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onlyseokmins · 20 days

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$$60 billion (part 2) • l.s.m.

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

Pairing: outlaw!lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), trigun!au, action!au, apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic!au, space western!au, slight enemies to comrades to ??? !au, angst, fluff, they're dumbasses your honor 🙏 Warnings: swearing, blood, guns, injuries, medical tingz, destruction, mentions of knives, violence, unsettling space western things, slight body horror and hints at altered dna, weird religious cults, mentions of eating/food, alcohol, threats, bets among friends, tame-ish alien/monster/plant sex (????? listen it'll make sense - think of him like howl's bird form on steroids idk), mating, possessiveness!, marking, bruising, jealousy, smelling/scent kink???, wet messy sex uwu, wing kink (??? listen i was gonna explore it more but decided not to ok??), BITING (bc it's me), mechanical/robotic fingering???, gagging, bulge kink, oral sex (explicit male receiving and brief fem. receiving), seokmin's dick is like SLOPPY TOPPY LORGE w/ a mind of it's own, lowkey forgot how to write smut sorry </3 WC: 13.2k of 32.7k | Part 1 | Read on AO3 A/N: this is for the Now that's 90's - A Seventeen collab and loosely based off/inspired by the Trigun anime/manga! You do not need to know it as I manipulated a whole lot of elements for my own narrative but beware of various spoilers if you do go ahead and check out the series after reading!! I hope everyone enjoys the conclusion and please check out the other writers in this amazing collab ❤️PS, I know nothing abt chess lmaooooo but let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any questions regarding this au's intricacies!! This part might get a little confusing because of a flashback!! (starts right after the italicized paragraph and ends with "...in this moment...")

The silence is palpable.

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

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

So, you keep talking.

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

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

Or maybe you're just thinking too hard.

"Look. I'm… I'm sorry."

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

"Are you really?"

"… Yes."

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

"I seriously am."

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

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

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

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

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

"Then what did you learn?"

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

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

"Try again."

"Uh…"

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

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

"I'm, I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not," he states sharply though the rigidness in his body relaxes after your squeak of another apology. "You almost died!"

You'd defiantly cross your arms if you could. "Between the two of us, you were most at risk of dying."

"Was not! And we both know my chances of injury are much, much lower than yours."

"You can't lecture me and flex your stupid powers this time! It's different 'cause Jihooon was fuckin' with my mind."

The harsh bitterness is more so directed at yourself and the damned Crimsonnail than Seokmin. But as usual, you vent all your frustrated emotions out on him, especially whenever he brings up the fragility of your mortality. You both stare stubbornly into each other's eyes, thinking back to what happened and what could've happened.

Lina's protected. The Tonim residents were all immobilized. Seungcheol, Seungkwan, and Mingyu are in good spirits. You are safe.

A burst of air rushes into Seokmin's lungs, relief filling him as he idly scans your figure for injuries. Casually reloading his revolver just in case, he beams as you approach. The mirrored expression of victory on your face accompanied by a hand reaching out causes his whole body to shudder in pleasure. There's nothing he'd like more than to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Instead, he settles for returning your enthusiastic fist bump. Nudging his shoulder against yours, Seokmin chirps out, "Good job, partner!"

"Partner?"

"Yeah, partners."

You shake your head like you can't believe him, amusement tilting up the corners of your lips. He wants to tell you everything, all of it. But his ears catch the faint click of a contraption behind him and he looks over his shoulder just in time to see Jihoon's crossbow assemble.

Joshua looks mightily displeased but makes no effort to put a stop to the Crimsonnail's actions. Seokmin can only thank his lucky stars that Soonyoung remains in a catatonic state. Dealing with a ginormous worm so soon after being in its stomach a couple days ago was not appealing in the slightest.

The fingers of his prosthesis splay out, cybernetic arm lowered and extended outwards in front of you as you turn around as well. He knows you hate unwarranted protection but you'll have to forgive his instincts this time. Nevertheless, he trusts you. And as Jihoon opens fire, Seokmin leaps into action, expecting you to do the same — only to do a double-take when you don't move despite a flurry of nails breaching the air.

Your eyes remain unfocused. Glazed over and cloudy, posture tense but still. He sneaks observatory looks your way from afar while firing Geranium. Round after round, breaking nail after nail to prevent any harm befalling you. A maniacal laughter rings out and Seokmin freezes, putting two and two together.

Then he snarls.

Jihoon must've sicced his killing intent — a nasty ability to project and create illusions of destruction in someone and break their will — on you. Cursing, he starts making his way closer to you, inwardly reaching out to you and begging that you'll break free of the blonde-haired man's clutch on your psyche.

