#YOUR ANIMATIONS INSPIRE ME SM

[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 ©

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #dokyeom smut #dk smut #seokmin smut #lee seokmin smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #trigun au #svt au #seventeen au

[heartsforseo]

Strawhats with a member who likes Sanrio

A/n: I LOVE Sanrio sm and used to have a Keroppi mirror and Hello Kitty plush (now I have more >:)). The Skincare fic did better than I thought tbh. And I ws brainstorming what fic to write since I ws bored. So pls request :(( also maybe a bit oc??

⭑Luffy wouldn't understand why you like Sanrio and what's the hype about it.

⭑Yeah, he heard about it from Makino and got a shirt that's Kitty, but that's that.

⭑When you ramble about Sanrio to him, he'd just laugh about it and say, "You really know so much about this, Y/n!"

⭑Especially about your fav character(s), he'd just listen to you, smiling and looking right at you. Though he might doze off from time to time.

⭑And if he ever remembers, he'd tell you about the Hello Kitty shirt he got from Makino.

⭑And if he ever figures out that he had that merch before you, he'd boost about it and talk about it until dinner arrives.

⭑But now whenever you guys stop on a new island, he'd race you on the Sanrio merchandise and steal buy one for you and him.

⭑Zoro, the best man, would stare at you like you just escaped from the mental asylum.

⭑He really doesn't know anything about Sanrio. He thought that it was some booze at first based on how much you'd talk about it.

⭑But when you finally explained what it was to him he was like://

⭑He noticed your gloomy expression and he suddenly started panicking.

⭑Would try to tell you what he heard from your rambling, but all you could hear were some loud stutterings.

⭑It was honestly laughable how hard he tried. So extra credit for him.

⭑You told him how he acts like Badzt and he was like, "Is he cool?"

⭑But now whenever you guys would stop by a new island, he'd somehow reach the Sanrio stall first.

⭑Nami would gasp, someone actually knows Sanrio???

⭑When Nami was young, she'd see it on one of the newspaper pages. She'd always look forward to the new chapters to be released.

⭑She'd also hear some of it from Bellemere and would get hand-me-downs from Nojiko.

⭑So when she overhears you ramble about Sanrio to someone she'd butt in and share her opinion.

⭑After the conversation, she'd start noticing how many references and merch you have of your favorite character.

⭑Now, whenever you guys stop on a new island, she'd happen to buy you clothes for your favorite character.

⭑Say your thanks and she might buy you more. (But don't abuse it or make her angry, she'll pull up the bills.)

⭑Sanji also knows a lot about Sanrio.

⭑Working at Baratie as a server and cook, he'd seen a lot of girls wearing Sanrio bracelets or necklaces.

⭑He'd even gift Sanrio cut flowers with a letter (the dedication of this man goes crazy).

⭑So when he finds out you like Sanrio, he immediately shows you his pile of plushies, posters, cards, stickers, etc.. you name it.

⭑Every day, you gotta expect a gift from him.

⭑And it doesn't help that he gets more creative--day by day. For example, he'd first give you small gifts then start getting bolder and bolder.

⭑He’d also make you a sanrio-themed food/dessert/drink.

⭑Whenever you guys would go to a new island, he'd add a "gift for Y/n" to the list.

⭑And when you all would set sail, the cycle returns.

⭑Ussopp is also one of the people who knows a lot about Sanrio.

⭑He was just skimming the newspaper and saw Sanrio, now he looks forward to the stories and maybe even gets some inspiration for his stories.

⭑When you told him that you love Sanrio, he told you about his stories and that he met the creator of Sanrio. Even meeting KeroKeroppi.

⭑But fr though, he probably made a weapon inspired by Sanrio.

⭑Ooh, speaking of weapons. He has an inspired Sanrio attack and name.

⭑Now whenever you guys boarded off, he'd look for gunpowder and get some ideas and critiques from you.

⭑Chopper has heard of Sanrio from the townsfolk and Dr. Hiriluk.

⭑When you told him you like Sanrio he was happy.

⭑He starts talking about things from the past that link with Sanrio.

⭑When you told him that his animal form is like Deery-Lou, he'd whine and say, "I'm a reindeer, not a deer!"

⭑All jokes aside, he likes getting praised and being told by strangers that he looks like a Sanrio character.

⭑He likes sweets so when he saw a Sanrio-themed lollipop he'd start squealing and run over to buy one.

⭑Now whenever you have to go to a new island, you'll see Chopper with 2-3 Sanrio-themed lollipops.

⭑Robin would also know what Sanrio is

⭑Looking at other children having those kinds of stuff, I'm sure she must have dreamt of having at least one merch before.

⭑But when she was still Ms. All Sunday, I'm sure she kept track of the storyline in the newspapers.

⭑When you tell her about your love for Sanrio she'll say, "Is that so? I have some fair share about it."

⭑She collects the little kinds of stuff. For example, she has a keychain of kuromi and Aggressive Retsuko (it reminds her of Chopper).

⭑Now whenever you guys get off to a new island, she'll maybe buy you a keychain and match with her (if she has time, especially since she's looking for poneyglyphs).

⭑Franky has heard of Sanrio before.

⭑Especially from Tom-san.

⭑He honestly likes Sanrio. He even tried to make one before, when he was young.

⭑When you told him 'bout your love for Sanrio, he immediately thought of building you one.

⭑AND HE ACTUALLY DIDD!!! It was a life-size Pochacco statue!

⭑If you didn't like the character or have other commissions, Franky would happily do them!

⭑Now, whenever you guys settle to a new island, you don't have to worry about getting the limited's since Franky could make them.

⭑Hands down, Brook probably knows the owner☠︎︎

⭑This guy is so old he may even helped with the soundtrack.

⭑All jokes aside tho, I'll say that Sanrio wasn't really known when he was still alive. And considering he has been wandering on his own for 50 years, he had definitely missed much of it.

⭑You'll have to tell him what the latest chapter is and what he missed (He's in the corner, crying cuz he missed so much).

⭑He'd probably play a soundtrack he remembers when he first watched it 50 years ago.

⭑But once you fill him in on the latest news, he'll also be fangirling with you!! (Yoohoo new buddy!!)

⭑Now, whenever you guys would settle on a new island, you both would hang out and discuss the latest episode.

⭑Jimbei I'd say would know the basics

⭑I mean, he has been a fighter so I'd say he hasn't gotten some time for relaxation.

⭑he reminds me of Hangyodon sm :(((

⭑I mean, he's a nice guy who likes the best for others.

⭑When you told him about your love for Sanrio, he'd be like, "Oh I know some of that." but he'd prefer to listen to you.

⭑When you tell him about his similarities to Hangyodon, he'll probably try to learn more about him.

⭑Hangyodon would probably be one of his favorites. Especially since he's the first one he knows a lot about.

⭑Now whenever you guys would leave for the next island, you'd give him some small stickers and ties.

A/n: Okokokokok so ofc I don't know MUCH about Jimbei yet. And I just got into the backstory of the sun pirates. I'm at like 536. But anyway, I finally finished this fic after 23 hours. Ofc I was bored again so I wrote. My next fic would be the Gaming one unless someone sent a request. ALSO MAYBE OOC

#fypfypfypfypfypfypdypfypfypfypfypfypfyfpfyfpfyp #tumblr fyp #x reader #fluff #one piece #gn reader #angst #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #nami x reader #ussopp x reader #robin x reader #brook x reader #franky x reader #jimbei x reader #Monkey D. Luffy x reader #Vinsmoke Sanji x reader #Nico Robin x reader #GoD Ussopp x reader #opla x reader #opla #opla! #one piece! live action #onepiece live action #one piece live action #opla!sanji x reader #opla!zoro x reader #opla!nami x reader #opla!ussopp x reader #opla!luffy x reader

[loveebot]

puppy!reader

doe eyes. wired ear buds. clumsy (always covered in bandaids). volunteers at the animal shelter. lace tank tops. bakes a whole lot when she misses her man. honey infused lip oil. adhd on 10. hypersensitive. bootcut jeans. “babydoll” by dominic fike. doc martins. white lace bows. suffers from hyperactive blackouts (proceeds to pass out on her man 5 minutes later). chonky blankets. love language; physical touch. obsessive as it gets. kinda looks at her man like kate sharma. glittery tears from her eyeshadow. mixed metals. ties her jeans w/ ribbon. throw a tantrum when her man has to leave her for over 3 hours.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ۪ㅤ— ㅤ۫ㅤ๑ㅤ ۟ㅤ ˗ˋˏ 🐶 ㅤ‧₊ ♱

w/ matt — it’s hard between the two of you to be in public because you’re so touchy and he hates pda. you sort of warm him up to being public, but you respect it. it’s a very different story at home though. ‘cause of youtube, he’d be away for a couple hours at a time, and when he’d come home to you and see your tear covered cheeks, he’d handle it in his usual matt fashion. cuddling you and kissing you all over ‘til you stopped crying. “please don’t be sad, m’sorry i didn’t call, okay?” then when you’re done you’re fucked to sleep.

w/ chris — cause one of his love languages is also physical touch, you guys get on everyone’s nerves with the pda. there is no shame in y’alls game. neck kissing, his hand on your ass, literally anything. he’d also be away ‘cause of filming, but he handles your weeping differently. he’d smush your wet cheeks with one hand and say “y’can’t do this every time, alright?” to which you’d respond with a sniffle and a nod. “just missed you,” you’d mutter. “needed you.” and then suddenly, you’d be face down in his bed, showing him how much you needed him.

w/ nate — an average couple (mostly). hockey takes up some time, but he’s usually with you for most of your days. on the off chance he isn’t able to, naturally you have a melt down. nate’s such a sweetheart, all he knows is spoiling you. but if he has a bad practice or game, he doesn’t have time to make you feel better. but when he ends up fucking his cum deep inside you, you can’t really remember what you’d been so upset about.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ .⁺ ⸝⸝

just me acknowledging that this is 100% inspired by multiple other writers on this app, specifically, starfxkr, princessbrunette (love her sm) and donatellawritings, and if any of the writers who use these type of !readers see this and feel that my interpretation is too close to theirs and they want me to take this down, i will.

󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀ׁ⠀ㅤ © ㅤ 𝓵𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖾𝖻𝗈𝗍 ︎︎︎︎ ︎︎︎︎ . ⠀ ୭ৎ ㅤ 󠀠󠀠󠀠𓊇ྀི

#loveebot ໒꒰ྀི • ﻌ • ꒱ྀི১ #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nate doe #nathan doe #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #puppy!reader #moodboard #aesthetic #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo smut #nate doe smut #nathan doe smut #matt sturniolo prompt #chris sturniolo prompt #nate doe prompt #!reader

[wolfythewitch]

Hi!!

Your art, animations and animatics are truly incredible and so inspiring!! I love how much thought there is behind alot and WOW.

Literally speechless! !

Youre too cool

I also wanted to ask smth, that I know is a rather uncomfortable topic, but I reckon its really important. I remember youve already responded to it, I was searching for it but unfortunately couldnt find it.

The topic being when people seem to get heavily inspired by your art, specifically the animatics. Up to a point where it feels a bit too uncanny...

Is there smth we can do? Or is this smth you do behind the scenes?

Im sorry if this question bothers

I wish you a good day

Aa thank you sm!!

And honestly I don't really know tbh. I'm fine with people taking inspiration from my animatics but it makes me feel weird when people just redraw frame by frame (or trace over it. I can recognize my own style lmao). Like there are some compositions I'm really proud of and I get really surprised when I see it in animatics that already seem so familiar. There isn't really anything I can do other than outright call them out but I'd feel bad so I just let it be haha. A lot of them are really young and as long as it's not harming anyone. It isn't outright theft either tbh? The ones I've seen are like tracing various frames from different animatics and rearranging them into a new one (which I'll admit. Wrong, but impressive)

#wolfy tedtalks #anon

[bitciziad]

greasy oiled up bbg || blood CW!

more under the cut!

omfg genuinely this is so embarrassing it completely slipped my mind to add a content warning or another version without blood yall please ignore me LMFAOOO this is what i mean by i’m new to tumblr so expect more clueless moments like this next time AHAHHA

(TYSM @/lewditydegreeblog for adding that one tag in your reblog, i knew i was missing something but i got that gold fish brain)

okay we’re back- the bloody clothes have no context whatsoever i just thought it looked cool cuz i love apocalyptic vibes and i’ll admit, kylar 100% is prepared for it. like a roach. you can’t get rid of him and neither will zombies or aliens or viruses. he has a million hunting knives, pockets galore, literally makes chemical weapons. he better learn to stitch his pants back together though.

ANYWAY BACK WITH MORE KYLARRR, thank y’all sm for the reactions to my last post on him!! i appreciate it a lot holy shit y’all are great and the tags ?? love y’all LMFAO so here’s more as a thanks <3

i got a funny idea for that papa roach thing btw i’ll probably post it later if i can actually do anatomy but yknow that dramatic cliche pose of someone on their knees ripping open their jacket ?? yeah

he’s so cute love u kylar when you’re not trying to stalk ppl (i avoided him for like three months in game time after the halloween event cuz my pc went with whitney IMSORRY)

also you cannot convince me otherwise that the local alley cats don’t absolutely DESPISE his ass, especially in the residential district, those stray alley cats beat kylar’s ass like it’s ON SIGHT any time he tries jumping the gate to and from the orphanage. they got a mark out for him, can smell his garlic ass a mile away. he scrambles, the cats are bailey’s unemployed thugs atp, doing that bastard a favor. idk how to draw cats

ironically except for whitney probably like no wonder why that idiot just hangs out in the alleyways 24/7. doesn’t even love cats he’s just that type of fucker that animals like but who’s he to complain if the random town cats also have a weird funny vendetta against kylar. love you whitney muah, and yes the whitney addition is 100% inspired by one of truthful_lier’s headcanons for whitney on Ao3!! animal magnet tbh i see the vision and i AGREE.

tbh besides the fact it’s just funny as fuck for random alley cats to hiss at kylar and chase him away or scratch him (would be just another reason why he always has scratches on his hands and face too), animals sensing the paranormal or something probably has something to do with it.

like even the animals probably think he’s a garlic smelling weirdo with some “off” vibe that just REEKS of supernatural remnants (his parents ofc) that makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle cuz it’s just an uncomfortable, foreboding feeling that’s just off.

jkjk he’s just getting punked by stray cats for no reason whatsoever. he gets bullied at school and now by the local stray litter shitters just for the hell of it. no context no reason it’s just on sight.

also here’s close ups cuz idk if tumblr ruins quality or not but yeah here’s this sopping wet cat of a guy. ALSO HEAR ME OUT PLEASE- the eye shaped gauges ??? you see where i’m going with this right RIGHT

also pls ignore it if you see me edit the tags they were off center and it bothered me LMFAOO but anyway my interpretation is 100% inspired by yall <3 i love this greasy little rat mf cant believe a p0rn game cured my artblock but idc i love it

#degrees of lewdity #dol fanart #dol kylar #degrees of lewdity kylar #kylar the loner #dol!hc #-> kinda it’s just funny #binge!myart

[swallowprettybird]

Hey! This question is from an anonymous..

Who inspires me?

Thank you for this question! I have so much to say 😍❤️

I have so many people's blogs that inspire me. Unfortunately, they won't all fit here, but there are so many wonderful people, know that you are wonderful! 🫶

Too many letters below in random order under the cut 👇

@bakersimmer inspired me so much with her story and legacy ❤️ I love her light and engaging writing and storytelling style ✍️

Saffron is just a cute little devil whom I love very much 😁 and Anselm.. keep your eyes peeled! ehhh my lovelies 😭❤️

Also, her style of screenshots and game seems to be my favorite on simblr ✨

@onestormeynight and Penny, Blair and Rosie life and them story, they're so so cute and warming my heart ☺️ I adore their story because it is full of family love and understanding, it is a wonderful portion of happiness every episode :з

@elderwisp your arts it's something magical!It inspires me a lot, I love this aesthetic, and it hits the heart 100%, your simstyle very fine and sm tasteful 🧡 and tesselate such a goooood story ohmhm my gosh so good 🤌

@youredreamingofroo i love your Roo universe hehe ❤️ I like to discover him every time learning details about his life and character, it seems as if he is another good friend of ours on Simblr 🤭 It's very inspiring to know own characters better too) And of course, I admire your renders, they are very beautiful and high quality!

@kuroashims and her beautiful blog dedicated to One Peece ❤️ 🧭 If you're like me and have never seen this anime, you'll want to know more about it after discover her page, and if you're a loyal fan, you'll love it even more! Her style is unique in its kind, you won't see anything like it in the sims. And the way she conveys emotions and feelings with just one picture without many words is just something beautiful. It is very inspiring. Elfy is also a wonderful person and a so kind warm friend. 🧝 Je t'aime, ma chère ☺️( btw your French vibe is very inspiring too 😍🤌 belle, incroyablement belle 💅🗼)

@changingplumbob and her amazing stories with amazing families. I love each of them. Kirsty plays the game with a huge and contagious passion. Each of her oc's is different and has its own story.

It's touch me and makes root for each character, through victories, mistakes, and life circumstances. She also has a great sense of humor! Her game sometimes throws up such funny situations! In general, Kirsty knows how to turn the usual gameplay into an exciting journey and I definitely recommend you to join. Also, I am very impressed with her playing style. And if I'm ever going to play a ts4 (as gameplay lmao), she'll definitely be the one to inspire me how.

@holocene-sims i love all about Grant and his life. This is such a vital and real, deep story. I love experiencing all the happy and poignant moments with him as well. His example teaches me not to give up and to live in spite of everything, and to be honest, the thought of this sometimes supported me in difficult moments.

I love talking with you about him and the family and about Junga, she's wonderful. 😇 I'm always looking forward to new episodes.

And Ana is my main inspiration for my main story. If you see a new episode of Cursed Chronicles, you should know that part of the gratitude lies with Ana. ❤️

@matchalovertrait and her beautiful lovely sunshine Noemi and her family ❤️ I will love them always 🥹 It seems to be the warmest, kindest and most loving legacy I know) I like to read it at least to recharge my batteries with this wonderful atmosphere and I immediately want to create something cute and wonderful ☺️

btw Dulce and Ángel has grown so charming!

@miralure your sims just incredible and i love your lookbooks ❤️🤌 You inspire me a lot to create and remade my sims and stand at the CAS like never before! looking forward to hearing new posts from you ☺️

@wistfulpoltergeist You have no idea how much I appreciate this person and his support from the very beginning of my blog❤️ Євгенку ну ти справжнє найсправжнє сонечко 🌞☺️🧡He is a real sunshine. And of course, I adore him both as a creator and a storyteller and as a dad/mom of two beautiful cats Aidan and Arvin 😁 this teo boys so lovely and hot 🤌🔥 і я сподіваюсь ще почути від тебе багато історій ☺️❤️

@aniraklova I think looking at her screenshots, you don't have to say anything, do you? This is an absolutely sky-high level of aesthetics 🤌💅 And I admired their work long before I started the blog, becouse all her cc and all art is something very very inspiring, she really inspired me to create some characters and recent cyberpictures :h Карі ти просто крейзі в найкращому значенні цього слова 😘🔥💋

@vermutandherring another wonderful creator who amazes me with her skill and beauty, It's just so gorgeous, this builds and scenes are incredible and everything I see there I dream of either seeing in my game or just admiring endlessly, so talented artist просто золоті руки 😍

@stellarfalls people who I may not follow much, but people who I consider my great inspirations, who make me want to move on, develop and improve my screenmake skills 🧡 at one time she impressed me a lot with her story&creations and I am still impressed, thank you friend ❤️

@aheathen-conceivably I've probably said it before, but you really do inspire me in a very real way, besides the fact that your dynasty is more than sims, it's a whole bunch and a storm of emotions, these are such real, well-developed characters, I almost cried a few times over some moments... for everyone who is not familiar with the dynasty of this wonderful author, I highly recommend you to read it) and besides, your work inspires me to write my own story too :з it really inspired me for some points of the sequel and thank you to your blog for that)

@circusjuney your style and story, are some of my favorites, and Ellie and Max are the ones I'm really rooting for and worried about ❤️ your blog is very inspiring to me in gґso many ways and makes me glad to be here on simblr ☺️✨🫶

@papermint-airplane I may not have known your blog for that long, but I get excited every time I read about Aiden and his friends again ❤️🫶 I really like your writing style, it's engaging, light and catchy, I love adventure, so it really inspires me to write. and I'd like to send you a special hug as a former fan of the TS3 hehe 🫂

I would also note @weirdosalike because I can't help but note that I am fascinated and obsessed by her story, which makes me just as passionate about creating something 😁

I almost forgot about @theosconfessions Scarlet is so gorgeous, you know what inspires me about your blog? your absolute passion for what you do!

