unerring sureness of his support and the safety within in it.

Seokmin knows he needs to get you medical help right away, and it's the only thing he can focus on. There's no time for exchanging a blow with a blow nor the faintest idea of revenge.

Not yet. Not now. Maybe never if it means putting you in harm's way.

Was he really going to give up following the bloody trail to hold his brother accountable for the unspeakable crimes he's committed? Throw away the blank ticket Rem spoke about? All for one person?

The questions all swirl around in his head like a nebulous mass. And like a newborn star — one that's been long in the making — the answer is crystal clear and shining bright as you sit in front of him now looking devastatingly beautiful to him despite all that's happened. Most importantly, you're safe.

But all he can say in this moment aloud is, "I'm sorry."

For a multitude of reasons. So many of them. You seem to spot something in his eyes, frowning ever so slightly.

"You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm fine."

"I almost lost you."

"But you didn't."

"…I know. And I'm so fuckin' glad."

Seokmin runs his fingers in a distressed manner through dusty, matted strands of reddish-brown strands. Immediately drawing attention to the dirt, grime, and dried blood coating and dulling the cybernetic's buzzing glow.

"That's gonna be a pain in the ass to clean."

He appreciates the subject change, shooting you a lopsided grin. "Yeah, tell me 'bout it."

"Let me help."

You get up before he can protest. A tactical way to coerce him into worrying about helping you rather than arguing. The coy part of yourself is applauding the method, especially when the calloused flesh of his palm splays against the bare skin of your lower back in the name of support as you both walk to the bathroom.

That same part whispers naughty temptations to drop the t-shirt covering your chest, press up against him, and see his reaction. But your reasonable, reserved side is too held up on various other matters to give in.

Sadly, you find out you can't offer as much assistance as you would've liked. But Seokmin seems heartened by just seeing you up and about and close to him. Plus, you make use of your idleness while he washes in the sink by reaching for the few stocked amenities you can reach with your good shoulder above it when he asks for them. And you receive a heartfelt smile in return.

"I probably should've just showered."

You shrug. "You still could."

"Nah, it's fine, I can do it later. What about you, though? You're going to need help with those stitches."

"What a roundabout way to say you want to bathe together, Seok. You could've just asked."

Maybe you expected him to splutter nervously or protest fiercely at the tease. You certainly don't expect him to just shake his head — silver earring flashing in the vanity's dull lighting — and chuckle.

"I'm being serious, goof. Besides, it's not the first time I've seen you in the tub."

"What?" you squawk and his grin doesn't falter. In fact, it turns into a smirk.

"I'll go get Sherry. Lina's gonna want to see you too, she wouldn't stop crying about her pretty savior getting hurt."

You frown. Was he still going to dodge The Talk™? And did he think you were really just going to him out of your clutches that quickly?

"We still need to chat. You promised."

His eyes flash. "… And you don't like promises."

Yes, that was exactly why. He knew your history. Still, you refused to back down.

"No, I don't. But I like you… and, and most of all, I trust you. I just want the truth, Seok. Even if you think it'll hurt me, at least be honest. Trust me back. I promise it'll make it less painful if you tell me why you thought I wasn't serious. So, please…"

Don't let me down.

It's unspoken, but he can clearly hear it in your tone. A battle-worn sigh escapes so you try to lead him and finish with a question where he can give a more straightforward answer.

"… How long have you known? About the bet, I mean."

Despite wavering between semi-alertness and bordering the edge of losing consciousness, you're aware of Sheryl's presence as she bustles around with Seungkwan and Mingyu to clear out an empty room above the saloon temporarily used for patients. Seungcheol waits outside the door with you two, a cigarette loosely dangling from his lips.

When Sheryl leaves, she sneaks a peek at the way your face buries into Seokmin's neck, how the man carefully assesses the rest of your body for injuries. His touch is gentle, the cybernetic arm coated in blood as it holds the nail in you steady. He'd been adamant about being the one — the best one — to treat you. Smiling, she hands Seungcheol a couple of double dollars and the pastor raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"For that little game of yours," the woman whispers knowingly and gestures to the two who just exited the room and Seokmin hurriedly heads inside. "They told me all about it."

You lift your head to glare at Seungcheol and then your other comrades as you pass, wondering if this was some sick form of revenge for pulling one on him and if Sheryl was so keen to set you up with someone in the same way pompously done for her. But your shoulder feels like it's on fire so rather than reprimand your stupid, back-stabbing friends and slump back wearily against Seokmin.

He's a simple man who certainly can't hide a silly smile at the unconventional snuggling. Lifting his chin, he then tilts his head questioningly to the money in Seungcheol's hands. "You're still doing that bet?"

"Haf'ta win the lasses 'n hopeless romantics over 'n have 'em rootin' fer ya."

"Y-you know about the bet?"

Seokmin hushes you with a low murmur, words muffled by the press of his lips to the crown of your head. You can't make out what he says, but the timbre is soothing enough that your eyes close.

"Gotta make that sixty billion somehow if we're not turnin' ya ass in."

"Fair enough!" The wanted man laughs and closes the door with his foot.

His cheerful demeanor then dropped to focus on the proper procedures to treat your wound and that's when the silence settles in, soon followed by the weighing air of unresolved tension between you. And now, you're continuing the determined path to fully speed-run ahead and break it, though he shrugs nonchalantly at the question.

"Known for a while, to be honest."

"Seriously? I thought it was a secret!"

"C'mon, you know how bad Cheol is at keeping them."

"Yeah, right," you roll your eyes. "That man takes things to the grave — literally!"

"You're too hard on him." Seokmin leans toward you, bracing himself with an arm supported by the sink and brown eyes sparkling with humor. "Think about how much you've learned about him."

"Against my will, too much…"

"Which means I'm right."

"… I guess you do make a fair point."

"Of course. He's a completely open book once you peel back that damn protective hardcover of his."

Still, you sniff disdainfully and frown. "I swear, you're the only one who sees him like that."

"Like what?"

"Like…. unafraid, unconcerned, unbothered by all that he is, all that he's done, et cetera."

"Why not? He's done the same for me. Besides, I've said it before but he has those eyes, you know. Kind."

Ah, and that's what gets you to resign with a small grin. It's just like Seokmin to see only the good in people.

"And you're not all that different," he continues with a broad, knowing smile. Immediately you bristle and he clarifies, "from me." Some part of you momentarily wonders if you spoke your thoughts aloud or if he just simply knows them that well. "As loath as you are to admit it, you care for him. Most importantly, you trust him."

Though your face sours at the thought, you don't retort right away. Sure, Seungcheol is a trusted ally. And maybe the motivation to free Jeonghan from the control of the Eye of Joshua wasn't solely because it was simply the right thing to do. But also because it might brighten the dull spark and leave one less bloodstain on the hand of a man who bore the burdensome weight of all sins like a cross on his shoulders.

Then you wave away those thoughts for now. "So, is that why you thought I wasn't serious on how I feel about you. 'Cause of the bet?"

"No, because I never knew the full extent of it. But… if you're saying it had to do with your feelings, then I would have to say yes — though I find it hard to believe any bet's worth my bounty."

"Oh." Your cheeks heat at unwittingly giving it away.

Seokmin smirks when you avoid his gaze, and he moves in even closer. "No one has sixty billion double dollars just lying around, mayfly."

"You're just saying that so no one turns you over to July."

"Well, you won't do it, will you?"

"You don't know that," you fire back, intending to heighten your defenses that only weakly falter because you're still not looking at him.

"But I do."

"Yeah? Prove it!"

Ooh, a challenge.

And one more step closer.

"Because you care too much about the man you like to put him behind bars."

Your eyes dart back to meet his, ready to squint reproachfully only to widen at how the gunslinger's face is only a breadth away from yours. Breath hitching, you desperately want to whine out in irritation but it comes out in a low whimper. Seokmin's canines flash in the bathroom's dim lighting.

"That's not, that's not fair." The wall pressing into your bare back keeps you from retreating and the hand keeping the t-shirt covering your chest feels how your heartbeat speeds up. Your skin is on fire, only the cool temperature of your locket and its chain preventing you from utterly exploding after the plaintive admission of, "You already know everything. But…"

"But…?"

The unconscious action of biting into your lower lip only gets realized by the way it keenly draws Seokmin's eyes. Electric blue flashes against brown irises yet they darken to almost black with the sudden thrill of desire that rises to the surface. He's so close, you can feel his breath caress your face, and you swear you hear it deepen into a low grunt before he raises a brow for you to continue.

"But… b-but I don't know…a single… thing."

Seokmin has forever believed Rem's take regarding the ticket to the future always being blank. For him, it's always been an unknown path forward that he's let lead him wherever and to whatever destination.

He holds himself back, just enough to utter the (practically what should be unneeded) words of reassurance, "It could only ever be you — and it's always been only you — that I could be in love with so much, mayfly," and then he's eliminating the meager distance between the two of you. For the first time, he stamps that blank ticket with an assuredness of the future and outcome he's never had before — with a kiss.

Cradling the back of your head with his cybernetic prosthesis, the other cups your cheek and then trails down to your collarbones — but no further than appropriate. His mouth, though, disregards the very notion. A teasing tongue repeatedly runs across your bottom lip to smooth out the indents caused earlier by your teeth then naughtily pokes and prods its way between, eliciting a sweet gasp from you he absolutely devours.

Your whole body shudders with happiness, eagerly surrendering to the man's wild, possessive fervor as he passionately steals the breath out of your lungs and stakes his claim on you by leaving behind shiny kiss-bitten lips. Seokmin only draws away, panting, to admire his handiwork, light-headed and dizzy with delight.

"I love you," he reconfirms with his forehead resting against yours and nose tickling your own, "… partner."

Breathlessly, you joke back after placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Love you too, partner."

And that was that.

With your shoulder injury on the mend and the other members of your little ragtag group nursing their own bumps and bruises, you all decided to spend one more night in Tonim — much to Lina's delight. While she merrily bounced from one 'hero' to the next, you playfully reminded Wonwoo that he still owed you some free drinks. You were eager to take advantage of the fact and he was more than willing to accommodate.

The tavern that originally held a subdued, slightly hostile air to it when you first arrived was now filled with an unfettered joyous harmony. You're so easily swept up in the ambiance of such high spirits and jubilant townsfolk as mug ales filled to the brim get passed around and clinked together, you fail to notice Seokmin's sudden withdrawn nature.

Not until the next morning do you first realize something's off.

"You're sure about this?"

"Oh, no. Not you too, Seok."

You'd already flipped off and shoved away a complaining, terribly hungover Seungcheol and finally got rid of the watchful, fretting gazes of Seungkwan and Mingyu. The duo had been hovering around you with concern ever since you downed a full glass of alcohol last night. While you generally just let them be and were quite thankful not to wake up with a pounding headache, you certainly weren't above crushing all of Mingyu's pudding cups if he meekly asked one more time if you were okay or needed help.

Seokmin leans against the open door frame as you pack. The pulsating glow of lost technology flickers in your peripheral and keeps you aware of his quiet presence. Part of you had always wondered if the ever-running currents of lighting synced with the flow of blood through the rest of his body.

The gunslinger doesn't speak, and you wonder why. And though you'd like to flatter yourself and entertain the notion that he's watching you — while other times that may be true — you don't feel the weight of his eyes trained on your motions. It wasn't like there was much to stuff in your bag, the satchel's leather cracked, faded, and well-worn after all these years of use through the desert and everything you truly value remains strapped some way to your body. So once you're finished, you inquisitively peek over in his direction.

Brown eyes are trained on the clunky gun on the mattress — the same one you'd pressed against his head. It's also the exact same pistol Chan had spent his adolescence restoring and repairing. Left unnamed unlike the honorary grave Seokmin had helped you prep before leaving the ruins of Ivywood behind. Meanwhile, his gaze darts to linger in contemplation on the chain around your neck before his eyebrows furrow, emphasizing the drawn out features and dark circles beneath his eyes.

"You look tired, you doing okay?"

"Yeah, just haven't been… sleeping well."

Frowning, you step toward him. Although he doesn't back away, his entire posture stiffens. "Will you be able to make the journey?"

He snorts, gesturing to your shoulder you're trying not to move too much. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be asking you?"

"I'll feel better at the border."

Seokmin nods understandingly. "The weather will align well."

Within the sandstorms that relentlessly swirl near the Melca Border Sea of Sand, hides the only SEEDS floating ship that survived the Great Fall and you have to get the timing just right to reach it. It's home to a large community of humans, and most importantly, it's what you would consider a true home to you and Seokmin. Already, your energy restores — excited at the prospect of getting to relax in a place you trust and people you truly enjoy being around.

"Jun can take a look at my shoulder."

"That's true, it would be good for him to do."

"And I'm sure Hao's going to want to check your arm, maybe fashion some fabric that's not only bulletproof but also nail-proof."

"He's gonna give us both a scolding."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

You share a look of fond chagrin. Even though Seokmin's well over a century older than Juhui and Minghao, they were direct Earth descendants aboard a ship full of lost technology and geniuses in their own right. Those facts alone gave them all the confidence and utter audacity to more often than not, act like fretting toma mothers over the two of you.

Nonetheless, you appreciated them with all that's remaining of your heart.

The trip to the Melca Border wasn't a straight shot from Tonim but it wasn't as far as you thought. A bittersweet farewell to Wonwoo, Lina, Sherry, and the rest of the townsfolk was to be expected. Though their sorrow weighed you down, the knowledge that you were parting from them with good memories and the expectations to visit again kept your steps light-footed.

Seokmin remains zoned out the entire time. You bulk it up to his normal reaction whenever something emotional was on the horizon. Returning to Melca held a grand spread of wonderful, warm memories with a scattering of dreadfully sad ones too. Though the floating ship's defenses have been bolstered to the max over the years, the terrible events weren't easy to forget.