You're obviously more than capable. He knows this. But your movements are sluggish, slowly releasing Sirocco from your grasp. The empty pistol lands on the sand with a muffled thud and Seokmin's pretty sure his heart mimics it. A look of terror and horror spreads across your facial features, surely subject to something awful within the confines of your own mind.

And while you're experiencing visions of things you fear coming true, he's stuck in the vivid reality where they do.

You spin around with a wild look in your eyes — full of rage and anguish. He stumbles back as you teeter one foot at a time toward him and in the distraction, a nail pierces right below your shoulder blade.

Someone wails behind him.

You scream.

Seokmin rushes forward. But he's tackled suddenly to the ground and ends up flat on his back. Completely winded and left with his vision smarting, blinking in confusion at the blurry double halos that definitely shouldn't be around the duo of suns in the sky.

Then your face comes into focus. And god, forget the suns — in all your glory and in all your fierceness, you shine brighter than them all combined — hallucinations be damned.

It takes a bit of wrangling around, given how you try to wrestle and pin the man down. The clunky gun you're waving around goes off several times, harmlessly lodging bullet holes into the sand cushioning around Seokmin's head.

"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself!"

Moving and lashing out like a wild animal before it's fully sedated, his words don't come through the hellish haze Jihoon's trapped you in. You pull the trigger with no regard for the injury to your shooting arm.

Bang!

He dutifully counts each round fired, multitasking between that and the effort it takes to contain your struggling movements. Once again, thanks to the overpowered strength of his prosthetic, the man's finally able to sit up with you secured in his arms to cease any further movement.

"Lovely, lovely mayfly," he murmurs. The stable cybernetic hand gently feels around the impaled shoulder while a trembling thumb rubs your abnormally chilled cheek. "C'mon and snap out of it, pretty."

Not a spot of recognition in your blank glare. His eyebrows furrow as cold metal presses in between them. Seungcheol is cursing, Mingyu and Seungkwan are shouting loudly. Jihoon gloats.

But none of that matters. Seokmin drowns all of it out by diving in the pooling depths of your empty irises. Searching, calling, begging. Biting his lip, he delivers a quick slap and pleads, "Come back to me, love."

And like a mist that rises after dawn, you return to him. Your stunned grip on the gun falters, the final bullet rattling in its chambers. The pained expression on your face slices open his own heart but its shredded form takes flight in utter relief.

You're back. You're going to be okay — he'll make sure of it. And even if you don't know it, you're his and he's yours.

"Y-you're dead," you choke out and all he can do is smile despite feeling like he's on the verge of crying. Elation, anger, guilt, hope, longing, worry, joy — all of it turns and tosses within him like a rustling flurry of winged creatures struggling to break free.

So, he smiles at you and grasps the barrel of the old pistol aimed at his forehead. "I know, mayfly."

Jihoon howls in fury. Joshua finally steps forward, striking a military pose with his hands behind his back. Composed as ever, his voice remains its deceptively sweet self compared to the harsh jerking movements he's subjected upon the gray-eyed man via telepathy.

"You've crossed the line, lost number thirteen."

"Don't call me that!"

It's no surprise that the pecking order in Dokyeom's henchmen sowed seeds of dissent. Though Joshua was simply a right-hand man, he remained the only unnumbered member, proving the lack of disposability DK saw in him versus the others.

"Know your place."

"Which has always been at the top! But because of you — !"

" — The top of those already at the bottom, perhaps. Respect your superiors and your orders, Crimsonnail. You were not to lay a hand upon Master Dokyeom's brother. Ever."

"I didn't!"

"Or a member of his little group." His indifferent gaze swept over Seokmin protectively cradling your body. "This voids our involvement and nullifies any further implementations of the game."

Joshua would thank his lucky stars that the humanoid typhoon is letting them leave scotch-free if he was a decent man. Unfortunately, he's not — already considering what punishment to enact upon Jihoon per his master's orders. The Crimsonnail feels a shiver down his spine, further enhanced by Joshua's frosty, disdainful look of disapproval as he telepathically drags Jihoon to the car.

Still, it's a good thing Seokmin's a pacifist by nature, that he's more preoccupied by your well being than anything else. Your brow begins to bead with sweat, the pain of your wound finally sinking in past the adrenaline rush wearing off. Black circles dance in your blurring vision, the gun falling from your grasp as you droop forward and rely on the unerring sureness of his support and the safety within in it.

Seokmin knows he needs to get you medical help right away, and it's the only thing he can focus on. There's no time for exchanging a blow with a blow nor the faintest idea of revenge.

Not yet. Not now. Maybe never if it means putting you in harm's way.

Was he really going to give up following the bloody trail to hold his brother accountable for the unspeakable crimes he's committed? Throw away the blank ticket Rem spoke about? All for one person?

The questions all swirl around in his head like a nebulous mass. And like a newborn star — one that's been long in the making — the answer is crystal clear and shining bright as you sit in front of him now looking devastatingly beautiful to him despite all that's happened. Most importantly, you're safe.