.... oh okay i need a chapter 2 😣😖

There are many more authors whose work I am just getting to know, and I really like them ❤️ Sorry if I didn't mention you i love your blogs too 🥹🫶

#ask game

[fakeuwus]

GUILTY CONSCIENCE | sim jaeyun

now playing ☾⋆⁺₊🎧✩°｡ guilty conscience by 070 shake

⁺ ⋆˚ genre: idol!jake x nonidol/femreader, just angst man am i sorry, established relationship

⁺ ⋆˚ warnings: lowercase intended, cursing, being drunk, infidelity, gaslighting(?), baby is used as a nickname, one suggestive text, jay is mentioned BRIEFLY

⁺ ⋆˚ word count: ~1.2k

⁺ ⋆˚ message from nic: i know i already did a piece ab cheating but all of my works are inspired by songs or i try to connect them to a song,,, i just feel it sets the tone of the story and its fun to connect a story to a song!! and since this song is one of my favs atm i HAD to write ab it. i definitely recommend u guys listen to the song while reading or even listen to it after. kinda ironic how cheating is one of my pet peeves (i fr despise it sm dont get me started) yet here i am writing ab it lmao. i promise i'll write something more lighthearted and/or anything that isn't angst soon LOL. but hope y'all enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

"5 AM when i walked in, could not believe what i saw"

yn: JAKEY JAKE JAKEY pleaseee come tk the club rn i habent seen u since u got nack :(

jake chuckles at the message as he reads it. he glances over at the clock that reads 4:38 AM. he knows that clubs in korea don’t close until 8 but god damn how are you still partying with your friends this late? he figures that you must’ve had a little too much to drink and your party animals for friends don’t help at all.

jake: ik baby but we had schedules right when we landed and im so tired… how are u even still there rn???

yn: TOO MICJ FUN :D

yn: COME HAVE FUN WITH ME BABY ;)

jake: u make it rlly hard to say no to u

jake: ill be there soon<3

jake sighs as he rises from his bed, making sure not to wake jay who’s fast asleep. he envies how jay can be sleeping so peacefully when jake is experiencing the worst jet lag of his life. you being out at 4 in the morning and his racing mind doesn't help him try to get some shut eye either.

he dresses quickly, making sure it's quiet when he exits the dorms. it’s not his finest fashion moment but he could care less about what he looks like. he’s only going out to see you and to possibly save you from whatever crazy antics you and the girls are up to.

jake isn’t going to lie when he says he hasn’t made the best effort to see you after getting back from tour. but he also didn’t lie when he said his schedule was super jam packed these days. he should’ve immediately ran to you as soon as he landed but he just didn’t have it in him. guilt gnawed away at his heart as he hailed a cab to lead him to the club you were having the time of your life at.

jake enters the back of the club smoothly without drawing any attention. thankfully your friends secured a vip table upstairs in a secluded area, making it easy for clubgoers to not notice that an idol was going to a club at godforsaken hours.

approaching the table he sees you right away. it’s not hard to spot your beautiful red dress, hugging every curve on your body. your long hair flows as you sway your hips back and forth. jake smiles to himself. how did he manage to bag the most gorgeous girl in all of seoul, korea? it was clear you were having way too much fun, giggling and dancing with your friends and-

he quietly gasps. the scene before him makes him halt in his tracks. it was like time stopped and the flashing lights began to blind his vision. his heart rate slowed and his palms were becoming clammy.

maybe he was mistaken. there was no way you would do this to him, he thinks. but there you were cuddled up next to a man, drunk out of your mind. jake can't stand another minute watching you and the mysterious person grind up against one another.

in a blinded rage he rushes towards the guy and pushes him away from you with all of his power. “GET THE FUCK OFF MY GIRL!” you shriek and the guy stumbles backwards sending a few drinks flying off of a nearby table. “YOU MIND TO TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE YN?!”

your mouth is agape and your mind is scrambling to figure out what to say. you know you can’t explain how you were practically dry humping a stranger, too shocked and the alcohol still strong in your system. you're struggling to say something, anything to try to make things right.

“and you,” jake turns and gets too close to the man’s face. “she’s clearly too inebriated to make the right decisions. how DARE you take advantage of her like that?!” you’re confused as to why he’s flipping the script and blaming the stranger but jake rips you away from everyone too fast for you to think another second. you stumble as you’re dragged away to a dark corner.

the two of you are standing in awkward silence, no one daring to say a word. your eyes are looking everywhere but jake. you’re too afraid to see what kind of expression his face has. “jake i-” “no. you don’t get to speak right now. there’s nothing you could say to justify what i just saw.”

ragged breaths begin to come out of your mouth and your chest is tightening. “jake please baby i just- i was so drunk and these guys came up to us and…” your sentence trails off, every word you’re saying just sounds so ridiculous at the moment. he’s right. you couldn’t say anything to excuse your wrongful actions.

“and to think i came here at fuck ass o’ clock just to come and see you. i’ve barely gotten an ounce of sleep these days but i gave that up to come because you were BEGGING for me to be here.” his voice is angry and you know he has every right to be screaming at you. at this point tears are threatening to spill from both of your guys’ eyes. “jake… i know i know and i’m so sorry i swear nothing like that-”

“NO. no just no,” he pauses carefully choosing the words he’s about to say next. “you’re right. there won’t be a next time… we’re done.” the tears that brimmed your lashes are now falling. the alcohol that once ran through you is now gone. you move to grab his hand but he takes a step back. the distance between you two grows larger and he seems out of reach.

“jake please we can work this out! please don’t leave me because of this.” your pleas are ringing in his ears but he ignores them. “we can’t come back from this yn. how could you think i’d ever trust you from now on?! don’t contact me ever. have a nice life.” the loud music pounds on the walls just like your heart is in your chest. you’re left alone sobbing, wondering how you managed to fuck up the best relationship you’ve ever had.

jake stumbles out of the club, trying to clutch onto anything to help him out. the fresh breeze of the night blows onto his face and helps him regain his breath. he struggles to get his thoughts together as he walks down the sidewalk back to the dorms.

maybe he was too harsh with the way he spoke to you but he knew it had to be done. seeing you cling onto someone that wasn't him was his ticket out. he knows that you're absolutely going to be broken for awhile but you'll be okay, right? he knows that you're going to blame yourself for this for who knows how long but you're going to be fine in the end, right?

he convinces himself that it's better you than him because now,

he'll never have to admit what he was doing while he was away from you on tour.

"i caught you but you never caught me, i was sitting here waiting on karma, there goes my guilty conscience."

© fakeuwus 2023 do not repost, translate, or plagiarize

#nic's library ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ #fakeuwus #jake fic #jake enhypen #enhypen fic #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #jake x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun #enhypen au #enha #fanfic #fem reader

[candyje11yfish]

Hello!! I really like the way your art looks- style, coloring, and everything!! I’m kind of curious how you draw faces, that’s one of the main things I’ve always struggled with (maybe because I used to just draw a ton of Sans and Wheatley who…don’t have much going for faces)

Anyways that’s all!! You don’t have to tell if you don’t want to!

-Starlo fan

hii! thanks for the ask :D made this Real quick 4 u:

sooo im admittedly not that good at drawing different facial features/ expressions. the main things i do though are big eyes, lines on the nose and cheeks, big ears. i want it to look sorta like a mix btween cartoony and anime?? 

might be a little long so more under cut :]

whenever i draw a character, first thing i do is choose a shape that suits them! ill base it on personality most of the time. (explained further next paragraph). for the eyes, theres 2 main ways i draw them! ill either make the pupil half black with a highlight in the middle, or make the eye 2 colours with a highlight on the side!

A big thing i like to focus on is shape language! an example of this is how i draw Pearl and Marina from splatoon! i use sharp, triangular shapes for Pearl, on her eyes, tentacles, clothes, basically everywhere. For Marina, I use round, circular shapes! ig to portray the contrast in their personalities? something like that. My main inspiration for this and my artstyle in general is starrysharks (twt & tumblr)!!!! please check out his art its so shapey and colourful probably my favourite artist ever. 

if u struggle w making faces even, what i do is duplicate for example most of the time ill draw one eye, duplicate then flip it lol. u could also use the symmetry tool!! i usually never use guide lines and the sketch is my lineart most of the time.

big piece of advice that helped me a lot is to copy!! if you really like the artstyle of ur favourite show, try redrawing a screenshot from it! just remember to give credit if u reference from an artist👍👍

aaaand thats all i can think of to say!!! hope this helps! thanks sm for reading, have a nice day :D i drew a starlo for u!!!!!

-another starlo fan

#ask mari #Long post #starlo

[silly-little-gooses]

the inheritance games favorite childhood tv shows/movies!

