#this whole series is being posted together on ao3 just so you know

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  5 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: a series of risky decisions gets you into more than one kind of trouble.

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

The next few days were spent in the confines of your childhood home, your bed almost becoming your permanent address as you thought about that kiss. The kindness and how the words expressed resonated with you in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.  But more than anything, how the kissing Father Sylus had made you feel - the tenderness of it all. But surely you were getting ahead of yourself and even found yourself a little disgusted with yourself over the whole encounter. 

But he had just been so close, too sweet, and his face was so beautiful, and all you wanted to do was press kisses all over him. 

But it’s wrong, isn’t it? 

Something inside you rebelled against the idea for obvious reasons. Any resolve you had would disintegrate when you decided to act or speak on it. 

But then, one evening, Rafayel called. You barely answered in time because part of you was hoping it would be someone else.

“Hey babe, just wanted to check up and see how you’re doing. Haven’t heard from you.” 

You blinked, frozen for a moment as you twisted into a sitting position on your bed. “Fine. What’s up?” 

He chuckled, and you weren’t sure if he was annoyed. You felt slightly upset at yourself for not reaching out when you could have. A normal rekindled friendship typically involves a friend being there for the other, especially after what he revealed to you. But before you could follow up with an apology, he spoke again.

“Nothing in particular. I wondered if you wanted to get some of the old gang together and go up into the woods like we used to.” 

You knew the place he was walking about, the old lumber yard out in the middle of the woods where the kids from town used to gather. It had been a favorite spot to hang out, build bonfires, other illegal shit teenagers liked to do when they wanted to get away from their parents. 

“What do you mean ‘the gang?’” You asked. 

“Well, uh, it’s just gonna be you and me. When I tried to call anyone else from school, they either laughed at me for being back here or didn’t answer.” You could hear his nervous laugh when his words cut off. “Still a small town, and everyone is the same.” 

You couldn’t resist, though. Even if you were a bit too old for that behavior. Reliving your past was one of the reasons you returned home in the first place. “I have nothing better to do, so yeah. Sounds great.” You paused, wondering if you had said the right thing, hoping that Rafayel understood what you meant. “Sorry, I’ve been…not myself lately. Lot’s on my mind.” You rubbed the back of your knee with your fingers before standing, keeping the phone to your ear as you crossed the room to where your suitcase lay open on a chair. 

“I get it.” He responded with a laugh, light and airy in a way that made you smile. “Life is pretty shitty, especially for people like us who - well, you know.” There was a hint of apology in his tone as you heard him open and close a door. “This is the perfect opportunity for me to listen to you now.” 

“I kissed the priest.” 

“Fucking, what? The hot one?” 

You sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward a bit, a bit shaken now with your admission. Even though you had spoken it out loud, you still felt as if you couldn’t totally come to grips with the situation. 

“Well, yeah. He’s the only one.”  You said, curling your hand around the hem of the comforter. “And I’m also in love with a married man. I’m losing it. This is what happens to people who don’t peak in high school or something!” 

Rafayel said nothing, obviously processing. Then he began to chuckle, which turned into a laugh. Then, he let out the most ridiculous roar of laughter. 

“Wow,” he managed to gasp out after a bit, only to laugh again. You could imagine how his shoulders probably shuddered as they shook and the grin plastered on his face. “Okay, once Talia goes to bed, I’ll grab her car and pick you up. And then you’re explaining this whole damn story to me. Got it?” 

“Got it.” 

“I can’t even comprehend this,” Rafayel breathed after you recounted your tale of how you ended up back home, finishing off with the way Father Sylus had kissed you and the way your panic overtook you. He shook his head, hands clenching and unclenching, brow knitted as he looked at you. 

The two of you sat in Talia's car, parked outside the old lumber yard in the woods. The empty dirt parking lot was bathed in the moon's light peeking through the clouds. The bowl on the dash between you both served as a reminder that some things hadn’t changed and that this was the first place you had smoked weed. 

Rafayel picked it up, fingers curling around the glass as he brought it to his lips. The flick of the lighter illuminated his face in the dark car, shadows dancing across his cheekbones as he inhaled deeply. You couldn’t blame him for his reaction. 

When he passed it to you, you mirrored his actions, feeling the smoke fill your lungs and the earthy taste coating your tongue. You held it in briefly before exhaling slowly, leaning back into the passenger seat. 

“And Xavier asked me out.” You said. 

Your friend’s face contorted in disbelief before he let out a short burst of laughter. “You’re joking, right?” 

“Nope.” You giggled and looked out towards the old building before you, wondering how he could think you were making any of this up. 

“Damn, you have three guys chasing after you, begging for scraps. I bet the doctor has loads of money.” Rafayel clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “This is every girl’s dream! I don’t understand what the problem is.” 

And as if it suddenly hit him all at once, he started to laugh, and the laugh turned out to be contagious. You both soon ended up in a fit of giggles inside the growing colder car. 

“I mean, what am I supposed to do? Ask him to leave his wife?” You huffed. 

“Relax! Think about it. People get divorced all the time.” The high was definitely setting in as Rafayel rested his head on the back of the seat. “And if he’s as hopelessly infatuated with you as you said, he might do it anyway.” 

“Rafayel! That’s horrible.” 

He leaned in and playfully nudged your shoulder, saying, “I can’t help but be honest with you. Who would I be if I wasn’t?” He caught the look on your face and rolled his eyes, flicking the lighter absentmindedly. “Or, you know, you could just call him up and give him a piece of your mind. Maybe that will push him right in the direction of Silver Springs.”

You rolled your eyes and muttered, feeling the familiar laziness creeping into your body. You barely resisted the urge to snort at his suggestion. “The Fleetwood Mac song?” 

“Yeah, Stevie cursed him, you know. Lindsey. In ‘97. Hexed him right on stage in front of everyone. So if I were you, I would call him up and tell him what direction he can shove his thumb up his own ass.” 

You laughed again, shaking your head at Rafayel’s ridiculous suggestion. The pot was doing its job, making everything seem way funnier than it should be. 

“I don’t know, man,” you sighed, sinking further into the seat. “Even if Zayne does leave his wife for me, which would be so wrong, what about Father Sylus? I mean, I kissed a priest, for Christ’s sake!” 

Rafayel took another long drag from the bowl before setting it between you in the cupholder, smoke once again billowing in the car as he responded. “Hey, forbidden love is the hottest kind. And I figure if I’m going to get any entertainment out of this town, it’s gonna be from you at this point. So just call the fucking doctor while I’m still high.” With that, he shoved your shoulder, and you turned and shoved him right back. 

You grumbled as you reached for your phone, unlocking it as the smoke settled around you. You scrolled through your contacts until your thumb was right over the number. It was so tempting, especially with the encouragement of the young man beside you - but you stayed still. 

You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you. 

“Fuck it.” You breathed deeply, heart hammering, and hit the phone symbol. As soon as you heard the first ring, you nearly jumped. 

Why do I do this? A mantra in your mind, like a worm in your skull, beating against the insides repeatedly with a tiny hammer. 

You waited, putting the phone on speaker so the idiot beside you could hear. After a few long rings, you were about to hang up when there was a click. An unfamiliar voice picked up instead of the one you were used to, and the wave of anxiety almost made you dizzy.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft, not as straightforward or bubbly as you had imagined she would sound.

Silent, you swallowed thickly, and along with the fear, you felt the ache settle in once again. The sharp guilt began coiling around you. You looked toward Rafayel, who suddenly looked just as panicked as you. He quickly grabbed your phone, raising an index finger to his lips and giving you a stern look. 

“Hi! Uh, I’m calling about your car's extended warranty!” Rafayel quickly stated, cutting off whatever the woman was about to say next. Then, he turned and threw your phone out of the open window. 

The two of you stared at each other blankly. Then, all the adrenaline hit you at once, and the numb haze obliterated. 

“Oh my God, fuck!” You managed to say, trying and failing to fight the delirious laughter that began wrapping through your body. You barely noticed your vision clouded with tears, and your next laugh came out mixed with a sob. “That was his - and you just - HA! You threw my phone out the window!” 

“Listen, Y/N, I don’t think that was a good -” 

“FUCK.” You kicked the dashboard with your foot, the glove compartment popping open and spilling its contents onto the car's floor. “How could you throw my phone out the window like that?” you cried, turning to glare at Rafayel through your tears. 

He held up his hands defensively. “I panicked, okay? I didn’t want you to do something you’d regret later. That was his wife on the phone, not him! What were you going to say to her anyway?” 

“I don’t know!” you wailed, burying your face in your hands. The high rapidly dissipated, ruined, and replaced by a growing despair. “I’m a horrible person. What am I doing with my life?” 

Rafayel sighed and scooted closer, draping an arm lazily around your shaking shoulders. “Hey, you’re not a horrible person. Do you want a Xanax?”

“No, I don’t want Xanax! Go get my phone!”

“Okay, okay! Just chill out.” Rafayel moved to open the car door but paused, a muttered curse leaving his mouth before he hurriedly attempted to clean up the drug paraphernalia scattered on the console. Then he turned just in time to have a flashlight shone in his face. In all of your agitation, it appeared that neither of you had noticed the other vehicle that had pulled up. 

“Hi, Tara.” Rafeyel greeted the deputy at the window with a thinly veiled hint of irritation as he shielded his eyes with the back of one hand. “Good to see you.” 

Tara looked at him, and then her eyes landed on you and widened slightly, her mouth parting as she put the two of you together. “Really? You’re back home?” 

Tara was only a couple years younger than you, and there was no surprise that this was her chosen profession. You remembered how she used to hang around all the time in high school, staying behind and hoping you’d ask her to hang out to go to a party. Even back then, it was as if you couldn’t shake her, the girl pursuing anything and getting into anything she could think of. 

“So, uh.” Tara leaned over and peeked into the car, leaning her free hand on the window. Perfectly manicured nails and the same cherry red lipstick; her features and skin soft. “What are you guys doing?” 

You started to laugh again, unable to resist the odd delight rippling through you. Rafayel tensed, and his lips pressed together as he looked at you in warning. 

“Nothing, officer.” You answered with a grin. “Don’t you have more important things to do? What’s all we ever did when we came up here?” 

Rafayel slapped a hand to his forehead. Tara scoffed and looked around nervously, as if confused as to how you reached the admission you realized shouldn’t have slipped out of your mouth so easily. Her sudden lack of boldness reminded you of the faux courage she often displayed when she was younger, which was why you were never that close with her. 

As long as you’ve known Talia, she was the type to call the priest whenever something happened. Even though you partially expected it, you were still on edge seeing Father Sylus walking into the tiny police station with her. 

You were sitting on a bench with Rafayel, feeling angry and frustrated, and your high completely came down when the two of them walked in. Your head snapped up at the sight of the tall man next to Talia, looking composed and put together while she looked like she had just taken a sleeping pill. It truly was no surprise to see Talia rushing in to rescue Rafayel from whatever trouble he had gotten himself into. 

“Rafayel.” Talia’s small, five-foot frame was in front of her nephew. “You…” She rubbed her temples and let out a groan. 

“Sorry, Talia.” He held up his hands, which were cuffed together, a bit of a chuckle leaving his mouth as if he thought this was the most amusing thing that could possibly happen to him. 

You averted your gaze again, the memory of the kiss burning in your mind, and you couldn’t bear to look up. A fresh wave of shame washed over you. Talia’s exasperated voice faded into the background as your heart pounded. 

“Come on, let’s get you two out of here,” Talia finally said with a sigh. She turned to Tara, who was seated at the desk nearby. “I’m assuming there won’t be any charges? They were just being stupid, right Tara?” 

Tara glanced between you and Rafayel, conflict flickering across her face. You could see the gears turning in her mind, weighing the social capital to be gained by letting this slide versus following protocol. After a tense beat, she sighed and waved a dismissive hand. 

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s go fill out the paperwork.”

Talia nodded curtly and followed Tara out of the room, and an awkward silence descended, thick and lingering, although you couldn’t pinpoint the cause of it. You kept your gaze fixed on the scuffed linoleum, tracing patterns with your eyes. 

“Hey, Father,” Rafayel said, “What’d Talia say when she called you?” 

“She asked for a ride, said she would kill you, and needed someone to perform the last rites.” 

Rafayel let out a short laugh at Father Sylus’ dry response, but you remained silent, still unable to bring yourself to look at the priest. Your mind kept replaying that moment - the gentle press of his lips against yours. How could you face him now, after what transpired between you? What would you even say? 

“Right.” Rafayel hummed, “Suppose I should thank you then. Potentially saving my soul and all that.” He nudged you with his elbow, “Ain’t that right, bestie?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You mumbled, only lifting your head when Tara appeared in front of you to remove the handcuffs from your wrists. Talia moved before her nephew, jingling her car keys before dropping them into his hands. 

“Let’s get out of here before I change my mind, Rafayel,” She grumbled. He flashed her a cheeky grin but wisely kept his mouth shut this time. 

“I can take Y/N home.” Father Sylus nodded toward you once you stood and shook out your wrists. Nervously, your eyes flickered to Rafayel, who looked terrified for you for a brief second before mouthing the words, 'Touch his butt.'

A moment later, you found yourself outside the police station next to the priest who had consumed your thoughts since that ill-advised kiss. You shivered in the harsh autumn breeze that cut straight through the light jacket you wore. You risked a brief glance at Father Sylus. He stood without a jacket, radiating heat, and for a moment, you wanted to press against him to feel that warmth. 

You found your words. “I - I can get home on my own,” you said, a bit harsher than was necessary. “I’m an adult the last time I checked.” 

Father Sylus paused at the bottom of the steps and turned around. There wasn’t any tension or hesitation in his tone, just like the other night. He was just genuinely inquiring. “How are you feeling, Y/N?” 

Shivering slightly and wrapping your arms around yourself, you looked toward the man and offered a smile. Your voice had the faintest tremor as you tried to joke, “I’ve been better.” 

Father Sylus glanced at you from the corner of his eye as you fell into step beside him, releasing a little snort at your sarcasm, a gesture that, for some reason, sent a hot rush of awe through you. 

“That’s all right, Y/N.” He said with a sad smile. “We can talk about it later if you want. For now, the important thing is getting you home.” Reflexively, his hand came to rest on the small of your back as he steered you toward the parking lot.

Just the brief caress of his warm hand on your back made your thighs clench. It didn’t mean anything, you told yourself, but your stomach churned as the sweet electricity of his touch rushed through you. 

Stop it, you told yourself. He was just showing you where he had parked. Yet his lingering warmth was flooding your senses. Swallowing thickly, you pinched your brows together and hoped you didn’t actually upset him in any way. 

“Should I be worried?” he asked. 

“About what?” 

“The things you’re into.” 

Stopping, a hard lump formed in your throat, and the entire world fell into a hush. The nearly pitch black parking lot of the police station, the night chill, the beautiful priest that just - was he teasing you, now? 

“Again. I’m in my twenties. Weed,” you snapped, emphasizing the last word, “Isn’t a big deal.” 

His palm felt scorching through your jacket as he closed a hand around the top of your shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“Hey now,” He said, making your breath hitch as you stiffened slightly. “It was just a question.” 

You said nothing, simply sliding into the passenger seat of Father Sylus’s car.

A quiet settled between you two in the car, then. All you could do was look out the window at the dark neighborhood and overanalyze every word, every touch, trying to pinpoint exactly how you felt. But how could you even explain that the man beside you gave you the thrill of wanting to do something terrible? Because there had been a moment with him, something that broke the reality of the relationship the two of you had. It didn’t necessarily feel awful, more like an unspoken truth waiting to be expressed. 

You tried to control your emotions and thought process, registering that you were in front of your house now. Just as you were going to say goodnight and grab the door handle, you heard Father Sylus speak. 

“I owe you an apology for the other night.” The quiet murmur was easy to miss, but you did everything possible to hang onto the sound. A mix of breath. You looked back at him, trying to catch his eyes in the darkness only illuminated by the porch light from the distance. 

“I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” He continued, “I’d still like for us to talk.” 

As tempting as it was to open the car door and leave, the ache in your belly nearly overwhelmed you. A terrible, crushing sense of longing settled in. Knowing where the lines were drew a blank in your mind. Where the hell were you supposed to draw the line? Fuck, was this situation genuine, or just one of opportunity? 

“Can I ask an inappropriate question, Father?” You choked out, swallowing the lump of anxiety that wound its way around the base of your neck. You watched as he shut the car off.

“What is it?” He wasn't looking at you, but the hand still on the wheel tightened slightly. 

Inhaling deeply, your heart thumped at an aching speed as you murmured your question, your voice beginning to betray how much he affected you. “Do you kiss a lot of girls?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

Why the hell did you mean to bring that up? What good would knowing do, even? Right, of course, you would just go ahead and ruin the image of purity - what was the worst that could happen? 

“Well,” You continued, unable to stop yourself but choosing your words carefully, “You kissed me. So, do you kiss a lot of girls?” 

Father Sylus was quiet for a long, brutal moment. You felt sweat bead on your skin despite the car being cool. Clenching your fists and digging your nails into your palm, you try to brace yourself. You hadn’t intended to ask your question so outwardly , but what other way was there to put it? 

“Y/N, you’re trying to minimize our connection,” he said. He took a deep, steadying breath and then rubbed a hand over his brow. “And I can ignore it. I can try to pray for the strength to bear it.”

Then, he met your gaze directly. In the light from the porch, you could see how his crimson eyes tore into you, emotion suddenly exposed and bared. For the second time, he had allowed you to glimpse what was hiding under the careful mask he put on. 

You almost flinched as he touched your knee, his tone dropping. “But I won’t diminish it.” 

You found yourself falling, then, into those wounded eyes. You slid your hand forward and set it over his, the heat from the simple touch making you feel like you had touched an ember. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you leaned across the center console to kiss him, slow and sweet. 

Please don’t push me away.

For a moment, you feel his surprise. However, just before you pull away, he pulls you forward, one warm hand sliding up your back and the other threading through your hair gently, reverently.

You moan softly into his mouth, and his grip tightens slightly. He deepens the kiss, pressing his tongue into your mouth. You lose yourself in the feel of his lips on yours, his hands on your body.

The gentleness he handles you with stokes the fire within you, warming you from the inside and slowly turning into a fever. You long for him to hold you tightly, to show you he wanted you too - you need that affirmation. 

Then his lips grazed the shell of your ear, voice husky and warm. “You’re far too close for your own good.” 

What sort of torment was this? All these words hung in the air that you wanted to say, but none came to your mind except for - 

“Fuck me,” you rasped. Your face felt hot as the words spilled from your lips, driven by the intensity of your want. “Please, I -” 

He silenced you with his mouth, capturing your lips again. His kiss is no less intense and consuming but maintains a level of restraint that a part of you hoped was rapidly crumbling. Your hands move on their own accord, reaching for his belt. 

A hand on your wrist stops you before you can go any further, his skin like silk against the pounding pulse point of your wrist. It was a heavyweight, slowly making its way up to where your heart was beating wildly. 

He’s looking directly into your eyes when he brings your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles gently. 

“No here, sweetheart.” His voice is feather-light as he speaks. “Not like this.” 

While he let go of your wrist, something unseen held you in place. But it was only momentarily before the horror of what you had tried to do crashed over you. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, I - what the fuck am I doing?” 

With the state you were in, it wouldn’t take much for the well of tears to come. Unable to look at him, you unlocked the car door and pushed it open, nearly tripping on your feet as you stumbled onto the pavement. 

You didn’t look back, fearing falling apart, and slammed the door shut. 

Rather than going through the front door, you circled the house and went up the back porch through the kitchen. Once inside, you walked past your dad in the living room, who was sleeping on the couch with the television blaring and a near-empty bottle of beer within arm’s reach. 

You went into the bathroom in the hallway, shut and locked the door, then slid down onto the cold tile. 

The rejection shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. No, this was different. Something deep inside, something raw and fiery, made the ache grow exponentially. It was the memory of the touch, the intoxicating mixture of scents. 

Anger clawed its way to the surface because you couldn’t even wrap your head around what you felt. How pathetic, how foolish, how humiliating. 

Clutching the sides of your head, you let out a scream, frustration causing your body to shake. 

You wanted so badly to disappear. 

Did God have a sense of humor or something? 

tag list: @celestialforce @readerxyourbabe

[queenlucythevaliant]

harder than you think

i. When the Narnians stole Edmund away from beneath the Witch's blade, they told him he was safe. This wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

ii. They brought him to the Stone Table. It was night. Edmund doubted very much that he would find safety there, for he still recoiled at the name of Aslan. He slept fitfully and woke the next morning before the sun was up.

iii. A sliver of gold just beyond the tent flap captured his attention, there in the dark. Unaccountably, Edmund felt the urge to rise and go towards it.

iv. And there was Aslan, who was supposed to be fearsome, supposed to be dangerous, supposed to be powerful, and he was he was he was. Dimly, Edmund felt himself hitting the ground.

v. But then Aslan said, “Come, Son of Adam. Let us walk a while, and reason together.”

vi. And as they walked together, in the cool dewy grass of early morning, the Lion told Edmund everything that he had ever done.

vii. They were standing in front of the Table when the conversation turned. Aslan spoke a riddle of a house blasted into rubble which he would piece back together overnight. He spoke of flesh being pierced, blood being shed, and of rejected stones being used for new foundations. He spoke about water welling up forever, washing you clean of everything you ever did wrong, all the blood that you ever thought of shedding, everything you ever tried to steal, and a river that carries you home when you can't walk anymore and spits you out brand new when it reaches the sea.

viii. Edmund's head swam. Silently, he yearned for the wisdom to understand what he was being told; or, failing that, at least to remember it for as long as it took him to puzzle it out.

ix. And then, the Witch. Then, the battle. The thrones. A year passed, and winter came. In its time, it melted back to glorious spring.

x. “Edmund,” said Lucy one day. “There's something we need to tell you.” She and Susan were cloaked in springtime gossamer, like fairy queens in poems he only half remembered. They sat on the window seat in his study, holding hands white-knuckled: his two beloved sisters.

xi. “It's about Aslan,” Susan said. “And the White Witch, and how he made her renounce her claim on your blood. The night before Beruna, he went back to the Stone Table.”

xii. “He let her kill him,” Lucy cut in. “Instead of you. And then, because he hadn't done anything wrong, the Emperor's Deeper Magic brought him back to life.”

xiii. “We've been arguing all year about how much to tell you,” said Susan wryly. Then, a little gentler, “We don't want to hurt you, but we feel you ought to be told what he did for you.”

xiv. And Edmund, who had never forgotten what Aslan told him on that cool, dewy morning before the sun came up, shut his eyes and whispered, “I know.”

xv. I know, he said. I know that he died. I know that he did it for me. I know he lived again because I saw him the next day, and the next, and the next. I think I know what it means - or at least, I know the shape of it.

xvi. “Oh,” said Lucy. “We should have realized that he would have told you himself.”

xvii. “Yes. But please, tell me the story all the same.”

[stabbyfoxandrew]

you know what's fucking insane though???

it's only been 3 days in the mafia front fic. THREE DAYS= ~34k. (so far, we're still on day three rn)

wow i'm truly insane. three days... mein gott

(potential spoilers for this fic in tags???)

[smartkookiee]

How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days! || Ch.1 — jjk.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀° ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader {she/her, a fab} ❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+ ❥chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, flirting, drinking, nothing crazy happens in this chapter tbh, idiots, have fun (I’m so excited to see what everyone says, thank you to everyone for all the love on the teaser post!) ❥word-count: 9.4k ❥Series Masterlist ❥|| Next chapter fic is cross posted to ao3 - send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

Day 0

“Y/N, can I see you in my office?” Yoongi’s voice cut through the ambient buzz of the office as he appeared at your cubicle. You blinked up at him, his request causing a ripple of curiosity among your surrounding coworkers, though no one dared to show it openly.

You hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing your mind. Was I in trouble? Did he hate my last research project? Your mind raced through the possibilities. Yoongi had praised your work just last week, but what if he’d changed his mind? The thought of him taking back his compliments made your stomach twist. With a sigh, you saved your work and rose to follow him. The walk to his office felt unnervingly like being summoned to the principal’s office in high school.

Though your colleagues barely glanced in your direction, the nerves still had your palms sweating. You tried to wipe them discreetly on your pants as you stepped inside his office.

Yoongi moved behind his desk with casual ease, sinking into his chair as though he hadn’t just rattled your nerves with his sudden appearance. You stood awkwardly for a moment until he waved you toward the chair in front of his desk.

“You can relax, Y/N. You’re not in trouble,” he said, his tone gentle but amused. It was clear he could feel the tension radiating off you.

“I know, I know. I’m just a worrywart. You know that,” you laughed softly, though it came out more anxious than you’d intended. “So… why did you want to see me?”

Yoongi leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the desk as he watched you. “I’ve have an assignment for you. Something better than your usual research work.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as he began rifling through the disorganized pile of files and papers littering his desk. You’d been at Composure for a while, mostly doing background research for other writers’ articles. But you’d been hoping for an opportunity to step out of the shadows, to prove yourself as more than just a behind-the-scenes contributor. Maybe this is it?

When Yoongi finally found what he was looking for, he pulled out an old magazine and dropped it in front of you with a soft thud. You glanced down at the cover, your eyes widening as you saw the issue was from 2003.

“How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days,” Yoongi said, leaning back in his chair with a knowing glint in his eyes.

You picked up the magazine and began flipping through it, skimming the pages until you found the article. A sense of familiarity washed over you—this was one of those interesting pieces people still whispered about around the office. “I’m confused.”

“This piece was a massive hit when it came out,” he explained, lacing his fingers together as he leaned back. “Lana, one of the higher-ups, was the editor at the time this particular piece came out. She brought it up recently, said she thinks it’s time for something like this to make a comeback.”

“You want me to do this?” you asked, still reeling from the audacity of the concept. You skimmed through the details, noting the original author, Andy. She had gone to extreme lengths to sabotage a relationship for the sake of the article. You couldn’t help but cringe at some of the tactics she’d employed.

“Not exactly,” Yoongi replied with a small chuckle. “The feedback back then was that the whole experiment felt a bit too unrealistic. Readers loved it and it was a funny read, but many thought they don’t do things this intense. Lana’s idea was to take the same concept, but… stretch it out.”

“Stretch it out?” you echoed, still trying to wrap your head around the idea.

“Yeah. Ten days is too quick for something like this. We want to make it feel more genuine. Instead of a mad dash to drive the guy away, we want to see what happens over a longer period. A month, maybe two. Let the tension build naturally.”

You leaned back in your chair, letting the idea swirl around in your head. It was ambitious, maybe even a bit reckless, but there was no denying it would be a challenge.. “So… you want me to date someone and—what? Subtly sabotage it over time?”

“Exactly. Actually date but do all the classic early relationship mistakes,” Yoongi explained, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the concept. “It’s an experiment in human behavior, relationships, and how much people are willing to overlook.”

“So like talking about something personal way too fast, or inviting yourself into their life way too quickly and then write about it?” you prattled on a bit, it was picking at the ideas in your brain in the right way.