But they were incidents in the past and it's thanks to the intellect of the two who greet you at the entrance of the ship that their defenses continue to improve. Luida proudly stands behind them, accompanied by Brad and his wife.

"Greetings, weary travelers."

"We're no strangers, Luida," Seokmin protests against her formality.

The elderly leader's playful grin smooths out the wrinkles lining her wise face. "Welcome home, children."

It's a simple phrase but one that fills you with inexplicable warmth. Hansol might be the son born of her own body, but no one is immune from her maternal instinct. She beckons for everyone to come inside where the main quarters lie and the growing crew population will certainly be enthusiastic upon hearing about your return.

Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seungkwan trail after without fuss, also elated to be aboard the familiar floating ship. You smile with genuine delight and step forward to follow while Minghao takes one look over his wire-rimmed glasses to survey Seokmin's dusty figure and elegantly tilts his head knowingly in the hallway leading to the technology laboratory. Glittery, colorful beads woven through the long strands of his two-toned hair clink in time with the movement.

It's hard to hide the snicker that escapes as you watch Seokmin trudge after Minghao like a scolded puppy. Your glee at someone else's suffering doesn't last long when a gentle hand clasps your shoulder. Wincing at the pain, you meet Junhui's puzzled look before his eyes narrow.

"You're hurt," he says, disappointed but not surprised, and leads you away to the med bay. It's exactly what you expected, in fact, the main reason behind why you're here — and yet, you sulk and whine petulantly just because you can.

"Not my fault that the only way to get here is by timing everything right to jump into a sandstorm and then onto a flying platform."

After instructing you to lie down on the medical bed and cutting the fabric of your shirt without fanfare, Junhui clicks his tongue. "You only come to visit when you're hurt."

"Not true!"

He concentrates on disinfecting and resewing the torn stitches in the tender flesh around the parts of your wound that are still healing. His tone borders on slight resentment but the concern weighing in it smoothes it all over.

"And yet most of our time spent together is only when you visit so I can patch you up."

"It's not like that."

"I know… but I would've met you elsewhere."

"Boring."

"Can't you courteously pretend to care about yourself out of consideration for those who worry?"

"You'll go gray at such a very young age if you stress all the time, Jun."

He shakes away silver bangs that threaten to impede his vision, unamused. "And you'll end up buried under the sand next time."

"Sounds cozy."

"I swear —"

You wave his growing ire away. "Seok takes care of me just fine."

"Yes," Junhui's cat-like smile causes your metaphorical hackles to raise. "He does care deeply about you."

"I'll punt you into the fifth moon and give it a second crater with your body."

"Now, now… violence is never the answer."

"Violence is the only reason you have a job!"

If you weren't as close as you were, perhaps he'd be offended by your claim. Instead, he kicks you out (after ensuring you're indeed in relatively good health), leaving you to laugh victoriously. Then, you set off to the technology lab in good spirits, hoping to catch Seokmin and commiserate with him.

Instead, you find a lone Minghao sitting refinedly amongst all the tech with grace and poise. He was in his element. Fiddling with and poking at a well-worn, familiar cybernetic tech with a thin silver instrument, he simply raises an eyebrow to acknowledge your presence.

"Did you fit Seok with a new arm?"

"But of course," the man sighs wearily, "despite my best efforts, my darlings always return home to their father with quite a beating."

"… Then you'll hate what I'm about to tell you."

"No, I cannot fashion you a pierce-proof trench coat. However, I will acquire some stronger material… but there better not be a next time."

You purse your lips and pout. It often seemed like Minghao worried more about his inventions than the people using them, though you knew that to ultimately not be true.

"So, he already told you what happened."

"Oh, yes… he told me everything." Heterochromatic eyes suddenly meet yours, sharp with a spark of amusement. "See, I almost didn't want to give him the latest modification but…"

"But…" You repeat warily.

Junhui was always mischievous, though most of it only ended with harmless pranks. On the other hand, Minghao's sarcasm-filled humor rarely made an appearance, and when it did, it usually delighted in the sickest of satisfactions.

Yet, he simply shrugs, evasive as always. "I think you'll like its improvements."

There's something foreboding about that statement, but he ushers you away under the pretense that he needs to concentrate. And shortly, you find yourself stopped by curious passersby or familiar faces in the hallways to the main quarters. Since your last visit, a multitude of passengers have a lot to share and update you on. By the time you reach your own pod, you're socially exhausted.

Sleep came easy but finding Seokmin did not. The SEEDS ship was already big in the first place and additional construction enlarged it further. An itchy, achy feeling pooled inside your gut on the second evening you'd been unable to catch sight of him. Finally, you acknowledged the bitter truth — he was avoiding you.

You had to come to terms with how delusional it was to think that once everything was out in the open, the scattered puzzle pieces would magically fall together in their rightful places. It should be easy, right? It's what happened in those cheap novels Junhui dug out of an abandoned pod in Melca back in the day. He'd given them to you as a birthday joke — Minghao sighing and handing over your real present (the first bullet-proof trench coat) — but you'd actually read through all the cheesy, steamy piles of romantic drivel.

Seungkwan, ever the cynic, and Seungcheol — who's naturally a heathen — quickly destroyed the slim spark of hope of ever hoping to feel those flutters in your gut. Meanwhile, Mingyu was someone precious and wholesome with a romantic outlook on life underneath the great muscular physique he'd gained from carrying that heavy concussion gun around.

You often wondered why they never tormented him like they did to you. But despite his indomitable stature, the emotionally soft man's tears were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Even if he didn't quite realize it, his comrades certainly were aware.

And Seokmin… well, if you knew how Seokmin felt about romance, you wouldn't be stuck in the position of wondering why the fuck he was avoiding you.

Again.

"Where is he?"

"Good morning," Mingyu greets the following morning, cheerful as ever. "If you're still hunting Seokmin for sport, he said he's feelin' a little sick!"

"Sure."

"No, he really is." Seungkwan refutes your aggressive eye roll with a gentle shake of his head. "Loverboy hasn't come out of his room for days and when I almost knocked the door in earlier, he finally responded only to sound like a dying toma."

Your face contorts into a morbid combination of concern and irritation, shifting between the two expressions. "Probably 'cause he stayed out all last night!"

And with a dramatic huff, you glower at the pastor seated in the cramped corner of the floating ship's kitchen area. Seungcheol deemed it was cooler, darker, and the farthest spot in the enclosed space from any of your misplaced wrath. He smiles, the white stick between whiter teeth jollily flicking up and down at you, taunting.

He reveled in the knowledge of being safe since he'd been the only one able to provide any information on the humanoid typhoon's whereabouts. The pastor — who still enjoyed a late-night smoke to cure some of his insomnia — considered it his saving grace to catch sight of the fellow gunslinger slinking through the shadows in the halls. Apparently, Seokmin had been sneaking outside the past few nights and remained resolutely ever-elusive during the day.

"Should go see 'im. Yer all antsy and 'm bettin' he's missin' his… mayfly."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," you snarl and storm out, missing the man's bark of laughter before he continues contemplating the best way to siphon money during a confessional.

The unfaltering stomp of your combat boots is the background beat on your walk to Seokmin's pod. His halls aren't far from the kitchen area and yet each footfall feels like a step into the unknown, the lights above seeming to grow dimmer the closer you get.

Why was he acting like this?

Did he regret everything that happened between you?

Was something wrong?

Would he shut himself away from you?

Worry and anger swirl together, mirroring the vortex of sand you had to pass through to get here. Seokmin's never shut you completely out before but you're familiar with his reclusive acts when things get too much. Too close. Too emotional. And you're afraid to be the catalyst to another spiral.

So, you knock. Harsh, loud, and ultimately unforgiving if ignored.

"Seokmin, open up! I know you're alive!"

A mutter of "Barely," carries through the door before he clearly answers with a curt, "I'm not feeling well but I'll be fine."

"Open the door."

Silence.

"Please."

The silence continues — and your temper flares. "Don't make me go get my bag and grab my lock-picking set!"

You can hear sounds of cursing and some rustling around before the door slowly and reluctantly opens, Seokmin hiding in the shadow it casts.

"As you can see, I'm quite fi —"

Both a coughing jag and the firm push of your shoe interrupts his confident statement. "Sure hope you weren't about to say you're fine!"

A faint smoky scent permeates the pod. You cough and pause to let your vision adjust to the darkness. The first hint toward Seokmin's unusual behavior because he thrived in the sunlight, no matter how weak the sunrays that reached the floating ship were. Then second, you blink in wonderment at the black heaps littering the bed and floor.

Feathers. Everywhere.

Reminiscent of the time you'd broken Seungcheol's ridiculously expensive pillow against Mingyu's bulky bicep during a good-natured fight with Seungkwan's assistance. But instead of an explosion of brown and aqua toma plumage causing you all to sneeze, these were inky dark like the night sky and resembled piles of soot against the pod's stark white backdrop.

You whirl around to find Seokmin retreating to the corner of the room, hands slamming on top of the dresser for support. His back is to you with two thin wings jutting out from it. Feathers rustle as he pants, shoulders coinciding up and down with the motion of the wings.

"Seok, how did… how did this happen?"

It's not fear that causes your voice to tremble but worry. The appearance of his natural Plant form is no longer shocking. In fact, the more you see it, the more you find it eerily beautiful. Probably similar to those who believe them to be messengers of a higher power. But he's only ever transformed in dire situations — either due to stress or the rare exhaustion of his superhuman abilities against stronger foes.

He doesn't reply so you take a cautious step forward. An animalistic growl erupts from his throat, followed by a pained groan. You gasp as he shakes, protrusions rupturing from the lower parts of his shoulder blades. Two more wings burst out and unfurl below the trembling ones already quivering on his back.

So that's how they hide and reappear.

"Is it 'cause you're sick? Choi said you've been staying out all night. You could've caught a cold or something's in the air. Never know what's floating around here." You babble as you frantically search for signs in the mirror above the dresser for any hints to what's caused this.

Seokmin's bent over and you note what should be brunette roots of hair are now pitch-black too. Closer and closer you creep until you can make out each bead of perspiration trickling down his neck and how they coat every bare part of his body in a sheen of sweat.

Then his head snaps up. An eye — unshielded by the black fringe of his red-brown tipped bangs — narrows to glare into your widened ones. A tempest of electric blue rages within it. Like the hottest type of fire, it burns more than you could ever expect in a vortex of one prominent emotion.

Desire.

An involuntary shudder overtakes your whole body, and you unconsciously bite your lip. Seokmin slumps back down, granting respite from that ardent azure glow.

"Sick," he snarls and laughs, strained. "Sick in the head, that's for sure."

"How… how can I help? What can I do for you?"

"Get out."

"Seok —"

"I'm serious, mayfly. For your own good. Leave."

"My own good?"

"I'll, hah, I'll explain… explain it later."

Your arms cross. "Oh, really? Or will you avoid me again? Like you have been for the past several days?"

"I haven't —"

"Don't you dare feign indifference! I'm not stupid — we talk about our feelings and then you retreat. Just be honest with me… please."

You promised.

He sucks in a very deep inhale through clenched teeth, seeming to regret it instantly because his grip on the edge of the dresser is hard enough to crack the strong material. Glowering at your reflection again — not daring to acknowledge your very real and extremely close presence in the room — Seokmin bares his sharpened and widened incisors in a snarl.

"We will talk, mayfly, please believe me. Now's… hah… just not great timing with… with what's happening."

Irritation easily gives way back to worry. "At least tell me what I can do for you. Should I get Jun?"

"He can't do anything. Gotta just… work it out of my system."

"Work what?" You frown, knowing how rare it is for the medical specialist to be stumped.

"It's not for certain…" Four different wings flutter in agitation at various speeds. "Not a lot's known about Plant physiology," his mouth turns downward, "even I don't have a thorough understanding."

"Is it a disease?"

"Wish it was that simple."

"You're talking in riddles and running verbal circles, Seok."

"… Dokyeom and I are independent Plants. Likely the only ones, well, you know — still functioning. Alive. When Rem found us, research was obviously done."

You know the story very well and nod. "And had been conducted before."

"'Course thanks to Rem, it wasn't as invasive but there were, hah, occasional talks. Theories. And then, of course, before us twins, there was…"

"… Tesla."

A Plant with a lifespan of only two-hundred and thirty days.

Seokmin swallows. "Tesla. Yes. I recall bits and pieces. Hypothesized with Luida and company… Outside of Dokyeom following the unethical methods humans sometimes conduct for experimentation," he snorts at the irony, "it's thought that Plants… can copulate… with a mate… of their, hah, choosing."

"Really?" Your eyebrows raise, intrigued. "That's a brilliant discovery!" Then they furrow. "Wait, are you saying that this," you wave your hand to gesture at his current form, "is because… you're, er, ready to… mate?"

He holds his head. "… Yes."

"Oh, okay. So, you need like… relief? A mate? Should I…?"

Your questions hang uncertainly in the air, unfinished because you're really not sure what you're supposed to even offer. A sarcastic smirk graces Seokmin's lips, condescending in the sort of way that's aimed more at himself.

"What kind of man do you think I am, mayfly?"

"A very, uh, Planty one for sure."

"Better than leafy, I suppose."

"Though you are quite… feathery."

Finally, he turns toward you, a wry and defeated smile on his weary face. His wings stretch outward and curl back in, elegantly waving toward you as if drawn in your direction. You can't help but smile at the object hanging from a cord around his neck.

"You still keep that old thing around?"

He looks at the golden cartridge and chuckles. "It's special."

"Me holding a gun to your head was special?""Meeting you will always remain a treasured memory, no matter the manner of how it happened." Seokmin falls quiet, lost in thought before hesitantly asking, "Did I not mention Plants mate for life? Well, at the very least, I know I do."

"Oh." Your astonishment reveals itself in a breathless gasp. There's no escaping that all-consuming, fiery cerulean gaze. "So is this the first time you've been… ready to, uh, mate?"