I got inspired by my friend crying over her favorite childhood movie, hope you enjoy <3

Avery watched How To Train Your Dragon WAY too much as a child. Hiccup was def her first ever crush. Brown hair and green eyes…does that sound familiar?

Jameson had a MASSIVE Cars phase. Lightning McQueen was (and still is) his spirit animal. “Kachow!” was his life motto for a solid four years.

Grayson exclusively watched the History channel. Imagine four year old Grayson watching a documentary about WW2 (someone please draw fan art of this)

Nash was a HUGE Toy Story fan. You already know he had all the merch. Woody is his #1 idol and inspiration.

Xander never watched a ton of kids shows as a child but as an adult, he is OBSESSED with Bluey. I’ve mentioned this is one of my posts before but I love it sm.

Max adored High School Musical from a young age. She and Xander always sing Troy and Gabriella’s duets for karaoke!

Rebecca watched My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic and NO ONE can convince me otherwise. She IS Fluttershy.

Emily watched The Lion King (yk, falling off of a cliff aesthetic)

Libby LOVED Beauty and the Beast, I’m not sure why but I feel it.

that’s all for now! :)

#the inheritance games #jennifer lynn barnes #javery #tih #bluey #cartoons #kids shows #booktok

[filtharchives]

omg my first fanfic since middle school but rambling with @sugar-omi sm inspired me to try again

i’m literally gonna throw up !!!!!! also this is my first time writing smut so it's bad sorry if it feels super rushed–it’s because it is! I wrote it before my next lecture 🙈

oh! and happy birthday cove! ♡

edit: took down the first time i posted this bc i rlly did not like it but ended up not editing

summary: cove x reader - cove doesn’t like losing but you drive a hard bargain

tags: NSFW, fem/afab reader, high libido!reader, sub cove, prolly ooc, use of aphrodisiacs, handcuffs, p in v, dick riding in cowgirl position, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill i swear but always wrap it up!) idk what else i’ve only ever posted on wattpad i never used tags like this lol

it had been a few months since you and cove moved into your new apartment together and needless to say, you had gained a lot of sexual experience since then.

though you weren’t at the point of fucking like animals, ever since the two of you first went “all the way”, it had opened a new door in your relationship, and without the fear of getting caught by your families, he’d become much more clingier and practically always had a hand somewhere on your body, which sometimes led to a little more than just heavy petting.

in an effort to be a little more adventurous, you had proposed a fun challenge to cove: you would both take an aphrodisiac chocolate you found at a local sex boutique, and whoever could go the longest without touching themselves or the other would win and, naturally, the winner gets to choose the loser’s punishment.

cove nearly burst into flames at the idea of taking a drug that would make him horny–it was embarrassing enough getting turned on naturally–but it also excited him and his competitive streak, so he agreed, which led you to now.

cove squirmed uncomfortably on one corner of the couch, trying to focus on the nature documentary on the tv while you leaned back against the other corner, watching him with a smug smirk on your lips. you may have felt a little guilty setting up your boyfriend like this–your high libido gave you the heavy advantage of being very horny throughout the day even when you couldn’t act on it, whereas your poor boyfriend had less moments of neediness and was therefore not used to feeling so desperate–but it was too fun watching him sit so uncomfortably, and you knew the pay off would be worth it.

“you having fun there, cove?” you ask teasingly, languidly running a hand through your hair. cove offers a small grumble while shifting his jeans to try and make his hard on more comfortable, before deciding that wasn’t enough and adds,

“n-no…” his response makes your smirk widen.

“you know, there’s no shame in surrender~”

cove pouts at you, torn between his determination to win, and his desire to finally be able to blow a load. his stubbornness is amusing, but you want to get to the good part, so you lean forward on the couch until you have to support yourself on your arms, ensuring cove has a good view of your chest from your low-cut shirt.

“if you give up now, i promise to be nice with your punishment,” you purr, slowly crawling closer to him. even without the drug, cove was obsessed with your chest, but the aphrodisiac running through him made his eyes zero in on it. he gulps loudly and you stop in front of him.

“y-you promise…?” he asks shakily, tearing his eyes away from the tantalizing sight to meet yours. you grin in victory, sitting on your knees and slipping off your top to push him over the edge.

“i promise~”

at your words, cove concedes and practically launches himself forward, his hands landing roughly on your hips and his mouth finds your lips before trailing kisses down your neck. before he can reach your tits, however, you gently push him back by his shoulders, getting wetter at the sight of his disappointed, puppy-like gaze.

“you lose,” you say with a mocking smile. “now you have to be punished.”

cove’s eyes are already watering by the time he’s handcuffed to the bed by cheap plastic from your old halloween costumes, laying naked and flat against the mattress helplessly as you stand in front of him, removing your shorts and underwear at a painfully slow pace. his dick is so hard it hurts, twitching uselessly against his stomach as his gaze never leaves your body.

“please…” he whimpers, his hips rolling once into nothing. “please touch me already…”

“you don’t get to make demands when you lost the game,” you taunt with a smile, but you crawl on top of him anyways, straddling his hips with your hot sex so close to his, he could feel it. he whines your name.

“you promised to be nice…” he says pitifully.

“i did, didn’t i?” you pretend to ponder before lowering your hips and grinding your wet cunt against the underside of his dick, drawing out a long, relieved moan from him. the thick vein on the underside feels so delicious against you, you let out a shaky sigh. your hands rest on the sides of his chest as you roll your hips against him, your forefingers rubbing his perky nipples making him pant.

“stop teasing,” cove begs. “more… i…”

“what? what do you want from me, cove?” you ask coyly, grinding particularly hard and biting back a soft moan as his tip catches your clit.

“i-i… please just- just fuck me already!” he cries.

“y’ lucky i already prepped,” you mutter, lifting yourself off him and reaching one hand down to line him up. cove nearly sobs in relief as you slowly lower yourself down on his length, both your hands on his chest again as you reach the hilt.

“f-fuck…” he gasps softly, feeling your warmth encase him entirely. he nearly sobs again when you lift up your hips until he’s almost entirely out, just for you to slam down on him again, marking the start of a brutal pace he was not prepared for at all.

“w-wait! you- that-” he starts, only to be cut off again and again by his own moans and disoriented thoughts, before he can finally string together a thought and a cry of your name. “too much!”

still, you don’t slow down, bouncing on his dick easily with the help of the springy mattress below you. your hands move to his legs as you lean back, giving cove a clear sight of where your bodies meet and how your combined arousal has left a milky ring on the base of his dick with a few stray drops sitting on his seafoam bush. he doesn’t even have the ability to thrust back up into you, letting you use him like a glorified dildo as tosses his head back on the pillow behind him, only to lean forward again to watch you. his moans match yours and the pace you’ve set, the sound of your ass slapping against his hips echoing in the bedroom and his eyes drifting all over your body, lingering on your face, tits, and cunt.

“o-oh, fuck…!” cove hisses loudly. “h-honey… please, let me touch you…!”

“n… nuh uh,” you grin down at him. “y-you lost, so… you gotta put up with this- oh, fuck-!” the coil in your belly is close to snapping, and you can tell from how he twitches inside you that cove is close as well. you pick up the pace, crying out when his tip hits your cervix. cove calls out your name like a mantra.

“i- ‘m gonna…” cove chokes out through his moans.

“do it,” you pant. “cum in- oh!” your cunt squeezes him in surprise as his wrists break free from the cheap plastic handcuffs and his hands tightly grasp your hips and he plants his feet on the bed to thrust up into you just as he wanted while you lose control.

“f-fuck!” you cry out as you do your best to support yourself on cove’s chest, eyes rolling back from his breakneck pace and his balls slapping your ass. it only takes a few seconds for you both to reach your climaxes and you loudly moan cove’s name as he shakily groans, his cum painting your insides white. you don’t even have a moment to collect yourself before cove rolls the two of you over, still sheathed inside you and not any less hard. he hovers over you with a wolfish grin, some of his sweat dripping onto you.

“your game and punishment weren’t fair, so it’s my turn to pay you back, okay?” he says darkly. “and i like doing it without the condom. we should do it more often.”

oh, you would definitely do this more often

this was not up to my standards but that's okay! warm up round 💪💪💪 we only get better from here baby let’s go

#currently cringing at myself #gngngn #olba #cove holden #cove holden x reader #cove x reader #i wrote this #smut #cove holden smut

[fettuccin-e]

This is very very much inspired by this post by @dirtyhellfireclub teehee I love ur blog sm (Warnings: semi-public sex, unprotected piv, fem!reader)

So seriously,, like imagine Eddie fucking you between classes because he literally just can’t get enough of you

He’s such a sweet boyfriend y’know,, he’s carrying your books and backpack while he walks you to class, chatting with you about your day,, when all of the sudden he just goes quiet

And right before you ask why, he’s smirking, muttering, “jackpot,” to himself before he’s yanking you into the closet just up the hall that the janitor accidentally left open, locking the door behind him and dropping your backpack to the ground.

You can barely utter out an, “Eddie, what the fu-” before he’s gripping your neck gently and pulling your lips to his, breathlessly murmuring into your mouth about how “I’ve gotta— I’ve gotta have you baby. You look too good today, especially in this,, this fucking skirt, god, baby, ‘s like you trying to kill me sweetheart”

And he’s rucking up said skirt as he speaks, pushing your panties aside to sink a finger into your wet cunt, cold rings nestled against your hole, muttering the dirtiest shit into your ear, begging, “such a sweet pussy, baby, so fucking wet for me. Gonna let me fuck you baby, let me fuck this pussy?” And you’re already nodding through needy little whines, drunk on his words, drunk off the thought of his cock in your cunt with the rest of the entire Hawkins student body just outside.

“Need words, sweet girl,” he whispers.