But all he can say in this moment aloud is, "I'm sorry."

For a multitude of reasons. So many of them. You seem to spot something in his eyes, frowning ever so slightly.

"You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm fine."

"I almost lost you."

"But you didn't."

"…I know. And I'm so fuckin' glad."

Seokmin runs his fingers in a distressed manner through dusty, matted strands of reddish-brown strands. Immediately drawing attention to the dirt, grime, and dried blood coating and dulling the cybernetic's buzzing glow.

"That's gonna be a pain in the ass to clean."

He appreciates the subject change, shooting you a lopsided grin. "Yeah, tell me 'bout it."

"Let me help."

You get up before he can protest. A tactical way to coerce him into worrying about helping you rather than arguing. The coy part of yourself is applauding the method, especially when the calloused flesh of his palm splays against the bare skin of your lower back in the name of support as you both walk to the bathroom.

That same part whispers naughty temptations to drop the t-shirt covering your chest, press up against him, and see his reaction. But your reasonable, reserved side is too held up on various other matters to give in.

Sadly, you find out you can't offer as much assistance as you would've liked. But Seokmin seems heartened by just seeing you up and about and close to him. Plus, you make use of your idleness while he washes in the sink by reaching for the few stocked amenities you can reach with your good shoulder above it when he asks for them. And you receive a heartfelt smile in return.

"I probably should've just showered."

You shrug. "You still could."

"Nah, it's fine, I can do it later. What about you, though? You're going to need help with those stitches."

"What a roundabout way to say you want to bathe together, Seok. You could've just asked."

Maybe you expected him to splutter nervously or protest fiercely at the tease. You certainly don't expect him to just shake his head — silver earring flashing in the vanity's dull lighting — and chuckle.

"I'm being serious, goof. Besides, it's not the first time I've seen you in the tub."

"What?" you squawk and his grin doesn't falter. In fact, it turns into a smirk.

"I'll go get Sherry. Lina's gonna want to see you too, she wouldn't stop crying about her pretty savior getting hurt."

You frown. Was he still going to dodge The Talk™? And did he think you were really just going to him out of your clutches that quickly?

"We still need to chat. You promised."

His eyes flash. "… And you don't like promises."

Yes, that was exactly why. He knew your history. Still, you refused to back down.

"No, I don't. But I like you… and, and most of all, I trust you. I just want the truth, Seok. Even if you think it'll hurt me, at least be honest. Trust me back. I promise it'll make it less painful if you tell me why you thought I wasn't serious. So, please…"

Don't let me down.

It's unspoken, but he can clearly hear it in your tone. A battle-worn sigh escapes so you try to lead him and finish with a question where he can give a more straightforward answer.

"… How long have you known? About the bet, I mean."

Despite wavering between semi-alertness and bordering the edge of losing consciousness, you're aware of Sheryl's presence as she bustles around with Seungkwan and Mingyu to clear out an empty room above the saloon temporarily used for patients. Seungcheol waits outside the door with you two, a cigarette loosely dangling from his lips.

When Sheryl leaves, she sneaks a peek at the way your face buries into Seokmin's neck, how the man carefully assesses the rest of your body for injuries. His touch is gentle, the cybernetic arm coated in blood as it holds the nail in you steady. He'd been adamant about being the one — the best one — to treat you. Smiling, she hands Seungcheol a couple of double dollars and the pastor raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"For that little game of yours," the woman whispers knowingly and gestures to the two who just exited the room and Seokmin hurriedly heads inside. "They told me all about it."

You lift your head to glare at Seungcheol and then your other comrades as you pass, wondering if this was some sick form of revenge for pulling one on him and if Sheryl was so keen to set you up with someone in the same way pompously done for her. But your shoulder feels like it's on fire so rather than reprimand your stupid, back-stabbing friends and slump back wearily against Seokmin.

He's a simple man who certainly can't hide a silly smile at the unconventional snuggling. Lifting his chin, he then tilts his head questioningly to the money in Seungcheol's hands. "You're still doing that bet?"

"Haf'ta win the lasses 'n hopeless romantics over 'n have 'em rootin' fer ya."

"Y-you know about the bet?"

Seokmin hushes you with a low murmur, words muffled by the press of his lips to the crown of your head. You can't make out what he says, but the timbre is soothing enough that your eyes close.

"Gotta make that sixty billion somehow if we're not turnin' ya ass in."

"Fair enough!" The wanted man laughs and closes the door with his foot.

His cheerful demeanor then dropped to focus on the proper procedures to treat your wound and that's when the silence settles in, soon followed by the weighing air of unresolved tension between you. And now, you're continuing the determined path to fully speed-run ahead and break it, though he shrugs nonchalantly at the question.