"No, I'm used to the way these cycles come and go. But this for sure is the worst bout yet."

"… Why?"

You hold your breath. He takes a step forward. Then another.

He's so close, if you leaned the slightest bit forward you'd press up against each other. Somehow, with an overwhelming sense of shyness guessing the underlying thoughts and what his answer will be, your eyes roam his bare upper chest and torso.

If you could caress him you would. All the shiny black feathers adorning his wings and the occasional ones sprouting along his forearms pointing to his Plant abilities. Each scar along with every bit of metal or his body's naturally grown wood that replaces chunks of lost flesh. He's kept them as reminders of when he's failed humans, though you've seen them only as when they've failed him. He shivers, like he can feel it, as if he knows what you're thinking and you questioningly re-meet his burning stare as he shoots you a wane smile.

Sheepishly, he rubs where the cybernetic arm attaches to his shoulder. Many have turned away in disgust or mock pity at the disfigurements. Yet despite the true abomination he looks like right now, there's only ever been pure empathy and acceptance he doesn't deserve — all from you.

"Conscious consent and reciprocation."

Your lips turn upward, joy causing your soul to unwittingly sing. "Does that mean… I'm your mate?"

"No."

It's like Gunsmoke completely collapses, and you're left twirling without footing in space. Seokmin matches your fallen expression with one of his own.

"What? Wh-why?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's —"

"I swear if you say 'It's me, not you'…"

He rather adorably tilts his head. "How did you know?"

"It's a typical cliche," you roll your eyes, "just give it to me straight, Seokmin. Is it 'cause I'm human?"

"… It's not that simple, and this isn't something trivial. It's — hah — it's a huge commitment." The use of your given name indicates his seriousness. "A lifetime one. For me, it's only ever been you… and it will always be you for as long as I live, which could be your whole lifespan! And I don't, hah, I don't know — hell, it's taking everything I can not to tear a dead man apart, let alone what I'd do if you'd change your mind, want something — someone else."

"You're doing it again, projecting and underestimating my feelings for you."

"It could be the effect of my pheromones, mayfly. We don't know every —"

"That's right! We don't know! So we have to trust each other and see."

"It's —"

"Let's not subject ourselves to the hypothetical. And what do you mean by dead man?"

Seokmin's jaw tenses, fingernails digging into numb skin. His wings waver, like they're considering cocooning around him for protection. But their tips simply flutter as if soothed by an unseen force, preventing them from enclosing completely.

Teasingly, you lean toward him and squint. "What else aren't you telling me, Seok? You pick a side hustle up that involves the deceased like Choi?"

He snorts at the audacity and doesn't take the bait. Instead, unfamiliar but still achingly familiar irises dart to your neck, tracing the silver chain laying against your skin. A dull sort of sadness fizzles out those blue fires and you clasp the shape of the locket beneath your shirt in realization.

"He was a boy, Seok. A boy I grew up with for a short period, one that felt like a brother to me."

"… You said you loved him."

"When?"

"… To Cheol. After you first met him."

"That would've been so long ago? How do you even remember that?"

He sighs, heavily. "It's not easy to forget. Your voice was so warm, so gentle, so in love when you admitted it."

"Love can mean different things! And I assure you, my feelings for you differ greatly from how I felt about him. And… he's… he's long gone, Seok."

Guilt burns in his eyes. "I know. Which makes me all the worse."

"No, it doesn't." You shake your head, a resigned smile resting on your lips, and hold your arms out. "'Cause I understand and forgive you. And most importantly, I love you."

It's uncertain if those words break or restore him, but the hard rigidness in his body melts away, sagging in a semblance of relief. Then he rushes forward into your waiting embrace, wings helping to propel him forward until they wrap around and press you to him tight, tickling areas where his arms aren't squeezing around you.

"And I adore you, my lovely mayfly."

You groan. "When will you stop calling me that?"

"Never," he snickers and you feel the curve of his lips as he comfortably nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "For as long as you're mine."

"Yours?"

"Mine."

"Sucker."

A chaste kiss brushes the lower tip of your ear. So ticklish and unexpected, you pull back with a giggle and playfully swat his shoulder. And just as he's about to dive forward and prove your little comment correct in retaliation, you burst into full-on laughter that leaves Seokmin to settle his hands on your waist with confusion crinkling his brow.

"What?"

"So that's why you were always having a deathly staring match between my childhood memorabilia?"

"… Was not."

"You — the most sentimental loser ever — definitely were!"

He pouts momentarily, the cute jut out of his lower lip quickly transforming to a devious smirk. "You'd bet on it?"

"Totally." You place your arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer again and matching the charge of electricity with a clever tilt of your lips. "I'd win, too."

"And what's on the table?"

"Sixty billion double dollars, of course."

"That so?"

"Mhm, and it seems like someone's bounty matches that worth."

Seokmin quirks a brow. "Seems like you want me on the table."

"Winner takes all?"

"Mayfly, I've always been yours."

"Sap," you laugh again.

A bright grin certainly declares your delight in victory, though your partner in crime uses the distraction as an advantage for his earlier loss and wastes no time. Diving in, a sharpened canine grazes your pulse point, automatically causing your head to tilt to offer easier access. Two left wings sweetly swoop down for support, feathered tips tenderly brushing your forehead.

The heat of his tongue placates the dragging scratch of his fangs. Though it sears you alive, heating your entire body from the tips of your toes, swirling in your core, and concentrating beneath Seokmin's lips on your skin.

When reaching that cold, familiar necklace you treasure so much and he can't help but loathe, it's seized between his teeth before he registers the action. Tugging it away from your neck like a dog, you wonder if he'll even shake it like one. His eyes follow the length of the chain, focusing on where the locket pops out above your chest.

You raise a questioning brow. "You gonna just play with my jewelry or take my clothes off?"

"Oh," Seokmin whispers, jaw dropping, and suddenly stands stiffly at attention.

You watch, entranced by the bob of his Adam's apple as he visibly gulps. Large, calloused hands — so practiced in undressing you for baths and patching up wounds — falter as they skim along your sides in a fleeting touch. Smiling encouragingly, you intertwine your fingers with those of his prosthetic while leading the other one beneath your shirt, the rough flesh of his palm blisteringly hot against your stomach.

"Is this okay? Can it help calm your Plant powers?"

"Yes… but that means… giving yourself to me… forever."

"Can't think of anything I'd enjoy more."

Confident, you trail kisses up his jaw to his cheek, stopping near his ear. Playfully tugging at the earring hoop as you pull away. Then you break away and bend over, shimmying off your shorts in one smooth motion. Stepping out of them, next goes your top. As each fabric hits the floor, Seokmin's eyes become more lidded, heavy with want. Smoldering. Desiring.

Four black wings fan out and stay as rigid as his stance. As if they're waiting with bated breath. And when you finally stand bare before him, he sheepishly drags his gaze to the floor with a flustered smile.

"I'm the one naked and you're embarrassed?" you tease and his posture relaxes.

"Because you're a vision to behold."

"Says the one who looks like an angel."

You back up until your knees hit the side of the bed. Like those morbid tales that depict curious listeners following a luring call to their demise, Seokmin's only a step behind you. He doesn't dare let his eyes stray further from your own, a goofy grin on his face.

"Consider this my fall from grace then, mayfly."

Gingerly, you sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for his next move. He towers over you in this position. Formidable in appearance yet oh-so-gentle when picking up your left hand to kiss your knuckles and rub his thumb across its faded scar. Another smooch gets placed to your inner wrist and you hold your breath at the passion in those blazing cyan depths that refuse to look away. Then, a cautious touch to your shoulder urges you onto your back. Obediently, you lay down and a bunch of stray loose feathers fly up into the air upon impact.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

The clothed knee resting between your legs helps his arm support the weight of his body hovering above you. A tentative hand slides down from your shoulder to your hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Caressing every scar, memorizing each color and swirl of ink decorating your skin, and erasing any insecurities or blemishes you see in yourself. Cold digits draw whimsical shapes and tickle your abdomen, stopping above your pelvic bone.

"May I?"

"Of course."

Seokmin rejoices in your consent by littering your collarbone with love bites. And his touches move lower, tender despite their mechanical nature. Warmth blossoms and flows under every surface of your skin Seokmin's traced, coiling and settling in a pulsating — almost painful — heat rupturing between your legs.

Only he can be the one to relieve this ache which he precisely aims to do. A simple, single brush across sensitive folds instantly has your breath hitching, shaking beneath him.

"Are you alright?"

"Mhm… yes."

He audibly gulps at your unexpected whimper of ecstasy, reluctantly tearing away from watching amorous bliss overtake your facial expression to the wet heat detected by his pointer finger's sensors. A feral growl rumbles in his chest at the debauched sight of desire beginning to dampen your thighs — the trace of what he's been smelling from you now overloading every single one of his senses as he coaxes more to flow from you. Seokmin's more than thankful for his enhanced vision and the glow of cybernetic technology baring your most intimate parts to him.

Guided by an instinctual impulse, he eases a finger inside. Your back automatically arches off the bed, eliciting a sweet gasp of delight. The cool touch of the digit seized tightly by the pulsating walls of your cunt slowly warms as it adjusts to the welcome intrusion. He soothingly brushes the knuckle of his middle finger across the soft outer flesh of your pussy to relax its grip. Eventually it lets up enough to let him explore further and deeper than your own have ever reached.

"I'm… I'm not sure how best to please you," Seokmin admits, drinking in your every reaction to his curious ministrations. "But there's this urge, this need, to make you feel good. Prep you properly for my… my entry."

By pure accident, he strokes a rough patch of nerves that makes your eyes roll back, hips lifting at the sensation of wanting more of whatever that feeling was, and your quiet noises melt into a loud, needy moan.

"More," you plead, "touch me more, Seok."

He eases his other finger inside without question, grunting at the squeeze that almost prevents him from moving to where you want him the most. But unlike the rest of his quivering body, the prosthesis remains steady, still, and patient. Waiting until it can bully itself and a third finger past your entrance's vice-like clench.

You start pulling on your breasts, trying to alleviate the tingling in them. Seokmin observes with a keen eye and a toothy, fanged grin. After a bit, he leans down to let his tongue trace the underside of one mound, leaving behind a saliva trail shining in the unconventional lighting as he tends to the next. Alternating with playful nips and naughty tugs to your nipples whenever your grip on them falters from the overwhelming pleasure.

So attentive and eager, soon you're writhing beneath him as you hit your peak. One hand grips your hip tightly, surely to leave a bruise with the way it cramps. His other doesn't let up, well-oiled mechanisms continuing to pump in and out of your trembling pussy until you whine from the overstimulation.

His wings fold protectively around both of you like a canopy as you share a tender kiss. Dazed and happy, you tenderly brush back black bangs and play with one of the feathers that's sprouted near the hairline above his ear. He shivers.

"Let me take care of you too."

"Are you sure? What about your shoulder?"

"That's the least of my concerns right now."

"I can still…"

"Later. First, I want to help you."

Suddenly, Seokmin's shy again, flushed cheeks darkening. "I… I think I'm a little different… down there so it's okay if you don't want to… or get scared."

"It's not like I've seen enough dicks to compare whether what you're packing is normal."

The both of you share a goofy laugh that eases the presumed awkwardness. He sits back to unbutton his pants but you stop him.

"May I?"

You might as well have knocked the air out of his lungs. He stares at you wide-eyed and then emphatically nods, finally clearing his throat to squeak out, "Sure."

Ignoring the aftershocks of your earlier orgasm, you sit up and kneel in front of him. Intent on a few minor distractions, your mouth and hands start at his shoulders to work their way down. Imagining you have the power to heal the damage dealt to his body and soul through tender touches.

You see a sad sense of beauty and justice in the patchwork of metal bolts and bark. And as you apply marks of love that bruise and blossom between them, he lets out a content warble. You're quick to undo the button of his pants, both of you gasping at the utterly wet mess seeping through the material when you tug the zipper down with your teeth.

He lifts his hips to help and once he's just as naked as you do you take him in. Anatomy was meagerly touched upon during your days at the convent, so truthfully all you're aware of at the sight of his heavy cock is the need to be filled with it.

And the closest thing to take him is your mouth, jaw already aching before you even open it. Almost reverently, your hands wrap around to stabilize it. Seokmin hisses pleasantly at the contact.

"You don't have to —"

He's cut off by a groan as you inquisitively suckle the tip. The copious amounts of slick smearing from it and down the base taste sweeter than Seungcheol's lollipops and you moan heartily, causing his thighs beneath your elbows to tense at the vibrations.

"Oh, mayfly."

A wing caresses your cheek that bulges as you take more and more of him, Seokmin's hands tearing at the sheets. The tip of another wing tantalizingly drags down your bare back. Your hands begin to explore, finding the puffy edges around the slit from which the thick cock emerges from. His hips jolt upwards at the contact to sensitive tissues, causing you to gag.

"Ah, 'm sorry!"

While he whispers repeated apologies, you're only compelled to take him further. Slowly you get used to the stretch, but no matter how much more you're able to squeeze down your throat there's still enough of his length for both of your hands to play with. It gets easier the more aggressive you get, his cock seeming to respond to your vigor in tandem. Soon you're lost to the haze of whether you're bobbing your head up and down or it's swirling languidly in your mouth on its own accord.

Seokmin's hips stutter but you feel the tremor first pulse against the inner walls of your throat. His cock throbs as you pull off of it, hollowing your cheeks and parting with deliberately powerful suction. A loud pop releases its tip and your hand supports its weighty girth falling forward. You dig the nails of your free hand into the muscle of his quaking thigh, ducking down to teethe at the puffy slit from where his cock must emerge.

Moving on to licking and dragging the point of your tongue along the sizable vein lining the underside causes Seokmin's low groans to turn into a high-pitched trill. Once you reach the swollen, leaking head and nibble on the hard glans, it spasms wildly and finally erupts. From the top slit seeps sweet syrupy fluid that readily overflows into your awaiting, open mouth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he blabbers.