Yoongi smiled, clearly pleased with your interest. “I brought this to you because you have more than proven yourself here. You’ve been doing excellent research, and I want to see how you handle something of this scale. Especially because this would be a feature piece.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the compliment, but there was still a question gnawing at you. “I’m glad you are trusting me with something like this, especially with such a high-profile piece. But… I have to ask, sir—why do you think I’m the right person for this?”

Yoongi leaned forward slightly, his expression more thoughtful. “Because I want to challenge you. I like your research and I like how you write, you understand the people who read our columns on a deeper level. I think you have more in you. I want to see if you can handle something outside of your comfort zone.” His voice softened, but the weight of his words wasn’t lost on you. “And after something like this, I’d be more than happy to move you on to bigger and better pieces.”

The subtle hint of a promotion sent a jolt of excitement through you. “Really?”

“Really,” Yoongi confirmed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

It was all you could do to keep the excitement from bubbling over. An actual writing assignment, something that could elevate your standing in the magazine, was exactly what you had been waiting for.

“I don’t even know what to say other than thank you.” 

You fidget with the magazine in your hands, resisting the urge to curl the edges. Your mind raced, trying to think of what a realistic timeline for the piece could look like—something ambitious, but doable.

“How about… How to Lose a Guy in Thirty Days? A longer timeline, more idealistic. A month in is usually when new relationships start to fall apart. It’s after the initial getting-to-know-someone phase,” you suggest, throwing the idea out there, hoping Yoongi would take the bait.

“Thirty days, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You sure you’re up for it?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod, your confidence building as you think about the possibilities.

“Good,” Yoongi replies, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied look. “Let’s start on Monday, after we get through this print run. That gives you a few days to find the poor guy.”

“Right. Thank you, Mr. Min.” You stand up, your heart racing as you try to play it cool. But as soon as you exit his office, you can barely contain your excitement.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you mutter under your breath as you rush to your desk. Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you start jotting down notes, pulling out sticky notes and scribbling ideas, trying to organize your thoughts.

Ronnie, sitting in the neighboring cubicle, leans back to peer around the divider, noticing your frenzied state. She rolls her chair into your space, sliding up next to you with a curious look.

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” she asks, raising an eyebrow as she watches you type furiously. A laugh escapes her when she sees the pen stuck in your mouth and the growing pile of sticky notes attached to the old magazine.

“I gob a columb,” you mumble through the pen, barely pausing your typing.

Ronnie plucks the pen from your mouth. “Try that again.”

“I’m writing my first column.” You repeat, finally turning to face her, your excitement breaking through.

“No way!” Ronnie stands, her voice a little too loud, drawing a few glances from nearby desks. She sits back down and grabs your shoulders. “That’s so awesome! Your first column! What’s it going to be about?”

You hand her the magazine, pointing to the title. “This.”

“How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days?” She raises her eyebrows in surprise, flipping through the article. “You’re seriously going to do this?”

“Well, not exactly the same,” you say with a grin, watching as she reads through the outlandish tactics in the original piece. “Just similar.”

Ronnie’s eyes widen as she reaches some of the more extreme parts of the article. “Okay, this is crazy, all the things this girl did to this guy. Oh my god.” She rocked in disbelief, continuing the read through. “Awe, ends bittersweet though.” 

“It’s going to be How to Lose A Guy in Thirty Days this time.” 

“A month?” She laughs and shakes her head, you give her a confused look. 

“What? I can do this!” You bump her shoulder. 

“Do what?” Namjoon strolls into your cubical looking between the both of you.

“Kid got her first column.” Ronnie sings she has a proud grin on her face. You spin around to look at Namjoon. 

His face lights up at the news, “That’s so awesome! Congrats!” He rubs your hair messing it up, you bat his hands away smoothing out your hair. 

“Thanks Joon.” 

“What’s it on?” Namjoon leans against your desk along side Ronnie. 

Ronnie hands him the magazine flipped open to the article. He takes it and examines it for a moment, he reads along and his eyes widen at times. You continue scribbling down some thoughts while he does this. Namjoon was a silent reader but would always share his full thoughts when he was done. 

“Woah, this is wild.” Namjoon flips back to the beginning of the article, like he had to read it over again. 

“I know the original one is a little insane but we are doing it differently this time.” You explain, Namjoon had concern written all over his face reading through the article again. 

“Quote, ‘after five days I decided to go ahead and take things to the next level between us. I completely redecorate his apartment with pink attire and stuffed animals everywhere.” Namjoon reads the section out loud. “She only knew him for five days?” 

You nod, “I don’t know how she was so brave to do all of that. Luckily Yoongi said I don’t have to be as extreme as this. Just more casually clingy and needy, do small things that most people think are normal but seem to send guys running before anything serious can begin.” 

“Yeah, I definitely hope you don’t end up ‘photoshopping your baby pictures together.’” Ronnie adds with a grin.

You laugh, shaking your head. “God, no. I’d sooner die of embarrassment. I don’t have the energy for that level of crazy.”

Namjoon leans back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in slight  concern. “So, what is the plan then? You’ve got something in mind, right?”

You sigh dramatically. “Not sure yet. I’ve got until Monday to find a guy and come up with some sort of idea of how I want to do this.”

“Oh, can we help?” Ronnie’s eyes light up as she bounces in her chair, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Help find the guy?”

“Obviously, and with the torture,” she adds, looking way too enthusiastic.

“I’m not torturing him,” you chuckle, “just… irritating him a little. You know, for research purposes.”

“Uh-huh.” Namjoon’s teasing grin softens as he looks at you, a hint of doubt creeping in. “But are you really sure you can do this, like… casually?”

You blink at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, come on,” Namjoon says with a snort, gesturing vaguely at you. “You wear your heart in a pink, sparkly basket for everyone to see. Are you sure you won’t fall for the poor guy instead?”

“I don’t do that! And I will not!” You protest, but Namjoon and Ronnie exchange a look that screams they definitely think you do.

“I’ve never seen you not get your hopes up after a date or two,” Ronnie says, shrugging sympathetically.

“Well, this time will be different,” you say, folding your arms defiantly. “It’s just business. I have to get the guy to break up with me anyway.”

They weren’t wrong, though, and you know it. You’ve always been one of those people who swoon at love songs and daydream about movie-perfect endings. You were the exact type of person this article was written for in the first place. You did get attached too quickly and were getting hurt too often. But this? This was just an assignment. A game. You wouldn’t get hurt if you knew it had to end from the start.

“You’ll see.” You add with more confidence, determined to prove them wrong.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ronnie teases, rolling her chair back toward her desk. It was well past time for her to get to her own work. 

Namjoon shakes his head with a chuckle. “Good luck to this guy, I guess,” he mutters, though there’s warmth in his voice. He’s seen you get your hopes up too many times to believe you could really keep things casual.

But this time, you were determined. No expectations. No daydreaming. It was all just work.

Across town, though, someone else was perfectly content with his easygoing, no-strings-attached lifestyle. Jungkook, waking up in someone else’s bed was just another morning for him. He opened his eyes but was blinded by the morning light. He rolled over and looked around, he had no idea where he was. Memories of last night vaguely coming back to the front of his mind. 

He looks over to see a sleeping girl in the same bed. He stands from the bed and manages to find his phone. Seeing the time. 

“Shit.” He rushes to find his scattered items and puts his clothes back on. Tip toeing his way around the room and manages to get out the front door without a fuss. 

Getting out of the building, Jungkook blinked as the morning sun hit him square in the face. He rubbed his eyes, still groggy from a less-than-restful sleep. Scanning the unfamiliar streets, he had no idea what neighborhood he was in, but that was par for the course these days. He pulled out his phone and called for an Uber, slipping his sunglasses on as he waited.

Another late night, another random bed. This wasn’t exactly new territory, but he couldn’t help feeling off. Normally, Thursdays were a quiet night in, but when Jimin and Taehyung wanted to go out, Jungkook wasn’t about to turn them down. And, as always, the night had ended the way it usually did for him—blurry and chaotic.

By the time Jungkook made it to the office, it was later than he would normally prefer to arrive. Slipping through the doors, he did his best to avoid attention although Hoseok’s keen eyes were already tracking him. Jungkook tried to get settled quietly, but it was pointless. Hoseok’s desk, conveniently right next to his, made stealth impossible.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Hoseok sang, swiveling in his chair to grin at Jungkook. He tapped a few keys on his keyboard, then gave Jungkook an exaggerated once-over. “Did you lose a bet, or is that last night’s shirt?”

Jungkook smirked as he slid into his seat. “Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but in yesterday’s clothes. What’d you do? Roll straight from the bar to your desk?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow, clicking away on his mouse as he pulled up their latest coding project.

“Pretty much,” Jungkook admitted, booting up his own computer. “I’ll head home at lunch and change. No one cares what I wear to debug.”

Hoseok shook his head with a laugh. “You’re gonna blind the clients with your wrinkled t-shirts one of these days.”

“Fair enough,” Jungkook chuckled, typing in his password. “But I’m still better at the code reviews, so they can’t complain too much.”

Hoseok conceded with a nod, leaning back in his chair. “Rough night?”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck. “You could say that. Taehyung and Jimin were relentless. Didn’t stop until the bar kicked us out.”

“Ah, classic,” Hoseok said with a grin. “They never know when to quit.”

Jungkook smirked, though he felt the exhaustion settling in his bones. “They’ve got energy for days, man. But, hey, what about tonight? You in?”

Hoseok hesitated, glancing at the lines of code on his screen before looking back at Jungkook. “Again? You don’t look like you’re dying to go out tonight.”

Jungkook chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, I’m wrecked, but you know I’m down. Someone’s gotta keep Taehyung from getting us banned from another bar.”

Hoseok shook his head, clearly amused. “I dunno, man. I might actually take it easy tonight. Jimin’s been texting like he’s planning another big one, and I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to babysit.”

“You? Too tired to party?” Jungkook teased, raising an eyebrow. “Weren’t you just complaining last week that we only go out when you’re drowning in deadlines?”

“I didn’t say I’m backing out,” Hoseok defended, though his reluctance was obvious. “I’m just... thinking about it.”

“Thinking about it, my ass. You’ll be there. I’ll text Jimin, tell him to go easy on the plans.” Jungkook turned back to his monitor, his fingers flying over the keys as he opened the project files for their current assignment.

Hoseok chuckled. “Yeah, alright. But if I show up and Taehyung’s dancing on tables again, I’m leaving early.”

“Deal,” Jungkook said with a grin.

 Then Hoseok’s smirk deepened, and he shot a glance at Jungkook. “By the way, has she called you yet?”

Jungkook frowned, glancing sideways. “Who?”

“Claire. She’s been texting me. Again.” Hoseok’s grin turned into a mock look of annoyance. “Seriously, bro, how is she still hitting me up to ask about you? You need to fix that.”

Jungkook groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I made it clear we’re done.”

“Well, apparently she didn’t get the memo. She asked me yesterday if you were ‘okay,’ like I’m your personal messenger or something.”

Jungkook sighed, his fingers stilling on his keyboard. “I haven’t heard from her in weeks. She’s probably fishing for info, trying to get back in touch. She wanted something serious, and I was always upfront about keeping it casual.”

Hoseok raised an eyebrow. “And she didn’t take that well?”

“She acted like she understood, but... yeah, not really. I broke it off before things got messy.” Jungkook sighed. “Now she’s bugging you instead.”

“Lucky me,” Hoseok muttered. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. But seriously, dude, she’s asking me if you’re, like, in a dark place or something. I think she’s hoping for a window to swoop back in.”

Jungkook groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Tell her I’ve joined a monastery.”

Hoseok laughed. “Sure, I’ll let her know you’ve taken a vow of silence and reflection.”

The rest of the morning flew by in a blur of coding and testing modules. By the time lunch rolled around, Jungkook had managed to convince Jimin to keep the plans for the night low-key—just a few drinks at a bar they liked. Hoseok seemed more on board with the promise of a relaxed evening, and Jungkook was glad. As much as he loved the chaos, even he was feeling the need for something calmer.

When they arrived at the bar that evening, it was more crowded than they’d expected. The hum of conversation, laughter, and clinking glasses filled the air, and the warmth of bodies packed in tight hit them as they wove their way through the crowd.

“So much for a quiet night,” Hoseok muttered, dodging a couple who were clearly several drinks in.

Jungkook grinned, nudging him. “Come on, it’s Friday. What did you expect?”

“Less people and more chairs,” Hoseok replied, though the grin on his face said he wasn’t too upset about it.

Jungkook laughed, scanning the bar for a spot to settle in. Despite his earlier exhaustion, he could feel the pull of another night out with his friends, the familiar buzz of energy creeping in. There was something about the chaos of it all that he couldn’t resist.

“Over here!” Jimin’s voice cut through the noise, his arm waving above the sea of people as he flagged them down. He and Taehyung had already secured a table in the corner.

Jungkook and Hoseok exchanged a glance before making their way over, dodging elbows and weaving past groups of friends clustered around the bar. As they reached the table and took their seats, Hoseok let out a deep sigh.

“Jesus, there are so many people here tonight,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should have stayed home.”

Jimin smirked, leaning back in his chair with his drink in hand. “Aww, come on. It’s been forever since we’ve been out together.”

Jungkook chuckled, patting Hoseok on the shoulder. “It was definitely a struggle convincing him to come tonight.”

Hoseok held up his hands in surrender, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Hey, I was promised a chill night with some drinks. That’s my kind of Friday night.”

Before anyone could say more, Taehyung appeared at the table, balancing a tray of drinks with ease. “Here you go, gentlemen,” he said, passing them around with a flourish.

A round of thank-yous followed as each of the guys took their drinks. Jungkook took a long sip, letting the cool, bitter taste of his beer settle on his tongue as he leaned back in his chair, finally starting to relax.

“So,” Taehyung said after a moment, turning to Jungkook with a curious smile, “where did you disappear last night, man?”

Jungkook barely had time to respond before Jimin interjected, his tone teasing. “Where do you think he ran off to?” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows in fake suspicion.

The grin on his face made it clear he was referring to Jungkook’s extracurricular activities.

Taehyung snickered, shaking his head. “Oh, I see. Anything to tell? Did you find the love of your life?” His voice was full of amusement as he took another sip of his drink.

Hoseok snorted, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, right.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes playfully, tipping his head in Hoseok’s direction. “Hey, you never know.”

“Sure,” Hoseok said with a laugh, bumping Jungkook’s shoulder. “I’m sure she felt some kind of deep connection.”

Jimin waved a hand in Hoseok’s direction, dismissing him with a grin. “Leave him alone.”

But Hoseok wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. He shrugged, glancing around the table. “I mean, as long as I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him be serious with someone.”

Jungkook felt the familiar twist in his gut at the comment but didn’t let it show. It wasn’t that he didn’t want something serious—it just hadn’t happened in years. He took another sip of his beer, trying to brush off the remark. He had become somewhat comfortable in his solace and easy hook ups. Last thing he had to something serious was what he had with Claire, and that wasn’t even hardly serious.

Broke it off because she changed her mind about what she was wanting from him, Jungkook just really didn’t see a future with her and had always made his feelings about their relationship clear. He really came off looking like a dick but he didn’t want to drag her along. He didn’t want to drag anyone along. 

“I can be serious when I want to be.” Jungkook took another sip of his beer. 

“Yeah for like a day.” Taehyung teases. 

“Not even, more like an afternoon.” Jimin jumps on him with a laugh. 

“Try thirty minutes!” Hoseok adds on to the end before Jungkook waves them all of. 

“Thirty minutes?” he raised an eyebrow, “Give me more credit than that.”

“Fine, thirty-one.” Taehyung added on with another laugh. 

“Whatever,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, “Make your jokes but I don’t see any of you pulling in any serious relationships these days.” Jungkook points the top of his bottle around the group. 

“Hey, I have a date next week I’ll have you know!” Hoseok protests.

“This isn’t about us though, this is about you.” Jimin sits back in his chair. 

“What about me?”

“You’re not a relationship guy.” Taehyung sipped his beer. 

“I’m comfortable by myself.” Jungkook crossed his arms. 

“Nothing wrong with it, I just doubt you could ever be serious with someone.” Jimin shrugs. 

“I’d be a better boyfriend than you.” Jungkook kicks Jimin's leg under the table. 

“Yeah maybe when you’re fifty and decide it’s time to settle down.” Taehyung gives Jungkook a smirk. 

“No way, I bet I could be a better boyfriend than all three of you.” Jungkook was getting too serious and Jimin and Taehyug smelt a challenge in the air. 

“Wanna bet on it?” Jimin cocks his head to the side. It wasn’t unlike the three of them to make bets and they were always stupid.

“Aren’t we a little too old for bets?” Hoseok looks between the guys but he could already tell once Jimin raised the question, Jungkook was already locked into the idea. 

“What are you thinking?” Jungkook leans his elbows on the table. 

“I will bet a hundred dollars, that you couldn’t keep a girlfriend for more than two weeks.” Jimin states and Jungkook almost feels insulted. 

“Come on, I can do better than that.” Jungkook goats Jimin, Jimin looks at Taehyung. 

“I’ll buy in. 200 bucks.” Tahyung jumps on it. 

“You guys are morons.” Hoseok shakes his head, Jungkook was up for the challenge but two weeks was insulting. 

“No, I can keep a partner around for way longer than two weeks. Come on.”

“Okay, how about a month. We’ll make it 300 bucks if you can stay with the same girl for one month.” Jimin jumps on it, between him and Taehyung they would only be out one fifty each. 

“But we get to pick who it is.” Taehyung quickly tacts on that little stipulation. 

“What? No fair.” Jungkook pouts. 

��Totally fair. Hobi weigh in on this.” Jimin nods his head to Hoseok who was hoping to stay invisible but it seems he has been brought on as the referee. 

“I guess it makes sense, if you pick the girl it makes it too easy for you to win.” Hoseok logics it out but this definitely wasn’t starting to feel fair.

“Ugh fine.” Jungkook groaned, Jimin had extended his hand for a shake, Jungkook took it and they shook on the deal. 

“Again, idiots.” Hoseok knew this was probably going to crash and burn and Jungkook would be out three hundred bucks. Jungkook was feeling very confident though and perhaps a little too competitive. He felt sure he could sucker these two out of three hundred bucks. As well as get to hang out with a pretty girl for a while. Putting on all of his best charm. 

“So when do we start?” Jungkook looks between them. 

“How about right now?” Jimin taps his glass.

While that played out, across the same bar, you were sitting at a booth with your friends.

Catching Jin up on your new promotion at work and your upcoming column to be. The bar was buzzing with life, the noise blending into a background hum as you spoke, but you could feel the excitement rising between you all.

“No way,” Jin’s face lit up as he scanned the photos of the old magazine article on your phone. You had snapped a few pictures to give him the full story, and now he was reading it with wide eyes, barely containing his amusement.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Ronnie took a long sip of her cocktail, her expression still skeptical. She shook her head as if she still couldn’t wrap her mind around what you were planning. “I mean, I seriously can’t believe you’re going to go through with this.”

“Look,” you began defensively, though a smile tugged at your lips, “I know it’s a little out there, but Yoongi really thinks I can do this. He has his full faith in me.”

It was true. Despite the fact that this assignment would push you far outside of your comfort zone, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement and determination. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you were confident you could handle it.

Jin, still holding your phone, read aloud with a dramatic flair: “A friend of mine made a good point that I shouldn’t allow him to have a boys’ night, so I decided to get a key from his landlord to interrupt their game night!” He glanced up with an incredulous look. “She really got a key from his landlord? That’s insane!”

You snatched your phone back, eyes wide. “Okay, I’m not doing that!” you exclaimed, shaking your head. “I’m just going to be clingy, needy. I’m not breaking into anyone’s house!”

“Good for her, honestly,” Namjoon chimed in, cracking open a peanut from the bowl in front of him. “The guy she picked probably deserved it.”

Ronnie nudged him with her elbow. “Didn’t you read the end? She ended up falling in love with him! Realized she was wrong and that he didn’t deserve all that treatment.” Ronnie leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Classic.”

“Of course, she did,” Jin chuckled, taking another sip of his beer. His eyes flicked back to you, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “That’s totally going to be you.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I will not.”

“Please,” Jin said, laughing. “You’re such a gooey romantic. You fall in love so easily.”

Namjoon and Ronnie exchanged knowing glances, both trying—and failing—not to laugh. They knew better than anyone how quickly you could get swept up in a whirlwind of emotions. It wasn’t that you were naive, just hopelessly, undeniably romantic. And they were somewhat concerned about how this whole assignment might play out.

“Look, this is a professional column,” you said, crossing your arms defensively. “It’s not like I’m actually looking for anything serious. I just have to scare him off. That’s it.”

“Either that or he will be on bended knee by the end of it.” Namjoon teased. 

“Very funny. That’s why I have you guys here though, help me pick someone.” You really did want some help on this part. If you got help picking the guy then maybe you could pick someone who it would be easy to let go of.

“How so?” Ronnie tilted her head at your request.

“Well knowing my luck I would accidentally pick a guy who is totally perfect for me and I really won’t be able to go through with it. If you guys pick then you could objectively find someone who is someone I would never go for.” You clap your hands together, hoping your explanation is enough. 

“Oh I’m so in.” Jin rests his chin on his hands. “Plus this bar is packed, we could easily find someone tonight.”

“Well we won’t find him sitting here. Let’s go fish.” Ronnie stands from her seat offering a hand to you, Jin following close behind. The three of you taking a turn about the bar, making observations at some of the different groups that were here. 

“Let’s see.” Ronnie taps her lips with her pointer finger and glances about the room as the three of you search from person to person. “Okay, guy at the bar. Sweater, cheesy and obviously cheap silver necklace.”

You and Jin both take a glance over to him, he seemed to be here alone. Looked nice enough, maybe a good choice. He seemed like a jock type, looked like he was trying with his looks a little too hard. You were considering it before Jin shook his head. 

“Not him, hes rubbed his ring finger like four times.” Jin points, just at that moment the guy does it again, “He’s either married or just got divorced and looking for another wife. Next!” 

“Touche.” You agree and the three of you glance around again. “Okay, how about that guy?”

You point to a small group of guys who seemed way deep into a game of pool. One of the guys sinks a cool shot into one of the pockets and he and another guy cheer too loudly, you were far away and you could still hear them. He looked like he was about to break his pool stick from excitement. 

“Nevermind. Way too intense.” It would have been a good choice but you would probably end up dumping him before you could get any work done. 

The three of you run through a few more guys as you walk around, all three of you seemed to find some reason to veto them again and again. Some were too close to your type and some were just too annoying for you to be able to stand them long enough to keep this ruse up. 

“God slim pickings tonight.” You were getting exhausted. You were considering heading back to Namjoon at the table and coneiding for the night. Maybe sleep it off and try again at another bar tomorrow. 

“We can do this.” Ronnie cheers trying to keep your spirits high. “This guy is here, I just know it.” She had had more to drink at this point, she's a pretty energetic drunk. 

“I agree. No throwing in the towel yet.” Jin scans the room again, you guys had moved to many different spots and more people had moved in and out of the bar at this point. 

Jin looked around from guy to guy. Jin frequented this bar often so he had a general sense of the people who were new and the people who frequented here often. He wasn’t sure himself who would work for this, they had to be the perfect combination of nice enough to stick it out but still a playboy or asshole enough that you wouldn’t fall for them. Someone who maybe deserved a little bit of torture. Someone who needed a little due karma. 

He waited for a moment, maybe all three of you just needed to let the guy reveal himself. Before Jin thought it was hopeless was just when he got exactly what he asked for. 

Jungkook was making his way over to the bar.

“Bingo.” Jin whispered. Jungkook had left the table with his friends, the booth was tucked away in the corner so it was no wonder he didn't notice them before. “That’s the guy.” 

“Who?” You ask and then Jin points his finger, tracking Jungkook to the end of the bar. You watched him order from the bartender and then casually wait for a moment. 

“He’s perfect.” Jin was confident. 

“He’s cute?” Ronnie nods, Jin rolling his eyes at her. “What am I wrong?” 

He was very cute you thought, he sported this leather jacket and dark jean look. Large boots, it wasn’t your usually clean cut look that you enjoyed but you understood the appeal of it. 

“Okay why him?” You ask looking at Jin. 

“I’ve seen him here a lot. Always comes with a group of friends, but he never leaves alone. Never the same girl twice. I thought he stopped coming around, but nope. Looks like he’s still at it. His name’s something like Jungkook.” Jin places both hands on your shoulders, looking you dead in the eye. “Total Casanova. Leaves behind a trail of broken hearts.”

Ronnie raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t that make it harder to keep him around for thirty days?” 

“Not necessarily,” you say, the wheels turning in your head. “I just need him to dump me within thirty days. He doesn’t have to stick around for all thirty.”

“Longest I saw him entertain a girl for was maybe two weeks? That’s exactly what you need.” Jin shakes your shoulders and you laugh at the movement, almost dizzy after your two drinks. 

A playboy type who can’t commit for more than two weeks. It was exactly what you needed, and lucky for you you wouldn’t need to feel bad about maybe annoying him too much. You needed him to dump you no matter what. Could be fun after all, messing with a guy who is a fuckboy that Jin has seen around could be almost a perfect karma for this guy. 

“Perfect.” You say with a sly smile as you watch him walk back to his group balancing a few drinks in his arms along the way. 

Jungkook managed to set the drinks down gently, “Here you go boys.”

He passed the drinks outs but Jimin and Taehyung were deliberating about something. Jungkook looked between them and looked to Hobi for confirmation. Hoseok wasn’t totally sure what their hushed conversation was about. 

“I don’t know, seems like he could make that work too well.” Jungkook could barely make out the sentence coming from Tae. 

“No it has to be someone like that.” Jimin adds on and then they both seem to come to some silent agreement. Both sitting up straight in their spots. 

“What are you two whispering about?” Jungkook breaks the silence and they both have big grins on their faces, Taehyung is looking over the back of the booth to the bar. 

“Okay we have made a decision.” Jimin puts on an announcer voice, holding his glass like a microphone.

“You picked someone? Already?” Jungkook was surprised they had come to an agreement on this so quickly. 

Taehyung looks back to Jungkook and nods, “Over there, short maroon dress. Waiting at the bar. Has a tall guy and another girl, dark hair and black dress with her.” Taehyung points and Jungkook looks. 

It takes him a moment, but then he spots you, mid-laugh about something with your friends. A small smile tugs at his lips—you were undeniably cute. There’s something polished about the way you’ve styled yourself, striking a balance between playful and sophisticated. To Jungkook, though, you scream commitment. Your look isn’t meant to turn heads; it’s just confident. It’s a stark contrast to the more overtly flirty, bold style he usually goes for. That makes him curious—why would Jimin and Taehyung pick someone who seems so... relationship-minded?

“Her really?” He looked back at both of them. “Do you want to just hand me the three hundred dollars now?”

“I know you think it will be easy, but that is the type of girl who wants marriage. I think her need for a commitment is going to send you running.” Jimin rubs his hands together evilly. 

Jungkook looks back to you again, thinking. Jungkook felt like he could very well be committed, he could do it probably better than most people. He just hasn’t wanted to or hasn’t had the time too.