And you’re gripping his thick hair while he nuzzles into your neck, grinding his cock against your pussy through your clothes. “Yes, yes, Eddie, oh god, oh g-god, please please fuck me, need it so bad”

You can feel him smirk against your skin before he’s pulling away, just to shove his jeans and boxers down his thighs far enough to free his thick cock, his tip red and leaking. He catches you looking, and just smiles at you, teasing, as he says, “see how hard you’ve gotten me, sweetheart? See what you and that hot fucking body of yours does to me?”

And you have to bite into his shoulder to muffle your scream as he crowds you up against the wall again, hiking one of your legs up his hip and sinking his cock into your hot cunt.

He waits just a moment for you to adjust to the intrusion before he’s ramming his cock deep into your pussy, letting out little grunts and moans as your cunt squelches around him.

“Fuck baby, love this little pussy, you’re so, you’re so fucking sexy, god, gotta have this pussy all the time,,, All. The. Fucking. Time.” He punctuates each word with a hard snap of his hips into the spot deep inside your body that makes you scream.

And you’re whining high in the back of your throat, like a fucking animal, trying to stay quiet, but it’s so hard when Eddie’s rocking into you so harsh, so good, grinding tip of his cock deep into your pussy. And when Eddie reaches a hand between you to rub a thumb over your throbbing clit, it’s game over.

Your throat catches on a sharp gasp, almost painful, as you cum, gushing all over Eddie’s cock and thighs, body spasming against the wall. Eddie’s kissing at your mouth, trying to suppress your keening moans, all while whispering little praises into your mouth, telling you how, “you’re so fucking beautiful princess, my sexy baby girl, so fucking perfect,,,” and he’s wiping the little tears that had fallen from your eyes without you realizing, before he’s grunting, “gonna cum princess. Gonna cum so hard into this little cunt. Sweet, sweet girl, love you so damn much,,,”

And you feel his thick cum flood your still clenching pussy, just as you hear the bell ring for your next class.

(And then you have to take your math quiz flushed and sweaty with Eddie’s cum dripping out of your pussy and into your panties)

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie x fem!reader #stranger things smut #stranger things x reader #sluttynoodlethoughts

[ax-killjoy]

☆ Darling, let’s get old.

synopsis ! 𖦹 : neteyam never wants to admit it, but he misses home.

Notes ! 𖦹 : y’all- thank you sm for all the reblogs, likes, and such. It’s making me a lil nervous fr !! (o´罒`o)

inspired by !! : acolyte - Slaughter Beach, Dog.

neteyam x gn!metkyina!reader

warning ! : mentions of food, a bit of angst, brief depictions of a fight, mentions of a near death experience.

It had been almost a month since the Sully family moved to Awa’altu, and in that month so much has happened.

They get settled in, they try to become part of the Metkyina. Reef people. They learn to ride Ilu, and hold their breath for so long that they could sit on the ocean floor, staring at fish and casually talk underwater, all with the help of you, Tsireya, and Ao’nung.

Lo’ak’s little heart almost pops at the sight of Tsireya, gets in trouble with You and Tsireya’s older brother Ao’nung (who stares so much to the point it’s getting weird). And of course, if Lo’ak gets into a fight with 3-4 Metkyina plus ! Ao’nung, Big bro Neteyam has to be there to fighting along side him.

Lo’ak almost dies outside of the reef. Neteyam pulls Ao’nung by the queue so hard, that it send shiver down the fish boy’s spine just thinking about it. Lo’ak meets Payakan, an outcast Tulkun, and bonds with him, who Neteyam finds out is such a humble and peaceful animal. And to top it all off, Neteyam almost dies in a fight against some man, who’s been trying to kill his parents since before he was born.

And Eywa, you were there for all of it.

He remembers vividly, as he jumped off his Ikran, staring at the Na’vi. They crowd him, quiet hisses and murmurs spread through the crowd. Then he sees you, you bump through the crowd with big curious eyes, your tail swishes as you circle them. Neteyam stares at you, smiling a bit, and you smile back. It’s a shy smile, but it wasn’t hesitant. Infact it felt welcoming. He makes his brother do the motion, i see you. You smile, doing it back, only staring at Neteyam. This was soon stopped when your older brother Ao’nung stomps through the crowd, a deathly glare and a restless urge to make fun of the Sully.

It still suprises him, you were there to teach him how to breath deep, to teach the ways of the water and the ocean. You sat with Kiri tending to his wounds after the fight with Ao’nung, apologizing profusely, it wasn’t even your fight. You were there when they retrieved Lo’ak, you held Neteyam’s hands as he rambled about how worried he was, and how he was going to gut Ao’nung like a fish.

And you were there when it happened, you were the first to notice his blood spilling into the sea. You yelled at Lo’ak to hold him tight, yelling at the Sky Person named Spider to hold him up, and yelled even louder for Lo’ak’s ilu to speed up.

You held onto him, begging him to keep his eyes open. “Just a little longer love, please.” you beg in the softest you could in a situation like this, your voice cracking, heavy and laced with desperation. And Neteyam thinks, he never wants to hear you like that ever again. Your tears spilled onto his chest, as you and Lo’ak covered his wound with trembling hands. He remembers seeing the horrified look Lo’ak had, and you caressing his face begging him to focus. “He’s gonna be ok Lo’ak, just press harder.”

In that moment, mind jumbled, sight fazing in and out. He decided that he loved you.

And when he woke a couple days later, in a Marui. The Tsahik and Chief’s wife, Ronal speaking to his mother in small whispers, the warmth of the sun and your arms wrapped around his waist.

He finalized that decision, and wanted to declare it to anyone who would listen. That he loved you.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪✧ !!

His eyes open slightly, a pained wince is let out. Alerting everyone in the room, the slight movement wakes up you instantly, drowsiness leaving your body. You go to help him up before his mother gets a chance to move. “Be careful Nete, please.” you whisper, holding him up. His back falls onto the wall of the marui, you watch him survey the area. The sun seems too bright for his eyes, he goes to lift up his arm only for him to groan and snarl at the pain. You whimper, ears flatten, stuck to your head as you try to comfort him. He looks up at you, eyes bright yellow, a soft grin forms as he gazes at you. “Hi.” he says, making both of you huff a laugh. Though, as you both bore into each other’s eyes, your own become glossy. tears fall, slow as you sniffle.

“Why are you crying Y/N ?” he asks, as you continue to cry. “I’m just happy to see you.” You whisper, “I could’ve lost you.”, more tears fall. Neteyam lets out a shaky sigh, trying to not cry with you. He holds your face with the uninjured side of his body, wiping your tears. “I’m here baby, i’m right here. I’m alive.” He assures, and you smile through your tears. “You’re here.” you repeat looking into his eyes.

He moves his hand from your cheek, moving it to the back of your head. Moving you towards his, your forehead against his, noses touching. Basking in eachother, focusing on each other’s breathing, and living beating hearts.

“Oel ngati kameie Ma Y/N” he says softly, feeling your hands caress both sides of his face. Moving to sink into his messy braids, moving down to hold his throat to feel his pulse, then down again on his chest. Feeling his heart beat, keeping your warm hands there.

“Oel ngati kameie, Ma Neteyam.” you say back, and then there was silence. Both of you yet again basking in eachother’s embrace. Feeling the warm that overwhelmed two bodies, holding eachother so close that it almost formed into one.

Everything was going to be ok.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪✧ !!

It has been several weeks after Neteyam’s injury, his shoulder seems better. He can move it, yes. But sometimes it feels stiff, and he sometimes he can never get the feeling of the bullet in his shoulder, out of brain.

The Olo’eytkan Tonowari declares the Sully family, Metkyina. Thanking them for their help with defeating the sky people, and saving the Tulkun. As much as Neteyam wishes to be happy about it, and he is. There’s always that feeling that he is missing something, making him feel ever so lonely.

He misses home.

He tries not to make it an issue, his father has done so much for him and the rest of the family to keep them safe, to keep the Omatikaya safe. But no matter how friendly the Metkyina are, he still misses the soil beneath his feet, the smell of rivers, the sounds of his clan chanting, the burning smell of bon fires, he misses his grandmother and her bickering with Kiri. He misses home.

He sulks during his duties, catching fish with a net makes him reminisce of when he merely used a bow to kill fish, when he lives in the forest. “Bro, are you ok ?” Lo’ak asks snapping Neteyam out of his thoughts, and he nods. “Yeah…never better.” He says, walking away. He just wants you with him.

When he comes home, you’re sitting down by the fire, stirring a pot that makes pops and boils. The scent is familiar, it’s almost like home. The smell is so similar to the food his mother used to make, specifically his comfort food for when he was having a bad day, but that couldn’t be the case. That was Omatikaya only food.

“Evening, Ma Teyam.” You say, looking up at him. He grins tiredly, he sits down releasing a heavy sigh. He lets his body rest against yours, his head falling onto your shoulder, soft kisses pressed on your skin. He basks in this feeling, Domestic Bliss his father called it. He lets your warmth and the fire radiate onto him, embracing him like a hug.

“Your Mother and Father are out, they went on a hunting trip with my father and others. Kiri and Tuk are helping My mom and Tsireya find material and herbs, Lo’ak said he was going to Payakan just outside the reef.” You murmur, kissing the top of his head. “We need to fix your braids, oh mighty warrior.” You joke, and he hums. “Later, just need you with me.” he says quietly.

He closes his eyes for a moment, listening as you continue to stir the pot, soft splashing and the smelling that ever so familiar scent. “Ma Yawne, open your eyes.” You say softly, he opens to see a wooden spoon front of him. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking at, but it seems so good. “Taste.” He lets you spoon feed him.

Suddenly he knows exactly what he’s eating, it’s a stew his mother made for him when he felt horrible. Roasted fish, boar maybe, plenty of vegetables. He tastes flavores he knows are specifically from the forest, he wants to ask but he’s to occupied with the flavores bursting in his mouth. He sulks, releasing all the tense muscles as he chews. “Mmf, oh eywa.” He moans, his tail curles around you as he violently purrs. You let out a laugh.