You'd reply that there's no need for gratitude, perhaps you'd thank him, but the viscous release keeps spilling out. Rivulets trickle well past your lips and coat your chest. Although still in a euphoric daze, his eyes flash with sharp satisfaction. Instantly possessive at the sight of your bare body decorated so erotically.

His wings snap open — filled with purpose — and your face is pressed down into the mattress. Surrounded in a smoky musk as the angelic monstrosity it belongs to and destined to be your mate hovers above.

Your voice comes out hoarse as you raise up onto your elbows and spitefully spit out a black feather. "Do those wings of yours prevent you from being topped or something?"

"I'll let you find out another time, partner," Seokmin huffs, laughter evident despite his apparent breathlessness. He steals a tender kiss, pleased grunting at how your lips — shiny and swollen — taste of him. "But for now…"

Like an anchor, the tech material warmed by your shared body heat and passion winds underneath your hips, keeping them raised. A calloused, ticklish touch roams traces your spine. He draws an occasional spiral here and there as he goes, mindful of your wound, until firmly pinning the nape of your neck to the side, creating the perfect arch of your back.

"I think you'll like this," Seokmin says as if he isn't liking the view below him.

But for you, straight ahead lies the dresser's mirror. It reflects the full manifestation of an independent Plant poised to devour a human in the most intimate sense. The fearsome size of his cock lies heavy on top of your ass, leaking droplets of arousal all over your backside.

"Will it fit?"

"Of course, you are mine to claim and take." His hips just forward and you both moan. "I think we're both wet enough to try."

"I trust you."

"Let me know if it hurts in any way and we'll stop right away, mayfly."

Many troupes of desert-traveling dancers have mesmerized you before. Yet even they can't compare to the graceful and smooth motion of Seokmin releasing your neck to align his tip with the entrance of your cunt and slowly bullying his way in.

Tears of pain mixing to unfathomable pleasure blur the vision of your mouth widening to let out whines and moans. "Seokkie…"

"Mhm, mayfly… my love… my mate."

Finally, the front of his thighs are flush against yours. Hips pressed tight against your ass. Fully sheathed inside your tight hole, neither of you have ever felt such intensity before. He surrenders his body weight on top of yours, hands braced outside of yours clenching loose feathers and silk sheets. The outer heaviness matches the intensity of what your pussy struggles to accommodate.

"Mine."

Seokmin's hips swirl at a slow pace. Rather than thrust, he massages the sensitive glands at the base of his cock with the soft flesh of your ass. His length seems to shrink and grow and writhe with a mind of its own, filling and teasing you nonstop. Leaving no surface of your inner walls untouched or untended to for too long.

"Yours."

You shudder in blissed-out delirium and Seokmin lights up — literally.

Fluorescent lines glow in distinct patterns across skin, brightening the more he starts to pant and build up your shared pleasure. Sharp canines prick into the skin of your unmarked shoulder as he wraps his prosthesis under your stomach to raise your hips, the new position driving you faster to that rapidly approaching edge. You cry out with a lurch, blurrily making out his glowing form that shudders above.

Though the view in the mirror gets hidden by black wings stroking your entire body. Teasing the underside of your tits and tenderly brushing away the stings of his teeth marks.

"I-I love you," Seokmin rasps.

"Love…" You manage to enunciate the words, mind emptying and drool wetting the bed as your second peak approaches. "Love you too."

Pain and pleasure draw forth an onslaught of your apparent arousal that lecherously mixes with the frothy mess dribbling from his cock. Claws appear on Seokmin's right hand, another addition to the bestial Plant features emerging in the throes of passion. He's not completely lost to the primal thrall though, able to resist from breaking skin.

Delicately scratching your waist without drawing blood, then using the finely pointed tips to pluck and tease effortlessly at your clit. You cry out, body shaking as waves of euphoria crash against the shoreline of imminent pleasure.

Seokmin helps ride out your peak with a couple of speedy thrusts. The feeling of his hips slamming into you has you seeing more stars than Gunsmoke's galaxy contains. And just as you're overcome with too much stimulation, he lets go with a particularly strong bite into the top of your shoulder.

His cock softens and its heavy weight like a blanket along with the continual pump of his warm, soothing release. The feeling of it leaving none of your inner walls untouched feels as sweet as it tasted on your tongue and helps ease the ache inside your cunt. Still joined together and slick with stickiness, he collapses onto his side and gently assists you with rolling over so you can face him.

"Hey, you."

"Hello there yourself, lovely mayfly."

Your nose wrinkles but gets smoothed out by feather tips playing with the ends of your hair. Seokmin smiles as you snuggle closer into his chest so two of his wings can cocoon around you as the heated fervor from prior activities cools.

"Did that help?"

"… Yes," he says though his tone wavers with hesitance.

You raise your chin and see the electric blue luster hasn't faded yet from his gaze. Sheepishly, the corner of his mouth raises and you shiver, feeling the swell of his cock stretch out your pussy. The bulge it creates brushes against Seokmin's abdomen and he twitches.

"Sorry, it's… I'm gonna be kinda insatiable now that I've had a taste…" He trails off, wings snapping behind him. Slowly, he pulls his hips away and you both hiss as his cock is dragged out.

"What are you —"

You're cut off by the animalistic glimmer in his gaze, catching the feral smirk that he attempts to hide by licking his palm. Quick as lightning, Seokmin fleetingly swipes the outer lips of your cunt and brings his fingers, tonguing at them. Body set aflame again, neither of your break eye contact as he moans headily.

"But not of this," he rasps.

Before you know it, you're staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling with your mate between your legs. His wings trail along your calves, their flexible ends curling near your inner thighs, encouraging them to spread and stay open, pinning them in place.

"Oh, aren't you a beauty?"

He moans shamelessly at the sight of your messy, glistening pussy. You squirm at the ticklish sensation of his feathers and that smoldering, ravenous look. If only he knew what it was like to see him devour you with his mouth.

Delicious.

Just like the feeling of his tongue working its way inside and licking up the shared essence of your releases.

Your fingers weave between strands of hair as black as night, tugging lightly and accidentally snagging one of his ear feathers. He moans eagerly, and the vibration has you shuddering, already quickly nearing another mind-shattering orgasm. But you don't let him carry you there too fast, smooth brain muscles trying to form a question.

"How… long… how long do these cycles last?"

Seokmin presses a loving kiss to your twitching clit and blows, entranced by how you clench around nothing. Then he smirks, elongated teeth shining in the darkness like a predatory warning though you have nothing to fear.

"As much as you can handle but… we're really only just getting started, mayfly."

The motion light kicks on as Seungcheol shifts his boots in the direction of the unlit kitchen area. Junhui and Minghao's entrance awaken the rest of the lights and they frown at the makeshift bunker set up.

"What are you three doing in here?"

Seungkwan sleepily mumbles a curse word and next to him, Mingyu blearily rubs his eyes. A scattering of empty pudding cups and bottles lie around them as well as a disorganized array of poker cards.

"We're afraid to venture out of here."

Junhui shares a secretive look with his closest friend at Seungkwan's cryptic words. "Ah, so that's happened. Or happening."

"'Bout time y'all came 'round. Time for ya to pay up!"

"Pay up for what?"

"Compensation. 'M the one who got the closest to bein' right knowin' they'd fuck after confessin'."

"If anyone needs compensation, it's me for the mental damage of having to make one of my lovelies into an enhanced sex toy."

Seungcheol guffaws. "Ya didn't! Ya lil cheatin', schemin' scientist!"

Meanwhile, Mingyu looks mighty concerned. "Does that mean Seokmin has a dildo for an arm?!"

Minghao crosses his arms with a steely glare. "No."

"Oh good. I don't think I could look at him the same."

"I don't think any of us will ever look at him the same again."

Junhui eagerly rocks back and forth on his heels, hands stuffed in the deep pockets of his lab coat. "Do you think they discovered all the functions and benefits of it yet?"

"Should be our next bettin' round."

"No more bets. I don't care if it's half a double dollar to go in, I refuse to go through this again."

Mingyu elbows his raven-haired companion. "C'mon, your heart's warmed by this!"

"Warmed and consumed by the rage and fury of hellfire, yes."

Giggling, the tall man smiles widely and holds his hand out. "Alright, I win then!"

"Win what? Thought you didn't remember your bet."

Mingyu purses his lips. "Only because none of you took me seriously and joked with a bunch of gross innuendos when I said they'd find their home in one another!" He then sighs dreamily. "But if I'm right, we'll know by tomorrow morning."

"Who says it'll be tomorrow mornin'. Might take weeks. Months even, I reckon'."

"I'll kick you all out before it comes to that," Minghao threatens and runs a hand through the few strands of hair without a bead. He tosses a wad of money in front of Mingyu. "Never involve me in this again."

Despite all the grumbling, everyone has a sense of lightness in their hearts at the thought of their dear friends finally getting together. And the happiest of them all is Mingyu, who cheerily gathers his prized double dollars, dreaming of all the pudding he can buy.

A lone figure stands on the edge of the valley of the Melca Border. The Sea of Sand, aptly named, can change tide and turn vicious at any second. Their cloak billows in the sandy winds that whip around them, though even the steadfast hood can't hide the satisfied smile on their face.

"You did well," they commend and the name that falls from their lips is one some might consider lost to the sands of time.

"Saintess." Another figure materializes out of the sand gusts in response to the praise. "It is to be done as you said."

"Very well. Shall we go now?"

Whether it's the mysterious sands that swirl around and whisk them away or the lost technology cube that transports them, no one will ever know for no one ever saw them. Like ghosts, they disappear and find themselves outside the real ghost town — where it all began.

A toma croaks in the distance. Brave travelers dare cross the ruined wasteland and the saintess meditating atop one of the largest rocks hidden in the shadows opens her gray eyes tinted by lilac in the glow of the moons to observe. Despite all of her traveling, the white robes wrapped around her body remain in pristine condition.

She turns behind to look at the man standing over a scattering of stones, staring intently at one of them. With poise and purpose, she dusts off her clothes and strides over to him.

"Chan."

Brown eyes tear away from his own name carved into the headstone in front of him to look at the one who's said it aloud.

"Yes, Saintess?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No. Never."

"Good," she states, satisfied with his response. With a grand sweep of her hood to cover short, dark hair, she gestures to the east. "We will set up camp one more night before returning to the Saint in the morning before he speaks with our Master."

Chan mutely nods, following the saintess back into the desert where she confidently leads him to a cave that will shield them from the unpredictable nature of Gunsmoke's wastelands. He thinks of you, the girl he must keep safe and two brothers. One with wings as pure white despite his continual revelry with hate-filled darkness, the other bearing ones the complete opposite color of his twin — a wild card.

He reminisces over the Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood, the convent and all the orphans that lived there. Pondering Sister Meryl's role, who stands before him now as the revered Saintess, leader for the Eye of Joshua and second only to the Bishop of the cult named after himself. She moves curious little statues back and forth across the surface of a large flat rock and the young man can't help but ask her a question in the unnerving silence.

"Do you think this will work?"

Meryl smiles elusively, as always. She picks up the smallest one with a deliberate flourish, placing it on a blackened space close to the last row of alternating squares carved into the stone's surface.

"Have you ever played chess before?"

"No, what is it?"

"An Earthern board game. It is quite complicated." Gesturing to the piece she just moved, she continues. "This is a pawn, the weakest of all chess pieces."

Chan bristles. "But strength comes in numbers, no? There are eight of each color, surely the right side can find a way to win."

Unfazed by his agitation, the saintess nods placatingly. "With the right strategy, even a pawn may become a queen — the most powerful. Unpredictable." She points to a white figurine with a cross on top of it. "Enough to checkmate a king."

Entranced, Chan watches as she rearranges and repositions various pieces across the faux chessboard. Soon, the pawn that took on the mantle of a Black Queen captures the White King. His eyes roam what's left on the battlefield at the end of the match, pointing to one that looks like a tower.

"What's that one?"

"A rook. It best supports an allied pawn towards promotion from behind the scenes." Her eyes sparkle mischievously. "It's most powerful during the end of the game, as you can see."

Chan gulps, holding his breath for a moment, and clears his throat. "Then I'm ready."

"Wonderful," Meryl nods, "we'll depart for Master Dokyeom's stronghold in the morning. I'm sure Joshua, our dear Saint, will be… pleased upon our return."

"To the glory of the Black King's rise."

"And to the glory of our so-called queen."

Keep him safe, Chan thinks to himself as he settles on the ground. And yourself. One day we'll reunite in the most joyous of occasions…

He pulls out a faded wanted poster with the infamous outlaw worth sixty billion double dollars, donning a wishful smile before closing his eyes and murmuring, "I'd even bet this impossible amount on it."

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

[wroteclassicaly]

Once I feel 100% or at least 70% — I’ll finish up that King Steve blurb, but for now… here’s a little teaser. It’s not edited or anything, so we can ignore that. ;) 18+

~*~

You look around as if to communicate that people can see. That irritates him into being able to form a coherent thought, slapping the note against the locker opposite your head. “What the fuck is this bullshit, huh?”

Your brows pinch together, heart rate accelerating beneath your breast bone. You lick your lips as you answer. “A note? Letting you know we’ll have to reschedule for Monday?”

“So you think I’m just gonna wait around all weekend without you even calling me? Do I look like a desperate douchebag to you, honey?” That beautiful jaw clenches, a mole accentuated, bouncing into a freckle.

“No? You’re always busy every weekend, what does it matter?” You make the decision to lean away from his airspace and his cinnamon breath spray.

Steve lets you get as far as through the double front doors, his eager presence on your heels, before he’s pinching his fingers beneath your elbow and tugging, bringing you back into a cove of brick wall. His arm elongates, caging you in above your head. “Don’t. Fucking. Walk. Away. From. Me.”