“I will be Mr. Marriage Material from here on out.” Jungkook downs the rest of his beer, “Be ready to put your money where your mouth is.” 

Jungkook stands up and leaves the table, they watch him go to work. Taehyung was now nervous and Hoseok was not even sure what he was watching anymore. Also confused by Jimin's choice. 

“Okay, I gotta say he has a point.” Hoseok leans back to Jimin. 

“Yeah now I’m kind of nervous.” Taehyung rubbed his neck, watching Jungkook who was waiting for an opportunity to maybe get a chance encounter with you. The two friends hovering around you weren’t making it easy. 

“Trust me. I’ve seen that girl here before.” Jimin smiles. 

“Do you know her?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow to him, now even more curious. 

“Not at all, but I tried hitting on her once. Very sweet, turned me down though. Seriously, the moment I walked up she read me like an open book.” This was earlier this year and Jimin didn’t care, he had some personal things going on and did it on a whim. You immediately saw through his tactics and called him out on it. 

“What did she do?” Taehyung became nervous. 

“I tried hitting her with a line, and she just looked at me and laughed. Honestly, I might’ve been offended if she hadn’t been so sweet about it. She even apologized! Said she could tell I wasn’t serious. Sent me on my way before I could even react. I swear, I was a little dizzy afterward.”

“Oh wow.” Hoseok is putting the pieces together now. “Okay, I see, so she is going to see through Jungkook right away.”

“Exactly,” Jimin raises his glass, “If he gives off even a whiff of insincerity. She won’t give him the time of day. She very clearly wants someone who is into the long term relationship game and Jungkook… never will be.”

“So you’re not concerned, not even a little bit?” Taehyung asks one more time. 

“Not even slightly.” Jimin clinked his glass against Taehyungs.

“So how is this going to work?” Ronnie looks between you and Jin.

“I’m not sure. What else do you know about him?” You look to Jin for advice on this. You came here sometimes but you weren’t as much of a frequent flier as Jin. 

“Hmm, unfortunately I usually see him hit on girls who are more… obviously here for something casual.” He gestures towards another girl at the bar, she was dressed very differently than you were. More revealing, nothing wrong with that but it was starkly different to your look. 

“So maybe it's a lost cause?” You frown.

“Absolutely not.” Ronnie protested waving her hand back and forth.

“Just means you might have to be the bold one. Instead of him coming to you, you go after him.” Jin nodded and rubbed his chin. 

You stifled a laugh, “Yeah right.” Not like you couldn’t approach someone but it was still nerve racking. “I can’t do that.” 

“It’ll be so easy. Looks he’s already coming over to the bar.” Ronnie nodded her head in his direction very subtly. You take a look from the corner of your eye and it was true. You turned your head pretending to see something else but catching a glance at him standing at the end of the bar, waiting. 

Jungkook sees you look his direction and pretends to be occupied with something else.

“Okay well if this is going to work, shew.” You wave your hands for the both of them to head back to the table, you take an empty spot in front of the bar. 

“Do you really think she can go up to him?” Ronnie nudged Jin, both of them push their way back to the table where Namjoon had been waiting. 

“Definitely. Well… normally I’d say no but she’s so determined I think she can pull it off.” Jin looks back at you ordering another drink. 

Once they both make it back to the table Namjoon takes notice, “Did she find someone?” 

“Yes, he’s so cute.” Ronnie gushes. 

“Too bad she has to get rid of him.” Jin shrugs as they all take their places and watch you from afar. 

“I know.” Ronnie sighs.

“So what’s the plan?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow. 

“She’s working up the courage to go up to him. I’ve seen the guy around before and he’s not really into her type. So she has to be bold.” Jin explains again, he looks over to Jungkook. 

Jin takes notice that Jungkook has already noticed you. He finds it odd for a moment before he sees Jungkook start to move. 

“Unless…” Jin starts. 

“Oh looks like he’s making a move.” Hoseok gestures over to Jungkook. He pushes himself off the end of the bar to start moving to you but gets cut off by a group moving close to the bar. 

“Let the games begin.” Jimin raises his glass. “We might make our money tonight.” 

“Cross our fingers.” Taehyung chuckles and takes a sip of his drink. 

“If he doesn’t blow smoke out of his ass you guys might be in for a long month.” Hoseok tilts his head watching Jungkook try to maneuver his way over to you. You were just barely getting a drink from the bartender. 

From their end of the bar, your friends could see it happening in real time—Jungkook making his way toward you, not without some difficulty from the proximity of other people. They couldn’t help but laugh at his struggle. 

“God, he’s like a moth to a flame,” Jin chuckled, crossing his arms. “Poor guy doesn’t even know what's going to happen.”

“Doubt it,” Ronnie added, leaning forward. “Y/N’s got this in the bag. He won’t know what hit him.”

Meanwhile, you weren’t so convinced that Jungkook was actually coming for you. After all, the girl beside you fit the typical type he seemed to gravitate toward—flirty, dressed to kill, and definitely giving him the look. Still, you had a plan brewing in your mind. If he wasn’t going to make the first move, you’d force his hand.

With a slight pivot on your heel right as he came up, you forced your shoulder into his chest. Just enough to stumble.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, steadying your drink that had split on your hand, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t spill on you did I?” 

Jungkook’s initial reaction was a mix of surprise and awkward laughter. “Hey, no problem,” he said, chuckling. “Just missed the splash zone.”

“I swear I have two left feet these days.” You tuck some of your hair behind your ear. Faking your embarrassment, setting your drink down and getting a napkin.

“Well it’s a good thing I have two right feet.” Jungkook easing the tension and you laugh under your breath. 

“You always this quick on your feet?” You tilted your head, offering him your hand—the one free of any cocktail spillage. “I’m Y/N.”

“Jungkook.” He took your hand with a grin, his gaze flickering over you like he was sizing up a challenge. He didn’t let go right away.

Now that he was closer, you could really take him in. He was infuriatingly attractive—the type you’d usually avoid for your own good. The type who knew he had an edge and knew how to use it. 

Now that Jungkook could get a closer look at you, he just thought that you were pretty. Pretty hair, eyes, lips. All of you was just pretty and sweet. Could see that pink glowing heart of yours on your sleeve. 

“What brings you here?” He leaned an arm against the bar, his stance casual yet deliberate, like he was marking his territory. His gaze pinned you down, leaving you no room to escape.

“Just out with friends, a celebration of sorts.” You turn and point to them, the three of them suddenly acting like their drinks were so interesting to look at. 

“What’s the occasion?” He didn’t even glance at them; his focus was still fully on you. The intense eye contact actually makes you nervous.

“My promotion,” Smiling like it was the full truth. Or rather, the promotion standing right in front of you.

He nodded, flashing a grin. “Congrats. Big deal?”

“Very big.” You rested your hand on the bar near his, just brushing the surface between you. “What about you? Out celebrating something too?”

“Just out with friends.” Jungkook gestured back to his own group at the other end of the bar. You followed his gaze, recognizing one of the guys, though you couldn’t place from where.

“I should let you get back to them.” you teased lightly, leaning ever so slightly away from him.

He tilted his head with a grin, clearly not interested in letting you go that easily. “Why rush? I wasn’t planning to be gone long, but then I got the wind knocked out of me.”

You smirked, feeling the heat of his gaze on you as you playfully patted your shoulder. “Just practicing for my football career.”

“Not a football fan but I’d watch those games.” Jungkook was going to make some form of physical contact, which is what he would have done by now but he held back. He could tell that’s not something you would appreciate.“Let me buy you another one. Since you lost half of the that one because of me.”

“That’s very sweet.” You wanted to test the limits you had with him here, would he chase you? “But I should get back. My friends may think I ran off.” 

“So soon?” He tilted his head at your sudden retreat. 

“You seem nice,” You start and lean close, “I think I’m just looking for something… more serious.” 

“Who's to say I’m not serious?” He gives you a puzzled expression. Jungkook had done so good with women lately that it felt strange to see such a sudden retraction.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile playing at your lips. “I’ve seen you around. I know your type.”

A lie. Considering you hadn’t seen him before tonight, you wanted to see if he would bite.

“So you’ve noticed me?” He stuck his tongue into the side of his cheek. 

“I’m just saying I know your type.”

“What if I am serious? You’d be running away before you could find out.” He flirted, a boyish grin on his face that dripped confidence. He was actually nervous, and the three hundred dollar bill hanging over his head was adding some pressure.

You giggled, leaning back slightly as you took a slow sip of your drink, eyes locked on his over the rim. “You don’t strike me to be serious about much of anything.”

His gaze flicked to your lips before returning to your eyes, his voice softer now, “What if I want to prove you wrong?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Prove me wrong? You barely know me.”

He smirked, stepping a little closer, just enough to make the air between you crackle with tension. “Isn’t that half the fun? Getting to know someone new?”

“What makes you think I want to get to know you?”

“Call it intuition.”

Any other time, a guy like this coming up to you would have meant an immediate shut down from you. They were never serious, and they only ever wanted to hook up and never speak again. Tonight though Jungkook needed to be the bug caught in your web.

You pretended to mull it over, tapping the rim of your glass with your finger. “Hmm... cute line.”

“Not a line,” he shot back, more serious now. “But seriously, let me buy you a new drink?”

You were about to decline, but his eyes held yours, that quiet confidence making you hesitate just a second too long.

“Fine,” you said, sighing like you were giving in, but the small smirk tugging at your lips told him otherwise. “But you’re still going to have to work for it.”

“I plan to.” Jungkook leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping. “Let me get your number. I’ll take you out, show you what I mean by serious.” 

You fake contemplation and act like you really needed time to think about it, sucker. You tap the rim of your glass for a moment before you reach your free hand out to him, gesturing for his phone. Jungkook takes the silent victory and pulls his phone out, opening it for you. With a few quick taps and your contact information solidified in his phone.

The deed had been done.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you said, handing it back, your tone playful but carrying an edge of warning.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Have a goodnight Jungkook.” Turning on your heel leaving him there and just letting him watch you go. You b-line straight back to your table.

Jungkook was feeling good and felt like this was going to be a breeze of a month. He had to make sure that first date went well first. He would put on his best boyfriend face forward, it’s not that he couldn’t do it like everyone thought. It’s just been a long time since he last had the chance too. 

He made his way back over to his own table, he put on a fake sad face as he took his seat back next to Taehyung. 

“Strike out did you?” Hoseok patted him on the shoulder in comfort. 

“Yeah… struck off the first day of the month.” Jungkook raised his phone, revealing your phone number. Jungkook, a smug grin on his face. 

“I’m surprised.” Jimin sat in quiet contemplation, “But it won’t last.” 

“She’s cute. You guys should have picked more carefully.” Jungkook sighed, looking back into the bar in the direction of your friends and your table. Your back was to him so he couldn’t catch a glimpse of you. 

He then remembered he still owed you a drink.

Across the bar you settled back in with your friends. 

“I caught the whale boys.” You take a small bow and small cheers round around the table. 

“Congratulations.” Namjoon cheers you, hitting his glass with yours. 

Your friends leaned in, eager for the play-by-play of your encounter. You gave them the rundown. Ronnie, the first to break the silence, grinned and raised his glass in admiration.

“That was smooth, Y/N. You had him wrapped around your finger.”

You chuckled, taking a slow sip of your drink. “It’s even better that he thinks he’s in control. There's no way he was actually serious but a fun flirt.”

Jin shook his head, a mixture of amusement and awe on his face. “You’re scary when you’re confident. I’m glad I’m on your side.”

“So what’s the next step in this little experiment of yours?” Ronnie asked, clearly invested in the unfolding drama.

“Well,” you began, swirling your drink in thought, “I wait for him to reach out. Then I’ll play it cool on the first date, get him comfortable.”

“Why play it cool?” Namjoon asked, eyebrows raised.

“Because,” you smirked, “if I’m too much, too fast, he’ll bolt. But if I ease him in, I’ll have time to start slowly being weird.”

Just then, a waitress appeared, sliding a pretty pink drink in front of you. “This one’s from the guy across the bar,” she said, nodding toward Jungkook, who was leaning against the counter, already watching you. “He said you’d know him.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the boldness. Lifting the glass slightly, you gave him a small, acknowledging wave, your friends immediately picking up on the gesture.

“What’s it called?” you asked, eyes still locked on Jungkook.

The waitress grinned. “It’s a Cosmic Encounter.”

“How pretty.” you muttered, a playful smirk forming. You brought the glass to your lips, not breaking eye contact with Jungkook as you took a sip. The sweetness of the drink contrasted sharply with the building tension between the two of you.

If the circumstances were different you may let yourself swoon at the gesture. Picking a cute drink for you. You may try to see if you really could get him to be serious. This was not that though, this was all business and you would have to continue to remind yourself.

Ronnie was the first to speak up again, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I’ll admit, he’s got moves.”

“Just don’t forget this is what he does.” Jin knowing how you are, felt the reminder needed to be put out there. That this is all temporary.

Just as you were about to continue, your phone buzzed softly in your hand. A text. Your eyes drifted down to the screen, and sure enough, it was Jungkook.

Jungkook: Hope you like it… when are you free next?

You couldn’t help the smirk that spread across your lips. “Speak of the devil.”

Namjoon leaned over. “Already? He really wasted no time.”

“Faster than I thought,” you admitted, typing a quick reply. 

:We’ll see, Jungkook. Maybe I’m busy.

The thrill of the chase was intoxicating, and as you sent the message, you could feel the game picking up speed. Both of you were circling each other, waiting for the right moment to strike.

You had no doubt, you were going to eat Jungkook alive.

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Taglist! : @vashimperial @httpjeonlicious @rinkud @vintagemoonsstuff @marimarvelfan @loomipee @leah-rose03 @irhdifartzamfyaa @smwhrinthehaze @tteokbokibyjk

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❥|| Next chapter

[ateliersss]

Blooming Family Part 4 - He Shall Prevail

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: In your past life on earth, when someone would ask you how you managed your job as a nurse with the occasional death of a mother during birth, you told them that you never took it too personal because you would never find yourself in their position. Then why were you now so adamant on giving your life for your pup? Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 5,497 Part 1: here Part 2: here Part 3: here Masterlist

⇨ Hey, guys! I‘m back to writing. 6 months and 16 exams later, I finally found time to continue my now called “Blooming Family” series. You have no idea how much I missed it.

⇨ Though I have to say, this will probably be the end of this series. Probably. I got rid of every idea about our little family in those four parts and I don’t believe I can offer much more dramatic and exciting plot.

⇨ BUT! I already announced a Prequel on how Mi'ytiar and the Reader meet. I’m still working on it and the process is going smoothly for now. This means, this is definitely not the end of our story, so stay tuned!

⇨ Want to join the tag list?

 

The metallic smell of human blood that usually made him wallow in delight, now made him feel sick. The feeling of human blood on his skin which usually sent a rush of excitement down his spine, now made him want to cut off any part of his body that made contact with it. The sight of him tearing a human apart — hurting it, killing it — that usually sated his predatory nature, now made him want to gouge his eyes out.

Blood flowed as he cut you, his beloved one, open under Cahrein’s watchful eyes. The red fluid coated first his claws and fingertips, then his fingers completely, and before he knew it his whole hand when he started to reach into you.

Your small, beautiful body, which he had worshipped more times than he could count, had long grown numb, unmoving, lifeless. Your big, gorgeous eyes that had held so much love for him were closed, sparing him to witness the moment should the spark within them extinguish.

He wouldn’t let that happen, he was sure of it. He just needed time to close the long, precise cut and get the blood that was stashed somewhere here on the ship. He knew how to stitch you together, God knows how many times he had to do it when you were on your hunting trips together, though it was never this kind of wound.

But Mi'ytiar, your oh so loving and attentive mate, had done something quite unusual for his species.

With no profound knowledge of births, let alone human births, he witnessed the act of giving life for the very first time when you had been pregnant with Akail. Even without any previous experience, he just knew that Yautja births were quite different from human ones. Their Females wouldn’t have suffered that much from pain during labor and because of that, his already devoting stance towards you seemed to reach new heights when you fought like a warrior on your very own battlefield. He was impressed just as he was scared.

So, when Cahrein had confirmed your suspicions on being pregnant again, Mi'ytiar did what every father on earth would and should do when a baby was on its way: he prepared himself. Mostly Cahrein showed and taught him the necessities who had studied the human anatomy when you arrived on Yautja Prime for the first time — leader's orders. And because there had never been a human in their clan or anywhere near it, he had to travel some time to the nearest one whose location he knew.

That’s how Cahrein learned and that’s how he was able to brief his clan leader.

You didn’t know, but if you did, you once again would not fathom how lucky you were, because how many Yautja out there with a human by their side for whatever purpose would put that much effort into them? Would any of them sit down and listen to their healer drone about the function of the ovaries? Would any of them waste their time, instead of just finding a replacement? Would they be here when the chance of saving you was like catching mist with bare hands?

Mi'ytiar did, a leader nonetheless.

And when he felt it wasn’t enough, he did his very own research on earth. Stalking through hospitals, invisible of course, thanks to the Cloak camouflaging his massive form and hiding him from the human eye, he was taking everything in. He observed the humans dressed in white and dark blue clothes scurry around before he decided to follow one around.

At nighttime, it was much easier when the staff thinned out. This way he had a better chance to explore the hospital and find his way to the infant ward, discovering it by chance. Fourteen see-through cribs were standing in two rows inside the ward. Fourteen tiny human babies were lying inside, sound asleep.

So that’s what they looked like.

For a moment he thought about being human himself. Not for his own appearance, but for the possibility of having a pup who looked more like you, his love. You were such a beautiful creature, but sadly your genes were practically drowned out by his.

At daytime, he was lucky to watch five women deliver their babies. Four of them did it the natural way while the fifth woman decided willing to do a c-section. Obviously unaware of what would happen in a few years, he gained very useful knowledge that day.

That’s how Mi'ytiar learned and that’s how he located the pup in your womb so fast and pulled it out.

He tried not to let himself get lost in the sight of the newborn, squirming and screeching. As much as he wanted to admire the little boy, another paragon created by you, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

He gingerly placed the flailing pup down on the cold glass surface of the table and against your body, snuggled between your motionless arm and your side. With the greatest care, he angled his son’s head to rest against your shoulder and moved your arm so it would keep him in place.

Mi'ytiar wasted no time in turning the Medicomp upside down and finding the needed surgical tools much faster that way. Thankfully he hadn’t discovered anything wrong once the pup was free, no suspicious rupture or tear that needed stitching. He was deaf to Cahrein’s words as he fixed the cut with wound clamps and started to mix a gel that was able to close a wound of any kind, size or depth.

When he was sure the gel was painstakingly spread on the already healing cut, he grabbed the syringe with the purple-ish fluid and inserted its needle in the crook of your unoccupied arm. There was a 50-50 chance that it would work on you. Sxánxik would close all internal damage and increase blood cell production in case of severe blood loss, though he didn’t know if it would work on human blood. But there was still a chance since your DNA had evolved through years of infusions of Yautja blood.

“You should get her blood.” Cahrein’s voice finally found its way into his consciousness.

“Can’t leave.” Mi'ytiar growled, his eyes focused on the shallow movement of your chest, scared it would stop the second they would stray from you.

“You need to. There is no guarantee sxánxik works.” Cahrein pressed, growing restless at his leader’s tunnel vision.

He knew he didn't know what was going through Mi'ytiar’s mind, and if he said he knew how he was feeling at that moment, he would be lying. It was obvious to anyone that ever laid eyes on the Life-mated pair that there was a unique and special bond between the two. Yautja were caring despite common belief, but even the most affectionate and compassionate of their species would never come close to the emotions your human heart held for your Yautja. Adding the influence you had on Mi'ytiar, it seemed to be fated.

Soulmates, Cahrein believed you had called the both of you when you told him about certain fairytales your mother had read to you when you were a child. Though you had said it in a joking way, telling him it was something hopeless romantics believed in, he could see it in your eyes that there was some kind of hope there.

“Sometimes two people are destined for each other.”

Your human nonsense would always make him scoff in amusement, until there was living and breathing proof of you being meant for his leader. Two proofs now, to be exact. When you were able to give Mi'ytiar his long-denied offspring where their Females had failed, Cahrein started to be less derogatory about superstitions on earth.

“Fine.” Mi'ytiar snarled, hitting the glass surface of the holo-map table on each side of your thighs with closed fists, only hearing a splintering sound as he pushed himself away.

When he returned, the overwhelming sight of your body made him freeze in the doorway when the automatic doors opened. He tried to not tighten his grip around the blood bag in his hand, tried not to let his claws pierce holes into it and spill the red liquid.

You were lying there, paler than you had been moments ago. Where he had positioned your arm so your pup was safely tucked at your side, the other one was lying along the length of your body. Just as your spread legs were dangling down the table, your hand was loosely hanging down where it had previously been grasping the edge in pain.

“Mi'ytiar.”

Cahrein’s voice was once again pulling him out of his own head before he could drown in dark thoughts.

“I prepare your home for your return.” The healer told him when Mi'ytiar covered your naked lower body with one of your blankets that you always kept on the ship.

When Cahrein received no response from his leader, who was too busy getting the blood into your veins before filling syringes with his own to inject it into you, he made the usual farewell gesture and his holo-image dissolved.

As soon as Mi'ytiar could assess you as stable, he took his newborn — he was so tiny, Mi'ytiar was able to hold him with one hand as he fit so easily in his entire palm — and placed him in the crook of his arm, the upper body of his son pressed against his bicep. The typical instinct of a Yautja pup to hold on made his son immediately cling to him.

With a heavy heart at leaving you alone once again, he went through the ship to take the pup to its sleeping place in the sleeping quarters. Digging out more of the cushions and covers you had stashed away, he created a makeshift crib so his son wouldn’t move in a fatal position or roll out of the pod by accident. When he was sure he could leave him alone for a moment, he put the pup down and returned to you.

You were still in the same unconscious state he had left you. With a pained, sorrowful purr he lifted you up and into his arms, the almost empty blood bag held up by his hand. The sight of you like this was hurting him more than any wound he ever got from an enemy.

Back in the sleeping quarters, Mi'ytiar put you down in the pod where the two of you would usually rest. And where the little one was probably conceived, he thought with his eyes looking over at the pup.

Since the ship was not equipped with the necessary medical supplies and equipment, he had to make do with what was available to him. All he could do now was let you sleep and heal. Should the sxánxik not do its job, his blood would do.

To distract himself — because looking down at the device around his left arm, the journey back home would take another hour — he picked his newborn pup up and started to rock him softly. He remembered your reaction when you had seen him do it for the first time with Akail, scolding him for hurling the pup around. Your words.

Trying to not let his amusement show too much on his face, he had explained to you that Yautja babies, even when they were mere minutes old, were quite sturdy. They could endure more than you would think and you had learned that in the following five years. To put it simple, Akail had been a menace when he wasn’t a complete mama’s boy. He had wanted to explore; first your home, then the clan grounds, and then the whole planet.

Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle-like rumble at the memory of an eager Akail running around, dodging his mother’s arms that tried to keep him inside your home and from running around in the village. He had watched you both with mirth in his eyes, but regretted it the second a grumbling laugh left his mouth. If it had been possible, he would have dropped dead when you glared at him with a very nasty look. Wincing inwardly, he pulled his figurative tail between his legs and came to your aid, grabbing Akail by the nape and lifting him up. Then you had looked at your son with a I’m-very-disappointed-in-you expression on your face and this time it was the pup that winced (Mi'ytiar almost too, if he was being honest).

Like father, like son.

This one will be just as in love with his mother as his father and older brother were, he was sure of it.

Warm, soft and bright.

Those were the things you noticed first even with your eyes closed.

The next thing your brain registered was that you could move every part of your body, although a little sluggish, when you wiggled your toes, and clenched and unclenched your hands. You were relieved that whatever happened to you hadn’t paralyzed you.

Blinking, you opened your eyes and with a blurry vision, the very first thing you saw was a familiar, but somehow unfamiliar metal pole that looked like an IV stand.

But that couldn’t be. You should be the only human thing on Yautja Prime, so why…

“You awake.”

You slowly turned your head in the direction of the voice. You could only make out a dark, tall figure standing in the doorway, though not tall enough to be your mate.

“Cahrein?” You murmured.

“Mhm.”

Said Yaujta entered the room to inspect the stand, tapping the bag with a clear substance inside. He traced the tube attached to it with a sharp claw to the point where it was connected to the needle in your arm. 

“Fascinating I must say.”

“What is this? Why is it here?” You asked and tried to get up, hoping the fatigue would wear off faster in an upright position.

With a deep rumble and a clicking of his mandibles, Cahrein gently pushed you back down. “The great Mi’ytiar always made sure you had everything you need should medical emergency arise.”

“He did?”

Cahrein nodded with his head. “He traveled to ooman world to get whatever you need every time oomans developed their creations.”

You looked at the healer who now inspected the red bag filled with your blood.

When you started to be more involved in the life of the Yautja, the possibility of getting hurt grew. It wasn’t likely as your mate never let you do anything that could cause even a bruise. Well except, of course, mating with him. 

When your already drawn blood expired, you would go to Cahrein so he could take new one for emergencies while you sat in Mi'ytiar’s lap, his purring and his hands caressing you calming you down. Despite being a former nurse you hated needles.

“How...” You coughed, your voice hoarse from not being used. “How long was I… asleep?”

“Six days.”

“That long?” You whispered to yourself in disbelief.

You settled back into the soft cushions of your nest, watching the healer adjust the blood bag as if there was the perfect angle for it to hang. Ever the perfectionist. 

You carefully lifted the arm with the needle inside while you grabbed a black woolen blanket to pull it over your body, somehow feeling cold despite the fire burning. 

Doing so, you dragged your heavy-feeling arm over your stomach.

Your flat stomach.

You jumped up from your lying position, ignoring the stabbing headache. 

Cahrein turned around, only needing to take one big step to be by your side, and was ready to scold you for going against your doctor’s orders, but his words were dying on his tongue when you ripped the piece of clothing you were wearing open. Immediately he averted his eyes and turned his back to you. 

You may be his patient right now, but he had no death wish. Sure, he had seen parts of you in his role as the healer, but only with permission and in attendance of your mate. And said mate definitely didn’t need to be in the room to witness his human being exposed in front of someone who wasn’t him to install that deep-rooting respect (and maybe even slight fear) in Cahrein. 

You were oblivious to the internal battle of Cahrein who was fighting against the urge to make sure you weren’t overexerting yourself and the fact that he couldn’t do so without having to look at you. Instead, you were frantically tracing the faint scar across your stomach with shaky hands.

Baby…

Where was your baby?

Where was it?!

The maternal instincts were almost animalistic as they made you heave, your lungs starting to struggle to take in air.

It had been here, inside your belly, carried under your heart…

Why wasn’t it here?

It should be… it should be…

Cahrein was really tempted to turn around when he listened to your breath getting more and more irritated and uneven. When he heard suspicious rustling, he spun around and grabbed the nearest cover to put it on you — the blanket you had wanted to snuggle into. 