“I’m glad you like it.” You giggle, “How did you even get these herbs ? These are from the forest.” He asks, looking into the pot. His tail almost wagging at the sight of you pouring some of the stew into a bowl for him. “Well, I noticed that you’ve been stiff all day, you looked kind of gloomy today. Decided to ask your mother about what your favorite food was, found she kept some herbs from the forest. She told me how to cook it before she left.”

And for a moment, Neteyam thinks he can’t love you anymore or else his heart will burst. He feels the love encompass his whole body, and he whimpers softly resting his head into the crook of your neck. He wonders what he might’ve done in his past life to deserve you, maybe this was the blessing he got from eywa after the bullet, he doesn’t know and he can’t comprehend it. He can’t get it enough it though, he’s practically drunk off of your existence. “I don’t deserve you.” He says, and you laugh again. He feels the vibration of it, he looks up at you, and sees your gaze. He realizes, that you love him just as much as he loves you. You look at him like he holds the secrets to the universe, the stars, to life.

“Ma Yawne, after everything ? You deserve the world.”

｡:.ﾟஐ⋆* !!

Ma Yawne - My beloved

Oel ngati kameie - I see you

#avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #avatar fanfiction #neteyam sully #sully family #neteyam fluff #neteyam x reader #neteyam x na'vi!reader #sully family x reader #neteyam headcanons #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #neteyam x metkayina!reader

[outerexpanse]

downpour headcanons + designs :)

Thoughts on each under the cut, some contain direct spoilers. (Lots of writing)

Note for pronouns listed: These are just my HCs, use whatever you prefer or see fit. :)

Gourmand: She/He/They Full of love and oh so happy with life. Simply went out into the world for FUN and to learn more, why not? Respected and highly regarded at the Home Tree as one of the smartest slugcats around. Coming up with ways to make meals more filling is always important with so many slugcats! Gourmand returns with many regions mapped out, and thus gives way to more slugcats to explore as groups and create homes for themselves. Teaches about the taming of lizards, and to take care when doing so. What was an incredible enemy can make a greater ally. All around a very positive, happy-go-lucky slug to me.

Artificer: She/Her I wanted her to design to be .. fire-esque with the markings like flames in a way. Obviously very troubled, so incredibly lonely because of it as well. She's afraid of connections, what if the past repeats? It would hurt too much. That SAID.. she will find her way to Outer Expanse and be welcomed with open arms. Prior, I think she was apart of a small nomadic family of slugcats so the Home Tree is something else entirely new. Arti could, in this scenario, take on the role of a community mother in a way. There's still fear of the past coming back in new ways, but in this she begins to open up more and becomes adoptive mother to slugpups whose parents have been lost in some form. I just think!! She deserves the world!!! She gets to relax. No more Situations.

Rivulet: She/He/They Somewhat based on how some aquatic animals have a whiter tummy to blend in to creatures below them in the water, and a darker upper body to camouflage to those looking down in the water. (A bit difficult with all the pink, I wanted to keep that on her though..) Very kind :) she loves to bring gifts to Moon, and periodically pays visits to 5P for as long as he still lives. I like to think they also lived with Moon until they passed themselves. Spent a ton of time listening to Moon reading the pearls he found out in the world, and exchanging stories (perhaps via writing..??) that they both have. Softanthiel still hangs around, primarily used as a way to gauge the danger of potential threats to the tree.

Spearmaster: It/They/He Definitely Looks like a slugcat but with something Wrong (on the wrong blueprints in a way). It is taller and longer than the average slugcat. Leaning more into the bodyshape it has in game (bowling pin looking ass) I’d say it has a harder time retaining fat through a liquid diet and constant movement as a messenger. Built quite sleek, I’d picture it with an agility somewhere between Artificer and Rivulet. Spearmaster has nasty little "spots" on his tail so why not give him little freckles too? SRS did not give SM a mouth, so, to me I think that he would be taught sign language. ASL (Ancient Sign Language) would no doubt be something stored and memorized on various pearls. Given its time around an Iterator it would also know how to read/write in the Ancient's language. I feel like they'd be quite a bit lonely.

Saint: They/He To me, they are a distant descendant of Monk. Their fur is very soft, almost like downy feathers in a way. Absolutely vital to their survival in the now frigid wasteland. Keen to grooming themself like a cat would! The echoes are old friends, a familiar warmth. Seeing them is like visiting family, of which Saint no longer has now. Definitely nomadic, never stays in a den for longer than three cycles. Lanterns are tucked into fur for ease of travelling with free hands. :) He's round and spotted because I love him so much!!

WHEW ok thats all. feel free to share your thoughts :)

note that i dont mind these designs being used or designs inspired by them but i would like my art to NOT be reposted.

#rain world #my post #my art #rain world downpour spoilers #rainworld downpour spoilers #downpour spoilers #rainworld dlc spoilers #rain world dlc spoilers #saint #gourmand #artificer #spearmaster #rivulet #slugcat #headcanon #some have more bc i have more thoughts #but i love them regardless if they have less #especially saint .. my fave :)

[fearmeeeee]

Your artstyle is amazing!!!!! Which artists inspires you?

Thank you sm!!!!! I find so many artists inspiring that I can't list everyone or this will be... SO long, but if i had to pick I'd say currently I'm mostly osessed with the art of Yoshitaka Amano, Ayami Kojima and Riyoko Ikeda. Also not One artist because animation is a team effort but the art of Berserk, Vampire hunter D and Revolutionary Girl Utena, as well as Bride of Deimos that I just stare at the screenshots of. (A wholeeee list of 80s and 90s anime tbh, I really enjoy a LOT of them visually) Even Tintin has influenced me in giving most of my attention to the lines of my art. Also every single one of my tumblr and twitter mutuals is super inspiring to me💚

#asks #howdospases #also the legend of the galactic heroes #also every long haired anime boy in existence #and some manga im too much of a coward to say here #also Ryou Sumiyoshi #ok i stop we will b here till morning #maybe ill link blogs to follow in a later post #ONE DAY.. ILL DRAW THIS SEXY..... ONE DAY.... #also not a visual artist but I LOVE oscar wilde #what if i stop talking

[maochira]

holy shit wait i dont even dress lolita (hopefully someday tho cause i love extravagant outfits so much lol :3) but im eating up your scenarios with the bllk boys they're so hueheuehehehehehhehe i love them!!!! would you mind if requested the same idea with oliver, gagamaru, kunigami and zantetsu :D? you can add or remove characters, your freedom. byebye!!!! <3

I love lolita clothes so much!!! Always makes me feel more like myself whenever I wear them 💟

Requests open! - masterlist

Blue Lock boys with a lolita best friend/ s/o! (Part 3)

Part 1 (Barou, Rin, Bachira, Aryu, Tokimitsu)

Part 2 (Shidou, Hiori, Reo, Yukimiya, Nagi)

Tags: gn!lolita!reader, wearing dresses and makeup is mentioned, headcanons can be sees as platonic or romantic - your choice!, ZANTETSU MY PLATONIC BOYFRIEND I LOVE HIM SM!!!

Oliver doesn't get cuteness aggression from many things, but you're certainly one cause of it. He aways hugs you very tightly and squeezes your body a bit to have some sort of relief for the cuteness aggression. He also loves to pinch your cheeks!!! In general, he's very physical with you because he constantly feels an urge to squish you as if you were a plushie. He also loves going shopping for new clothes with you and gets excited whenever you ask him for opinions which dress you should get.

Gagamaru is always amazed by your cute dresses and how pretty you look in them. One day, you wore a bear themed outfit and he went absolutely crazy over it. He constantly wanted to hug and carry you around as if you were a teddy bear. Especially because he's so tall and you're smaller than him, you always come off like a cute doll to him. He's also fascinated every time he watches you doing your makeup!

(A/N: this was inspired by me actually having a bear themed dress HEH)

Kunigami can't help but stare at you every time you're near him. To him, there's no more adorable sight than you running up to him for a hug. He's always very careful, though. He doesn't want to accidentally mess up something about your outfit or your hair. If there's a special occasion, he tries to match your outfit with something he has in his closet. It's hard because of how different his style is, but he tries to get at least the colours close.

Zantetsu tries to come off as cool and serious all the time, but that always breaks when you're near him. His voice always gets a bit higher whenever he talks to you, just like when someone talks to a cute animal. He always tries to be more serious again, but never manages to keep that up for long. You're just too cute for him to stay serious. If you're out in public and someone says something negative about your style, Zantetsu defends you immediately - even though he always messes something up and ends up seeming like an idiot again.

#bllk #blue lock #blue lock headcanons #blue lock x reader #bllk headcanons #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #oliver aiku x reader #gagamaru x reader #gin gagamaru x reader #kunigami x reader #rensuke kunigami x reader #zantetsu x reader #tsurugi zantetsu x reader

[riseofamoonycake]

hi there, can you pls write some more about Indra x reader (NSFW version)? ////v//// Thank u sm and have a gud day/night <3

I don’t know why, but whenever you send me requests about someone related to the Hindu Pantheon, this happens: 13 pages of story. 

ANYWAY, thank you for your patience!

The Voice I Love

⚔️Pairing: Indra x Gn!reader

⚔️Warnings: mention of sex (penetration, fingering, oral), kinks (body worship, praising kink, nipple play), violence, death

⚔️

Close your eyes, take a deep breath.

Exhale.

Inhale, and exhale again.

Listen to the sound that comes from the world around you… feel every leaf that grows on the oak trees, every grain of sand between your toes, every animal’s cry that demands respect… you are as sensitive as a newborn baby.

You have the power to become anything, fire or arrow, mercy or despair.

Now, sing what you see.

Sing what you are.

Commander of Terrors,

We pray for your voice: bring Death with you.