His coiffed tresses unravel, one tickling your forehead as he leans down, his nose traveling along the line of your jaw, following a secret trail into your neck, lips pressing where you gulp against his mouth. He sucks your pulse point, making your shoes crunch beneath loose rocks below. “Fuck, Steve.”

“Guess we need to get me out of your system before the big night tonight, don’t we?”

So he did hear? Good. You aren’t ready for the violent onslaught of butterflies that feel more like something with talons, clawing, rearranging your insides (much like Steve has) at this notion. Is he jealous over territory, or does he care that it’s over you? You have to push now.

“Won’t be focussed on our sessions, Harrington. I promised him a good time. Plan on showing him Skullrock too.”

Steve, who is buried in your neck, lets his tongue loll out to lick, attaching his mouth underneath your ear and biting down, sucking the sore flesh in to immediately soothe. He coos at you, mocking you. “He’s gonna use you, you know.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m the one that’s using him?”

Steve is alarmingly caught off guard. He shouldn’t be, not after reading your dirty little diary. But this? Pleasure in driving him crazy, in using his best friend's relative? It causes his cock to kick up within the small confines of his denim seam.

He reacts on instinct, slinging your books and the note from his hand, everything dumping onto the asphalt, scattering. He grips your smaller hand in his own, fingertips tapping inside your wrist, seemingly commanding your pulse to jump at his touch. You’re done for.

“Feel this, honey?” He jostles your wrist into lacing your fingers with his own, giving your joined hand a slight twist and dragging it between his widening thighs.

“Yeah,” He’s nodding with that crooked little smirk on his need-to-be-desperately-kissed lips. “You feel that, don’t you?”

[dragonblobz]

The Desert Pt 7

Hours pass. At first, with me holding the harness around me, wishing I could hug him. Then, with me leaning the seat back. But I’ve slept enough. I just CAN’T anymore.

I drain the last drops from my Fiji. Stare at the big empty bottle. Crap. I’ll have to get more soon.

My ghost robot, possibly alien car has fallen into silence. Comfortable for HIM maybe. My butt cheeks feel smooshed and I’d KILL for a stretch. And a burger actually……

The scenery around us gradually begins to change. Dessert, and then not. And then I spy the mother of all resources. A sign promising a gas station in 5 miles.

“Hey. Psssst.”

“Yes?”

He answers so quickly. I forget my boredom and smile again.

“I gotta pee, Brobot.”

“You’ve gotta…… what??”

I start to hiss giggle.

“I gotte pee. Loose the damn. Pop a mighty wizz. Knock the pissa.”

Just silence. And that purring engine. I groan and laugh.

“I have to put the water I drank earlier INTO something now.”

“Oh dear Primus….” He sounds so disgusted. Luckily for him, I have zero grasp on modesty. At least he gets it. I think???

“There’s a rest stop ahead. I can pee there. And also get more water and food.”

“Water and food? Ah yes, nourishment. But I’m not sure you should be around others of your kind. No one can know of mine.”

I scowl. It makes my tender face hurt.

“I VOLUNTEERED to be here, Christine. You think I’m gonna go in there and be like…”

I wave my hands around my face and squawk.

“OHMYGOD SAVE ME I’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED BY A VERY COOL ROBOT GHOST CAR THAT I’D PREFER NOT TO BE PARTED FROM BLAH BLAH BLAH. ALSO HE MIGHT BE AN ALIEN.”

“Oh shut up. We’ll stop.” He sounds SO grumpy. I try my best to hug the harness around me.

“Thanks. Thank you!”

We’re going so fast. It’s only about a minute before I see a big brightly lit building ahead. One of those big industrial gas stations. The ones with the walk in booze cooler.

“There!”

I can FEEL him huff around me just as much as hear it. And I giggle and rub my hands on his steering wheel. It’s the only form of affection I can think of to share.

We slow and pull in. I wonder what the people inside must think. Two cars worth well over 2 million dollars apiece just tooting in. It’s not like we’re anywhere near Vegas anymore.

“You’ve got five kilicks before I come in there after you….” An impatient growl around me as the driver’s side door glides open.

“I dunno about kin licks, bruh. But give me 10 minutes.” I’m just laughing as I unbuckle myself from the harness and grab my pack. Thinking about how much everyone inside would shit themselves at a giant robot peeling off the roof like “I’m looking for the annoying one. You seen it?”

I trudge to the building, aware of how much cooler the air feels now. How less dry it feels. And there’s trees all around. It’s CRAZY how far you get going as fast as we were.

There’s not many people inside, but man are they staring at me. At my friends outside. I feel an odd sort of nervousness. I might have needs, but I’d MEANT it when I’d said I’d never say a word. I’d better hurry.

I begin in the large restroom. It’s quiet and empty. Just the muted muffled sound of modern country music wafting thru the whole place.

After doing my business I go to the sink and discover WHY I’d been stared at when I look in the mirror.

Geez. My entire FACE is bruised. Still remnants of dried blood around my nostrils. And my hair looks like two birds have been fucking in it.

I wash my hands and then do the same for my face. Faucet all short and automated and just plain awkward to work with. Using the paper hand wipes instead of the blower to dry. Gently pressing at my face.

No. Nothing broken. But it’s still tender and looks hideous. I use the pick from my pack to tug at my snarled hair as best as I can.

When I exit the restroom, I zoom around the isles. Grabbing up as much as I can. Three more big Fijis. Jerky. And a mouthwatering cheeseburger spinning around in a heated display. Shitty and flappy and no condiments or veggies, and I can’t WAIT to shove the entire thing into my mouth.

On my way to the register, I spy something that makes me stop and grin. Arms all full.

I snatch it up and paw thru the rest of objects like it, looking for another color.

I’m in the car isle. And I’m giddily splurging on my new friends.

I plop the biggest insane armfull of crap in front of the cashier. And he’s looking at me like I might have just escaped from some truly unsavory prison or something, but he starts ringing up all my stuff.

“You okay?” He’s bug eyed. And so I think up a lie and I think it up quick.

“You’ve seen Hangover, right?”

I brandish my pointer finger at the two ridiculous Lamborghinis outside the big sparkling windows.

“I’m rich. I’m dumb. And my friend wants his…..” my eyes flail around my pile of crap.

“… his Tijuana Mama okay??”

I’m well aware of my complete inability to properly socialize. But I’m still COMPLETELY unprepared for this man going from nosey shock to bland disinterest so quickly.

“Alright then.” It’s like he doesn’t even care now???

Lamborghinis are wasted on the rich, I decide. It’s like a free ticket to looking INSANE. I have been ROBBED by my birthright.

I’m grinning at the man as he finishes. He looks so bored now.

“Keep the change.” I say as I collect my debit card from him, every bit aware that there’s no change with this method of payment. And I’m chuckling like a demon imp as I stuff all my crap into my pack. Still chuckling as I exit the building.

“You were dawdling.” Sunstreaker’s voice is an impatient growl as I approach him. He’s kept his drivers side door open this whole time.

“I have a Lamborghini. I do what I want.” I’m giggling as I plop inside of him again and start untangling the harness to fasten around me.

He huffs, his door gliding closed. I hiss with laughter. But…. He doesn’t argue. I fully expect him to….. but he doesn’t. My laughter dies into chortles and then into happy silence.

We leave the gas station. Engine just that nice rumbling purr.

“Hey. Once we get outta sight of this place, pull over.”

“Why…..” He sounds so suspicious. I grin.

“Because I got you presents.”

“Presents?”

He sounds even MORE suspicious.

“Oh yes.” I start giggling again.

He doesn’t respond, and I half expect him to have no response. To just keep going.

But…. We pull over just a few miles down the road.

“I’ve stopped. And you will tell me why.” His voice rumbles in grump around me as I unbuckle myself from the harness.

“Just open up!” I’m so excited. Grabbing my bulging pack as he complies, drivers door gliding open.

“Sideswipe!” I’m SO excited. Hearing a beep. The red Lambo flicks it’s headlights at me behind us.

“You’re bouncing, little buddy. You okay?”

“Oh yes! Just…. Open up! I got something for you!”

I wait impatiently for that drivers door to glide open, then plop my butt in the seat like I own the place.

His charming chuckle bubbles all around me.

“For me?”

“Uh huh!” I dig out the obnoxious pair of bright red fuzzy dice from my pack. And drape it over his rear view mirror.

“One more thing….” I pull the next object out. A little Hawaiian hula lady bobble head. Rip the paper from her base and plop her sticky feet on his dash, giggling madly.

“Do sumthin to wiggle her!”

I jerk as his engine screams under my butt. He’s not moving, but the jolt makes her little head shake. I screech gleefully and clap my hands. Lean forward and kiss the center of his steering wheel impulsively.

“Are you accessorizing me, little buddy?” I can feel and hear him chuckling around me. And I’m laughing too.

“I couldn’t help it. It’s just too cute!”

“You’d better have gotten Sunny something.” More chuckles, these decidedly more wicked sounding. And when I look out the open door, I only see a yellow Lamborghini. But the GRUMP is tangible in the air. I snort and giggle.

“You know I did!”

I exit the red Lambo, and the other car is silent. No purring engine. I’m blushing and I don’t know why.

“Did you think I’d forget about you?”

No response, but that drivers door remains open. I settle inside and start hissing with laughter as I start buckling myself in and the door closes. Engine roaring to life.

We begin moving on the highway. It’s like I can feel him deliberately ignoring me. And I’m just grinning. I just CAN’T be upset. He’s so obviously jealous.

I don’t bother to placate or speak. I just pull the bright yellow fuzzy dice out of my pack and drap them over his rear view mirror. Just smiling so largely.

“Well? Where’s my other thing?” He sounds so butthurt. And I’m just laughing for a few moments before I blush again and fall silent.

“Well… I didn’t get you a bobble head….”

I can FEEL the judgement around me. And I’m blushing too hard to do anything but clasp the last gift out of my pack.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

It does sting. I can admit it. And I’m very quiet while I rip open the scented cardboard tree. Just loop it around his rear view mirror with the fuzzy dice. And then just cling to my harness and wait for him to say more mean things.

But he doesn’t say anything. Just that purring engine beneath me. Long enough for me to nervously explain myself.

“Rose Thorn. It’s…. It’s my favorite scent from this brand. It’s really nice…”

“You’re favorite scent?” He sounds thoughtful. I blush even harder. Feeling so self conscious.

“Yes. I…. I like it a lot….”

“Then I like it as well.” Nothing else. Just the sound of that engine purring around me. All stark and sincere. And I start to smile again, still blushing.

I don’t say anything else. Just blush and turn my head to stare out the window.

We’re in trees now. Forest scrub. I have NO idea where we’re going. And I don’t really care. I’m happy right where I am.

“Hey….”

“Yes?” His voice has that same softness from before.

“You don’t have a radio?”

“A radio? I can. Do you want one?”

I hear the sounds of mechanical warping. Turn my head to watch his naked console morph into……

“Oh my god…” I start giggling. Just looking at the fancy digital stereo system that’s just…. There now.

“You’re wanting music, yes?” and music curls around me inside this car. Muted and low. And I’m snort giggling like a heathen.

“You don’t like it? I like it….” He sounds SO grumpy.

“Is….. is this….. Journey????” I'm just wheezing.

“Well. What do YOU want to hear?” Oh he’s mad. I ignore him. Giggling for a few more moments, and then humming to the song before I answer.

“Naw. I like Journey.” I chortle again and then start to sing quietly. And he doesn’t say anything else. Not for the whole song. Like he’s just listening to my idiot quiet singing.

I’m just smiling and singing and so happy. Who’d have ever thought I’d be singing Wheel In The Sky in a fucking ghost car robot alien???

The song ends. I become silence. The next song begins. I giggle.

“Led Zeppelin??”

“I haven’t heard you tell me what you want to hear.” So so grumpy. I’m just grinning. Pulling that crappy gas station cheese burger out to gobble it down. Finishing it with a huge swig of fresh cold Fiji water.

A honking noise makes me jerk my head as I’m wiping my face and hands with a wrinkled napkin. Sideswipe behind us. Flashing his lights and laying into his horn.

“We’ve got company.” Sunstreaker doesn’t sound worried. He sounds…. Resigned.

I notice another vehicle now. In that mirror outside the window. Another red one. A big cherry red van?

I feel the entire Lamborghini huff around me.

“It’s Ironhide. Act natural.” He sounds so annoyed. And I can’t help but laugh.

“Oh yeah. Sure. Natural. Is he…..” the slight prickles of nervousness. Ironhide. ANOTHER one of them, I can only assume.

“You’re safe.” It’s a final sound. Not necessarily reassurance. But it makes me feel like I don’t have to worry. But I’m still worrying.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to make trouble.” I feel terrible now. That van is right next to us. Like it’s accompanying us. Or WATCHING us.

“You’re no trouble…” It’s another new tone from him. Protective.

“Okay.” It’s a little nervous croak. And curious. I feel like something big and new is about to happen. I’m just gawping at this big red van cruising next to us.

I hear Sideswipe now. It’s like Sunstreaker is letting him talk again.

“Aw don’t mind Ironhide. He’s a pussy cat.” And that confident chuckle. And it DOES make me feel just a little bit less guilty.

“You just sit tight, little buddy. You’re gonna talk to Prime. Everything is gonna be okay.”

I see the trees around us. Spot a hulk of metal nestled in the side of a mountain ahead of us. It’s enormous. And the road we’re on is care worn gravel. It feels like a SECRET.

“O… Okay….” I feel so oddly nervous. Just cling to this harness around my body.

And it’s Sunstreaker’s voice now. Firm and confident and gentle. And it makes me feel safe.

“I’ll be there the entire time. I won’t leave you.”

Safe. It feels…. Safe….