“Calm, (Y/N), calm.” He purred as he pushed you back onto the nest when you tried to crawl out of it. 

“My pup, my pup. Where is my pup?” You squeaked.

You were digging your nails into his skin, scratching it without leaving much damage. You weren't really a challenge to him. You were still weak from the blood loss and the week of bed rest. Had it been a female Yautja, Cahrein would have probably been dead by now. They were just as territorial and protective of their pups as you were right now.

“He is fine. He is with his father.” He soothed you and tried to push you onto your back and into the nest. "I will call for him."

Still shaking, you ceased your resistance a little, allowing Cahrein to let go of you. Despite everything screaming inside of you to fight your way to your pup, your body in its state wouldn't even make it out of the room. So you settled down but kept your nerves on edge.

You were taking deep breaths in and out as you strained every muscle to prop yourself up into a sitting position, your legs tangled and angled to the side.

Tugging on the soft fabric of the blanket draped over you, you looked around the room. It was just like you remembered — all four walls made of smooth obsidian-like stone, the large window from the floor up to the ceiling behind your nest giving you the perfect view of the jungle-like valley beneath you by the cliff where the village was located on, the build-in shelves that mostly displayed your mate's most valued trophies, but also some of your possessions from your old home on earth like your books and your favorite pot plant, the futuristic wardrobe Mi'ytiar had made for you when he kept gifting you fabrics, feathers, fur, leather and such so you could make yourself clothes with the help of the Females.

It was home.

As your eyes swept over the room from left to right, they stopped when they spotted the small, wooden crib next to the nest. It had been Akail‘s when he was a newborn pup. It was lovingly and thoughtfully crafted by Mi’ytiar, while you had carved accents, patterns, and little figures into it.

Sure, Yautja Females had their own, traditional way of taking care of their pups, but you were human and your baby was partly human, so you wanted at least a little human influence in raising it. It‘s the only way you knew and were able to do it. Mi’tyiar let you take the reins since he had no prior knowledge himself. He was a first-time father and would just follow your instructions when you needed assistance. 

That led to you unknowingly breaking a custom. Usually, at this age, the Female was raising the pup alone. The Male was barely involved during that time and would only take over when it was time for the pup to train as a Youngblood. 

Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, the ever-loving father, was there by your side for every of Akail’s wobbly steps, incoherent mumble and mandible click. If he was human, you fondly mused, he would be that kind of a parent who would take photos and videos of even the most random event and unnecessary thing their baby did.

He was such a fierce and strong leader, callous and ruthless when the situation required it, a brutish savage if he was challenged, but when it came to his little family he was so soft and gentle like any human father or husband.

While you were spacing out, resisting the urge to reach over to the crib and check if the bedding was still warm, signs of a little life sleeping in it, you didn’t notice the newcomers in your room.

“Yawne...” A voice sounded far away before you started blinking, refocusing yourself.

Your eyes snapped to the now much larger form standing in the entrance of the room holding a small, wiggling bundle in his arms, cradling it to his chest. His yellow eyes were solely on you, looking at you in disbelief as if he thought they were deceiving him. 

Mi'ytiar pushed the bundle in his arms into those of Cahrein, who you barely registered walking in behind your mate, and made his way over to you in a few quick strides. Your eyes were fixed onto the thing your whole being was screaming for the most, but when Mi'ytiar cupped your cheeks with both of his hands, your whole attention was on him — your mate, the love of your life, your sun and your moon.

“Tahní.” You breathed and put your hands on his, craving his warm skin closer to you.

He moved forward and gently put his forehead to yours, purring loudly into the otherwise silent room. 

“I thought I lose you. I thought you die. Again.” He grumbled, his eyes closed.

You lifted your head and placed a few kisses on the skin of his forehead. 

“I‘m a fighter. I thought you knew that by now.” You chuckled, your voice hoarse.

Mi'ytiar grumbled again, not appreciating you making jokes when you had been on the brink of life and death.

“What happened?” You asked and pulled away to finally look at him. 

Mi'ytiar — and you really had no nicer word to describe it — looked horrible. If Yautja were able to develop bags under their eyes, he definitely would have some. He looked beyond tired. There was a devastated, but also relieved look in his eyes, you had no problem deciphering the reason behind it. 

“I only remember how my water broke… how you carried me back to the ship… and the call with Cahrein.” You mumbled as you tried to recall any memory you had stored in the back of your mind.

It was all blurry and tangled and you had no idea what happened when. The only thing you remembered with conviction was the pain. When the contractions started in that forest, it was far more manageable than the pain at Akail‘s birth. But when the labor was taking longer than it was normal, it got almost unbearable.

“What happened? How did he…” You trailed off as you glanced past Mi'ytiar and to Cahrein who was rocking the whiny bundle in his arm to calm it down.

“Mi'ytiar, please.” You begged as you looked back at him, pleading with your eyes. “Please give him to me. I need to… I need to…”

The distress your body was emitting almost made him shrink away. 

“Cahrein.” Mi'ytiar grunted and reached out.

Cahrein, who was struggling a little with the fussing pup in his care, careful not to accidentally drop it, made his way over to his leader. He would be lying if said he didn’t feel at least some relief when the restless pup left his arms. The last thing he wanted to do was sending you further down a spiral of frantic worry about your baby. He had seen enough Females going rogue for lesser reasons and experience showed to never stand between a mother and their pup. It was the last mistake you would make.

Mi'ytiar purred softly at the bundle before he turned back to you and offered it for you to take it. You eagerly engulfed it in your arms and the second you had a hold on it, the fussing pup settled down.

“Leave.” Mi'ytiar ordered gruffly when you started to push down the only cover your body had, not taking his eyes off his son and his mate.

Cahrein bowed his head and quickly took his leave. He would talk about anything medical and the further necessary bed rest another time.

You didn’t notice him leaving, too busy freeing your newborn son of the baby blanket that was practically drowning him.

You had knitted it when you were six months pregnant with Akail. He had been obsessed with it as long as he was a tiny pup.

Back when you were a nurse, some mothers had excitedly told you about all the preparations they had done before the baby was due. One of them had brought wool, knitting needles, and a half-finished blanket to her appointments. She had explained to you how she learned knitting only for her baby, so she could make all this stuff for it.

It was a sweet memory.

Mi'ytiar, of course, went on a trip back to earth and got you anything and everything you wanted and needed, even more than you originally needed in hopes his offerings would please you. And you hadn’t even needed to use much persuasion. Looking up at him with those big eyes of yours while rubbing the prominent baby bump was enough to prepare a ship and fly to your home planet the next day.

Sweet, sweet memories.

You were humming as Mi'ytiar crawled on the nest behind you, setting the blanket you had shrugged off to the side, and pulled you on his lap. He wrapped his arms around you and watched over your shoulder as you cradled your pup against your bare chest. You sighed in contentment when you could feel your son’s skin against your own, like it’s the final thing you needed to reassure you that you were actually here, that he was real.

Without the baby blanket covering him, you finally got a good look at your son. And god, you didn’t know you could fall in love a third time in your life.

He was perfect.

Unlike his big brother, he was the carbon copy of his father. While Akail did look like his father, having the same color scheme as him, the patterns were of opposite colors. His younger brother, on the other hand, didn’t only have the same color pallet as his father, but the patterns of his skin were colored just the same as Mi'ytiar‘s. Otherwise, he didn’t look much different from Akail when he had been a newborn — the same numbs on his head where his dreads would grow, the same thin and undeveloped mandibles around his mouth, the same arms and legs.

He was about the size of a human baby. It was incredible to think how big in size and height he would grow in the coming years.

You inspected every aspect of his tiny body, your fingers gliding over his torso and limbs, admiring every centimeter of him.

“You were right.” Mi'ytiar suddenly said. “He was in abnormal position. He was stuck.”

You stilled for a moment before you continued to coo at your baby.

“You begged me to get him out and I did. I cut in you and you…” He trailed off and grunted at his wavering voice. “You stopped moving when I pulled pup out. You were gone.”

“No.” You interrupted him and turned your upper body to look at him. “If I was gone, I wouldn’t be here with you. With him.” You moved your arms with your turned torso, so his son was back in his sight. “I wouldn’t be here to tell you how happy I am, to tell you how glad I am that you handled it so well. You saved his life. And mine too.”

You shifted your pup into one arm to reach up and place your hand on his cheek. You didn’t even need to pull him in for him to move closer and put his forehead once again against yours, closing your eyes. Since his anatomy made it impossible to actually kiss him, you decided that forehead-against-forehead was an acceptable compensation. Although it wasn’t anything special, it felt so intimate with him that you didn’t really miss the ability to kiss your partner.

“I’m here. I’m alive. I’m not going anywhere, Mi'ytiar.” You told him softly, rubbing your skin against his like a cat. “Thanks to you I’m able to continue to breathe, to walk and talk. Thanks to you I’m able to continue to love you and live my life with you, my strong and handsome mate, and our pups.”

You had so many other things to say to him, but you started to choke on your words. Tears were dripping down your cheeks.

You opened your eyes when you felt something rough rub the skin under them and saw him wiping away the tears with his thumb. His other hand came up and its thumb did the same with the tears coming from your other eye. Mi'ytiar looked fondly down at you, his head cocked to the side.

“Thank you so much.” You mumbled, your voice a little shaky, and buried your face into his chest.

Mi'ytiar clicked his mandibles softly and carefully pulled you closer, making sure to not crush the pup between your bodies.

“Anything for you.” He purred.

He felt the wetness dripping from your eyes to your cheeks and down on his chest ease after a while. And when you lifted your head to look up at him, you gave him one of those dazzling, soft smiles he loved so much.

Mi'ytiar wanted to reach out again, wanted to pull you closer and snuggle his face into the crook of your neck to smell your sweet, familiar scent he missed so much. But sadly a certain someone demanded your attention more loudly.

The pup in your arms started to fuss again, causing you to use both arms again to hold him tight against you. Shushing him, you nestled him in the crook of your neck and stroked his back.

Mi'ytiar let out a displeased grunt before he could stop himself, glaring at his son being in a place where he wanted to be just a moment ago.

You, of course, didn’t miss your mate fixing the pup with a dismayed look and you immediately knew why. This wasn’t your first baby after all.

“Mi'ytiar, don’t tell me you’re jealous again.” You grinned up at him, not even trying to hide your amusement.

“‘M not.” He grunted.

“You are.”

“Not.”

“Mhm.” You hummed, unconvinced, raising an eyebrow. “Just as you were not jealous when Akail was occupying my boobs as a pillow for a year? Or when I tried breastfeeding with him? Or when he challenged you every time you came near me even though he just had learned to walk? Or when he-”

To silence you, he bit down into your throat and you immediately went slack. It was a somewhat trained reaction every time he would do that. Where a human would shut you up with a kiss, your mate bit you. A show of dominance, without a question, and you would lie if you said it didn’t turn you on. The moan that would have proofed it had almost slipped from your lips.

“Not jealous.” Mi'ytiar insisted gruffly and licked over the bite mark.

“Fine, fine.” You mumbled, still a little dazed from his little display of power.

The two of you stayed silent for a while. The only sound was the occasional chittering and cooing of your son, who was looking up at his parents with his big, pale yellow eyes. They would grow more intense in color in no time.

“Did you already name him?” You asked and giggled when your pup tried to snatch up your finger with which you were drawing patterns in the air, moving it around in front of his face.

You watched as your pup finally caught your pointer finger and inserted it into his mouth. You laughed when you felt his gums chew on it. His teeth would develop only in a few weeks.

“The name you chose.” Mi'ytiar grunted softly.

You hummed in understanding and snuggled your face into the side of your son‘s head.

“Hi, Toyah.”

Tag List

⇨ Hey guys, despite having only some requests to be tagged in this part, I wanted to tag any and everyone who ever left a comment on one or more parts of this series. I'm seriously so thankful, you have no idea. Thank you so much for showing interest and voicing it. Thank you so much for your kind words that kept me motivated to continue this story. But, as I said at the beginning, this is not the end of Mi'ytiar, so lets hope we see each other on more of my works in the future!

@lil-lilacwitch, @zaky-ller, @eternalmoonshineofahopelessfan, @haleypearce @montybooks,

@ailujsenutna, @rorrika, @h0n3y-l3m0n05, @mahirublue, @00justanolive00,

@mortuaconjuga, @victor-rose, @screechingenemy18, @thewitchesofart, @skibbiescoober,

@pyreemo, @han-sirentell, @dd122004dd, @milkzze, @wildaces,

@serendipitous-fernweh, @misspendragonsworld, @bunnymysteriously, @ladygrimmx, @thelrina,

@quaritcxswifewh0re, @imaginarydreams, @vintage-bumblebee, @blaxkmagix, @beelievit,

@blmcd57110, @mythirdlife235, @the-artistic-devotee, @jojooasis, @pipocfamily,

@bimboreader, @noname2246, @sawendel, @being-worthy, @xcol2sblog,

@panpandeep00, @maxismp1, @bastet222, @candyladycry, @crowleysthings

[veganineden]

On the Evolution of “Happily Ever After” and Why “Nothing Lasts Forever”

A reflection inspired by Good Omens 2

One of my favorite Tumblr posts on the second season of Good Omens 2 was actually not about the series at all, but our reaction to it, primarily the ending. @zehwulf wrote, “I think a lot of us—myself included—got a little too comfortable with assuming [Aziraphale and Crowley would] work on their issues right away post-Armageddon.” We did the work for them through meta, fanfiction, fanart, and building a plethora of headcanons. Who among us AO3-surfing fans didn’t read and love Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm?

In the 4 long years since season one was released, we did more than seek to understand and repair rifts between two fictional beings: we were forced to reckon with ourselves too. We faced a global pandemic, suffered traumatizing losses and isolation, and were forced to really and truly look into the face of our atrocities-ridden and capitalistic world. The mainstream rise of Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Justice work, and our participation in this work, showed us that the systems in place were built to oppress and harm most of us, and they are. 

So, what does this have to do with the evolution of “happily ever after”? 

My friend put it best in a conversation we had following the season finale, when she pointed out a shift in media focus. The “happy end” in old stories about wars and kingdoms used to be “we killed the evil old king and put a noble young king in his place and now citizens can live in peace” and we’re transitioning into a period of “we tore down the whole fucking monarchy.” 

If we look at season one, written to follow the beats of a love story, it comforted us by offering a pretty traditional happy ending pattern: you get your fancy dinner with your special someone, the romantic music plays, and you have a place to call your own. Season one’s finale provided a temporary freedom for Aziraphale and Crowley, the “breathing room,” but it didn't solve the problem that was Heaven and Hell, or the agendas belonging to those systems of oppression. 

Is it good enough to keep our heads down, pretend the bad stuff isn’t happening, and live our own personal happy endings until we die? Moral quandaries aside, if you don't die (or if you care about the generations after you), then, like Aziraphale said, it “can’t last forever.” There’s a clear unpleasant end to the “happily ever after” that’s based on ignoring our problems– it’s the destruction of our relationships, and humanity. 

Ineffable Bureaucracy can go off into the stars because they do not care about humanity. 

You know who does?

Aziraphale. 

And Aziraphale knows that Crowley cares about humanity too. (He knows because Crowley was the one who proposed sabotaging Armageddon in the first place, who only invited him to the stars when he thought all was lost, because Crowley would save humanity if he thought it was possible, and Aziraphale knows Crowley has survived losing Everything before, and he will do all in his power so that Crowley does not need to experience that again.) 

In season one and two, we see how much they care about humanity, beyond their orders, to the point The Systems begin to frown at them. Aziraphale hears Crowley’s offer to run away together in the final episode of season two, to leave Earth behind, and just like the first time that offer was made in season one, he declines. He knows choosing only “us” is not a choice either of them can live with for the rest of eternity.

I believe season 3 will provide an opportunity to “dismantle the system,” but I don’t know how it will play out. I worry that Aziraphale has put himself in the now-dead trope of the “young noble king.” (I wish Crowley had told him why Gabriel was dismissed from his duties.) I worry that he would martyr himself as a sole agent for change. I worry that he doesn’t actually know how to dismantle anything by himself: because you can’t. He needs Crowley. He DOES. He needs Crowley, and Muriel, and other angels and demons and humans without fixed mindsets to help him. Only by learning to listen and making room at the table for all can they (and we) move past personal satisfaction to collective liberation. 

Crowley was right when he said that Aziraphale had discovered his “civic obligations.”

So, I think we will get our modern-day happy ending– and it’s going to involve a lot of pain and discomfort, communication, healing and teamwork– and in the end, it’ll all be okay. There will be a time for rest and a time for “us.” 

And most likely a cottage. 

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

 - Maya Angelou

Support the SAG-AFTRA strike and other unions. Trust @neil-gaiman. Register to vote if you haven’t yet. Hold yourself and others accountable with compassion. Read books. Keep doing the work. Rest. Then watch Good Omens 2 again.  

[joelscruff]

joelscruff -> @pedropeach 🍑

so! this past little while has certainly been a dumpster fire of a situation! but if anything, something good that has come out of it is that this was the final push i needed to finally make a new blog.

i've been wanting to do this for a while; some of you may already know (because of the amount of times i've complained about it lmao) that joelscruff is and always has been a sideblog. when i first created it i hadn't used tumblr in years and wasn't anticipating using it very much again, so instead of just making an entirely new blog i decided to just make a sideblog attached to my very old (and unused) main. but obviously once i realized there was a whole ass community on here for pedro and pedro character fic, i ended up sticking around and - as a result - being stuck as a sideblog.

unfortunately being a sideblog on tumblr is extremely limiting. i can't follow from this blog, send asks, or even like posts. it was only very recently that sideblogs were even able to reply to posts. it's always been extremely frustrating and for the longest time i've toyed with the idea of just making a new blog so i wouldn't have to deal with the sideblog limitations anymore. but of course i was hesitant because making such a big change and leaving behind what i've done on this blog is a difficult decision to make.

however, after the shit that's gone on the past week, how it's affected me, seeing how it's affected the people closest to me, and witnessing the love and kindness from others because of it - a fresh start just sounded like a really good idea. the fact that i am no longer limited by tumblr's sideblog rules is incredibly freeing and, frankly, all of this stuff has just left an extremely bad taste in my mouth and has left joelscruff feeling like a shell of sorts that i'd like to leave behind.

so, you can now find me at @pedropeach

it's bittersweet to leave this blog behind, but i will be keeping it up as an archive - none of my fics will be deleted. at this time i don't see myself reposting them to the new blog, nor do i see myself posting any fic for a little while in general. however, when i do decide to start posting fic again, my current series will continue to be updated over there as well as on my ao3.

so yeah! whether you want to follow the new blog is up to you! if you decide to say goodbye or stick around, i appreciate you and the time we spent together on this blog all the same. it was truly an incredible experience and i will cherish it forever. i love you 💖

[measuredingold]

everytime

authors note: okay everyone… i need you to stay with me, okay ? 😅 this took a lot longer than i wanted and ended up going in a completely different route than i initially started it as but… good news ! this just means part 4 is coming your way ! and it will officially be the last part in this little series that was never meant to be a series ? 😭 anyways, as always i hope you enjoy. title is everytime by ariana grande :)

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

divider: @saradika-graphics

word count: 4.2K

cross posted on ao3 / part one and two

cw/tw: swearing, complicated feelings, feelings realization ?, Noah Sebastian Is Still Bad At Feelings But He’s Trying, 18+ minors do not interact

Nicholas' eyes snap towards the door every time it opens, leg bouncing with nerves as he waits for your arrival. He doesn't understand why he's the one who's nervous. Maybe it's because he has no part in this? Going behind Noah's back and talking to you, trying to fix what was broken? His stomach twists at the thought.

Yep. Definitely that.

He doesn't want Noah to be upset with him but he couldn't just sit there while his best friend was obviously more affected than he let on. Nicholas knows how stubborn he can be, and knows he's notorious for not being the nicest to himself. Thinking he doesn't deserve good things, ultimately sabotaging each and every good thing that comes his way.

It's harsh, but it's true. Noah knows it. Nicholas knows it. He's watched it happen so many times he can't even count them anymore.

His eyes rise from the table the exact moment you push open the door and you find him instantly, lips stretching into a smile. That eases him and he gives you a tight lipped smile back, lifting a hand to wave.

His eyes drop to the drinks he's already gotten - an iced Americano for himself and an iced matcha latte for you. He hopes you still like that, it really has been a long time since the two of you have hung out together. He doesn't even remember the last time he was in this cafe.

"Hey," You say when you finally reach his table, eyes dropping to the drink. "Whoa. You remembered?"

He nods. "Iced matcha latte?"

"Yeah." Your smile softened as you slid into the chair across from him. "Thank you, you didn't have to."

Nicholas just shrugs in response. He brings his own drink up to his lips to try and hide the grin that forms at your nod in satisfaction.

"Almond milk?"

"Uh, I forgot which you liked so I just kind of guessed."

"I prefer oat milk, but this is still pretty damn good. Thank you."

He smiles. "You're welcome."

"So," You start, sitting your drink down. "How've you been?"

"Good, good." Nicholas nods, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back against the chair. "You?"

"I've been better." You give him a strained smile. "But I'm not what's important here. How was tour?"

He knew you'd avoid it, why you've been better, but he doesn't comment on it. At least, not yet. Instead he dives into a story about the first night of tour and how someone tried to sneak into the venue and backstage just to talk to Jolly, or how Folio played a whole set with food poisoning.

It was easy to get lost in conversation with you, he's never had a problem with it before. You've always been so easy to get along with that it wasn't shocking to Nicholas that Noah cared about you so much, even if he never voiced it. After one last story, both of your guys' laughter eventually dies down, and you watch him curiously across the table.

"What?" He questions, head tilting.

"You didn't want to meet today just to talk about tour, did you?”

Nicholas doesn't say anything at first, tracing random shapes in the condensation on this drink before shrugging.

"I mean, of course I did." He finally looks up at you. "But that's not all I wanted to talk about."

You tilt your head. "What else is there to talk about?"

"You." His eyes drop again to his drink. "Noah."

"What do you mean?"

He says your name gently, "I know."

Your eyes widen for a moment and then you clear your throat, dropping your head to stare at the table. "Oh."

"He told me a while ago." He leaves out that he's known from the beginning, to spare you and Noah, and watches you carefully. "You ended it last night."

"Do you blame me?" Your voice is tight, finally looking up at him with narrowed eyes.

"No. I don't."

Your gaze softens for a moment. "Then what is there to talk about?"

He sighs. "He's being really fucking stubborn but he does care about you. A lot."

"He has a weird way of showing it."

"He wasn't always like that." Nicholas starts, hands cupping his drink. "He's always been more reserved, but not like he is now. He's just," He contemplates his words, rolling his lips, "been through a lot."

Your arms cross over your chest, head tilting. "Elaborate."

Nicholas chews on his bottom lip nervously. He knows it's not his place. He knows he's teetering over the line of trying to help and also outing all of Noah's dirty laundry, but he feels like you need some kind of explanation on why his best friend is the way he is. You deserve that much, at least to Nicholas.

He clears his throat. "He... There used to be someone. She was fine at first, I guess. Noah thought that she was the greatest thing ever. Kissed the ground she walked on. He finally opened himself up to someone that wasn't already in his circle and it..." Nicholas sighs, finally meeting your eyes again. "It got bad. I watched him get hurt time and time again and he just seemed to keep... going back. Had this sort of warped perception of her? She was basically using him for some weird gain, I still don't know what for. He couldn't see it, though."

"Oh." Your face kind of falls, brows furrowing. "Rose-colored glasses type thing?"

"Yeah. Exactly that." Nicholas shrugs. "We all tried talking to him, but he just wouldn't listen. Until it was too late. I've never seen him so..." He sighs. "I've known him for a long time. Seen him at his worst before all of this and when I tell you it was bad, it was fucking bad. He didn't talk to me for a week. Locked himself in his room. By the time he came back around he was... he was still Noah, but different. More quiet. A lot more reserved. Stand-offish with anyone not in our immediate circle."

"What did she do?"

Nicholas left out a lot on purpose, but there was just things he couldn’t talk about. It wasn’t his place - Noah needed to tell you himself. "All I can tell is that it was bad. Fucked up."

"Hm." You hum in response, eyes dropping from Nicholas down to the table. "I guess that explains it then."

"It doesn't excuse his behavior. He knows what he's doing, but it's not really... malicious. It's just..." He shrugs again. "Protecting himself?"

"He'd rather do the hurting than be hurt himself?"

"I think that's it. He has it in his mind that this is better for you and for him. Instead of wasting each other's time," Nicholas gives you a sad smile before he shrugs his shoulders, reaching for his drink again. "But I call bullshit. I've known him since he was 13. He cares about you, more than he'd like to admit to anyone. Especially himself."

You don't say anything to that, you barely even look at him, focused on the drink in front of you. He takes a sip from his own drink watching you carefully.

"I'm not trying to say that what he did wasn't fucked, because it was. You're my friend, too." He sits his drink back down on the table, arms crossing over his chest. "But he's also my brother, and I needed you to know that he wasn't doing this because he's a heartless asshole. He's just scared. Has somewhat valid reasons to be scared, but doesn't... handle it right?"

"Definitely doesn't handle it right." You snort, but then your face falls when you look up at him before you speak again. "Why didn't he just tell me?"

All Nicholas does is raise a brow at you.

"Right. Protecting himself."

"Exactly." His words trail off before he mumbles out, "but if you'd reach out to him, maybe he'd tell you."

You sit up in your seat, resting your elbows on the table. "You want me to unblock him?"

"Listen," He says your name gently again, mimicking your movements and leaning his elbows against the table. "I know how you feel about him. And I know how he feels about you. I can't just sit here and watch this really good thing go down in flames because my friends are fucking stubborn." You open your mouth to argue with him but he points a finger at you. "You are fucking stubborn. Don't lie."

"Whatever." You grumble, arms crossing over your chest.

You look off to the side and Nicholas wonders what you're thinking, and if you're even considering his words. He knows what Noah did was wrong, he's not excusing that, but... maybe if you understand his point of view, it'd make it easier to understand the enigma that is Noah Sebastian.

And how can you do that without talking to him?

"Just think about it. Please?"

You don't say anything for a while, probably a whole minute before you're sighing out, "Fine. I'll talk to him."

Nicholas tries to keep his triumphant smile at bay, but he can already feel the corners of his lips curling.

First part of his plan is complete, and he hopes the rest can work itself out naturally.

Can we talk?

Noah's eyes nearly bulged out of his head when your text came through. Was he seeing that right? You unblocked him? Not only that, but you wanted to talk to him? His heart pounded against his chest as he continued to stare down at his phone, re-reading your name on his screen over and over again.

He can't even move, practically paralyzed in his spot. What is there to talk about? He thought you were done. He doesn't blame you. It's what he wanted, even if the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach seemed to disagree. What could have changed in the last few days? There's no way you could've had a change of heart that quick.

"Hey." His head snaps towards his door to find Nicholas peeking in, giving him a small smile. "We're heading out to get some food. Wanna come?"

For a second he thinks he'll just ignore your message, delete it, and pocket his phone to go eat with his friends. Then the tiny voice in the back of his mind starts, and he finds himself shaking his head.