They teach you this mantra every time: every battle, every awake, every breath. They tantalize your soul with whispers, they kneel before you but you are a mere tool in their hands: you are their precious slave, not their deadly leader.

You are a thing, the most dangerous artifact in our world, the saddest creature men can see. You are nothing… so how could you choose what to become?

They are driving you insane, inspiring you thoughts that don’t belong to your mind, bending you down under a new form of torture: you can’t run away, no shelter, no sanctuary for a monster like you. You deserve only one destiny, the infinite circularity of blood spilled out. And unfortunately for you, there is always a war where you are called upon to dominate.

The voice: this is the cause of your unhappiness. It is all in the voice, in the language that allows it to express itself, in the vocal cords imbued with magic, enchantment and beauty, which make you less human and more like a dream creature, the emanation of a siren or the fruit of an union with one of them.

The voice… your every word is a curse, it is a command and an illusion: reality can only obey you, and you too must bow down to it. You are only a means that allows it to express itself, it is not up to you to decide anything; and the tyrants and warlords who, one after the other, keep you tightly in their grip make sure that you always keep this in mind, pulling at the strings of your weaknesses but being very careful not to break them.

Don’t ask about your family, your people and the man you loved, you don’t need them and they don’t need you. Your skills cannot be tied to a common life… you would always be someone’s prey.

Do you love the sea? Do what we tell you, and you will see it.

Try to think what dominion you have on the battlefield: everyone reveres you, fears you, you are the strongest. A single word is enough for you to bring victory, you are contested by the strongest, a divinity; is this not enough for you? Isn’t that enough for you?

No, it is not enough for you, because that is not what you want. You repudiate the sight of blood and death, stealing the lives of others and tormenting create a inside of you a nausea so strong that, after each fight, you really convince yourself that you must die, that it will not be possible for you to see a new day, you had overcome any limit; but it never happens, no one brings you this relief.

At least please, Great Gods... make this the last battle for me. Tear me apart, pierce me, here, here is my head, take it! Tear out my tongue, cut my throat, please, no more torment. I want to die. I want to be free in the wind, to beg forgiveness of the innocent souls I’ve reaped. One wish, one wish... givers of honors and fears, please hear my enchanting voice and come to me. I want your destructive hand on me… I want to be devoured by you.

Your prayers are always heartbreaking and could move even the strongest stones, yet you have now come to a conclusion: even if the gods exist, they don’t care about you at all. They don’t love you or they are so angry at your actions that they don’t realize that you are just a victim, the first in a long line. And you have to be careful, because the voice is your worst enemy, like a sentient being it knows your thoughts and prevents you from realizing your desires: it deceives you, it threatens you, it denounces your every action, it is your jailer and torturer; it hates you as badly as you hate it, and it never gives you a chance to hope.

Even today, at the dawn of yet another clash, your throat burns with the desire to incinerate the earth around you, to kill and push to kill, torture, wring out prayers and cries, bring you to your knees, bend to his will; and you are feeling the weight of his desires in the already damp and tense morning, motionless but restless. The air is heavy and electric, a thunderstorm is approaching from the east along with a sun that is as bright as it is huge, supernatural: they seem to guide each other, and for a long moment you stand watching the dark clouds frolicking with the warm golden rays without covering them, just obscuring the world.

Standing at the entrance to your tent, your armor not yet worn but your throat well covered by the gold plates that permanently cover it, you stare at what is happening in the sky with surprise and a slight awe, seeing something inside it that there shouldn’t be. It is a sky only the gods can see, so why is it here, for you? What is happening, who is approaching?

The city you see before you, enclosed by walls, black and threatening like a creature in ambush, must fall; this is the order that comes from outside and within you. However, in addition to feeling the usual loathing towards yourself, today you also feel the terror coursing through your veins as strongly and increasing as the storm advances. You don’t have to take another step, because something horrific awaits you on the other side; it is necessary for you to find a way to escape… even if you know that this is impossible, and you just have to turn your gaze and meet the pleading and fearful eyes of the army, already ready and eager to finish the fight as soon as possible to leave from that wicked place, to confirm it. Trembling with tension and confused, you return to the tent to be armed: the plates around your throat jingle merrily while the attendants enclose your body in a steel wall, unlike you they do not have fear and are only interested in protecting the strongest and bloodiest weapon this land has ever seen.

Even if today the words cause you twice as much suffering, your throat still wants to pronounce them and that is what it commands you: and as soon as you climb the hill overlooking the plain where the city stands, a single voice snakes through the air, a deep sigh that shakes the trees and sweeps the towers, bringing complete silence among men and into the sky. As you take a breath and close your eyes, sinking into the darkness of your sins and asking for forgiveness for the umpteenth time, the spell begins.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale, and exhale again.

When you start to sing your poignant and irresistible melody, a song so hypnotic and wild that it turns the eyes of the stars in your direction and forces the animals to bend down in front of you, Death approaches; you feel It coming, Its steps are clear and deep and the ground resounds with them while its icy breath brushes the back of your neck, and even if you don’t see It you know that It is passing by you to continue towards the city. Soon your ears are struck by the clang of weapons and armor clashing against each other, by the screams of men who conquer and fall, by the invocations of the most disparate entities and by the sound of the blackest fear; your nostrils fill with the smell of blood, a hot and ferrous river that rushes along the city walls ― you know it is like this even if you insist on keeping your eyes closed ―, and even if you don’t want to inhale it deeply, you do it continuing to sing. The stench of flesh burnt to the bone soon comes to keep him company.

But we didn’t light fires… we don’t burn.

Such awareness makes your eyes widen as it penetrates the brain, putting you on alert; and when your gaze manages to fix itself on the plain, it is already too late.

Run.

Stunned, unable to react or even think, you stare at the army of which you are part being hit by the storm, which however does not even touch you with a drop of water, and being reduced to ashes by the power of the fastest and most violent lightnings you have ever seen; the trembling of the lightning-lashed ground and the roar of heavenly rage makes you flinch, but you cannot escape, such is the horror and terror you feel.

Get out of here.

Only your voice persists, it doesn’t give up like you and still continues to impose itself: in doing so, it attracts the attention of the storm, which calms down with the same impetus with which it arrived, leaving only silence.

And in the immobility, someone approaches: someone is looking for you, starting to go up the hill. In the absolute absence of motion, your heart beats like a drum, making you the perfect prey.

Run!

«I have to leave… I have to flee!», you scream inside yourself, digging your nails into the palm of your hand to push the body to shake itself and managing only to crawl a few steps. You are trembling all over, you know whatever awaits you is going to be scary, there is no going back now, «I can’t… I can’t stay…»

Hurry, hurry!

You freeze again, stiffening and eyes widening in surprise, feeling a presence behind you. You dare not turn or look: it is the end now. Whoever he is, so tall that he totally covers you with his shadow and engulfs you like a black hole, you know he is stronger than you: and his gaze is mad, piercing and daggering your soul, his powers unimaginable. His vengeance, ruthless. And yet… a feeling.

Finally, a god did indeed answer your prayers, but not in the way you wished. And yet… a memory.

«Found you…»

The last thing you hear before passing out is the thunderous sound of a lightning, so close to you that it sends jolts of pain throughout your body, and a low, fiery roar into your ear. Below, in the heart of the soul, a flicker of happiness and emotion.

⚔️

Finally, I have found you.

In your eyes, wide open with horror and the rain that has now begun to flood them, Indra reads all the fear that tyrants, sorcerers and slimy humans have managed to instill in your innocent body and mind, and his fury erupts in lightning and thunder without equal, reducing to ashes the whole plain and those who had somehow managed to escape his previous blows: how could they, how? Who helped them in this?

Your body feels heavy in his arms: not from the armor that covers you from head to toe, not from the fact that you fainted the moment you saw him and now lie abandoned against his chest, but because of those cursed gold plates that lock your throat, so full of poison that brown liquid oozes on his skin, burning his fingers just to try to ward off the only entity capable of fighting them. The black spell that your torturers have instilled in the metal battle after battle, the spell that forces your voice to obey their wishes, creaks and hisses every time the god’s hands try to touch the plates: they are afraid, they know they are in danger, and threaten to turn against the only weakness that the Lord of Lightning possesses, ready to squeeze your throat until it takes your breath and with it your life.

«Y/N… Y/N, if you can hear me, I’m here. If your soul recognizes me, rest assured, I will not abandon you», Indra murmurs, refusing to let you go and instead wrapping his arms around you better. He is not used to holding you, not with these features: you, before, didn’t inhabit the body you occupy now, and since you are unconscious, he can’t know if you feel pain at his every touch; but it is you. Even if with another appearance, he could never be wrong. Not after all this time.

«The sea… someone take me to see the sea. I can’t take it anymore…» Your voice is a whisper, it is the last prayer you raise to heaven; but this time, the only god you have always unconsciously called answers, he is not so far from you and forcibly separated from your shadow that he doesn’t hear you. No spell can make him more deaf to your weeping.

«Y/N… hold on, hold on for me», Indra murmurs in your ear, taking you away from the battlefield. He is not the calm, unflappable, reassuring god you knew long ago; this Indra is consumed with anger and hatred, with relief at having you held again and with tension. Merciless: it is the only adjective to define his eyes that sparkle, his mouth with squealing teeth and the sound of his footsteps so similar to a war drum. It is a lion, an animal without sense and made only of ferocity, which roars and silences even the clouds.

The only one who isn’t scared of him is you, who snuggles and rubs your cheek against the tattoos on his chest, seeking warmth. You are unconscious, yet you feel safe now; and this gives him the strength to continue advancing, wide strides that allow him to cover entire kilometers in a few moments, directed towards the smell of the sea and the rustling of its waves. «We are almost there», he murmurs while keeping you constantly under observation, «rest, now I’ll take care of you.»