[taihjj]

I'll be your candle, burn me upside-down

Suguru Geto | Angst | F! Reader

Summary: Suguru expected to die young. Maybe in the hands of his best friend, Gojo, but never to you his lost forever.

© All content belongs to taihjj. Do not repost or modify.

You remembered all too well how it was before. The time before he completely lost his mind and the kindness in his heart.

You blamed him for ruining himself. You hated the path he chose. So much for nagging his best friend, Satoru, for acting too righteous. Now, the irony that he deems himself like a God who seeks death to everybody but himself.

But he doesn't know all that. All he knew is what hes seeing right now.

Suguru watched you subtly press your lips to a thin line. You stood tall, inches away from him, your heel gooed up with red irony smell substance.

Suguru fears that he can't read your face.

The love in your eyes he used to stare greedily looks empty. Yet, he can feel you drilling deep on the entrance of his soul.

You move closer to his bleeding form, his arms clutching the toll he took from Yuta Okkotsu's attack. It's quite impressive he survived this far.

"(Y/n)...", he started.

"I fucked up big time this time"

Then silence.

You didn't answer. It made him nervous.

The quiteness dragged on for minutes. It feels like an hour.

Fuck...He loathes every bit thats happening. He feels like vomiting from the feeling of the unknown-the doubts made by silence.

He is not even sure what to do or what to say. Where is he even going to start?

' I wasn't suppose to hurt us' Are you even gonna buy that?

'I love you so fucking much please forgive me' Will you even forgive him after all these bullshit or even

'Did I loose you already?' A desperate cry that could allow him to know how you feel?

"Frankly speaking...", you broke his silence. Sugurus eyes pathetically lit up.

"This is not the last meeting I'd expected to have with you"

His mouth fell agape.

"Last meeting?" Suguru piqued, he lets out a bitter knowing chuckle. His eyes leaving yours to look down on your bloodied shoes.

"Trying to kill me now?"

You continued to look down on his wilting form, walking slowly to close the distance between you too, crouching to his height. You put your cursed infused right hand on his chest.

"Suguru...", you softly whispered. So gentle it's breaking him.

He's losing his mind. He can't bare to face you or even hear your voice calling him. The shame from what he did to the both of you is killing him. And, with the way you look at his face, he...just wants gone.

"Did...I really loose you already?", he swallowed eveything he's feeling. Slowly lifting his hanging head to look on your eyes.

With death knocking on his door he finally sees you. The emptiness he saw was a lie. It was not emptiness, it was a lost longing. You're still there, waiting. The loving woman he promised his days forever. All he want to do is make you happy...but he lost it. Sugurus eyes started to water.

"Will you at least curse me?", he shakily asks. Holding your hand that lays on top of his chest, a few skins and bones away from his red beating flesh. The cursed eneregy burning a few minor cells.

"I loved you more than anything in the world, Suguru..."

[spiralinghours]

“Fading Out” (continuation/installment of “Filth”)

Fandom/media: Saw franchise

Rating: R/18+

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Peter Strahm

Tags/content/warnings: humiliation/degradation, teasing, name-calling, feeding kink, weight gain… a lot of the same from the previous fic

Summary: A canon-divergent continuation where Strahm is alive and well (and didn’t get put in the cube), but does know Hoffman’s identity. Hoffman, meanwhile, is done with the Jigsaw business, too confused by whatever he has going on with Strahm. Low key teasing continues to happen during work hours, which culminates in Mark experimenting on his own at home.

Author’s note: I was gonna add more to this, but it felt long enough and I got impatient haha. I’m not great at long form/chapters because I get bored by the idea, so there’s no set length, but just know this installment is a filler before I churn out the next part.

Enjoy. Or don’t. Make your choice.

So things hadn’t gone as planned, but they seemed to work out. For the time being.

Strahm had strolled—intently stamped, more like—his way out of the meat plant on the night of those simultaneous games, looking the victor, as he gave the exact story he promised he would (blah blah, came in alone, everyone dead but Hoffman, helped him out of the trap, blah blah blah) and reported that Jigsaw, finally, was dead. That was that.

Jigsaw was dead, in more ways than one. Mark had anticipated carrying out the last couple games as John’s dying wish, taking out anyone who put even a slightly inconvenient kink in the grand scheme of it all. But, the blunt truth was John was gone. Amanda was gone. Jill, while probably wanting to respect John’s will, did not have the heart to play murder games. (And this Logan fella… he was never coming back. He had a whole life. Who cared?) Mark didn’t want to associate with anyone left alive in John’s legacy—his fucked up family.

And with Peter knowing the whole smoking truth of it all with some sick fixation and the potential for blackmail, there was no point for Mark to dig his hole deeper. He would tie up the loose ends and move on.

On a formal, procedural, surface level, tying loose ends also entailed wrapping things up with the feds. It was a whole parade of paperwork, exchanging identical manila folders, making the same public statements to major media outlets, and staying caffeinated into the ungodly hours of the morning to make sure all the stories on record were solid.

It meant Peter was still around, digging through the inner sanctum of the precinct like a mite. He was always lurking, and actually focused on his job, to be sure. But at moments when Mark thought he’d look up and make eye contact, or see him walk through his office door, there was nothing.

It was jarring, in fact, how removed Strahm seemed, given the immense tension and lingering promise of their last interaction. Perhaps it was best left that way. But if anything, despite all else—the wet dreams and fleeting, empty want—Hoffman felt the need to confirm some kind of arrangement given what Strahm knew of his identity.

Yeah, that was all it was. Just business, in that sense.

In a completely random occurrence, in the middle of one of the many days hazing into the next, Mark spotted Peter, alone in what was his and Lindsey’s makeshift office watching something on the old TV. It was the tape from when Mark originally interrogated Jill from however long ago—the one Rigg wracked his brain on, watching it on repeat.

Mark could only assume Peter was looping it for completely different reasons, but he let his crass curiosity get the better of him.

“Hard at work?” Mark sort of muttered as he entered the space, cringing at how stupid and generic it came out.

“Yeah,” Peter replied, not even turning to look. It was as bland an answer as if he’d been offered a cup of coffee.

“My tape with Jill have something we missed?” Mark probed on, tilting his head at how Peter rewound the part where he passed in front of the camera, backside in full view. (‘Jesus, I look like that back there?’)

“Just enjoying the view,” Peter replied, tone unchanged.

What a stone cold prick.

He made an obvious point of pausing the spot where Mark had twisted his torso just enough as he leaned over the table, showing at just the right angle the way his belly hung over his belt, past his generous chest. The blue hue of the tape made even his fuzzy visage look very shapely.

“You’re a sick fuck.” Mark was going for a threatening, undercutting slant to his words, but it fell short into something on edge.

“I’m not doing anything sick, stupid,” Peter finally turned around, looking annoyed for barely any reason.

“Enjoying the view? Yeah?” Mark mocked. “You’re a creep, lookin’ at me like that.”

“Who said I was looking at you? Ms. Tuck is pretty gorgeous.”

Mark was well aware that one of the many skills he possessed was passively getting on people’s nerves until he got something out of the situation. But Peter had out-obnoxioused him somehow. Mark shook his head, lips fixing into a dumb pucker, and started to turn away.

“You look fucking fat in this tape.” Peter’s cold voice trailed behind Mark, smacking him and reeling him back in.

“Excuse me? Fuck you.”

Strahm stood up abruptly and got into Hoffman’s face, his eyes drifting momentarily to the open door to make sure Lindsey or Erickson or even some subordinate didn’t pass by. “Why are you taking that as an insult? Looks good on you, big boy. Say ‘thank you’ when you’re complimented.” A rare, menacing smile cracked across his face. “I like having something to hold onto.” He swatted at Mark’s lower belly, just out there, pushing prominently over his belt buckle and badge.

The TV clicked off and Strahm exited the room without another word. He was frequent with sudden, callous departures like that. It left Hoffman standing there, gears visibly turning behind his eyes and a hand reflexively cupping his stomach where he was just touched.

What the fuck?

—

For the most part, Mark had little awareness of his own body and his overall perception. Outside of his hair and his face, he didn’t pay mind to much. He was just there, just a guy. And, over time, he cared less, living a lifestyle where there was so much stimulation, too much to focus on, too much worry, death and dying at every corner…

He never stopped and realized that people looked at him and just saw a “big guy”, let alone found it attractive. That was the part that alluded him. Like the general public, he assumed the stereotypical thing people wanted to rub their hands over were rock-hard abs and sharp jawlines or whatever. All that to say, Mark felt like Strahm was ogling him for the weirdest reasons.

Late into the night, hours after the little tiff about the tape, Mark was still mulling over what had been said. He knew he was thinking too much on it, but that type of interaction was just too specific and new.

He breathed a bored, unfocused sigh and traced around his house, debating on if he was hungry or just frazzled enough to go to sleep. But a weird impulse seeped into his mind as he leaned towards the former.

In a bit of an autopilot state, lightheaded with a tingle up his back, Mark trudged from one side of the kitchen to the next, alternating between grabbing items from the fridge and the two cabinets. Each “dish” (if the senseless piles could even be called that) merited another garnish or more to add to the taste profile. The remaining four slices of pizza needed more protein, so the egg and sausage leftover from the morning were topped on. But then it needed a dipping sauce, so he had to throw a little ranch in there. But all that became too salty-savory, so Mark made a side salad (which ended up being a mixing bowl’s worth) stacked with croutons, cheese shreds, and chips (because they were spicy, and the whole deal could use a little spice). But then after that, a little sweetness made sense to cut through all the cheese, meat, and sauce, so ice cream came next. But it was too frostbitten to dig a spoon in, so he microwaved the pint… maybe a bit too long, as it ended up mostly melted. But hey, that was just a milkshake, right? So into a glass it went, with some extra milk to thin it out.

He was incredibly hungry, sure—more than he realized—but there was a ping, some kind of creeping inspirational spark that kept him going. There was the idea of Strahm watching him eat this way, maybe even pushing him through it with nasty little remarks the whole time. The condescending “Oink oink” Peter demanded of him from that night in the plant echoed in his head, like an obsession, over and over, unfurling a blackout sort of feeling.

It was over as quickly as it started, leaving Mark in a haze, a little confused at what he just put himself through. He didn’t come—didn’t touch himself or get off or even get super hard—but it felt like he was experiencing “post nut clarity” all the same. There was a hint of shame to it, as Mark recognized how secret and foul gorging himself felt, and how it would be a struggle to hide the results if it kept happening, shifting around slowly with a likely angry and wobbling gut fighting against his pants button.

Peter would be around, and he would see. Would he? Hoffman was curious to know what he would say, how his sharp, dour expression would shift. What catty comments would Peter let burrow into Mark’s dumb, eager brain?

As itch-inducing as the mental image was, Mark’s energy would be reserved for that at a later time. Down for the night, he had slumped into the corner of his small burgundy couch, hyper aware of the way his white undershirt stretched and smoothed out across the expanse of his belly, creasing only at his sides, above his love handles. Every breath was a chore, the shallowest inhales and exhales making him slosh, which eventually set off a chain of hiccups that made his gut bounce uncomfortably.

Letting a hand creep under the tight fabric, Mark ended the night absentmindedly scratching the side if his stomach while some previously-aired episodes of The Girls Next Door droned on his meager TV.

“Guess I’m a pervert too,” Mark mumbled to no one in particular.

[kellyscowboy]

꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ DON'T BE SORRY FOR LEAVING AND GROWING OLD || ch. 1

ᯇ summary ! ✦ Jack Kelly finally gets out of New York and makes something of himself. Though, he's never been good at goodbyes and David won't answer his letters. || read full thing on ao3 now WRITTEN FOR THE NEWSIES FIC EXCHANGE ᯇ tag list ! ✦ @bound-for-santa-fe @bunniebusiness @hotelbxllamuerte (taglist form is in my pinned post if you would like to be added!!) GIFT FOR @daveysjackie !! (sorry for the tag) ᯇ warnings ! ✦ cussing & angst 1230 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

next part

“Were you ever going to tell me, Jack?” David asked. His lip was in a deep pout, and his hand was placed disappointedly, loosely, on his hip.

Jack bit his nail nervously. “Uh-huh.” It was a lie and they both knew it. In fact, not a single person was meant to know. Jack was supposed to quietly slip away in the middle of the night and never have to face the sorrow of a goodbye. It had been a solid plan, until Racetrack had found the ticket underneath his pillow.

They had been arguing for a while when Racetrack punched him and left a nice shiner on his cheekbone. “You’re a coward,” He screamed. And he was right, Jack knew as much. He was a coward.

“I don’t owe you anything!” Jack yelled. I owe him everything. “What have you, what have any of the newsboys done for me? Huh?”

There was a festering bubble of guilt that steadily grew inside of Jack. The newsboys had done more for him than his own family had. They had taken him in. They had saved him from himself after he had been in the refuge. Quite frankly, he owed them his life.

In his mind, these were valid reasons for him to not say goodbye. They were a family. He knew that if he ever told them that he was leaving, that he would never make it to Santa Fe. Jack would be tied to New York forever. He couldn’t risk that; he couldn’t risk staying there any longer. It would destroy him.

“Whatever, Jack. Who needs you, anyway?” Racetrack had half the mind to rip up the ticket, to force the boy to stay. “Wouldn’t be the first time you left us in the dust.” He honestly believed he never wanted to see Jack’s face ever again. Conflicted with his feelings of betrayal and hatred, he spat at Jack’s shoes.

Jack was quiet for a couple of seconds. “You’re not gonna tell anyone, right?”

“No. No, I won’t tell no-one. On the promise that you never show your ugly mug back here ever again.” Race dug a finger into the boy’s chest. “You’re gonna hurt everyone who ever had faith in you. And I hope you never feel anything but guilty for it.”

After that, everything was fine. No-one else knew, and he could still slip away without having to say goodbye.