"Um. Nah, I'm good." He clears his throat, eyes darting down to his phone back to Nicholas. "How long will you be gone?"

Nicholas shrugs, leaning his body against the door frame. "Few hours. Why?"

"Just wondering." There's an awkward pause before Noah clears his throat again. "Gonna work on some stuff, try to knock a few things out. Mind bringing me back some food?"

"Sure. I'll text you the menu whenever we decide where to go."

He thanks Nicholas and waits for his friend to leave, shutting the door behind him before he finally reaches for his phone.

Of course. Do you want to meet somewhere?

Your message comes much quicker than he expects.

Can I come over? I’m nearby.

Oh. His heart picks up beneath his chest and his eyes scan his room quickly, making sure it isn’t too messy. Which, it isn’t. Noah’s always been particular about his room. Having things in order, in the right places. Everything’s where it belongs.

Yeah. Let me know when you get here.

All you do is like his message in response. Noah’s phone falls from his hands and into his lap, eyes wide as he stares at the screen in front of him.

He'd thought about over and over again what he'd tell you exactly if he ever got the chance again. About how sorry he was, about how he knew how unfair it was to you and how wished he could take it back. And he does, but the thought of actually saying those things to your face puts a sour taste in his mouth, stomach turning in nerves.

How the fuck is he going to do this?

When he opens the door, he just stares at you. No words exchanged, just wide eyes and tight pressed lips. Seeing you here, in front of him like this had his head spinning, because he made himself believe he’d never see you again. He feels even dizzier than before.

"You gonna let me in?" Your words bring him back to reality and he has to physically shake his head to come back to himself.

"Uh. Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

He's blushing, he knows, and he dips his head when he gets out of your way to let you inside. You've already seen the pink twinge to his cheeks, though, that much he is aware, but you don't comment on it. Instead, you silently slip inside and he shuts the door behind you. For a second he just stands there, watching you carefully before clearing his throat, tipping his head towards the stairs.

"Do you wanna... go upstairs? Everyone's gone but I um, don't know when they'll be back, so..."

You don't exactly answer his question, just give him a stiff nod before making your way upstairs. You don't even bother waiting for him and Noah finds himself quickly following in line, keeping a steady pace behind you as you walk towards his room. He shuts the door behind him quietly, keeping it unlocked and then leans against it, trying to keep some distance between the two of you.

He doesn't know what to do. You've made yourself comfy for the most part, sitting on the edge of his bed with your legs crossed. You look around the room, probably trying to see if anything was different than before and Noah thinks he hasn't changed much.

He’s sure you’re aware of that.

You finally look at him, head tilting to the side. "You just gonna stare at me?"

"Uh," He swallows. "I guess? You're the one who asked if we could talk."

"Oh." This time it's you who's blushing and for some reason Noah can't help but smile to himself. He missed the sight of the pink tinge to your cheeks every time he got you flustered.

Fuck, did he miss it. He missed you. That confirmation alone had his own face heating up again, stomach swirling with unease as he shifted from foot to foot.

"Listen," You sigh out, arms crossing over your chest as you nod towards Noah's computer chair. "Sit?"

He does.

You take another moment before speaking again, "You really fucking suck at talking about your feelings."

"Uh." He blinks. "What?"

"I said you fucking suck at talking about your feelings, Noah."

He blinks again. What the fuck were you on about? Noah knew this. He's very much aware of how terrible he is at expressing himself, but why the hell were you bringing it up now? Shouldn't you be yelling at him? Telling him how much of an awful person he is?

"Okay."

You stare at him for a beat longer than necessary, expression leveled, and Noah can't help but squirm in his seat. You watching him like that, void of any emotion just... makes him feel weird? Uneasy. Like you can see right through him, see him for who he really is, and that's terrifying.

"God. You are making this harder than it needs to be." You finally say, groaning quietly to yourself as you tip your head back.

"...Sorry?" He watches as you stare at the ceiling for a moment before taking another breath.

"I talked to Nicholas." For some reason those words make his heart drop, eyes widening slightly. “He told me... He didn't tell me everything, okay? Left that up to you if you're willing to, but he told me enough for me to kind of understand?"

His mind races. What did Nicholas tell you exactly? His stomach turns, first out of anger, but then fear of what could have been told to you. He doesn't talk about it often, refuses to, and he doesn't expect himself to talk about it now. Except, you say you understand? He doesn't get that.

"You do?"

"Yeah," You shrug. "Again, he didn't tell me everything. He was really vague, but what I do know is that you..." You pause, trying to find the right words. "...went through something with someone who sounds like they weren't exactly nice to you."

He clears his throat. "You could say that."

You stare at him for a moment, eyes searching him for something and he knows what it is. You're trying to figure out what it is, what happened. He wishes he could tell you. Hell, he wishes he could talk about it at all, but the sour taste in the back of his throat lets him know that he's not ready for that yet.

"You don't have to tell me." You murmur, eyes softening, and Noah's grateful. "I didn't come here to try and pry it out of you. Whenever you're ready to talk about it, you can tell me. Or don't. I don't care."

Noah nods, but doesn't say anything.

"This isn't me defending your shitty behavior, because it is shitty regardless of your past experiences. However, I understand you better." You pause again, chewing on your bottom lip. "And I wish you expressed that without having to be a complete asshole."

Noah snorts. "I'm not too keen on communication. Thought you picked up on that already."

"I picked up on it. Don't worry." You deadpan, the corners of your lips are curling into a smile, and Noah thinks this is a good start. "You really need to work on that."

He nods. "I know."

The silence that follows isn't awkward, per say, but it's there. Lingering. Noah knows what he needs to do, what he needs to say to you, but it's still hard to even get it out. He takes a deep breath, leaning back against his chair, eyes trained to his lap.

"I'm sorry." He says it so quietly he doubts you even heard him, but he continues anyway. "You didn't deserve what I put you through. No one does, but especially you. I need you to know it wasn't like, malicious or whatever, it was just-"

"You were protecting yourself." You cut him off and his eyes snap up towards you, brows furrowed.

"Yeah... I was."

"Easier to be the one doing the hurting rather than being hurt?”

He swallows, your words settling into his chest. "I guess you could say that."

You stare at him again and this time he braves holding your gaze, and watches as your eyes soften. His throat tightens and Noah finds himself wanting to tell you everything, down to every last detail that he can remember. He opens his mouth but shuts it, clearing his throat.

"I.." He starts, and then clears his throat again, gaze dropping to his lap. "There's a lot that happened. With this person. They really fucking sucked, but I didn’t notice until it was too late. Uh. I'm still working through it, but one day I'd... I'd really like to tell you about it."

"Yeah?"

He nods and then continues, "I know it fucked with me and the way I percieve things. It's definitely fucked with the way I navigate relationships, and that's not fair to anyone. Especially you. I'm..." Noah pauses and takes a deep breath. "I'm just really fucking sorry I couldn’t say that sooner. I'm not asking for forgiveness, that's the last thing I'd ask of you. I just want to do better - be better. For you. For me. For everyone."

His eyes flick up towards you and watches as your entire expression softens, eyes widening at his confession. It felt weird saying it out loud but the heaviness against his chest felt lighter, like he was more at ease from finally admitting to something that's been eating at him for weeks. The walls were still very much up, enclosing him in, but he could feel himself slowly starting to chip away at the edges. It'll take awhile, he's one hundred percent sure, but... he thinks he could do it.

"You could, you know. Be better. If you tried."

"I want to try." He's quick with his response, eyes locking with yours. "If you'd let me."

"...Will you let yourself try?"

Noah thinks about it for a moment, because that is a valid question. He's usually all talk and never follows through, the same fears always winning in the end. This time, though, it feels... different. It feels like he actually wants to try. This is uncharted territory for him, but it's not bad.

He nods. "I think I will."

"Okay." You nod to yourself, clearing your throat as you look around his room one more time before your eyes land back on him. "Okay. Then I'm willing to try, too."

His heart pounds against his chest, ears ringing. He wasn't expecting you to agree so fast, to even want to try again. Noah still isn't sure what trying will actually entail, but if it ends with having you back in his arms one day, he thinks he's willing to do whatever. He coughs to try and cover up the shock written all over his face, nodding along with you.

"Okay. Cool."

"And thank you for trusting me with that. I know it was hard to even tell me that much."

"...It was, but I told you I'm trying."

You smile, something small and almost barely there. "You are. Thank you."

Silence fills the air after that, an uncertainty lingering around the two of you. He supposes you're not sure what the trying will entail either and expects that the two of you will be navigating whatever the fuck that is soon enough. For right now, he's just happy that you're here, and that you agreed. It wasn't a confirmation on forgiving him, but it was something, and he's not going to take that for granted.

"This went a lot better than I expected." You say honestly, and laughter soon follows your words. "You better thank Nicholas whenever you see him again, he's the whole reason I even agreed to talk to you."

Noah's head tilts. "Really?"

"Mhm." You rest your hands behind you, leaning back on the bed. "When we talked yesterday, he asked if I’d consider talking to you. Really cares about you, implied you sabotage every relationship you encounter. I could tell he was sick of you being mean to yourself."

"Huh." He thinks he should be upset with Nicholas, practically weaseling his way into a situation that didn't include him whatsoever, but he can't find himself to be anything but relieved. If it wasn't for his best friend, he isn't sure you'd be sitting in front of him right now. He isn't sure he would've ever seen you again. "I'll have to thank him whenever he gets back, I guess."

"You should."

You smile at him, a smile Noah hasn't seen in what feels like a thousand fucking years, and it nearly knocks the air out of him. He's always loved your smile, even though he was terrified at the way it made him feel like butterflies were erupting inside of his stomach. Right now, though, he welcomes the feeling, and smiles back.

"Well, I uh. Should probably go."

Noah ignores the way his heart drops and nods silently, knowing that you were right. This was more than enough, and you didn't have to give him any more of your time than you wanted to.

"Let me walk you out."

It's silent as the two of you step out of his room and he follows behind you as you make your way back downstairs and by the door. He feels selfish, not wanting you to leave after he just... got you back? He isn't sure what to call it right now, but the overwhelming urge to pull you into his arms was practically eating at him.

"I'll uh... text you, when I get home?" You sound uncertain when you say it, slowly starting to slip on your shoes. Noah stuffs his hands in the pockets of his sweats.

"I'd like that." He mumbles, giving you a timid grin. "And uh... maybe later this week I could. Um. We could like, I don't know? Hang out. Get something to eat. Whatever you want."

You pause your movements, head turning to stare up at Noah with wide eyes before the shock turns into a teasing grin, eyes glinting.

"Are you asking me on a date, Noah?"

It's his turn to stare at you with wide eyes. "Um. I. Well. I don't know? Maybe? I'm not really sure what you're exactly wanting out of this so if you want it to be a date, then I'm so fucking down but if not. I'm still down. Friends get lunch. That's normal. Right?"

"Right." His face feels warm at the look you're giving him, obviously amused by his sudden embarrassment. "It can be a date, if you want. Or just friends. I'm cool with whatever."

"Oh." Noah stares at you for a moment before taking a deep breath, head nodding. "Then yes, it's a date. If you're okay with that."

The amusement on your face turns into something much softer and your smile grows, and Noah's stomach is doing that butterfly thing again. He smiles.

"I'm definitely okay with that."

[onlyseokmins]

$$60 billion (part 1) • l.s.m.

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

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

Everyone wanted Lee Seokmin. 

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

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

You shiver. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But curiosity eventually overturned the initial fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you both dissolve into laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Obviously."

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

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

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

"And that's why you'll be the —"

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

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

"Technically, that's true."

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

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

"Well —"

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

" — Think fast!"

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

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

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

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

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

"It's… it's never been loaded or…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you have the most demerits this week."

"And whose fault is that?!"

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

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

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

"Hey… thanks."

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

"Mm-hm."

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

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

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

Fascinating little things those Earthlings created!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you do?"

"What haven't I done?"

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

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

"Goodnight, Chan."

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

But tomorrow never came.

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

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

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

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

You're struck with the damning realization.

The gods — they have completely abandoned humankind.

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

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

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

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

"Nothing guarantees —"

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

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

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

Sister Constance doubts.

And something about that thrills you. Terrifyingly so.

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

A sandstorm brews on the horizon.

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

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

The Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood.

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan?!"

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

"What about you?"

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

"But —"

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

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

"Chan, what's —"

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

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

"You hate those kinds of things."

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

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

The bangs of carnage draw closer. Louder.

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

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

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

What was going on?

Boom!

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

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

It's gone.

"No…"

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

"No… no… no…"

Gone.

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

"No!"

And most importantly, he has to be alright.

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

For now.

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

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

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

"Don't. Move."

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

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

"Go ahead and shoot."

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

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

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

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

"I —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt.

"I — I —"

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

"Should've… It should've —"

"Hey, hey…"

"It should've been me!"

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

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

Your body shakes as the tears finally slip free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?"

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

You don't.

"And what do you call this lovely lady?"

"Nothing."

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

"Just haven't decided."

"I see! Mine's Geranium."

"Oh, like… the flower?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's stale too.

Fucker.

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh-huh."

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

"Hey, now —"

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

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

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

"'Ol Needle Noggin, eh?"

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

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

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

"Wasn't tryna scam —"

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

"Anyone told ya how irritatin' ya are?"

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

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

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

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

You feel a funny sensation.

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

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

"Oh, go to hell, Choi!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that's anything new."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you're on edge.

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

"Now who's staring?"

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

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

Hope.

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

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

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

"Can I pour you another drink?"

"Sure," you chuckle, pleased.

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

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

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

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

"'Lo, Wonu."

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

"Past yer bedtime, lil one?"

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

"Oh, Lina…"

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

"Huh, what a darlin' angel!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, how your heart aches.

"Even prettier."

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

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

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

"I am strong!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Choi —"

"Yeah!" Lina claps ecstatically.

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

"I swear!"

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

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

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

"Really?!"

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

"Y'see the man in all purple?"

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

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

"Choi!"

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

"Yes, sir!"

"Attagirl."

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

"Dunno, cute?"

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

"No need for apologizin', man."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'S not what I meant!"

"Yeah, yeah."

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

Meanwhile, the pastor's grin turns wolfish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just a bounty hunter."

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

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

"Oh? Same here."

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

"He's…?"

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

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

"Yeah, tell me about it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pastor. Pleased to meet'cha."

"Oh! Really?"

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

"Do you, hm, officiate weddings?"

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

"M-maybe."

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

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

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

"No one even has sixty billion double dollars!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fill me up again?"

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

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

But you know the truth.

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

"I'm turning in for the night."

"Smartin' idea."

"Don't get too smashed."

"You should get smashed."

"Bye, Choi."

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

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

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

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

"Hey, you."

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

"So, you're staying here tonight?"

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

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

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

"You hella reek."

"Says the one who drank over seven shots."

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

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

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

"'Cause that's what he is."

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

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

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

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

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

"Only if you get one, too."

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

"As you wish, m'lady!"

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

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

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

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

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

"M'kay."

"You're so agreeable when drunk!"

"And you're still just as annoying."

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

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

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

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

"'Kay."

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

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

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

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

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

"All mine?"

"Yeah."

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

"Aren't you going to bathe?"

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

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

"Total slaughter…!"

Splash!

"… Total slaughter…"

Splash!

"I won't leave… a single man alive."

Splash! Splash!

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

Splash.

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

"Let's begin… the killing time."

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

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

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

Rem Saverem.

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

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

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

"What's got you making that face?"

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

"What face?"

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

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

"There is."

"Tell me."

"You need to dry your hair properly."

"Do it for me."

"… This is on purpose, isn't it?"

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

"Well, Seok? You gonna answer me?"

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

"You."

"Hm?"

"Was… thinking about you."

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

"… Yeah. I like you."

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

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

"… Mhm yeah, you've been drinking."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why are you acting like that?"

"… Like what?"

Perhaps you were too hopeful.

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

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

"It's… none of that, it's just…"

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

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

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

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

"I'm not the only one!"

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

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

"You don't know how I feel!"

Silence.

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

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

"You're right. How dare I?"

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

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

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

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

Yet, it hurts all the more.

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

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

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

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

Yelling. Crying. Screaming. Pleading.

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

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

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

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

Don't leave me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even Seokmin checks in. Four times.

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

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

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

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

"Beast… reported… Tonim town… !"

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

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

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

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

"You're just weak."

"Wha'zat say 'bout you?"

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

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

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

How typical.

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

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

"Soonyoung's coming."

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

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

"Tuned the VERnon last night."

"'Course you did."

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

"It never hurts to be too prepared!"

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

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

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

"Or… it could be Jeonghan."

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

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

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

Antagonize.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, 'Kwan?"

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

"Sure you are."

"You would absolutely look dashing!"

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

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

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

"All that does is make me cringe."

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

"Who's acting like what?"

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

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

"There's no way!"

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

"Uh-huh."

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

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

"The hell did you even throw for?"

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

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

"Someone just doesn't wanna give in."

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

"Wait… No fucking way…!"

"Literally shut up, Boo."

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

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

"Dirty cheater."

"You expect anything less from someone like him?"

A sigh. "No."

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

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

"Don't recall!"

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

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

"Aw, see? You still care!"

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

"Sure you do."

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

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

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

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

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

"As far as we know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even if it kills 'im?"

"Even if it kills him."

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

"Dokyeom. DK."

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

"Absolute pain in my ass?"

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

"… Deadly Knives?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You admired him. Truly.

"Un-fuckin'-'lievable."

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

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

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

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

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

"… Remind me to never drink again."

"I told you —"

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

"… Mistake?"

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

You wonder how long he's known.

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

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

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

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

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

Who is it you're trying to reassure?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Course they would."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Surely you know what —"

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

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

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

"Still following him around, I see."

"'S a lot comin' from —"

" — Hasn't gotten rid of me yet!"

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

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

"You're delusional."

"Why are you here?"

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

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

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

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

Click!

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

"Uh, so… how many times is this?"

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

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

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

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

"Felnarl. Jeneora Rock. Descartes. Dankin."

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

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

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

"Why you —"

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

"You forgot one."

"Pardon?"

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

"… Huh?"

"Little Ivywood."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn you —"

"Stop it."

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

"You don't want this."

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

"We do."

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

"He's not a monster."

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

To us?

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

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

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

"… Excuse me?"

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

"We would've left peacefully tomorrow."

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

"Because you took a bribe!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"…. I —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Conflict resolution. How very touching."

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

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

"What about that was 'getting good'?"

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

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

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

"Hm. But I think you do."

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

Lina.

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

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

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

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

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

"… Wonu?"

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

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

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

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

It doesn't end there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ooh, thanks, Seungkwan!"

"Pay attention, you blockhead!"

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

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

"Seokmin, switch!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bang!

Bang!

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

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

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

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

Nails.

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

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

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

Drip.

"It's all your fault!"

Drip.

"Their blood is on your hands…"

Drip.

"Don't you feel guilty?"

Drip.

"Don't you feel responsible?"

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Drip.

Someone's screaming. Maybe it's you.

Drip.

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

Drip.

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

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

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

Click.

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

"… out of it!"

"Hyperventialing -"

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

The Crimsonnail sneers.

Your cheek stings.

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

Someone.

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

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

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

"I know, mayfly."

Part 2 | Read the whole thing on AO3

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

[envy-of-the-apple]

I'm 99% sure it was called "Forever Yours" and it was a yandere oneshot series basically of a ton of popular anime boys from the time. The ones I remember were the Tokyo Ghoul dude, there were some Death Note guy chapters, there was the ML from Kamisama kiss, OH and the white haired guy from Psycho-Pass. There were like 50 chapters. It had probably a million likes or something it was INSANELY popular.

Ryntymy also had some other ongoing fics (and a ryntymny/reader crack fic, god, love them for that), but god it's soooo hard to remember.

i DID find a post about one of the fics i knew of that was actually REALLY GOOD that you would have LOVED (it was very similar to saltburn although it's quotev so this yandere was ofc pretty tame):

https://www.reddit.com/r/Quotev/comments/1b652gu/trying_to_find_old_x_reader_fic/

as for what's still up... hm. i do remember parallel ink, and also psychadelic peanut (they had this really trippy izaya fic):

https://www.quotev.com/story/9754667/Unfortunate-YandereIzaya-Orihara-x-Reader/1

AH parallel ink wrote kingdom of possession, which i DO remember:

https://www.quotev.com/story/6759314/Kingdom-of-Possession-Yandere-King-x-Reader

and there was this one series that was ACTUALLY quizzes, which was neat:

https://www.quotev.com/quiz/8085561/Out-of-Sight-Out-of-Mind

this one was a pretty fun sort of mystery style thing:

https://www.quotev.com/story/11260294/Seesaw/1

and this one was like. formative for my longing for pathetic masochistic men. i wasn't super into it back then but THE SEEDS WERE PLANTED:

https://www.quotev.com/story/8901227/Then-Came-You-Sadistic-Reader-x-Yandere-Character-One-Shots/2

SEESAW????? I lovedddd that fic so so much ahhhh it was amazing!!! the fic put me in so much denial cuz i was like 'its him! wait no its not him? wait it IS him? no wait-' very very entertaining

speaking of murder mystery yandere fics...there was this one where the reader was isekaid onto a train and quickly pieces together that all of the passengers resemble ppl from this book they read years ago...except they cant remember the ending aka they dont know who the murderer is. pretty sure the author deleted it but it was good!

its so funny you mention psychedelic peanut cuz i remember they got canceled???? actually...pretty sure parallel ink did too...as well the rest of their clique....and thats why i zipped outta the quotev yandere community!

actually that one aot isekai i was talking about was hosted on quotev! pretty much the height of literature, there's no competition. if i dont find it im just tempted to just rewrite it.

Curse of a Broken Promise is still up there and i think it still holds up! its a yandere kaneki ken fic and the writing is so....whimsical? idk how to explain it but it whenever i read it i always felt so sad. good read!

Imperishable affection (yandere!mafioso x reader) is ALSO written by the same author. basically yandere mafia boss guy threatens you into loving him or else your family dies yada yada so ofc the mc does. for a quotev yandere fic its pretty dark actually.

You Need Me (Yandere Manipulator x reader) THIS was the fic that brought me into the yandere thing. and the author used to update EVERY day so this whole this was an event. and the TWIST i remember being 14 and gasping like 'omg he did EVERYTHING???' very very good

If you want a izayax reader fic whos author WASNT wierd might i suggest Twisted Obsession. Beautiful writing. Its better than most ao3 writing actually and wayyy above mine. I love the way this author characterizes Izaya in this and the backstory for why hes so strange is pretty believable. like i fully believe it should be canon.

Savior Complex is an aot isekai where the mc gets whisked into a yandere sim where Petra is the love interest and the rest of the aot cast is obsessed with her. but we can all guess what happens. pretty good tho!!!

BUT EVERYONE GO READ PRETTY its a gojo x LATINA READER AHHHHHH YESSSS. i just LOVE LOVE LOVE the way this author writes. its so poetic and there's so much left up for interpretation.

[werepuppy-steve]

july fic rec

a monthly rec series to help me with my tbr

this was supposed to be june's fic rec, but i was way too busy with real life things to actually sit down and read anything, so this is a combo of the few fics i already had drafted and what i actually read this month.

FULL DISCLOSURE: some of these were read and bookmarked in previous months but for some reason didn't end up on any rec post??? this is me remedying that

❀ <- may fic rec ❀ more fic recs ❀ my ao3

like a virgin - E, 1.6k, complete bdelaney

tags: transmasc steve, established relationship, cunnilingus, fisting, squirting

It’s not that the rumors of Steve’s promiscuity are wrong exactly. There’s just been some stretching of the truth involved, rumors with details that he doesn’t deny despite their inaccuracy. Because despite the fact that he’s spent many nights with his face buried between the thighs of his many conquests, no one has gotten his pants off to service him the way he does others, and that’s by design. But Eddie complicates things, as he has a tendency to do, because Steve wants to be selfish for once. Wants his first time being touched to be Eddie. It’s all he can think about.

Tender Headed - G, 1.5k, complete (ao3) @steddie-island | kintsugi_kid

tags: hairstylist eddie, touch starved steve, fluff, meetcute

Steve almost has a breakdown when his self-care routine is threatened, but stylist Eddie is happy to step in

glacé (candied peach) - E, 11.8k, complete @hawkinsbnbg

tags: omegaverse, alpha eddie, omega steve, true mates, light dubcon/under-negotiated kink, creep/perv eddie, rockstar eddie

"What made an angel like you fall into my lap, hm?" A husky voice sounded in his ear. Startled, Steve let out a squeak. But the arm around his waist stopped him from falling out of the stranger's lap. "Relax, Angel," the man chuckled warmly. "I won't bite." Steve wasn't sure he could do that. He felt like he was in a grave danger. The kind of dying-from-embarrassment danger.

Falling Into the Deep End - E, 2/2, complete (ao3) @stevesjockstrap | deansdemondick

tags: tattoo artist eddie, modern au, swimmer steve

Corroded Coffin Tattoo gets a new client that shakes up their summer.

Birthday Blues - T, 4.5k, complete (ao3) @steviewashere

tags: alcoholism, angst, emotional abuse, hurt/comfort, steve has a good mom

"He thought his twentieth birthday would come with more fanfare. Maybe not the whole calvary. But something simple. A cake, maybe. A card, possibly. Even just a simple “Happy Birthday.” That would’ve sufficed. And the problem isn’t with his friends. No. They’ve sent him messages over the walkie since the clock hit midnight on June 29th. — The issue is with his mom’s boyfriend. His ‘stepdad.’" OR Steve just wants his stepdad to love him and Eddie makes it known how many other people actually love him

Our Kids - T, 7.4k, complete DotyTakeThisDown

tags: fluff, getting together, apple orchards

“I’m sorry, Steve, can you say that again?” Eddie says from the other end of the phone line. “I thought I heard you volunteered me to drive to an apple orchard.” Steve winces, glad that Eddie can’t see his face right now. “I did.” “Okay.” A long pause. “And what about me screams apple cider and flower picking to you?”

steve vs spiders - E, series, complete crybaby

tags: modern au, meet-cute, grindr, arachnophobia

“Steve?” The guy asks, and Steve can just nod. He holds out a hand, but drops it back to his side when Steve doesn’t move to shake it. He cocks his head, smile still in place. “I’m Eddie, your emergency spider specialist.”  Steve still doesn’t say anything. Just watches as the guy—Eddie—rocks back on his heels.  Eddie clears his throat. “So…where is the little guy?” That finally shocks the words out of him. “He’s not little!” — (Steve moves to a new city and on his first night, he spots a giant spider above his bed. He doesn’t know anyone nearby who can come deal with it for him, so he opens Tinder and swipes right on everyone, copy pasting the same message to every match. Eddie responds.)