You obey instinctively, calming down and leaving everything to him; you sink into a black void of thoughts and sensations, a warm and dense pond that keeps you safe, removes all noise and envelops you like a cradle. In that emptiness you rest for a long time, until the rustle of a wave penetrates your mind and slowly brings you back to reality together with the sea’s parfum and the fresh breeze that ruffles your hair like a rude but benevolent caress.

You open your eyes slowly, taking a deep breath, and stare at the blue sky, just dotted by some clouds, above you. You are no longer on the plain, but in a completely new world, where war has never arrived: only foam, blue depths, animals and flowers with a stunning scent. A flight of seagulls and their call catches your attention, and you instinctively throw your head back to follow them; and that is when your neck collides with the softness of a hand, and suddenly, like coming out of a dream, you realize you are in someone’s arms.

Strong fingers support and massage your arms and back, a benevolent face partially hidden by messy white hair is leaning over you, and the splendid gaze, vivid and rolling as if instead of eyes there were two stars, observes your every reaction and plants itself in yours, waiting. While you stare at it in silence many questions arise, but very little fear: there are sensations that prevent you from having any, and the chest against which you are leaning your cheek… those designs engraved on the skin and on the forearms...

I know you. I know who you are… even if I can’t explain how. But I know you, and I’m not afraid of you. «You visit my dreams every night, together with the sea», you murmur with a note of rapture and surprise, «your face, your tattoos… you keep me company through all the storms, you never leave me when I’m scared. I don’t know… or rather, I don’t remember your name, but I know you, you are a mighty and great god, and my heart cries out for you. You have always been with me.»

Indra is no god who weeps, not a tear furrows his cheek; but he has other ways of expressing his emotions, and you can tell it from the fold his mouth takes, his lips parted and trembling and his eyes narrowed. «Welcome back to me, Y/N. Now fear no more, I’m with you again.»

«Y/N? Why are you calling me that? I have another name...» You hesitate, then frown, «or rather, I’ve always been called by a different name. Certainly not with the calm and affection with which you are doing it.»

Indra doesn’t answer right away: first he touches your plates, and you both immediately hear them hiss and moan, almost writhing in revulsion and terror. A light pressure on your throat indicates that one of them has pulled back to grip your skin, but before you can tell, he is slipping a finger between it and your neck, shielding you from contact with the metal. «You may not know it, but Y/N is the name of the creature I loved millennia ago, now… and it is your name, because her voice and her soul are present within you.» A foul-smelling whiff, the stench of burnt flesh, hits your nostrils making you dizzy; with consternation you realize that it is Indra’s fingers that are burned, poisoned by the spell that soaks the gold. «They took and killed her just to get her voice and the abilities associated with it. They ripped out her vocal cords to implant them in human bodies and transform them into weapons to be exploited at will... without any mercy. Without me being able to do anything.»

You hold your breath, your eyes filled with tears from the smoke rising from his hand; moment after moment, while the god’s anger wins every spell at the cost of his own blood and the plates give way under his pressure, falling to the ground like leaves and allowing you to breathe freely for the first time since you were born, the tension completely abandons your shoulders and you find yourself with your head resting on his shoulder, your chest rising and falling continuously and your eyes planted on Indra’s fingers, tortured and dripping dark drops. «My lord…», you murmur without thinking about it ― but deep down you know why, you know ―, grabbing his hand and bringing it to your mouth, smearing yourself with scarlet as you rub your fingers against your lips, then pressing them to your chest, «my sir, and now how can I ever thank you? First you save me from my tormentors, then you free me from my sentence… how am I going to repay you?»

«The curse is over forever», the god murmurs, pointing to the twisted plates with a bitter grin, «and what you suffered has all paid off. You don’t owe me anything.»

«No, it is not true.» To Indra’s surprise, you free yourself from his grip and, leaping to your feet, you kneel in front of him: your hands don’t want to leave his, they squeeze them again while your gaze searches for him. Even if you know you are being rude, your prayer to him is the most heartfelt you have ever asked. «That’s not true, because it’s not over yet: they killed someone you loved to steal her voice and transform me, and only you know how many others before me, into a damned creature. What am I in the end? What importance do I have? Sink your fangs into my flesh and tear it apart, as I have long prayed. I’m ready, I’m not afraid of the consequences. I deserve it and you deserve it too… that way, no one will have to suffer anymore. Do not think it is all over: more accursed tools may be forged, and as long as I have this voice I will always be in danger.» Now it is you who speaks: there are no reminiscences, there are no memories. It is you with your fears, with what they forced you to live, and everything you feel for Indra is kept at bay by terror. You don’t even know who you are, after all… before you were convinced you were just a tool, and now you discover that you possess what remains of another entity. How can you accept the words Indra offers you, the love you feel pulsing under his skin? He is here but not for you, he is talking to what he sees in your eyes. It is not you he is loving, but who you enshrine. «Don’t hold back any longer… do what you have to, please. You cannot ignore my plea now.»

The god doesn’t say anything; first he looks at you for a long time, digging deep into your soul with his swirling eyes, then he frees himself from your grip. The fingers no longer bleed, not a scar covers them, and they are still when they rest on your head, to then descend along your face and caress every feature of it, massaging the cheeks, passing the mouth, following the shape of the eyes, and blowing hard.

You close your eyes instinctively, jolting for an instant; and immediately feel.

You feel that you are not the first to have met the god on your way; you feel that although bad luck has persecuted those who have loved, he has never given up on looking for them. You feel that Indra has loved them fully, deeply, forever; and not because they are containers of the partner he has lost, but as their own identities, people infused with memories but with their souls. You feel that there have been more fortunate entities, not tied to the fate that binds you to those who received the curse before you; but now he is talking about you. You as a person, you as a heart, which can only beat with your feelings, for who you are. The memories you feel smell of songs, laughter and sweetness, but they can’t be your whole person: you are the one who lives, you are the one who feels them and sees the beauty in them. It is you who, now, can decide for yourself.

«Great Indra…», you murmur, recognizing a face and a name, a power and a blessing; and you cling to those hands that now caress your neck and the purplish spots where the plates used to grip tightly, taming your desire; and you sink your face against your chest where the marks seem to open wide and welcome you, engulf you to shine with the light that now you can emanate without fear or limitation.

«Do you still want to die, Y/N? After all this… do you really want to leave?»

You shake your head slightly, feeling tears prick your eyes. Indra repeats the question close to your lips, almost breathing into you, and you deny again; and then you let everything happen, desiring it, calling it to you. If you have to start knowing yourself, everything has to start from here.

⚔️

Tear me apart.

Your deep breaths are capable of overcoming even the impetus of the sea, with all its boiling, breaking and screaming. Lying on the beach and completely naked, a short distance from the waves, under Indra’s hands your flesh looks like clay so much it vibrates and tenses, twists and relaxes, your legs now desensitized by the shivers and tremors that are going through them.

Well planted between them, his fingers holding your thighs in an iron grip, the god licks and sucks your intimacy, wrapping his tongue around the most sensitive points or letting it penetrate deeper and deeper, attacking and tormenting everything he finds, testing your ability to endure. Arms abandoned around your face, you can do nothing against the overwhelming sensations you are feeling: your mind is won, they destroy every barrier, they tear you apart until you are reduced to crumbs. And you love this fall.

Your prayer is being fully heard.

Pierce me.

«Great Indra… please, please!»

Indra thrusts into you one more time, enjoying every moan and prayer that escapes your lips and pressing you closer to his chest, without allowing you escape, rest or pity. Sitting on his lap, arms on his shoulders and legs around his waist, his breath in your ear steals yours. The penetration becomes more and more decisive, slow but hungry: the god’s body is thirsty and at the same time eager to pour all the pleasure you can hold inside you, and his urgency is expressed in the way he bites your lobe ear or sinks his teeth into his neck, greedily clenching the flesh and digging it with his nails, scratching and leaving a constellation of red marks wherever he passes.

Years of absence and distance make him feel an almost painful desire, which is consumed with the violence of a hurricane; never in your life have you felt something like this and you don’t want to see the end of it, not while you are in his arms.

Rip off my tongue, cut my throat.

Your voice dies when Indra caresses your neck and leaves a trail of soft and small kisses, to then seek nourishment in your collarbones and further down, towards your chest that rises to meet him. His hands that grip your hips, yours that squeeze his head sinking into the snow-colored hair, you let him play with your nipples and bite and tug at them like an inexperienced child, moaning and fidgeting but without even thinking about telling him to stop. How could you? You don’t even have the breath left to murmur to him how much heaven he is giving you right now…

A bite stronger than the others, settled in the hollow between the neck and shoulder, makes you squeak like a little mouse, and Indra laughs: a low, deep and vibrant laugh, which could sound both threatening and heralding something important to you. The sensation of something liquid running down your hair makes your eyes widen in surprise, as does the sight of the god licking his freshly reddened lips. «Forgive me… the occasion was too tempting not to take advantage of it. And your blood is delicious.»

A second laugh; this time, all for the blush that has flushed your cheeks, which are not spared from all the bites and marks with which Indra intends to make you his again and again.

I want your destroying hand upon me. I want to be devoured by you.

«Everything is fine, my beloved Y/N?»

You won’t be able to do without his hands: now that you know them, you won’t be able to get rid of them. His bronze fingers dance through your hair and grab it to expose your neck, and here you let his mouth intervene.

«Now you are mine again, don’t worry about anything else…»

You moan softly and gasp as the god shifts position and puts you on all fours, then covers you with his body. You shiver all over as you feel his chest and abdomen rubbing against your back and his erect member seeking relief inside you again, but you truly lose yourself when one of his hands slides along your shoulder and caresses your arm with the tips of his fingers, to then rest on yours and squeeze them tightly, sinking in the hot sand; the other caresses your chest and belly in continuous movements, making your eyes tremble with pleasure. His shadow is your only dress, his lips on the back of your neck and shoulder your jewel, his hands your armor, the only one you desire for all your life.

Finally, yes, all your prayers have been answered.

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