Then, the day before he left, David let his curiosity get the best of him. In the middle of the line at the circulation gate. “Hey, Jack. I’ve been meaning to ask, where’d the bruise come from?”

Jack saw the finish line stretch farther away, felt the bubble of guilt in his stomach begin to expand. It had been a couple of days since he got it, and he was riding on the fact that everyone was too scared to ask. Leave it to David and his stupid words. “Oh, uh-”

“Yeah, Jackie. Why don’tcha share with the fellas, huh? Where’d you really get the shiner?” Racetrack interrupted. “Or should I tell ‘im the truth myself?”

David gave him a sideways look. “Jack? What’s he talking about?”

“I dunno. You know Racer, he’s always yappin’ on about something. Don’t mind him. He don’t know what he’s talkin’ bout.” Jack threw an arm around David’s shoulder and gave him a small grin.

Racetrack scoffed, then shoved the boy away from David. He replaced Jack’s arm with his own. “You want to know why Jack’s been acting so weird?” He gave a few pats to David’s pec over his shoulder before he pointed at Jack with the same hand. “Why he ain’t been around so much?”

“Um…” He looked at Jack and wished he could ignore the guilty look the boy wore. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well! Our Jackie boy—he’s got himself a one-way ticket to Santa Fe, New Mexico.” Racetrack stated, then gave David a sarcastic smile. “Ain’t that nice? He’s catchin’ the 8 o’clock train tonight.”

Les shook his head. “Jack wouldn’t. He wouldn’t! ‘Specially not without saying goodbye! Right, Jack?” Jack looked like a dog with its tail between its legs as he avoided Les’ gaze. “Jack?”

That’s where he found himself. His nails bitten and David demanding the truth.

“Don’t lie to me, Jack.” David said. “Please. Don’t lie.”

Jack frowned. “I just-”

“Just what, Jack? Just didn’t think we deserved the decency of a goodbye?” David yelled. “You know, every single one of us has had your back since the day we met you. I blindly helped you lead a fucking strike. And even after you abandoned us—for the first time, I guess—we all came together and helped you. We at least deserve a goodbye.”

Jack’s hands swung helplessly at his side. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Deep down, he knew David was right. But he couldn’t admit that. Not there, not now. So, he deflected. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone, Racer.”

“Well, excuse me. I didn’t realize the breaking of trust had to be one sided in this ‘friendship.’ You’re full of it,” Racetrack said.

“Don’t get mad at Racetrack because you’re a shitty friend.”

“I’m the shitty friend? I finally get a chance to get out, to be in the place I’ve dreamed of since I was a kid. And all you care about is the fact that I was too busy to think about saying goodbye? You should be happy for me, David! All of you should be!”

Racetrack scoffed. “Don’t pretend like you just forgot to tell us, Jack. We ain’t stupid.”

“Why would I be happy for you? You’re leaving behind everything that was ever good to you.” David said. “You’re going to ruin yourself, Jack Kelly.”

“Yeah, well.” Jack looked David up and down before staring at him. “I’m also leaving behind everything that was ever bad to me."

"Really? When have we ever been bad to you?"

Jack was silent for a moment. "Didn't ya always say I could be something more? That my art could get me somewhere? What happened to that, Dave?"

"You can be something more here, Jack-"

"No. I can't! You don't get it!" Jack's face was red as he yelled.

"No! I don't! I don't get why you have to go halfway across the country just to paint!" David yelled back. 

"I ain't got no inspiration out here, Dave!"

David frowned. "Really, Jack?"

"You can't find no inspiration in us, Cowboy? Really? After everything we've done together?" Racetrack was livid. "We took down the biggest paper company there is, and you can't find any fucking inspiration in us?"

"No. I can't."

"You're unbelievable." David scoffed. "I just can't understand you!"

"Whatever, Dave. Who needs the lot of ya?"

Jack angrily stomped his way to Wiesel and bought his paper. He let the Delancey brothers’ snide remarks consume him. The bubble in his stomach grew bigger.

Jack made one fatal mistake; he turned around for one last glance at the boys. Racetrack and David were seething, they had their fists tightly clenched together and were biting down on the inside of their cheeks.

And Les looked up at him with big eyes, wide with betrayal and disbelief. His usual wonder-struck gaze filled with sorrow. The bubble in his stomach popped, and he walked away into his new life without another word.

[dreamsclock]

Looking forward to seeing more of the phantom pains story (if there is more). Anything you want to share about it?

yes!!! im glad you like it!! i'm very fond of it (even though i abandoned it for like. six months since i started writing it). here's another excerpt from it :)) it's shorter, but i kinda like this section too. i always love writing c!wilbur and c!schlatt in any form. especially in this dynamic of ghosts lol

PART ONE / PART TWO (this part) / PART THREE (unposted)

After that, getting information from people is easy. Dream gathers that Wilbur and Schlatt had both died on his server, and had been forced into ghostly forms here, but both of them have their memories: upon seeing him, the first thing Schlatt does is cackle, and Wilbur, after a disbelieving pause, follows suit.

“You owe me five fuckin’ dollars, Wilbur Soot,” Schlatt grins, all sharp teeth and mean edges, “I told you he’d come crawling here eventually.”

“Tommy told me he wouldn’t invite him,” Wilbur grouses, and reluctantly tosses the other phantom a five-dollar bill, “I made him promise, too. Fuck you.”

Schlatt shrugs. “Kid’s heart is too soft. I warned you.”

Before Dream can speak up, demand answers to the infuriating riddle-like conversation, Sapnap speaks up. “Dream doesn’t remember anything from the server, assholes. And nobody’s gonna tell him.” Despite his initial hostility, the Blazeborn has become startlingly protective within the span of a single week. Dream doesn't quite understand it, nor is he sure he wants to - he doesn't like the look in Sapnap's eyes whenever he pushes too much about his old life. “New beginnings and all that. We’re all friends here. Right?”

Wilbur shakes his head, eyes shining with undisguised mirth as he offers out his hand. He’s in a yellow sweater, but his brown trench coat vaguely reminds Dream of the smell of gunpowder and cigarette smoke. “New beginnings,” he muses, when Dream takes his hand and shakes it tentatively, “did Tommy send you an invite, then?”

He pulls loose the small envelope he’d been carrying around since he’d appeared. “Someone did. I don’t know about Tommy. I haven’t seen him.”

Schlatt whistles through his teeth admiringly. “Course you haven’t fuckin’ seen him, man, I don’t think you ever will. I’d put money on the fact he’s doing the shaky breath in the bunker of his house and regretting every choice he’s ever made.”

Wilbur’s amusement dies instantly. He vanishes into the wall – presumably to go and check on Tommy – and Sapnap scowls at the grinning blue ghost.

“Why?” Dream asks, half-dreading the answer. “What happened, does– Why would Tommy regret bringing me here?”

“Don’t stress it,” Schlatt tells him, cackling, “you’ll find out eventually.”

And then he’s gone, before Dream can demand answers.

"Ignore him." Sapnap says, and his voice is tight, uneasy. "Forget about that, dude. It's not worth thinking about."

(The look on both phantoms' faces swirls around his head anyway. His dreams that night are of obsidian grids and laughing at a boy in a too-big Presidential suit.)

[jazz-kitty]

Fern sat at the edge of the nightclub’s roof- the beat of the music faintly echoing through the buzz of the city at night. PROTAGONIST had come back from the corners of the universe holding a gangly 13 year old gir by the scruff of her pajamas, marking the end of the end of the world. It was the cause for a rightfully huge celebration, and for hours everyone downstairs would talk, and dance, and drink until even Elias couldn’t tell left from right.

Fern, much like Florinia, had quickly gotten overwhelmed by all the voices and flashing lights. Fern, unlike Florinia, had no friends that would make it worth it to stay downstairs despite it.

However, his lonely night was soon to be interrupted, as a boy donning vibrant purple hair and enough fishnets to last a lifetime had peeked his head through the door.

“Heyyyyyy. Come here often?” Cain smiled, tilting his head to the side.

“No way you come up here, like, five minutes after I do coincidentally.” Fern decided to ignore the question. “The hell do you want, Cain.”

“Nothing, nothing. I pinky promise.” He hummed, taking confident steps forward towards Fern. He had two red solo cups in his hands, which made his attempts at brushing aside a loose strand a hair a struggle.

“I just figured you’d at least want a drink if you’ll be brooding up here now.”

Cain crouched down, placing one of the cups besides Fern.

“You like sprite, right?”

“...Pepsi. Thanks anyways, I think.”

He picked up the cup of sprite, swishing it around and staring at the fizz that would form.

“Not even a kiss on the cheek for my wondrous deed?” Cain wiped a non-existant tear from his eye. “This generation’s gotten so cold.~”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Hehe. Okay, just for you.”

He gave a final wink, before standing back up to make his exit.

However, Fern still had thoughts lingering in his head, and being as loud as he was it was nearly impossible to keep them tohimself. PROTAGONIST’s success had marked the end of an era. But every end was followed by a beginning.

Just… What had begun?

“Cain, hold on.”

“Oh? Is someone calling for me?” He twirled, facing Fern yet again.

10 seconds of silence followed, broken only by the jingling of Cain’s bracelets.

“This is stupid, but…”

Fern sighed. This was stupid. Really stupid. And yet, he continued. Maybe being stupid was a trend for him.

“Cain, what- what are you gonna do now?”

Cain slotted himself on the building’s edge beside him, letting his feet kick back and forth.

“Finally asking me out?”

“Absolutely not. You know what I meant.”

“Hehe.” Cain stuck out his tongue, but switched to a more pensive expression soon after. “But, do I? I mean- I wanna go to the mall tomorrow, if that’s what you mean. That one pretzel place finally reopened after the Moltres fiasco.”

“Not. Really.” Fern pushed a hand to his forehead, grumbling no words in particular.

“It’s, like- ugh. That was-” He gestured out to the stars, city, and regions before them. “-the past few years of our lives.  What am I supposed to do with myself now? It’s-” Fern tilted his head to the side, realizing that he was telling this to some emo gayboy on the street.

“-It’s… stupid. It’s really stupid, and I’ll kill you with rocks if you even think about this conversation around somebody else. But.” He sighed.

“What's supposed to come next? It feels like. I already lived an entire life worth of events- lord. Way fucking more than that. But we aren’t gonna die for, like, a good 70 years.”

“Cain, what’s next?”

The two boys, scrawny and battered by enemies and friends alike, stared into each other’s eyes.

“Well, I-”

“I’m serious. You’ll go down to having, like, a week left of your life if someone else hears about this.”

“Harshhhh.~” Cain gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. Nonetheless, he continued.

“But, I don’t think I’ll change my answer.”

Fern was right. This was stupid.

“It’s nice to just… enjoy the peace now. Buy really good pretzels at the mall. The past few years, um. Were bad. So bad, I might even put them below my last ex.” Fern seriously doubted whether Cain had ever dated a single person.

“But with PROTAGONIST keeping Lin- never would have guessed she was that short, by the way- in check, we just have… time. To go be stupid and gay and have fun without life ending consequences.”

Cain smiled at him, but he failed to smile back.

“I’m being serious! Everybody needs their beauty rest. Even you. It’s been exhausting looking this good through all the horrors. So, I think ‘what's next?’ is a long deserved break.”

“I… guess. But what about what’s after even that?”  

Fern took a long sip of his not-really-that-good soda, trying to grapple with the idea of there not being some immediate concern or problem to attend and occupy his thoughts. What even entailed a ‘break?’ Before, it involved playing Petz Catz 2 on his DS until his head hurt tucked beneath the covers. But enough time had passed for Fern to have no interest in it anymore. Was he even recognizable to the Fern who still lived in Florinia’s apartment?-

“What about it?” Cain whacked Fern upside the head to knock him out of his somber train of thought. Like clockwork, he hit him back.

“We can worry about ‘it’ when we get there. Enjoy the ride while it lasts. Actually, here’s an Idiom you’ll love me for: Stop and smell the roses! Aren’t I a smart cookie for coming up with that!” He was so proud of relating plants to the kind of grass type guy, it was infectious.

“That fucking sucked.” He smiled anyways.

“But. I guess so, huh?” Fern leaned back, staring up at the night sky. “I feel stupid for asking that now. Go forget I ever said anything.”

Cain thought for a few moments.

“Its okay! Because I’m so kind, here's another stupid question to balance it out!: You wanna go get pretzels with me tomorrow?”

Fern didn’t know where this new chapter of life would take him.

But, if even for a moment, he trusted it to take him someplace pretty alright.

“...Sure.”

[merge-conflict]

i used to carry you home

cyberhanami day 4: "who's gonna save you now"

content warnings: some passive-aggressive transphobic comments

summary: Valentine reports to her ex, Abernathy, for her first day back on the job, and for once enjoys having the upper hand.

-----

If V closed her eyes she could reach out and trace the width and breadth of Arasaka tower in her mind for almost ten floors in each direction, all of them bound together by fiber and steel and enmeshed by the buzz of thousands of interfaces and access points like a distant cicada chorus. There were quiet spots, of course, like the one she had just left behind below her, where the special shielding formed a protective barrier around restricted floors. She was traveling to another such bubble several floors above, where the head of Special Operations, her supporting staff, and the top agents were settled.

For two weeks she had been waiting for this moment, and it took a considerable amount of self control not to bare her teeth in the elevator and unsettle the other occupants any more than they already were. There was a gentle warning pulsing in her notifications, advising her to avoid unnecessary stress. She practiced her box breathing until the car slid to a stop on her floor and she exited into a cloud of frantic misery so thick it made her teeth itch. Oh how she had missed this!

Everything was falling into place at once, her limbs strong and steady, her head clear, and anticipation fluttering in her lungs. Johnny would have hated the bold clean lines of the architecture, the cramped conference rooms, the cubicles that gave not a single pretext of privacy– but she was so glad to see it she could have cried. There were plenty of threats here, to be sure, but she knew the shape of all of them, and if she was going to cheat death she wanted to do it somewhere climate-controlled. She cut through the atrium like a blade through water, drawing attention in her wake without turning to see it.