In The Heat Of The Night - M, 2.4k, complete @beetlesandstarss

tags: omegaverse, alpah eddie, omega steve, modern au, chat fic, idiots to lovers, a healthy dose of "didn't know they were dating"

eddie: DONT GO IN THE BATHROOM WHEN YUO GET BACK FROM WORK steve: What? Why? eddie: PERSONAL ITEM LEFT ON COUNTER just remembered steve: What, you got like a pussy-impersonator-3000 in there? eddie: ……. steve: YOU DO? eddie: well. it is not. called. That steve: I’m living with a pervert eddie: you are living with an ALPHA. and i am living with a kink-shamer 

over loved - E, 2.8k, complete @hawkinsbnbg

tags: transmasc steve, soft dom eddie, daddy kink, watersports, unsafe sex

Steve asked Eddie to shave his cunt for him.

pity hand-hold - T, 1.7k, complete mseg_21

tags: pre-steddie, hand holding, fluff

Steve finds himself wondering what it would feel like to hold them- Eddie’s hands or just a guy’s hand. He wonders how different it would be from holding Nancy’s hand or Heather’s or Kelly’s. Steve’s fingers itch to reach out and grab Eddie’s- find out if he likes rough hands as much as softer ones, if he likes long fingers as much as smaller ones, if he likes short chipped nails as much as long perfectly manicured ones. It’s not the first time he’s thought about it. It’s not even the first time he’s thought about it while staring at Eddie’s hands, but unlike those other times, Steve actually brings it up. “Have you ever held hands with a guy?” or Steve is curious about what it’s like to hold a guy’s hand so of course he asks Eddie for help

Baby love, our baby love - E, 5.7k, complete what_about_the_fish

tags: steddissy, sexual age play, little steve, age regression, daddy kink, mommy kink, polyamory

Eddie couldn’t help the way he felt watching his sweet baby girl play, it had always made him hard. Something about the way Steve played, with the kind of stress free bliss that he never saw on Steve's face when he was feeling big. Steve even smelt different like this, softer, sweeter, and the way he sounded, especially when Eddie touched him intimately was altogether unique.

I had been hungry, all the Years - E, 3/3, complete jamiethegardener

tags: steddissy, soulmate au, summer flings, getting together, steddie as soulmates

Steve is a sneaky little fucker. Smarter than he looks, because Chrissy called Eddie up and said that Steve told her they all needed to talk and that she should ask Eddie about it. “What do you think he wants?” she asked, and Eddie said, “He probably has a thing for you, Chris, just leave me out of it, I don’t need a broken nose,” and she said, “I don’t think he’s like that anymore, Eddie. Come with me? For moral support?” “Moral support?” Eddie said. “You know you’re talking to a Munson, right?” but here he is trailing behind Chrissy’s white Keds anyway. He should be grateful she hasn’t asked him to bark like a dog yet, he reflects. At least he still has some dignity.

the tattler - G, complete @hairmetal666

tags: school newspaper, fluff, getting together

No one knows who writes the Hawkins High Tattler. It comes out every week, without fail, has for almost two decades. Everyone reads it, even teachers, even parents. It's caused more the one suspension, grounding, and even--famously--a shipping off to boarding school. Steve's never let the Tattler get to him much. He's in it, of course, practically a new story every week. But it's just silly gossip.

My Kingdom For a Kiss Upon His Shoulder - G, 661, complete @steviewashere

tags: post-canon, fluff, non-sexual intimacy, established relationship

“Trade?” He asked, holding out a freshly baked cookie. It was a new hobby Steve had picked up and Eddie adored it. Not only did it put him in a cute, pastel blue, short apron; but it also made him produce baked goods from thin air all the time. He took up on baking as a means to put negative thoughts and energy at bay. It suited him. Made him especially domestic; especially sweet.

oh, baby baby - E, 3k, complete Chubbypeachhh

tags: morning sex, fluff and smut, pregnancy kink, mommy kink

“What were we having?” “A little girl,” Steve answers, the melancholy returning just a bit. It’s inexplicable, the feeling of missing a child he’ll never carry, but it’s there nonetheless. “I miss her,” he admits to Eddie, quietly into the softness of his skin.

Slowly Learning that Life is OK - T, 3.1k, complete (ao3) @runraerun

tags: nancy pov, established steddie, secret relationship

Nancy anguishes over having to tell Steve that she doesn’t feel the same way about him, but the last thing she wants to do is lead the poor guy on. So Nancy Wheeler goes to break Steve Harrington’s heart for what feels like the dozenth time, but when she arrives she’s surprised to find one Eddie Munson already there. And it becomes obvious fairly quickly that Nancy doesn’t have to say a damn thing because as it turns out, Steve’s heart isn’t even hers to break anymore. Or, Nancy finds out Steve and Eddie are boneing when she accidentally stumbles across their porno-Polaroid stash.

in a new light - T, 2.6k, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: body swap, chronic pain, friends (idiots) to lovers

Steve looked around the room before his eyes settled on his own hands. Eddie’s rings were on his fingers. He looked down at his arms, jumping at the sight of Eddie’s tattoos. Eddie’s pale skin. He rushed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, ignoring a deep sense of dread taking over him. “What the fuck?” He asked out loud, only remembering that Wayne would be home at the last minute.

detours & second chances - T, 3.5k, complete (ao3) @steddieasitgoes

tags: post-canon, single dad steve, family vacations, reunions

The bell above their door announces their entrance to the quiet storefront as the sweet, sweet relief of the AC hits them. Steve closes his eyes, soaking in the cool air for a moment before Mabel and Ollie are tugging on his hands, trying to drag him in different directions. Steve knows he should put an end to their bickering that borders on full-on sibling bullying, especially judging by the way they’ve dropped his hand in favor of pinching each other’s arms, but he gets distracted when a figure emerges from the back of the shop. The footsteps are uneven, which makes sense when an ornate cane enters Steve’s line of sight. He studies it, taking in the impressive woodwork and paint job — Max’s own can is pretty spectacular, but this one is a close second. Soon, his eyes drift from the cane to the hand holding it, a ring on each finger. Silver and gaudy and eerily similar to— Or: When the Winnebago breaks down, Steve and his kids find themselves on an unexpected detour that leads him to a familiar face.

seven years - G, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: witsec eddie, established relationship, reunions

We can’t both go, Steve reasons, though the sound of it’s harsh, reluctant and filled with premature longing that’s maybe not premature, given that this thing they have grew so strong and certain so fucking fast—but Steve’s heart’s in his throat so hard that Eddie can hear it, and Eddie knew that would be the answer, because they’ve touched on the point and solved it for themselves: they’d leave Hawkins like everyone else, when the kids were grown, when they got out. When there was no one else to make sure got out safe. Steve always pulled up the rear, held the door open before it slammed shut, made them climb through the gates and watched their backs always: never left before everyone was evaced in front of him first. And Eddie wasn’t leaving Steve, so. Easy answer. Except: now.

One. Big. Step. - G, complete @medusapelagia

tags: touch-starved eddie, pre-steddie, fluff

The anticipation is what makes Eddie antsy.  When someone starts to walk toward him, his heart starts beating faster and louder, his ears buzz, his breathing gets too accelerated (air hunger, as his mom used to call it), and he begins to sweat, profusely, leaving a dark damp stain under the armpit of his t-shirts, which is the main reason he always wears black t-shirts. Or t-shirts with black sleeves.  When the person walking toward him is Steve the Hair Harrington, well, it's even worse. 

liquor talks - M, 875, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: drunken love confessions, mutual pining, first kiss

The back door opened and closed and Eddie slipped inside, the cool night air wafting off of him as he sat down in the chair behind Steve. Steve was hot. He should cool off. He sat down in Eddie’s lap and sighed with relief, wiping sweat from his forehead. Eddie’s hands were resting on the arms of the chair, his legs tense under Steve’s. “You feel nice,” Steve said, relaxing completely against him, curling into a ball in Eddie’s lap. “Good.”

gazing at the stars in your eyes - G, 2k, complete (ao3) @flowercrowngods

tags: late night love confessions, mutual pining, stargazing, yearning

Eddie fell in love with Steve at night. Over the course of many walks in the dark, strolls around Hawkins because they both just needed to move, get away for a while, chase the sensation of running away together. Eddie fell in love with the line of Steve’s jaw and the smile on his lips, the reflection of the moon in those dark eyes as Steve looked up and looked so calm. So serene. Almost at home, with the stars in his eyes. In which Steve watches the stars, Eddie watches Steve, and they both wish for the same thing.

jailhouse rock - G, complete @corrodedbisexual

tags: modern au, meet-cute, steve gets arrested

Steve shouldn’t even be here; he got arrested for shoplifting, but it was all a misunderstanding. He was actually trying to prevent a shoplifting when he saw a couple of kids stuffing chocolate bars into their jacket pockets. They bolted, and he chased after them; unfortunately, he was still holding a bottle of (rather expensive) wine in hand as he did that, so he ended up the perceived cause of the blaring store alarm while the two shitheads escaped with zero consequences. The store’s got security cameras. So it will probably be fine, right? It will all be resolved soon enough. Steve just has to wait. What makes him more nervous is the guy he’s sharing the cell with.

from the ashes - T, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: final battle, temporary character death

If all that's left of Steve in the final battle is ashes... are they really just ashes?

All You Have Is Your Fire - E, 5k, complete @wormdebut

tags: modern au, barista steve, tattoo artist eddie, light angst with a happy ending

Eddie fumbled his way into Rise and Grind, the poor coffee shop had the disservice of being neighbors with Convicted Ink. He truly wasn't sure how to even order this shit, but if getting his shitty boss and his little minions caffeine was going to get him into a fucking chair to actually tattoo, fine. It was fine. ---- Or, Eddie is an apprentice at a terrible tattoo shop and the only thing that keeps him sane, is the pretty barista at the coffee shop next door.

what weather they shall have is not ours to rule - M, 4/4, complete misprinting

tags: bdsm au, slow burn, non-sexual kink, canon compliant, body horror

rec notes: yall please PLEASE read this fic (and leave a comment.) the world building fucks SO HARD (no pun intended) and the entire premise is so interesting and cool. i don't think i've ever read a bdsm au before and i don't think i'll be able to after this bc my expectations are so high now klsfjgldkfjgf

Steve doesn't consciously keep a list of the things he hates just under his tongue, but it’s there. He hates orange juice because of his dad. He hates the Gates because they won't close. He hates not knowing what he'll do with himself when Robin goes away to college at the end of the summer, leaving him on his own, a loose end, nothing. He hates being single and he hates the Upside Down and he hates the postcards his parents send and he hates how the kids are old enough to get tested and he hates driving up the road to his house and— And he hates the itch he gets in his brain, once every three or four weeks. The one that says, ‘You belong on your knees.’ It can’t be ignored. He only knows one way to make it stop.

Trespassing - G, complete @pearynice

tags: modern au, fluff, eddie takes care of steve, steddie love month

Love is being known

Phantom Thief - T, series, WIP @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

tags: magic au, thief eddie, guard steve, enemies to lovers

In the end, it’s just the two of them again.  Steve jumps over another groaning pile of half-conscious guards and bursts out onto the roof, cold night air slapping him in the face and making the cape of his uniform whip.  “Munson!” he barks. 

this campfire won't last forever - G, 10k, complete @hexiewrites

tags: no upside down au, summer camp, 5+1, fluff, getting together

Steve, Program Director of Camp Know Where, was expecting it to be a summer like any other. A summer filled with activities, swimming and canoe trips and quiet evening nights around the campfire. He was expecting it to be a summer of fun and friends and, frankly, the usual. What he wasn't expecting was for the last-minute music head replacement to come crashing into his life, and change everything. Or: Five summer nights full of sparkling possibility, and the one night when it explodes into something real.

The Last In Line - M, 13/13, complete @xiaq

tags: time travel, fix-it, defeating vecna in 1983, bamf steve, the party as a family

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I’m sorry, I know this doesn’t make any sense to you, but can I just–” Eddie lets him approach, this time. Lets him reach out to touch, to curl his fingers in the hem of Eddie’s shirt. “Sorry, I know I probably sound crazy, I just––” he pulls it up, stares at Eddie’s side, and then lets out a hysterical little noise that sounds like a cross between a laugh and a sob. “You’re ok,” Steve says. His fingers are hot on Eddie’s skin, pressed light and shockingly reverent to the space between his hip and rib cage. “You’re ok,” he repeats. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “Hey,” Eddie says. It comes out more breathless than he’d prefer but Steve fucking Harrington has him backed against a wall in a bathroom with his hands up Eddie’s shirt so he thinks a little lack of air is warranted. “Are you ok?” The fingers on his abdomen flex. "No,” Steve says. His eyes are wide and fathomless and the look on his face is terrible. “No, I’m not even remotely ok.”

We're Just (Boy) Friends - E, 5.3k, complete Mischiefediting

tags: vampire eddie munson, idiot4idiot, mutual pining, god they're so stupid in this (affectionate)

Steve nods, wiping the excess off the nail polish wand again and dragging it over Eddie's index nail "How do you kiss with them?" He asks causally, Eddie's brows raise "How do I what?" He blinks rapidly, “Kiss with them." Steve restates, eyes darting to look at Eddie for a fraction of a second "Like do you accidentally bite or.." Or.. The group is back from the upside down with an undead Eddie who needs a place to hide, obviously Steve’s is the only option. The two become wrapped up in many questionable situations while clearly pining for each other but also, equally not that bright.

You Make Me Live Now, Honey - E, 15k, complete GrasshopperKatie

tags: post canon, road trip, background ronance

Eddie loves the little idiots, but he’s thankful that it’s just Robin, Steve and himself on this trip. Steve is stressed enough about a cross country road trip without adding that he would have to take care of seven children on top of that. Nancy has provided them the perfect opportunity for an escape. She’s been attending classes at Emerson for two months now and invited them out to spend Halloween weekend at her place. They all jumped on the idea of getting out of Hawkins for a few days.

bring me a dream - T, 3.4k, complete sailors_ink

tags: post canon, mind control, open ending

The song is slow, coiling behind his ear and gently drifting down his shoulders, making him shiver. He thinks he should know the music, humming along to it as the guitar starts to get louder. It feels nice, a comforting chill down his back that eases the tension of his wounds. His wounds. Robin. Robin, his bat bites still hurt, why does it hurt so much, what's - Oh, he thinks as the music plays even louder in his ear, in his mind, that's not the radio.

butter, sugar, and northern mockingbirds - E, 3/3, complete @thefreakandthehair | througheden

tags: post-canon, baker steve, mutual pining, getting together

“Holy shit, Steve, this cookie has no right to be this good,” Eddie praises, cookie crumbs stuck to the corner of his lips. “What did you put in this? Drugs? Is it drugs? I feel like it could be drugs, they’re that good.” It’s not the first time he’s felt these proverbial butterfly wings flapping against the inside of his ribs. Every time they’re alone together, every time their shoulders graze or eyes meet, every time Steve sees Eddie smile with that stupid dimple that not even the slashing scar across his cheek can hide, the little thing with wings that’s taken up residence close enough to his heart to set it alight goes insane. He should know how to handle the feeling by now, but he doesn’t. Or, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and Eddie Munson open Steve's secret dream bakery after surviving the Vecnapocalypse. Eddie can't seem to stop getting flour in his hair, Steve can't stop touching him, and Robin might lose her mind.

it's enough (to make a girl blush) - E, 1/?, WIP (ao3) @yearningagain | hellfireprez

tags: modern au, omegaverse, baker steve, rockstar eddie, true mates, background buckingham

Then, all of a sudden, everything felt wrong. It was as if he was floating away from his body, his mind a balloon escaping a child's loose clutch. He couldn't smell the alpha, just his own scent turning sour and rotten. The cool sensation of the man's rings where they pressed into bare skin suddenly spread all over, no longer comforting, but as if ice water had engulfed him. Something nagged at him, though, in the back of his mind. Something like a spark, settling into the omega and igniting coals to keep him warm and happy. And Steve opened his eyes. OR Steve and Eddie are soulmates and the universe sends them wet dreams about it.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙐𝙀: 𝘉𝘈𝘊𝘒 𝘏𝘖𝘔𝘌

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: returning back home isn't entirely unwelcome, it's just the guilt and shame that is. things are tense between you and your mom, and you want nothing more than to fix it, but you have to fix yourself first.

word count: 2078

warnings: withdrawal symptoms, the reader is an alcoholic, cigarettes, addiction, allusions to reader's father being sick.

a/n: HII!! so i'm kind of nervous but also excited because i've never posted a series before! i have a loose idea of what i want to do with this story, so i'm riding with vibes right now! i hope you guys like this and let me know how you feel!!

masterlist | series masterlist | AO3

Your head hurts. 

You’ve never been a particularly good flier, the jetlag you experience every time you land never fails to make you feel sick.

The terminal you stood in was loud, the large area booming with people since you had landed in the early afternoon. It was warm in Quantico, Virginia, and it was still the beginning of September. The skies were clear from what you could see through the glass roof, the clouds a welcoming softened contrast to the turmoil stirring within you.

You squint up at the sky through your sunglasses and your already bitten down nails find themselves trying to pick at the peeled skin of your cuticles, but your movements pause at the absent added weight of an engagement ring. 

It’s like a punch to the gut, but you don’t have much time to think when you spot your mother standing off to the side near the entrance. You’d already been through baggage claim, your whole life amounted to two full suitcases. They were just clothes, everything you had back in New York belonged to him.

The nervousness after finally seeing your mother again made your throat close and nerves light up like wildfire. You felt that familiar itch of need under your skin, like you wish you could peel back the flesh and scratch at your bones. 

You could settle for taking a deep breath.

You made your way towards her as she waved hesitantly; she looked older, the brightened coloring of her hair no longer shined its youthful color, instead, it was replaced by almost a full head of gray. It looked good on her, but you have a feeling she aged faster than she probably should have because of certain circumstances.

This was why you dreaded coming back here, back to Virginia, back home; you weren’t ready to face the guilt and grief that you had fought so desperately to try and run from. You felt completely out of your depth, like you didn’t deserve to come back after what you did. 

It surprised you when your mother willingly answered your phone call – seeing though she hadn’t bothered to try and reach out to you even though your number was still the same – you were to blame for it though, there were only so many instances where someone can stand being ignored before they just give up all together.

“Mom.” You breathed out, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. You push your glasses up into your hair and you know you look like shit. You had called her and left right after it happened, so yesterday's running makeup still sat dried on your face. You tried to make yourself presentable during the flight, but there was only so much you could do with airline water and a tissue.

It wasn’t just the makeup, and you know it; it was the dark circles under your eyes due to basically years of shit sleep – and even days without it – bloodshot eyes and sunken features, on top of your tremoring figure due to withdrawal.

She gives you a once over, a quick, fleeting up and down look, but you can see it, the absolute devastation and concern written on her face.

“Hi.” Is all she says. “Is that it?” She gestures down to your suitcases. “Yep, that’s all of it.” Another look. “Okay.”

It’s awkward and tense and no one knows what to say. You sure as hell don’t, because if you open your mouth, you’re not sure what would come out. An apology? A snarky remark or an ugly comment? You’re a mix of emotions right now, and all you can focus on is the want for a cigarette and a drink.

It doesn’t take long to approach the car, and it’s the same shitty Kia Sedan that your dad had let you drive when you were just a teenager with a permit. You soften at the sight and your mom pops the trunk open with ease. She takes your suitcases from you, and you don’t stop her. When she gets fretful like this, you just have to let her do her thing and take care of you.

‘Even though I don’t deserve it’ you can’t help but think bitterly.

It still smells the same when you sit in the passenger seat of it, the faux leather seats still withered and chipping.

“So…” Your mom begins. You can see her grip on the steering wheel is tight, her posture tense as though she doesn’t know what to do now that you’re here. You can’t stand it. She used to be so confident, so self-assured. Maybe not everything stayed the same.

“How are you?” She questions meekly. “Tired and jetlagged.” You choose to indulge her. “Right.” She says, tone light. “How about you?” You ask, “How are things?” You know there’s so much she wants to say, but she doesn’t want to risk starting a fight, so she settles for, “I’ve been fine.”

“Right.” You reiterate, nodding while turning your head to stare out the window. 

“Your first AA meeting is in a few days.”

Down to business, thank God. “Alright.”

“I really need you to stick to this, okay? We had an agreement.” The trust between the two of you is completely broken, and you have no idea how to fix it. There’s so much about her you need to relearn, half a decade of missed moments and memories that could’ve been made.

“Okay.”

“And you’ll call my therapist?”

“Yes mom.” 

“I’m serious. I want you to try and put in an effort. I know things are hard right now, but I really want to help you, and I can’t if you won’t work with me. I refuse to let you turn into some couch surfing drunk that does nothing but self-destructs the whole day –”

“God, mom I said okay!” You snap.

It goes silent. Just great.

It’s mid-afternoon when you finally make it home.

That’s what really takes the cake.

The lawn is well kept, your mom most likely paying someone to come out here. Before you left, your mom’s arthritis had been getting worse, but she rarely cared about herself when your father was sick.

The porch was decorated with all sorts of plants either sitting or hanging off the railings, a different assortment of windchimes and crystal sun catchers scattered about the awning.

You take the initiative to get the suitcases out yourself as your mom starts for the front door. A sick sense of nostalgia settles over you. The street was still the same; your house was one in three within the little cul-de-sac, sidewalks still marred with childlike chalk drawings, lawns scattered about with chairs, bikes, and toys.

Your eyes fell on the house across from yours and that same itch found itself resurfacing.

When you got inside you could have thrown up; it felt like a weight was being placed on your chest, your heart aching as you took in the family photos on the walls. You knew you were shaking by now, your tremoring getting worse and sweat perspiring on your brow. You felt so bare without your protective vices.

“I’m gonna make lunch, okay? I’ll give you some time to set up.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” You say through your dry throat. She places a reassuring hand on your shoulder before giving it a squeeze.

You keep your gaze focused forward as you brace the hall to your old childhood bedroom, which was on the right at the end. 

Opening the door, you take in what looks like a snapshot in history, the room so untouched that it was frozen in time. 

The blankets on your bed were left askew like you had left them the night of your departure, your side table decorated with a box of tissues, your old sketchbook, and a cup of pens and pencils sat on top of it.

Your desk is still holding old textbooks and what not, but you had practically stripped the room clean when you left.

You abandon your suitcases to sit on your bed, and when you do, a small gust of dust flurries around you and you can’t help but laugh. It wasn’t that it was funny, but if you didn’t react in some sort of way, you would’ve cried.

You felt so emotionally unbalanced, and you blinked hard to rid yourself from the burning behind your eyelids. Just then, you remembered something.

Standing up, you make your way to your closet, opening the sketched doors to dig around for a shoe box, when you find it, you make a small ‘whoop!’ sound. It opened to reveal your old smoke stash. You were young and taking care of your dying father pushed you to pick up cigarettes. 

You hid it as a courtesy to your mom, but you’re sure that now at the ripe age of twenty-seven, you don’t need to be that careful. You take out the old carton and it still has a whole role of filters left. Then you flicked the gear on the lighter and it lit up. Finally, a win.

“I’m gonna step out for a bit, okay?” You announce to your mom as you retreat down the hall. “Oh?” She says in surprise. “Where are you going?” You wave off her question. “Just gonna sit out on the porch for a second. Is that cool?”

You know your mom is worried about you, now that you are trying to get clean, she feels as though she has to keep an eye on you. You went completely cold turkey, the last drink you had was the day before you flew out.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.” She rushes to say. “I’ll be back inside before the food’s done, okay?” You reassure her. You’re trying to get used to finding an old balance with her, because you missed her, more than anything. You want her to trust you again.

“Okay.”

You find yourself sitting in that familiar spot on the porch step, the same one you’d sit on when your dad couldn’t sleep and you’d find yourself out here in the middle of the night. Someone else used to sit with you too.

Your eyes flicker over to the house across the street while you light up the cigarette between your lips. The nicotine and tobacco helps to ease the itch in your veins and you sighed, blowing the air out with it.

There was another relationship you needed to fix.

You haven’t seen or talked to Spencer in years, but he was your best friend up until you left for New York with your then boyfriend. I mean… it’s not often you’d meet a twelve-year-old that goes to college. He was the exact opposite of the boy next door with his big nerdy glasses and meek demeanor, like he didn’t know how to carry himself.

You knew the bullying was bad, so you were his only friend.

You liked that he was smart, and he knew how to listen, you loved his mom, and you were there for Spencer when her schizophrenia started to get bad. Two hurt people that found themselves acting as a crutch to the other.

That same sickening feeling of guilt reappeared, and you took in another deep drag of smoke. You held it there, longer than you probably should have and when you released it, you were dizzy, and your throat burned uncomfortably. 

Your blinks were slow, and you grew nauseous.

“Fuck.” You murmured, running the filter up and down the bottom of your shoe to put it out before flicking it away. 

You hang your head between your legs and attempt to ground yourself.

“Hon?” Your mom calls out from behind the screen door. “Are you okay?” She rubs up and down your shoulders and you sniffle. “Yeah just…” You take a deep breath. “Just a little nauseous.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything because you’re a grown woman that could make her own decisions, but don’t make me take those things away too.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her chiding.

“Yes, mother.” You say dryly but without any malice. It’s nice to be able to joke like this with her. 

“Now, how about a sandwich? I bet it tastes better than those things.”

“Ham and cheese?” You question hopefully and finally lift your head. You’re greeted with her fond smile that makes her look younger. “Yes, baby. Ham and cheese.”

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

[travelingtwentysomething]

✨Are you new here?✨

✨🌚)))))(✨Hailey on AO3✨)(((((🌝✨

🪩 Let's Be Honest, If You Could Hop Dimensions, You'd Save Eddie Munson Too (AO3 // REBLOG // My Art: Eddie in Disguise/Comparison) - A Steddie+Original NonBinary Time/Dimension Traveler Character Fix-It Comedy/Adventure

🌚 Devotion Tastes So Sweet On Your Lips (AO3 // REBLOG) - A Spooky Steddie Horror One-Shot (Maybe Series...) Steve Prays To The Old Gods And Eddie The Banished Answers

🕸️ A Sticky Situation (AO3 // REBLOG) - A Harringroveson x Spideypoolverine Crossover Comedy One-Shot +Inspo Post for A Sticky Situation

—+++—Some Bonus Tumblr Only Ficlets—+++—

+Steve Throws Eddie His Yellow Sweater, Eddie Throws Steve His Vest. It's a Whole Thing (It's Canon. Gone a bit Viral, this one🤘) (Further Evidence: Steve Puts on The Vest and Eddie Checks Out His Ass, Also Canon.)

+Eddie Realizes Steve Is More Than A Babysitter (w/ Inspo Post Steve Slays Demo-Bats, Eddie Reacts, this one has Gotten Popular, but I mainly attribute that to Steve's Titties 🤘)

+Stephanus Concubinus, Emperor Geta's Vita (a Steddie x Gladiator II au blurb inspired by kingsandsaints ' gorgeous painting of Joe Keery wearing laurels and a white sheet🕊️)

+Rockstar!Eddie, Meets Server Duo Stobin, is an Asshole and Gets His Just De'Soup- Later Eddie Comes Back to Apologize and Gets Steve's Number- Then, A Misunderstanding and a Proposal (I added onto the ficlets of two very talented writers sabbathbloddysabbeth and estrellami-1 with romantic ramblings at 5am, blurbs become ficlets🤘)

+Rockstar!Eddie in a Case of Mistaken Identity Gets Dragged to Dustin's 21st "Rockstar Hotel After Party" Themed Birthday by an Oblivious Steve +Bonus Robin Has Something To Say About That (inspired by Whathehonestfuk's post🤘)

+Rogueddie Famous!Steddie, Eddie Reads Tumblr RPF of Steve, Steve Gives a Rec (Rogueddie Wrote A Blurb, I Wrote A Blurb)

+Steve is afraid to scare Eddie away by treating him 'like a girl' (flowers, gifts, affection, etc.), Eddie is frustrated thinking Steve just can't bring himself to cuddle him because he's a guy. (Until Eddie opens Steve's closet and a mountain of dead and drying bouquets and boxes fall all around him.)