Abernathy’s assistant was reluctant to let her in early, but when she simply walked past him he was too flustered to figure out how to physically stop her. She gently closed the door in his face. Her interface chimed another warning, and she dismissed it entirely. The doctors could chastise her for it later– she needed her full attention.

“Hey Birdy,” she said, falling into her casually professional tone, greeting her as though they were equals. “You look good.”

Abernathy had risen as soon as she’d entered, and if her expression was neutral there was something tense about her shoulders. But she had had some time of her own to prepare for their meeting, and her answering greeting was so smooth it was almost genuine. “Valentine.”

In response V gave her the Silverhand special: full barrel wicked grin, an expression that promised every crude and base thought its observers had could come true. He had had a restlessly loose way of standing inside of his own skin that she could adopt on command, and Abernathy reacted with the same instinctive and confused revulsion that Hellman had. Predictably, she decided to go on the offensive.

“Looks like you took a little too much off the top,” she said stiffly, walking around her desk and leaning back against it. But her eyes were drawn inexorably from V’s flat chest to her left side, where her shirt sleeve was pinned modestly around the healed nub of her forearm. “I know things are chaotic, but could they not at least take the time to put you back together before they sent you to me?”

“I think they want you to pay for it. After all, I am assigned to your department.”

Abernathy sighed through clenched teeth, crossing her arms. She looked just the same, like she was about to start into a tirade about her day. It had been so long that V had forgotten how small she really was, all sharp angles and forceful presence that ensured no one would ever be stupid enough to mistake her for someone unimportant. “As though that wasn’t bad enough, they also told me you had some sort of brain damage.”

“I’m fairly certain the report said ‘head trauma’ and not ‘brain damage’.”

“It doesn’t seem to have affected your need to be a little shit,” Abernathy said, and if she was still radiating tension the corner of her lips lifted just a little. The tentative opening to a new game.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.”

“Don’t–“ Abernathy said firmly, eyes flashing. Her grip on her arm tightened almost imperceptibly as she resisted the urge to point. “I don’t care who pulled the strings to get you here, if you cause problems I will get rid of you, and this time I won’t be so lenient about how it’s done.”

V bowed slightly– between two Night City natives the gesture was always sarcastic– and Abernathy could not conceal her anger. Clearly it had been too long since anyone had stood up to her. “I never did get a chance to thank you for letting me keep the clothes on my back.”

“You have your chance now,” Abernathy said coldly, and V realized she was rattled. It was strange, to think that Abernathy was afraid of her– that she could have ever been afraid of her, but there it was on her face. Hiding under her frown. “You might also apologize for plotting to kill me.”

V approached the desk and circled it until her hand rested on the back of Abernathy’s chair. She lingered a moment and then sat down in it, although it was too small for her to recline comfortably. Once, Birdy would have taken the cue and settled into her lap, but now she just watched her with tight disapproval.

“It wasn’t my plan. Huscle scooped me up about fifteen whole minutes after Jenkins told me. You really think I’d orchestrate some gonkbrained plot to kill you just because he couldn’t keep his shit together?” It was bait, to get Abernathy to admit V did have a good reason to kill her– but she hadn’t been made director because she was stupid, and she ignored the play.

“You knew he was planning something.” Her counter was viciously placed. “You were practically his girl.”

“I’m not anyone’s girl,” V said, as blithely as she could manage. She dug her left elbow into the arm rest, and leaned into it as she gestured expansively. Abernathy’s eyes were once again drawn to her missing forearm. “What do you think? I can be your new right-hand man.”

“Someone certainly thinks so,” Abernathy said. She was quiet for a time, but V could hear all the questions she wanted to ask, and couldn’t. All of V’s records starting after her reinstatement were tightly restricted, and she herself was under instructions not to speak about her hand in recent events to anyone. “I suppose we’ll see how well you fit the role.”

“Better than merc work, I suspect.”

It was very interesting that Abernathy had not mentioned her own involvement in giving Goro her file. Very likely it had been a brief interaction, but she could have hardly forgotten it, given that Goro’s original orders had been to retrieve her for interrogation. As SpecOps director she had to know the shape what had happened, even if she hadn’t known about the coup in advance. But clearly she had no idea where V fit into it at all, or why she was being foisted onto her with a missing hand and a medical permit. An obvious plant to keep an eye on her loyalties, and a warning that she was being watched closely– but if she had known who was pulling the strings, she would have already made V a counteroffer.

“You’ve been outdoors too long, V,” Abernathy said, straightening as she rounded the desk. “If you’re going to work here again you’ll need to remember your manners.”

V vacated the chair, holding it steady as Abernathy sat in her place. “Yes, ma’am.”

She was still so used to Hellman’s reflexive annoyance that it surprised her to see the amusement in Abernathy’s face. “Don’t overdo it.”

“I promise to be the picture of professionalism.”

“You’d better be.”

This time Johnny’s grin slipped out of its own accord, but Abernathy’s attention was already on the tablet she was holding. V wiped it away, and sat down on the couch on the far side of the room. It had been a while and she had to make a conscious effort not to slouch into the cushions with her heels up on the low table while she waited for the game to begin.

“Is there an agenda for this meeting?” she asked, picking at the pinned sleeve of her shirt. After she’d conspicuously paraded herself into the office, she was sure that Abernathy would approve whatever model she put in front of her, as quickly as possible. Certainly she could get something better than the cheap piece of shit that medical research had originally fitted her with.

“No agenda. But it came through Hanako-sama’s chief of staff, and he gave me the impression we’ll be meeting with some sort of liaison.”

So they were watching Abernathy very closely. If Abernathy had not been a part of the group that had defected to Yorinobu, she had also failed to stop them. Her position was precarious– even if she managed to survive the next few months, the collateral damage from the failed coup would still leave her perilously vulnerable. V found she did not feel sympathetic.

“Hopefully they can tell me what it is I’m supposed to be doing,” she said. Her own summons had been unhelpfully vague, although her inside source had suggested some intriguing possibilities.

“You don’t know?” Abernathy actually turned to look at her.

“I have been provided a support and advisory position, attached to the local director of Special Operations, Susan Abernathy. My first day of employment is Monday, November 15th, 2077,” V said, quoting from memory.

Abernathy’s expression soured, probably at the term advisory, but before she could reply, there was a soft chime and the voice of her assistant announcing that her 8am appointment had arrived. She rose from her chair for a greeting, but was so obviously ill-prepared to see Goro walk through the door that for a few awkward beats she said nothing at all.

“Takemura-san,” she managed, finally, “It’s a pleasure to see you again. Would you like anything to drink? Tea or coffee?”

“No, thank you.” He made brief eye contact with V. “There is much to discuss, and I fear it will take more time than was originally planned.”

“No trouble at all,” Abernathy replied easily, eyes lighting briefly as she notified her assistant. She relaxed, perhaps encouraged by the idea that his presence would intimidate V. Or for the chance that she might yet be able to turn him into an ally. “This is Valentina– I’m not sure if you’ve had a chance to meet, but she will be acting as my assistant for some of our newest initiatives.”

Clearly she thought she was being clever with that introduction, but all V had to do was say, “Hey, Goro.”

He returned her smile with his own, which merely softened his eyes. As good as she was likely to get, here. “V. It is good to see you.”

“I don’t actually know my job title,” she admitted to him, “But I’m not sure if assistant is the correct term.”

“Mm. I have the details from Hanako-sama, which she instructed me to share.” Goro sent them both the message as he sat down opposite from V in one of two scoopbacked chairs. It still felt odd to see him in such a domesticated environment, like a tiger in a den of foxes.

The message was short, and almost certainly written by the chief of staff, but V felt a little thrill reading the characters of Hanako’s name in the signature anyway. She found it difficult to concentrate on the words, but the most important part stuck in her head as soon as she read it, acting as my liaison to your department, in a support and advisory capacity. There were several attachments to the message– mostly paperwork for PeopleOps– but one which looked just long enough to be a set of contractual obligations, which she’d have to read later when she wasn’t as busy trying not to break into a satisfied smile.

“A liaison,” Abernathy said, expertly feigning pleased surprise as she sat in the remaining chair. The tone in her voice made V’s blood pressure spike. “I think you’ll be a great fit for that position, Valentina.”

Abernathy was struggling with disbelief, operating solely on instinct– but anyone who didn’t know her would have thought she had been secretly hoping for this outcome, and was gratified to see it coming to fruition. In reality, V thought, she was grappling with the fact that not only had V been appointed to her new role, but that the order had more or less come directly from god herself. There was no question it was a threat, but the open question of how V had managed to pull this off was almost certainly driving her mad.

“My primary duty remains safeguarding Hanako-sama from harm,” Goro said, “But she would feel most comfortable if I were to also oversee some of the most…sensitive matters being handled within your department. There have been some recent concerns.”

“Of course,” Abernathy said generously, as though there could be any possibility of a different answer. As though this secondary announcement did not make it abundantly clear how precarious her position was– how closely the sword hung above her neck. She finally locked eyes with V, quiet and even for what felt like an eternity, empty expression covering a dangerous fury. “I’d be happy to debrief you whenever you’re ready.”

[killeroos]

Yeast continue!!

ahh shit here we go again 🙊🥴

oooh now rohit is a brilliant addition to this whole mess, and i hadn't thought of it before since im making this up as I go along lol 😆 but yes 100% rohits gonna be so utterly exasperated when he learns of this fiasco, because wtf how can this even happen?

vk is pacing around in the dressing room, gnawing on his fingernails, fifteen minutes before the toss. the stadium is already half full, and pat has already called him twice, to ask him where he is. how on earth is he supposed to get out of this one?

"rohit! what should i do now?" he whines, tearing a loose fingernail off. beads of blood well up at the corner of his thumb, which he sucks away.

"stop sucking your thumb, for starters," rohit tells him, not looking up from his laptop. "you're not a child."

vk glares and decides more hands-on methods are required to get an answer out of rohit. he clambers onto rohit's lap, nearly knocking the laptop onto the floor as he does so.

"watch it!" rohit bellows.

"i won't get out of your lap unless you give me some good advice." vk pouts.

"your pat won't be happy if he sees us like this, will he?" rohit teases. vk blushes. "he's not my pat," he whispers, mortified. "he doesn't know he's dating me, remember? and nick-- i mean i-- oh for fucks sake, the guy im pretending to be, when im with him-- promised him that he-- i-- oh bloody hell, the guy pat thinks is nick but is actually me is supposed to be among the spectators right now!"

rohit laughs outright. "this is such a mess," he cackles gleefully. "why did you agree to it? you could've just said that you have a presentation at work or something like that!"

"i know, but pat just looked at me with those big blue eyes of his, all hopeful and earnest. how could i tell him no?" vk says mournfully.

"you're so whipped for him," rohit says with disgust. "all i can hope is that no matter how taken you're with him, you won't gift your wicket to him today."

vk turns a panicked look upon rohit. "what do you mean?! you can't possibly say i have to play today?!"

"don't tell me you actually thought i'd let you sit out of the series decider so you can sigh over the opposition captain from the stands!" rohit thunders at him.

"come on rohit, i promised him i'd be there!" vk all but wails.

"i'm not preventing you from going," rohit says calmly. "as captain, i'm certainly preventing my best player from abandoning the team during a crucial match though."

"has it occurred to you that i can't be in two places at the same time?" vk glowers.

rohit giggles. "you dug this hole yourself vi, you can get out of it. now im going, I have a toss to win." saying so, rohit gets up from the couch. vk who was still in his lap is deposited to the floor with an unceremonious squawk.

"what are you planning to do if you win the toss?" he asks rohit's retreating back.

"that's for me to know and you to find out," rohit laughs.

"useless," vk seethes after him.

for the record, pat wins the toss and chooses to bat first. as he trudges off the ground, vk spots him look despondently at the stands, which are devoid of "nick". he makes a split second decision. he scrawls a quick note to rohit, telling him to field someone else in his place, he'll return for india's batting though. slipping on his disguise, he elbows people aside on his way to his allocated seat. then he texts pat, "I'm here ❤️"

aus score, like 350 in their 50 overs, courtesy of centuries to trav and marn. pat also hits a couple of sixes in the final over, and vk whoops enthusiastically, even though he doesn't feel like it. watching jasprit get smacked for sixes is never easy.

as aus innings end, vk scrambles away, intending to make his way to the dressing rooms. but he's faced with a dilemma in the form of a scowling guard. only the players are allowed near the dressing rooms. and he's in disguise as nick. nobody recognises him for who he really is.

"sorry, i was searching for the loo," vk chuckles feebly as he meanders back to his seat. what is he going to do now? he twists his fingers anxiously in his lap. he could actually go to the loo, change out of his disguise, and be allowed into the dressing room without question. but then he'd have to explain why virat kohli was seen emerging from the spectators area during the match, especially when the team correspondents had announced that he was unable to take part in the fielding innings due to a sudden fever. he would bat if his health improved. according to the fake news reports, he was supposed to be sleeping in the dressing room currently, with a raging fever and a pounding headache. there's no way he can explain being caught among the spectators after that.

"where the fuck are you?" his phone pings with a furious text from rohit. "play resumes in 10 minutes. i excused you from the fielding innings, considering the difficult situation you're in, but you promised you'd bat. if you are so serious about keeping your promise to pat, then you better keep your promise to me and turn up for the batting. if you dont, well, i'll what's worth more to you: your career or your boyfriend."

vk breaks out in cold sweat. he feels awful now. he should have just told pat that "nick" was down with flu and couldn't make it to the match. he loved pat, but he needed to play this match if they were to win. the question was- how would he make it back to the dressing room?

oh no virattt 😭 it keeps getting worse for him because he just can't help himself!!