+Steddie!Little Mermaid AU Blurb-let (It started with a whisper- *Steve Herrington* and ended when Prince Eddie kissed he- er, uh, no wait- that's actually Henry the Sea Witch with Prince Steve's stolen voice... Violence and Magic and A Happily Ever After, Oh My!)

+Eddie Doesn't Give A Fuck About Sleep Paralysis Demon Steve (a bit personal, turned into a Steddie prompt)

📜A Tale in Gifs🍿

—++++—Stories Told in a Montage of Gifs—++++—

+Steve Definitely Doesn't Have A Type: A Steddie Tale in Gifs (+Because I Can't Leave Well Enough Alone, Emotional Damage) (Learned how to make gifs for this post lol took me hours give it some love, my first sort of popular post🤘)

+Eddie Munson the Lunchtime Menace... He Does All His Best Menacing at Tables: A Tale in Gifs (A Montage of Eddie Being Menacingly Innocent 😇👀)

+Steve: If He Fuck Me Good I'll Take His Ass To Red Lobster / Steddie Version / Metal Sandwich Version (🍨⛵🦞)

+The First Time Little Eddie Munson With The Buzzed Hair Gets Called A F*reak, He Is Too Stunned To Speak (Literally, just a sentence ✨with gifs✨ but now I need 100k words, on my desk by Monday morning. Prompto.)

✨everything else you need to know under the cut✨

🪩My Original Posts🪩

#op

+My Singular Piece of Art (Eddie in Disguise/Comparison)

+Jack Whitehall Incorrect Quote/Shipping Gays is the Glue That Holds Fandom Together🤘

+Harry Styles Raps to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun Video (if you've never seen this, you're not fully realizing your potential)

+Joe Quinn is Dating Doja Cat? (It only took me a couple minutes to make this gif, skill issue defeated)

+Someone Asked Me "Favorite word?" And I Am A Comedian, So I Said- (you won't regret clicking on this one, here's your first clue that I am hilarious.)

+My Theory on Why Hollywood (And Men™) Thinks All Women Over 30 Are Witches (added to this already hilarious post about the Disney Movie Freaky Friday, your second clue that I am actually the funniest person you don't even know)

🪩Gems You Missed🪩

+ I just realized I caught the GHOST in my haunted house on video 🫥👀💀

+My Spooky Chicky Sammie Rizz 👻 Spooky Movie Night Rizz 🔮 Spooky Mocktails Rizz 🌝 (Have I seduced you yet?)

+A Break-up Cake Commissioned By Me From The WM Bakery: Mario Kart - "Welcome Back To The Streets" (If We Are Friends, This Is The Kind Of Moves You Can Expect From Me)

+15 Minute Roast Beef and Potato Soup (I make up easy recipes sometimes, ask me about my rotisserie chicken enchiladas with cilantro lime sour cream sauce)

+My Halloween Tree and Blockbuster Wall (About 4,000 DVDs lit up by my Halloween Tree, it's a Spooky Vibe, ask me for a Movie Rec... When I die I'm fixin to haunt the Criterion Closet👻)

+🍯My Dog Honey Watches Scooby Doo / Honey Cuddles Then and Now / Honey Plays Then and Now 🍬 /

+My 2010 1D Tumblr Origin Story (🤣The true story of how I ended up on Tumblr)

+My Ridiculous Laptop Sticker Collection (feat. Some Steddie Stickers from Raynecreates)

+I'm Allergic to Cats, But I Would Get A Blue Russian to Name Them Comrade, Nickname: Commie (Big Brain Name Game™, Give me some credit and reblog this post🐈‍⬛)

+My High Thoughts About Pyramids (Higher Thoughts💭)

+My Epitaph (My Personal Philosophy, It's A Banger™)

👇Check the #Tags below to narrow down the fun👇

(I go a lil ham with the tags, trying to be thorough, so I'm a safe blog if you utilize tag blocking, search my blog for any of your own interests, you'll most likely strike gold 😂 give it a try if you're curious, or scroll on down and click on a tag)

I RECOMMEND:

#op - posts that I created or I contributed a significant comment to

#personal - if you're trying to see more than just fandom- really get to know me 🥹 also #is it me, #tism, #tis me

#trauma dump and #dream journal - the drama, the tea, the weird dreams that are so ridiculous I had to tell someone, even if it is just shouting it into the void to hear the echo, basically over sharing

#interest - anything that is of interest to me, stuff like #therapy, #linguistics, #anthropology, #sociology, #psychology, #archeology, #movies, #film theory, #politics, basically anything that interests me outside pretty people and shows

#my recipes - I occasionally make up something easy peasy, you like cooking quick churched-up struggle meals?

#thoughts - my own comments/thoughts or posts that made me think, try #high thoughts, #higher thoughts

#comedy - anything that made me #lol

#writing - my own fics and posts I actually contributed commentary to or a lil blurb, or writing inspo and prompts I am interested in, as well as writing resources, tips, etc. #fic prompt

#steddie - probably my most common tag I love them but there's a plethora of tags #steddie art, #steddie fic, #steddie comic

#pretty - it's the boys and the girls and the #aesthetic stuff too

#boys - any of the pretty boys I like to reblog

#femme fatale - pretty girls, alternately #laissez faire

#smile - if you wanna smile, I heard they're contagious and this tag has some beautiful smiles 😁 and a few things guaranteed to bring joy

#spooky - It's #spooky season baby and #halloween is in my veins. We got #spooky art, #house hunting, #halloween decorations, and best of all #spooky steddie

🤌Like this post and I will definitely follow you (*except minors soz)👀

✨REBLOG✨ and we will be ✨MUTUALS✨

[thewritetofreespeech]

1000 Nights: Night 1 - Wedding Night

WORDS: 1.5K

RATING: T

PAIRING: Gale x Tav (post game pairing)

SUMMARY: A journey of 1000 miles begins with the first step. And Gale & Tav's first night of 1000 begins after their wedding. [aka: starting my 1000 Nights series]

Ao3

----------------------------------🟣----------------------------------

It was very late into the evening by the time the wedding was over. More drawing into the early morning, if he was being honest.

Gale had forgotten, away from his family for so long as Mystra’s Chosen and then his own personal confinement, how lively his family could be. And how large. He had warned Tav but honestly hadn’t realized himself. It took nearly half the night to just greet everyone, much less have conversations.

Tav took to it like a fish to water, however. Her bright smile and friendly disposition winning everyone over simply with the gift of her presence. His mother doesn’t even have to introduce her to everyone, but he’s glad she did.

When he returned to Waterdeep, restraining himself from running into his mother’s arms like child, Gale introduced her & Tav and told her of their plans to be married. Morena had not been as…. delighted as he had hoped initially. She wasn’t disappointed, or even chastised him for rushing into things. All she simply asked was, “is this really what you want?” Which Gale had to admit was a perfectly reasonable question.

They hadn’t known each other long. Their plight had made it feel like they had known each other for decades. In reality, their romance was quite a whirlwind. They had lived in different cities, come from different backgrounds. Gale had never met her family or friends they had before all this.  Hells he didn’t even know what her favorite taste in music was. Art. Literature. Values.

But all he could think of when his mother asked him, glancing over to the other side of the room at Tav chatting with Tara, like it was a completely normal thing to be talking to a Tressym, was “more than anything.”

The wedding planning had taken up most of their time after that, and a lot of those trivial things came to light by sheer luck. Gale found out she preferred lilies to roses, unless they were blue hydrangeas. She liked classical music, which was a blessing. And although she liked the sound of Lliirian Suites on a self-playing piano, she liked them better on the strings. Gale made a note to buy a harp as soon as they were settled.

Coming home after the wedding, the tower felt completely different. Nothing had changed really. Their books were still there; on the shelves and on the floor as they tried to make room for both their collections. The furniture was all in its intended place. All four walls were intact. Yet…. everything was different now.

This was their home now. Not just his that he was sharing with Tav. It was theirs. Together. And she was his now, completely. Just as he was hers. Gale would never want for anything else in his whole, hopefully long, life now as long as that stayed a constant.

He watched as Tav breezed past him into the bedroom, which was set up very nicely for them. Candles and wine. Flowers on the bed. The window open to let in the night breeze and sea air. Moonlit ocean. A scent he hadn’t realized was real yet brought a flood of nostalgia to him. The perfect newlywed suite. He almost doesn’t want to touch anything.

“Gale, can you do something about this please?”

His attention was brought back into focus from examining the details of the room, onto its prime intended. Gale snickered, despite himself, as he watched Tav struggle to get the pins out of her hair to take her headdress off. The veil itself wasn’t too elaborate, but the pins….his cousins must have had a field day with all of them.

“Come here. Let me help you.”

He led his wife over to the bed, and realized he would never grow tired of that phrase. His wife. His wife. Gale sat her down and then took a seat next to her as he worked to get the pins out. He may not have the dexterity to pick locks, but his fingers were nimble enough for this. Each pin that comes free lets loose a new curl. A new ringlet to tumble down and rest at her shoulder. By the time Gale had gotten all of them free the candles were noticeably shorter, and his desire for her burning just as hot as the flames.

His fingers tucked under her chin and gently pulled her towards him for a soft kiss. Gale realized that he hadn’t kissed her in hours with all the excitement. Able to count on his hands the number of times he had kissed her that day. A terrible mistake. One he wouldn’t make again.

They kiss slowly and gently for a while. Neither in any rush it seemed. Exploring this kiss like it’s their first. When they eventually pulled away, Gale rested his head against hers. Foreheads touching. Breathing in the same air. The same essence. He tilted his head down to kiss her again and was caught by surprise when Tav suddenly yawned. “Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

Gale pulled back just as her hand flew up to cover her mouth. Embarrassed, clearly. Mortified honestly. He didn’t want to laugh, but she was just so adorable. He only did it once. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not you. It’s not! It’s just….been a really long day. Getting ready. Meeting everyone. And I barely got any sleep last night I was so nervous. I’m sorry….”

Gale reached out and took her hand in his to stop her from babbling. It was odd. Gale couldn’t imagine a world where Tav, their leader, their defender, Hero of Baldur’s Gate and vanquisher of the Elder Brain, could be nervous. Yet here she was. It was almost a comfort to know that they were both a little lost in this. Nervous, cautious, and he hoped still a little excited. At least he was.

“It’s really alright Tav. You don’t have to apologize.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. A cool brush of metal & precious gemstones against them from the wedding ring on her finger. Handcrafted. Understated yet beautiful, just like Tav. The Dekarios Clan signet on either side of the stone. He’d spent the better part of a day working with the jeweler to make sure everything was just right. All worth it to finally see his ring on her hand. “We have the rest of our lives together. One night won’t make much more of a difference.”

Tav’s eyes cast down. Clearly disappointed in herself and about to protest something like ‘but it’s our wedding night’, but Gale cut her off at the pass. “This night is already perfect, because I have you. Come on. Let’s get to bed.”

“We’re already in bed.” Tav quipped, and Gale scoffed out a chuckle at his clever bride.

Rising, they undress in silence. Gale helps Tav out of her dress. The thin, wafty material falling away from her body instantly once its few buttons & ties were undone. Gale’s outfit was significantly more complicated. Snaps, ties, latches, lapels. When he put his wedding garment on this morning, he hadn’t realized how intricate it was. Although, he may have been distracted thinking about the wedding and the woman who was moments from being his wife.

Gale watched as she helped him out of his robes. Eyes focusing on her task but drifting up to him every now & then before they fall back down. He hoped she saw the adoration in his eyes when she looked up. The desire he had for her. The love.

He caught one hand in his and turned it up to kiss the inner side of her palm and wrist. Exhilarated at the sound of a soft gasp from Tav. He wanted her, desperately. But, she was right. It had been a very long day. Gale never thought there would be a time he would be too tired to make love to her, but it seemed a day full of his family, friends, wine, and just general revelry was enough to get him close.

Naked now, with nothing but the moonlight and sea air between them, Gale pulled Tav into his arms and kissed her. Another slow, soft, passionate kiss. One where Gale poured all of his heart into it in hopes that it would reach her own. Judging by the way she kissed him back and her soft little moans, he succeeded.

They pulled apart, and Gale walked them back to the bed. Tucking them in under the covers. Wrapping his arms around Tav in a way they had well practiced by now, but still felt entirely new. Tav was nearly asleep by the time her head hit the pillow. Softly snoring in even breaths against him while Gale stayed awake a little longer to watch her. Smiling to himself as it finally sunk in now. This was his life. This was going to be his life now. Not just for tonight, or the first thousand nights, but every night for the rest of his nights moving forward.

A year ago, he used to hate going to sleep. Afraid that when he closed his eyes that that would be the last. Now his life was filled with firsts.

Gale couldn’t wait to see what firsts the future held, with his wife. His wife. His wife. Gods, he would never get tired of saving that. 

[floralcyanide]

⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 (ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠): 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: a run down of the events after new year's eve. ⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: innuendo, the insinuation of smoking, mentions of alcohol ⊹ word count: 1139 ⊹ author’s note: sorry for the wait, but I decided to make the rest of the series headcanons instead of actual chapters. it is quite exhausting to write sometimes, and there's so much to this series that I'd rather do it this way. thanks for all of your support. this is my favorite series I've written so far. (:

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

❝A man does what he must—in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures - and that is the basis of all human morality.❞ ― John F. Kennedy

✲ Coriolanus is leading in the polls so far for the 1964 election, but there’s a problem. He has yet to marry, and this is peculiar to many hesitant voters. Jack and Bobby both talk to him about this when they all gather in Coriolanus’ office to discuss their next steps.

✲ “I think the girl studying Jack would be a great contender,” Bobby suggests.

✲ Jack laughs incredulously at his brother, “I am not going to send off my student to marry a politician when she has so much ahead of her.”

✲ Coriolanus shuffles uncomfortably. The two of you have been secretly seeing each other here and there since that past New Year’s Eve, and it’s now the middle of April. The thought of just popping the question to you has crossed his mind, but he didn’t want to ruin the good things going for you. 

✲ Other problems more dangerous than marriage plague Coriolanus. The Women’s Revolution, the movement for Women’s rights, has reached new heights in their tension with the government. Coriolanus has been questioned about it by journalists and citizens alike. He firmly stands by his goal of women’s equal rights being passed into law.

✲ Jack offers Coriolanus the chance to come back to the Compound in the summer to finish up campaign strategies and kick back for a while. Little does Coriolanus know that Jack offered for you to return as well to finish up your dissertation. He wants to test Bobby’s theory of you and Coriolanus being together. Hopefully, you can finish up your project before Coriolanus makes a move.

✲ You arrive at the Compound, much to John Jr. and Caroline’s delight, as they run down the front stairs to you. You clamber out of the car, and the Secret Service removes your luggage. The kids cling to your legs as you laugh down at them. You glance up to see Coriolanus at the top of the stairs, and you do a double take.

✲ “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?” you ask, a grin growing on your face. It had been about a month since you’d seen Coriolanus. “It was a last-minute decision,” he shrugs. 

✲ That first day, you, Jack, Coriolanus, and Jackie go out on the boat and have a few drinks. You all catch up, and Jackie gives you knowing looks the whole time. You and Coriolanus avoid the elephant in the room regarding you two.

✲ The evening creeps up, and you and Coriolanus sneak to the fire pit after dinner. “Have I told you about my vice president?” “No, not yet. What’s he like?” “His name is Sejanus Plinth, I think you two would get along very well.”

✲ After you and Coriolanus discuss Sejanus, he asks a question after a moment of silence. “Have you ever tried the shit that Jack smokes?” “Not really, but it smells peculiar,” you say, “Why?” “You seriously don’t know what it is?” Coriolanus chuckles. “Well, it can’t be tobacco, so,” you trail off, realizing what the substance is, “Oh. I see.” Coriolanus laughs at you again before pulling a joint out of his pocket, “Wanna smoke some?”

✲ Coriolanus sneaks into your room that night just to sleep in the same bed as you.

✲ You and Coriolanus become prone to sneaking and doing daring things. One night, after everyone has gone to bed, Coriolanus drags you to the garage, where the two of you take Jack’s convertible out for a spin. Without the Secret Service. Coriolanus drives down a back road alongside the coast, where your arms are thrown into the air as the wind gusts past your hair. Coriolanus looks over at you, knowing then and there he needs to marry you. There’s no one else, and there never would be. 

✲ Coriolanus takes you out on a beautiful date in Boston at the fanciest restaurant in the city, which was suggested by Jack and Jackie. 

✲ When you get to the bottom of your champagne glass, something hits your lips. You jump in surprise and slide it out of the glass when you pull it away from you. It’s a stunning diamond ring, the gem itself huge. The band is a simple white gold, and you look up at Coriolanus, who has now moved to kneel before you. 

✲ “I know this is quite sudden and out of nowhere, but there’s no one else like you. And I don’t think I can go on without you being mine forever,” Coriolanus has his hand on your knee, a hand out so he can place the ring on your finger, “Say yes, and I’ll give you everything you could possibly want.” “I think I have everything I could possibly want right in front of me, Coryo.” “So, you’ll marry me, darling?” “Yes, Coryo. I will definitely marry you!”

✲ The next day, it’s splattered all over the press that presidential candidate Coriolanus Snow is engaged to be married to little old you, the student under President John F. Kennedy. Bobby is beside himself, and Jackie hugs you, whispering in your ear how she knew you two would end up together.

✲ It’s now the middle of summer, and the wedding day is coming soon. You decided to get married on the beach outside the compound where you and Coriolanus met. The entire Kennedy family is invited, and your friends from university, as well as a few of Coriolanus’ friends, are invited. You finally meet Tigris, Coriolanus’ cousin who raised him, at the bridal shower. She tells stories upon stories about the blonde boy getting into trouble, which you enjoy thoroughly. 

✲ You and Coriolanus marry in late June of 1964 in a beautiful ceremony, where Jack walks you down the aisle. He says it’s the biggest honor he’s ever received. Not even his Purple Heart could compare. 

✲ Your honeymoon is spent in Boston in a luxury hotel near downtown. For the whole week, the two of you hardly leave the bedroom. 

✲ When the two of you are back from the honeymoon, Jackie proposes a day on the beach for the whole family. You both sit by the sea while the kids play and the guys play some football. Coriolanus isn’t a major fan of sports, so he stays with the kids.

✲ Both of you watch as Coriolanus plays with Caroline, John Jr., and Bobby Jr. in the shallows, splashing back at them when they throw water at him. “Have you thought about kids yet?” Jackie asks suddenly. You open your mouth but close it back, unsure of how to answer, “I- we haven’t really… discussed it yet, I guess.” Jackie hums, nodding, “It would look great for the campaign, besides, the sooner, the better. Voters love a great love story.”

[badkitty3000]

can u do a five fanfic where he saves vivi from smth/someone. like “kill for ur love” sorta trope. idk if you’ve alr done im only on #3 of halo but pls its a need

No Escape

Five is forced into assassin mode when Vivian is put in danger by another Commission agent. He must not be very smart, though, because no one in their right mind would dare lay a hand on Five's girl.

Thank you so much for this request! I love writing anything with these two and this was a great subject that I hadn't done before. I hope I did ok! 😊

Words: 8,045

Warnings: blood, violence, Five being a badass but also a softy, smut at the end but can be skipped and it won't affect the story at all

As an aside: this story is meant to take place at some point during my AU series Halo on AO3, when Five and Vivian are not yet married and he is working for the Commission. If you like this pairing, you can check out more (lots more!) here. Also, here is a link to my Master List posts on Tumblr.

And a big shout out to my homie @kaybreezy3000 who was a major help with this one, and did the super sexy cover art!

Five tried to swallow down his rising panic as he sped through the city’s dark and empty streets. The heavy rain battered down onto the roof of the car and the tires sent up a spectacular spray of water every time he screeched around a corner. He didn’t care if he was driving one hundred miles an hour over the city streets or running red lights. His foot stepped harder down on the accelerator. If a cop tried to stop him, they’d have to shoot out his tires first. Even then, he wouldn’t stop. With his heart hammering away in his chest and his hands gripping the steering wheel, he glanced over at the handgun lying on the passenger seat where he had thrown it. A flash of lightning illuminated his face for a brief moment, and he saw his eyes reflected back at him in the rearview mirror. They looked like his normal emerald-colored eyes but with one major difference. These eyes belonged to a man who was desperate and seething with rage.

He had known something was off as soon as he had come home that night. Viv always left the light on in the living room for him, no matter how late he was going to be. And most times she didn’t even know when he was coming back, but she left it on all night long, just in case. So, when he had teleported into their apartment earlier and it was dark, Five was immediately suspicious.

He had called her name, but there was no answer and he didn’t hear her in any of the rooms. The place wasn’t that big, so it’s not like she wouldn’t have heard him. But he checked the bedroom and the bathroom. Both were dark, with no signs of her anywhere. When he walked into the kitchen, though, and snapped on the light, he knew something was very wrong.

There, in the middle of the tile floor, was a large pool of amber-colored liquid, surrounded by hundreds of glass shards. One of the kitchen chairs had been turned over and was lying on its side.

Five called her name again, as if she would appear out of some secret panel in the wall, carrying a broom and laughing at herself for being so clumsy. But, of course, that didn’t happen and the only sound was the echo of his own voice bouncing off the kitchen walls.

He crouched down next to the spill and the broken glass. The floor was sticky and the whole room smelled like whiskey. Most of the glass was clear with no markings, but one large chunk of it still had a label attached. When Five reached out with a trembling hand to pick it up, he held it closer to read the print. He recognized it immediately. This was not the normal liquor they kept in the house, and it would have been impossible for Vivian to have even acquired it on her own. Not unless the local corner store had come across a rare shipment of whiskey that hadn’t been distilled since 1865.

Five stared at the piece of broken glass in his hand, trying to wrap his head around what he was gradually piecing together. When he looked up at the kitchen table, he saw Viv’s phone lying there, which did nothing to quell the growing sense of dread in his stomach. He stood and picked it up, the movement making it come to life and flashing a photo of the two of them that she kept as her home screen. That’s when he noticed the smear of blood across the screen.

His eyes darted from the phone to the overturned chair, to the broken bottle and spilled ancient whiskey and his heart sank.

“Vivie,” he said in a horrified whisper.

She was gone and he knew who had her. Why, he had no idea, but wherever she was, she would be scared and maybe hurt; or worse. Five forced the gruesome horror scenes from his mind. It wasn’t going to do him any good to crack up now. He needed to focus on finding her and he needed to do it fast. There was no telling what this fucking psycho was capable of. And if Five found out she had been hurt in any way whatsoever, one thing was for damn sure. God help the man who was responsible.

When Vivian heard the knock on the door, she figured it was the older lady from two doors down. Ever since Five had moved in, the woman had been making herself much more present around their apartment; always stopping by with plates of cookies or a scarf she just happened to have knitted. She never seemed particularly interested in talking to Viv, but if Five was around, she had endless amounts of time to stay and chit-chat. Not that he even pretended to be remotely interested, but she ate up every terse smile and head nod, apparently taking them as signs she should come over more often. Viv had no doubt the woman, who was technically closer to Five’s age than her own, wished Viv would suddenly disappear in some sort of tragic accident so she could swoop in and make her move.

Viv rolled her eyes and smiled as she headed for the door. “Sorry, Betty,” she started as she opened the door. “Five’s not home right n—oh!” Viv stopped when she saw it wasn’t Five’s old lady girlfriend, but rather a man she did not recognize. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else. Can I help you?”

The man was taller than Viv, but his build was a little on the scrawny side, with thinning brown hair that was combed to the side and a pockmarked face. His gray suit pants looked too baggy for his frame and were cinched at the waist with a belt, as if they had fit him at one time when he had more weight on him. The white dress shirt he had on was wrinkled and a shabby-looking trench coat hung loosely around his wiry frame.

“Oh…sorry,” the man said slowly and Viv could see he was most likely drunk. “I’m looking for Five Hargreeves? Does he live here?”

Considering she had no idea who this man was and the fact that he was asking about Five had her immediately on edge. It’s not as if Five had friends stopping over. Or had friends, period, for that matter.

Viv crossed her arms over her chest. “And who, may I ask, wants to know?”

The man laughed and ran a hand through his sparse hair, holding out a hand for her to shake. “Right, sorry. I’m Sam. I work with Five.”

Viv hesitated but accepted his handshake. “I’m sorry, you said you work with Five?”

She knew better than to just give up any information about Five’s work, and she was highly skeptical of this man’s claim. For one, Five worked for the Commission and it’s not as if that was the accounting office down the street. They were a highly secretive time-traveling operative filled with dangerous assassins. For another, Five never talked about anyone he worked with. Unless they were pissing him off in a particular way that day. So, to have this man she’d never heard of before showing up at their door and knowing Five lived there was a major red flag.

Sam ran a shaky hand through his hair again, looking embarrassed. “Yeah. I’m sure you don’t have many of us stopping by unannounced, do you?”

“And by ‘us’ you mean…”

The man gave a sheepish smile and then pointed at the ground near his feet. Viv looked down and saw the familiar black briefcase she knew Five and all of the other agents at the Commission used for getting around. It would have been nearly impossible for anyone else to have one, so this guy must have been who he said he was. It put her a little more at ease, but not totally.

Viv nodded. “So, what can I help you with? I’m afraid Five isn’t home right now.”

The man’s face fell a little. “Oh, really? That’s too bad. I don’t have much time, but I wanted to bring him by this bottle of whiskey I know he likes.” He held up a very old looking bottle of some kind of brown alcohol. The label looked old-fashioned, yet brand new. It was also only half-full, presumably the remains of what Sam had already drunk. Viv wasn’t familiar with the name on the label, either, and she was fairly certain she knew all of Five’s preferred drink choices.

“We shared a couple of glasses of it a while back, so I picked up some more on my last mission and figured I’d bring it by,” Sam explained. Seeing Viv’s dubious face, he continued. “It hasn’t been made since the 1860s, and technically we aren’t supposed to take things back across timelines, but I figured one little bottle of whiskey wouldn’t make the whole world collapse, right?”

He laughed at his own joke and Viv could see he actually had a nice and genuine smile, even if he was a bit tipsy. His story seemed legit, although it was still weird that Five had never mentioned him to her at all. Although now that she thought about it, he didn’t really tell her much at all about the Commission; for both of their sakes. For all she knew, maybe he had a boatload of friends down there. Maybe he was the life of the party.

She gave him a smile, softening up a little. “No, the world seems to still be in one piece. And don’t worry, I won’t tell. Five once brought me back a bottle of perfume from 1923 Paris, so I think we’re safe.”

He chuckled and then they both stood there awkwardly until he cleared his throat. “Well, just tell him I stopped by, I guess.”

Seeing his disappointed face made Viv feel sorry for him, especially when she saw that it had started to rain. He looked so sad and pathetic standing there in his baggy clothes, drunk on Old West whiskey, and seemingly lonely. She wasn’t sure why, but something about him tugged at her heartstrings and she didn’t want to leave him alone in the rain.

“Why don’t you come in? Five should be home soon, you can wait for him if you’d like.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be too much trouble.”

“No, no, really, I insist. Come on in. I’m Vivian, by the way; Five’s girlfriend.”

Sam followed her inside and she shut the door behind them. She then led him into the kitchen, where she offered him a seat at the table. He sat down heavily, almost missing the chair entirely in his altered state, leaving the black briefcase next to him on the floor.

“This is a really nice place you have here,” he marveled as he glanced around their simple kitchen.

Viv looked surprised. “Really? Well, thank you, but it’s not much. There weren’t too many apartments in the area that I could afford at the time I moved in.”

“So, you lived here first and Five moved in with you?”

“Yeah,” she said with a laugh. “We met, fell in love, and he moved in here. I was never intending on having a roommate, but you never know what life will bring, right?”

Sam looked at her with an odd expression; one that Viv wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“And life brought you Number Five, the assassin, huh?” he asked.

That was a weird question and Viv hesitated for a moment. “Uh…yeah, I guess it did.”

“You know, Five never mentioned you when we shared that whiskey,” Sam said; his eyes seeming to harden just a little. “He also said he lived in a shit hole place, all alone. But this is definitely not a shit hole and he clearly isn’t alone.”

Viv swallowed nervously. “Well, that was probably before we met. He was kind of a loner before that.”

Sam gave a low chuckle and he looked around the kitchen again, seeming to take in his surroundings in detail and soaking it all up. Then he was back to eyeing Viv up. He still had the same friendly smile on his face, but she could see something about it had changed.

“Aren’t we all,” he mumbled. “He’s a lucky guy, though. Ending up with someone as pretty as you.”

Vivian shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. “Um, oh. Thank you.”

It was quickly becoming clear that inviting this man in had not been a good idea. Viv cursed herself for having such a bleeding heart sometimes. She should have followed her initial instinct about him. She just hoped Five would be home soon.

Trying to change the subject, Viv pointed to the bottle on the table. “So, you said you and Five spent some time together at the Commission? Five’s not exactly everyone’s cup of tea, so how did that come about?”

Sam leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg of the other. “Well, you’re right about that. Five is not exactly Mr. Friendly, at least around there. But he must have been in a good mood one day and decided to sit and chat with me. Although, maybe the whiskey was more of the motivator. Anyway, once we got to talking, we realized we had a lot in common.”

“Like what?”

“Well, we both ended up working for the Commission out of necessity rather than desire, but I won’t bore you with those details about myself. He was kind of a loner like you said, and so am I. And I could tell he had a lot of hostility towards most of the world. He knew the unfairness of life and how some people have it good and some don’t. That’s just the way it goes. Unfortunately, he and I got dealt one of life’s shitty hands and had been living with it our whole lives.” Sam stopped and looked at Vivian, again with that weird look in his eyes. “At least, until he met you, apparently. Now he seems to have the good life; coming home to this nice place with you waiting for him, while I’m stuck in my piece of shit house eating microwave dinners for one every night. That is, when I’m not putting a bullet in some poor bastard’s head.”

He chuckled at that and Vivian attempted a smile. This man was appearing to become more unhinged by the minute and she wasn’t sure how to keep up this conversation anymore.

“I know doing what you do, and for whom, can be extremely hard and I’m sorry. But I’m sure things will change for you. Everyone deserves to be happy, and to have love.”

Sam stared at her with unfocused eyes as he processed her words. Viv could see the wheels turning in his head and she suddenly felt very much in danger. Why had she let this guy in their home? The hairs on the backs of her arms stood up.

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” Sam said slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Maybe I’d be happy, too, if I had someone like you to come home to every day. Someone young and pretty to take care of me.”

The tone of his voice and look in his eyes were dangerous, and Viv instinctively began to stand up and back away. “You know, you’re making me a little uncomfortable. I think you should leave.”

Despite his unsteadiness from the booze, Sam was quick. The kitchen chair he had been sitting in fell over with a loud bang as he sprang up, grabbing her arm in the process.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes wide. “Please. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Viv tried to pull her arm away. “Let go of me!”

“Please, just sit back down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You are hurting me! Let go of my arm!” she cried as she desperately tried to free herself from his grasp.

He took hold of her with his other hand so that he was firmly gripping her by both her upper arms with surprising strength. Shaking her, he yelled in her face. “I am not hurting you! Just stop! Stop and listen!”

“No! Let me go!” she yelled back, struggling against him and trying to kick at his shins or anywhere else she could reach.

“Stop doing that, or else…” he hissed.

“Or else what? If you think Five’s not going to lose his fucking mind when he finds out you grabbed me like this, then you’re even crazier than I thought.”

“I AM NOT CRAZY! DON’T CALL ME CRAZY!” he screamed; his face contorted with fury.

Viv flinched and she started struggling harder. That’s when she saw Sam’s eyes move off of her and down to the ground near where he had been sitting. A white-hot panic started to rise up inside of her when she realized what he was looking at. The briefcase.

She couldn’t let him get to it. Not when he also had ahold of her. There was no telling where or when she would end up. With all of her strength, her adrenaline pumping, Viv fought as hard as she could against him. Kicking and pulling, she managed to yank him off balance, causing him to knock into the kitchen table, upsetting the bottle of whiskey and sending it tumbling to the ground. They continued to fight against one another, their shoes crunching in the broken glass.

When Viv lost her balance, she managed to free one of her hands, catching herself on the way down. Her hand landed on a piece of glass, the sharp edge slicing into her palm. With a last-ditch effort, she tried to reach out and grab her phone off of the table. At the same time, Sam reached for the briefcase. Viv watched in horror as she saw his hand latch onto the handle at the same time that she felt her fingers slipping across the screen of her phone. Then she felt the familiar feeling of being sucked into nothingness, her stomach lurching, as they both disappeared in a flash of light.

It was a miracle that Five even remembered what street Sam lived on. He had only mentioned it once, during a drunken conversation one night as they both slugged down the gasoline passing as whiskey in the Commission break room. Five had remembered because it was about a block away from where he used to live; before he met Vivian. It was in a shit part of town, but that would actually play to his advantage now. It was less likely anyone would pay attention to gunshots or other signs of violence when you’re already in a crime-filled neighborhood. Not that Five didn’t know how to cover his tracks. He was a professional, after all.

The fact that he wasn’t sure which run-down house was Sam’s posed a problem, along with the fact that he could have taken Viv anywhere and to any time. If that were the case, he was going to have to go to more extreme measures to get her back, including breaking Commission protocol. Which he was more than willing to do.

But as he drove slowly up the street with his headlights off, Five was granted a small amount of luck. A light was on inside one of the houses and Five could see clearly into the front window. On a table in the living room was the briefcase. He didn’t see Sam or Viv inside, but it was most definitely a Commission issued case.

“I’ve got you now, you piece of shit,” Five mumbled out loud as he parked the car a few houses down.

The rain was coming down hard and Five was soaked through in a matter of seconds as he hurried down the uneven sidewalk, his shoes splashing through the puddles. He didn’t want to risk being seen by blinking out in the open, so he waited until he was standing on the front porch of Sam’s house. The rain leaked down through the cracks in the rotting awning above him. After another quick peek inside the window, and seeing no one in the front room, Five teleported inside.

He took a second to take in his surroundings. Resisting the urge to call out for Viv, he remained silent and started making his way toward what he assumed would be the kitchen, his Glock held firmly in his left hand. There was no one there, but on top of a wooden cutting board on the worn and peeling countertop, was a meat cleaver. It caught Five’s eye, and since he is never one to turn down the convenience of a sharp weapon up for grabs, he left the kitchen with his gun in one hand and the cleaver in the other.

Five passed by a small, empty bathroom, and then came to a bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was closed and when he tried the handle, it was locked. The door was old and flimsy looking, so he didn’t hesitate to give one strong kick, cracking the wooden frame and splintering the door so that it swung open. As soon as he saw her, he felt immediate relief and horror wash over him.

“Vivian!” he cried, forgetting all of his training and not surveilling the rest of the room first. If he had been watching someone else doing the exact same thing, he would have told them they were brain-dead and lacked critical thinking skills. It was such a rookie move. But his emotions had taken over and he only saw her.

Viv was tied up to a wooden chair, arms behind her, with a blindfold over her eyes and a piece of duct tape over her mouth. She was frantically mumbling something when she heard Five’s voice, but it was unintelligible from behind the tape.

“Shit,” Five whispered as he hurried over, kneeling down in front of her, and placing the gun and knife on the ground. He immediately started to undo the blindfold. “Oh my god, Vivie, I’m so sorry. It’s ok, I’m here. I’m going to get you out of here,” he was saying as he yanked it away from her eyes.

Viv blinked into the sudden brightness, but then her eyes widened in fear as she looked at Five. Five assumed it was from shock and he continued to talk to her and assure her it would be ok as he carefully stripped the tape away from her mouth.

“I’ve got you, angel, don’t worry,” he said, right as he freed her mouth and she took a deep breath in.

“Five! Behind you!”

Five turned around, just in time to see Sam emerging from the bedroom closet with a wild look in his eyes. In his hand he had some sort of small device and he was coming their way. Five tried to grab one of his weapons off the floor next to him, but it was too late. Sam was quicker, and before he knew what was happening, Five fell to the floor in a heap; convulsing violently as electrical currents traveled throughout his entire body.

The stun gun Sam used was a standard-issued weapon from his employer and was given to every field agent, along with a Glock. The electrical charge from these particular guns were much stronger than what any modern-day policeman or SWAT member carried. Word around the halls was that it once took down a full-size grizzly bear with one zap. Sam wasn’t letting up on the trigger as he leaned over Five’s body, pressing the device into the back of his neck and watching with satisfaction as he was electrocuted over and over again.

Because Five was soaked through from the rain, the electrical shock was amplified as it continued in an endless loop through his body while he writhed and groaned on the floor. Five let out a grating cry, his body flickering with a pulsing blue light as he tried to use his own electrical power to counter the attack, but he wasn’t strong enough. Viv watched in horror as the light faded away and he became silent, even as his body continued to contort and seize right in front of her.

“Five! No! No! Stop, you’re killing him!” she screamed, her voice breaking and her eyes filling with tears. She tried in vain to break from her restraints. “Stop! Please! Five!”

Sam finally stopped, tossing the weapon to the side so that it skittered under a beat-up dresser. He was breathing hard as he looked at Viv and then at Five’s limp, unmoving body at his feet. Viv started sobbing loudly and she hung her head as the tears flowed down her face and onto her lap.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered. Then he spoke louder, but his voice was trembling. “I had to do it. He was going to take you away. I’m going to let you go, I told you that, but I need you to listen to me first and you’re not listening. All I want is for you to sit here and talk to me, and maybe stay with me for a night. But you weren’t listening, and so I had to tie you up, but I didn’t want to. He was going to take you away from me, and I can’t let that happen. Not until you stay here for a while.”

Viv lifted her head slowly, strings of tangled hair sticking to the tears on her cheeks, her eyes narrowed in a hateful glare. “FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO! YOU ARE A CRAZY, PATHETIC LOSER AND I FUCKING HATE YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME? I HATE YOU!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice cracking before she started sobbing again.

Five was still lying unmoving on the floor, but his eyes were open, and to Vivian’s relief, she saw he was breathing, although it was shallow. Sam looked down at him with a glower. Then he nudged him in the side with the toe of his shoe and Five let out a weak moan.

“This is your fault, Five. If you had just stayed put and let me handle this, it wouldn’t have gone this far. But now you ruined it.” Sam squatted down next to Five, leaning in closer so that he could hear. “I wasn’t going to hurt her, you know. But now…well, now you’ve gone and fucked it all up.”

His voice grew louder and more desperate. “We were the same, you and I! So, how did you get so god damn special? I thought we were friends; I thought we had a connection. But then I find out you’re living this perfect little life, with your fancy apartment and your pretty girl. But what about me, huh? Where’s my perfect life? My happy ending?”

Sam stood up and looked at Vivian, although he was directing his words at Five. “I was going to kill you and keep her, but now I have a better idea. Since I know you’re currently paralyzed but can still see and hear everything that’s going on, I think maybe I’ll kill her instead. Then you can watch and listen as your perfect little life is ripped away from you until you’re just like me again. All alone and mad at the world.”

“You stupid piece of shit,” Viv growled out. “He never did anything to you.”

“YES, HE DID!” Sam yelled right in her face. “He took my life! I deserve this life, not him. He’s killed way more people than I have; I’ve seen his records. I know his reputation. He might as well be Satan himself! So why don’t you tell me why he gets you and I get nothing?”

Viv looked him dead in the eye. “Because Five is good and decent, and he knows how to love others. He feels remorse for all of those lives he took. You, on the other hand, are nothing but a giant pile of dog shit in a cheap suit. And no one will ever love you.”

Sam smiled. “At first, I wasn’t going to enjoy this, but now I might.” He bent down to pick up Five’s Glock which was lying next to his immobile body. “I think I’ll shoot you in the head with his own gun. That feels poetic to me, don’t you think?”

He raised his arm and pointed the gun right at Viv’s head. She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering as a few tears leaked out. “Five, I love you,” she said quietly, knowing they would be her last words, and hoping he could hear her. Just as she was trying to steady herself against the pain and sudden death that would be upon her any second, she heard a high-pitched scream and she opened her eyes.

Sam was standing right where he had been, his face frozen in horror as Five’s gun dropped from his hand and clattered to the floor. He slowly sank to his knees before falling face first onto the ground, collapsing onto his stomach with a loud and painful groan. As he fell over, Viv could see a meat cleaver was embedded in the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades; the shining metal handle sticking straight up in the air as blood seeped from around the blade. Viv looked up to see Five falling to his knees next to Sam. He was shaking and breathing hard, but alive and apparently able to move again.

“Oh my god, Five! Are you ok?”

Five nodded slowly and lifted his head weakly to look at Viv. “Yeah. Are you?”

She nodded her head and started to quietly cry again. Then another pitiful groan came from the injured body on the floor. Sam was stirring and trying to get his arms under him in a futile attempt to get up. Five seemed to gain more strength as he slowly hauled himself up to standing again. He placed a foot on Sam’s lower back, grabbing the handle of the cleaver and yanking it out of the mutilated flesh beneath him. Sam screamed again while fresh blood began pouring out of the wound. Thick drops of scarlet red dripped from the cleaver and onto the old and dented hardwood floor beneath them.

Five was still unsteady on his feet, but he leaned down and pulled Sam’s face up off the ground by a fistful of hair.

“You made a fatal error, my friend,” Five warned. “You have no idea what I am capable of. But you’re about to find out because you have fucked with the wrong man.”

Sam breathed out a shaky laugh. “You think you’re better than me. But we’re the same.”

Five clenched his teeth and held the blood-stained meat cleaver under Sam’s throat. “Listen, you pathetic waste of space; you are wrong! We are not the same, and we never have been,” he hissed.

Sam let out a more maniacal laugh. “We are though. You just can’t admit it.”

Five got ready to draw the sharp blade across Sam’s neck. He wanted to split his throat open from ear to ear and watch him bleed out slowly and in agony. One corner of the cold steel pressed into his skin and a rivulet of blood trickled out.

“Five, don’t,” Viv said suddenly.

Five didn’t look up as he paused. “He needs to die, Vivie.”

“Not like that. Please, I just want to go home. Let’s go home, ok?”

Five looked up at her sorrowful face and knew she was right. He needed to get her back home. But he still wasn’t about to let this fucker go, even if the odds of him surviving the horrific wound in his back were slim. He let go of Sam’s hair, letting his face fall with a loud thunk onto the floor. Then he picked up his pistol and pressed it into the back of Sam’s skull. He glanced at Viv as a warning to let her know to look away.

“Lights out, you stupid fuck,” Five growled before pulling the trigger.

BANG! Sam’s skull exploded, sending blood and brain matter everywhere. Vivian flinched and looked away, but Five watched with satisfaction as the grisly contents oozed out of the gaping hole in the dead man’s head. Then he dropped his gun and hurried over to Viv, who was still bound to the chair.

As soon as her hands were free, she threw her arms around Five’s shoulders and he pulled her tightly into him. She burst into tears again, sobbing into his shoulder as they both knelt on the ground. He kissed her temple and smoothed her hair.

“Vivie…look at me,” he said as he held her face in his trembling hands. “Are you hurt at all? I saw blood on your phone.”

She shook her head while more tears ran down her cheeks. “No, I’m fine. I’m so sorry, Five, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, I was stupid and I let him in, he said you were friends, I wasn’t thinking. Five, I’m so sorry.” She started crying loudly again, touching the side of his face with her hand. “I thought I lost you. I thought you were dead. And it was all my fault.”

Five closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers, his own tears threatening to spill over. “Darling, you have nothing to be sorry for, ok? You did nothing wrong. I just…god, I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to you. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Five, you’re the one that almost died!”

Five gave her a smile and kissed her softly. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. You should know that by now.”

She let out a small laugh, sniffing back her tears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, angel.” He glanced very quickly to the dead body on the floor and then back to Viv. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

She nodded and they stood up, Five still shaky and unsteady on his feet. Viv held on to him for support. “What’s going to happen now? Aren’t the cops going to come after us?”

Five shook his head. “No, we’re safe. He works for the Commission, so he’s their problem to deal with. Agents die all the time in the field. He’s just one more spare cog in the wheel that won’t be missed.”

On the way out of the house, Five remembered the briefcase. He grabbed it off the table and turned to Vivian. “I don’t think either of us should be driving. I have to bring this back anyway, so do you mind?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. The sooner we can get home the better. We can get the car later.”

With a nod, Five programmed the case, took Viv’s hand in his, and in less than two seconds they were back in their apartment. As soon as they arrived, though, Five collapsed to the ground on his hands and knees. He was still so weak from being electrocuted almost to death and now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, it was starting to catch up with him.

“Five! Oh my god…”

Viv put her arms around his waist as he leaned against her and she helped him up. Tears started to form in her eyes again as they traveled over Five’s exhausted face.

“I am so sorry, Five…this is all my fault…and now you’re hurt…”

“Vivie, I’ll be fine. And it’s not your fault.”

She could see he was starting to sway on his feet again and she nodded before realizing he was covered in a splatter of quickly drying blood. “Come on, you need to get cleaned up first and then you can lie down, ok?”

Viv led Five to the bathroom where she had him sit on the top of the toilet seat while she helped him undress down to his underwear. She didn’t trust that he was strong enough to take a full shower, so she wiped up his face, neck, and chest with a wet washcloth; the dried blood that was painting his skin gradually fading away. Five closed his eyes from both exhaustion and the feel of her touch as she gently washed his latest sin from his body.

After he was cleaned off, Viv washed her own hands and bandaged the cut on her palm, and they both collapsed onto their bed, too tired to turn back the covers. Viv crawled next to Five as he lay on his side, and he wrapped her in his arms with her face buried in his chest. They both let out a long sigh and then she looked up at him. With her hand on his cheek, she kissed him, her warm lips pressed to his as he kissed her just as deeply in return and stroked her hair.

“Are you going to be ok?” he asked her quietly.

“Yeah, I’ll be ok. I’m pretty tough, you know,” she said with a smile.

Five laughed and squeezed her tighter. “I know you are.” He was silent for a minute before speaking again. “I’m sorry, Vivie. I’m sorry that I can’t ever seem to escape the hell that follows me everywhere. All I want to do is keep you safe, but I seem to be failing in that department.”

“I never feel safer than when I’m with you.”

Five didn’t respond to that and was quiet again. “I’d do it again, you know.”

“What?”

“Kill anyone that tried to hurt you. Without a second thought. And I’m sorry because I know that’s not what you want to hear, but if protecting you means I have to be the bad guy, then so be it.”

Viv looked into his eyes and smiled sadly. “Five, you’re never the bad guy. You’re my own personal superhero and you will always be the good guy. Because you are good inside. I need you to remember that.”

Five chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but if I am, it’s only because of you, angel.”

Bonus: Smut (as a little treat)

It took a few days before Five was completely healed from his electrical ass-beating. He couldn’t even blink a few feet without the power leaving his body and feeling like he was going to faint. And even though he loved that Vivian took care of him, he was getting pretty fucking annoyed with getting scolded every time he tried to do something she didn’t think he could handle. He reminded her several times that he had made it through four and a half decades of self-preservation in a barren hellscape, so unloading a bag of groceries was probably not going to be the end of him. But she just gave him a pointed look that told him she didn’t give a shit what he said and then he shut up again. After the third day, though, she finally decided he was well enough to return to his normal activities.

Viv was at the kitchen sink when Five came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. “I have a surprise for you,” he told her with a grin.

She sighed heavily, continuing to rinse off the plate she was holding. “If it’s what I’m currently feeling being jabbed up against my butt right now, I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve seen it before. Several times.”

Five gave her ass a pinch so that she squealed and then scooped her up in his arms, the dish clattering into the sink. “That’s only part of it,” he answered before he teleported them into the bedroom and onto the bed with a bounce. “I can blink again,” he said with a cocky smirk.

Viv scowled at him, fighting against her smile, and she smacked him on the arm. “Five Hargreeves, you are the worst! What have I told you about non-consensual blinks?”

Five laughed and shrugged. “It was worth it.”

Before she had a chance to respond, he was dragging her on top of him and pulling her in for a kiss, his hand tangling in her hair. She immediately gave in and made a little moaning noise into his mouth.

“Besides,” he said as he pulled away with a smile. “I know you secretly love it.”

Viv shook her head. “I don’t. But I do love a lot of other things you can do.”

Five nuzzled his face into her neck and placed a line of soft kisses along the underside of her jaw. “How about I do a few of those things right now?”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” she said quietly while she started tugging up his shirt.

He chuckled as her hand slid over his hard abdomen and chest. “Trying to undress me already, my love?”

“You know I hate it when you have clothes on. I’d much rather have you walking around naked all day, just for my viewing pleasure and for easy access.”

Five laughed again and then flipped her over so that Viv was on her back, and he sat up on his knees, pulling his black t-shirt over his head before leaning down again. The muscles in his arms and back flexed as he held himself over her. He pressed the hard crotch of his pants into her thigh and he flashed her his sexy, crooked smile.

“If anyone needs to be walking around naked all day, it’s you. So let’s start there.”

Viv smiled and let him take his time with her, softly running his lips over her stomach and chest before lifting her shirt over her head. When he moved to tug her pants off, she stretched out long, closing her eyes and sighing. She felt his hand drifting over her legs and hip, and around to her ass where he gave it a small squeeze. Then he repositioned himself between her legs and she felt the warmth of his breath on her inner thigh as he placed his hands on either side of her hips.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he murmured.

Viv let out a quiet moan when she felt his mouth and tongue drawing hot lines over her skin, punctuated with tiny nips of his teeth. When he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down a little bit before covering the entire damp area between her legs with his mouth, she jerked her hips up with a whine.

Five leisurely sucked and licked at the thin fabric that separated him from that hot piece of heaven just underneath. He was teasing himself just as much as her, because the wetter she got, the more he could taste. And the more he could taste, the more his feral instincts kicked in and he wanted to devour her.

When he finally threw the lace underpants somewhere to the side, he was already on his knees between her legs, holding her tightly by her thighs, as he watched her rocking her hips up in anticipation. She looked up at him under hooded eyes, the corner of her bottom lip caught in her teeth, before sucking in a loud breath.

“God, you drive me fucking crazy,” he growled before immediately getting back to the matter at hand.

Five always knew the best ways to make Vivian a trembling mess, and one of those ways was to eat her out like she was the first meal he’d had in years. She liked when he was slow and gentle; flicking his tongue over all of her most sensitive places and taking his time. But when he lost all restraint and consumed her entire pussy, groaning and shoving his tongue inside of her while sloppily sucking at her clit, that’s when she lost her damn mind.

It always came with a slight risk of bodily harm for Five, since she would be thrusting her hips up into him so wildly, and pushing his face harder into her that it was a wonder he didn’t end up with a neck injury or suffocating to death. But he figured if that’s how he went out, he’d be ok with that.

“Five! Oh…my…fucking…god…YES!!!”

She pushed herself harder into his face with each word until she was screaming unintelligible words and Five could feel her thighs trembling and her body shaking as her back arched off the bed. He continued greedily lapping her up until she relaxed again and fell back against the pillow.  When he sat back on his knees, he was breathing hard and fast. He pushed his hair off his forehead as he licked at his lips; her warm, liquid sex coating his mouth and dripping down his chin.

While Viv lay there, catching her breath, she watched as Five wiped his face with the back of his hand, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a tiny smirk. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes told her all she needed to know. Now it was his turn and she was about to get railed. Hard.

He unbuckled his belt and opened the fly of his pants, taking out his hard cock before shoving her legs further apart with his knees. When he leaned over the top of her, covering her body with his own, he kissed her long and deeply; making sure she got a good taste of herself on his tongue. Her already soaked cunt accepted his dick with ease as he sunk himself inside of her.

With one hand holding himself up and the other gripping and pulling her leg up higher around his waist, Five started rhythmically thrusting into her, and moving his face to her neck.

“Vivie,” he breathed against her skin and she closed her eyes and dug her fingers into his back. “I can’t live without you, angel.”

 “I’m yours forever, Five.”

Five continued to fuck her hard but slowly, the buckle of his belt that was still dangling from his opened pants clinking with each push of his hips. He was groaning and biting into the crook of her neck as he kept his face buried there and Vivian clutched his body to hers. In between heavy pants, he told her all of the things he needed her to know. Every little thought and emotion that made its way to the forefront of his brain. If he didn’t tell her, the moment may pass and she’d never know.

“You are my whole world, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I am nothing without you. I love you so much, Vivian, so much.” He started moaning louder as his pace got faster and he held himself over her again to look down at her face. She smiled up at him, even as she let her head fall back again with a cry from how good he was feeling as he pounded into her.

“Five…”, she whimpered. “I love you, too...you feel so good like this.”

Her words acted like some sort of switch inside his brain, and after a few more seconds, Five was unleashing his hot cum inside of her while he pressed his forehead into her shoulder and groaned low in his throat. As his body relaxed, he stayed where he was, lying on top of her and breathing hard against her neck. She stroked his back and hair and ran her fingers lightly down his arms. He felt her lips press against his ear and she sighed happily.

“No one can ever take me away from you, Five,” Viv whispered.

Five kissed the side of her neck and then her lips. He didn’t say anything in return. Mostly because he knew she was right. Because if anyone ever tried to take her away again, he had no problem slaughtering everyone in his path to get to her.