"Known for a while, to be honest."

"Seriously? I thought it was a secret!"

"C'mon, you know how bad Cheol is at keeping them."

"Yeah, right," you roll your eyes. "That man takes things to the grave — literally!"

"You're too hard on him." Seokmin leans toward you, bracing himself with an arm supported by the sink and brown eyes sparkling with humor. "Think about how much you've learned about him."

"Against my will, too much…"

"Which means I'm right."

"… I guess you do make a fair point."

"Of course. He's a completely open book once you peel back that damn protective hardcover of his."

Still, you sniff disdainfully and frown. "I swear, you're the only one who sees him like that."

"Like what?"

"Like…. unafraid, unconcerned, unbothered by all that he is, all that he's done, et cetera."

"Why not? He's done the same for me. Besides, I've said it before but he has those eyes, you know. Kind."

Ah, and that's what gets you to resign with a small grin. It's just like Seokmin to see only the good in people.

"And you're not all that different," he continues with a broad, knowing smile. Immediately you bristle and he clarifies, "from me." Some part of you momentarily wonders if you spoke your thoughts aloud or if he just simply knows them that well. "As loath as you are to admit it, you care for him. Most importantly, you trust him."

Though your face sours at the thought, you don't retort right away. Sure, Seungcheol is a trusted ally. And maybe the motivation to free Jeonghan from the control of the Eye of Joshua wasn't solely because it was simply the right thing to do. But also because it might brighten the dull spark and leave one less bloodstain on the hand of a man who bore the burdensome weight of all sins like a cross on his shoulders.

Then you wave away those thoughts for now. "So, is that why you thought I wasn't serious on how I feel about you. 'Cause of the bet?"

"No, because I never knew the full extent of it. But… if you're saying it had to do with your feelings, then I would have to say yes — though I find it hard to believe any bet's worth my bounty."

"Oh." Your cheeks heat at unwittingly giving it away.

Seokmin smirks when you avoid his gaze, and he moves in even closer. "No one has sixty billion double dollars just lying around, mayfly."

"You're just saying that so no one turns you over to July."

"Well, you won't do it, will you?"

"You don't know that," you fire back, intending to heighten your defenses that only weakly falter because you're still not looking at him.

"But I do."

"Yeah? Prove it!"

Ooh, a challenge.

And one more step closer.

"Because you care too much about the man you like to put him behind bars."

Your eyes dart back to meet his, ready to squint reproachfully only to widen at how the gunslinger's face is only a breadth away from yours. Breath hitching, you desperately want to whine out in irritation but it comes out in a low whimper. Seokmin's canines flash in the bathroom's dim lighting.

"That's not, that's not fair." The wall pressing into your bare back keeps you from retreating and the hand keeping the t-shirt covering your chest feels how your heartbeat speeds up. Your skin is on fire, only the cool temperature of your locket and its chain preventing you from utterly exploding after the plaintive admission of, "You already know everything. But…"

"But…?"

The unconscious action of biting into your lower lip only gets realized by the way it keenly draws Seokmin's eyes. Electric blue flashes against brown irises yet they darken to almost black with the sudden thrill of desire that rises to the surface. He's so close, you can feel his breath caress your face, and you swear you hear it deepen into a low grunt before he raises a brow for you to continue.

"But… b-but I don't know…a single… thing."

Seokmin has forever believed Rem's take regarding the ticket to the future always being blank. For him, it's always been an unknown path forward that he's let lead him wherever and to whatever destination.

He holds himself back, just enough to utter the (practically what should be unneeded) words of reassurance, "It could only ever be you — and it's always been only you — that I could be in love with so much, mayfly," and then he's eliminating the meager distance between the two of you. For the first time, he stamps that blank ticket with an assuredness of the future and outcome he's never had before — with a kiss.

Cradling the back of your head with his cybernetic prosthesis, the other cups your cheek and then trails down to your collarbones — but no further than appropriate. His mouth, though, disregards the very notion. A teasing tongue repeatedly runs across your bottom lip to smooth out the indents caused earlier by your teeth then naughtily pokes and prods its way between, eliciting a sweet gasp from you he absolutely devours.

Your whole body shudders with happiness, eagerly surrendering to the man's wild, possessive fervor as he passionately steals the breath out of your lungs and stakes his claim on you by leaving behind shiny kiss-bitten lips. Seokmin only draws away, panting, to admire his handiwork, light-headed and dizzy with delight.

"I love you," he reconfirms with his forehead resting against yours and nose tickling your own, "… partner."

Breathlessly, you joke back after placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Love you too, partner."

And that was that.

With your shoulder injury on the mend and the other members of your little ragtag group nursing their own bumps and bruises, you all decided to spend one more night in Tonim — much to Lina's delight. While she merrily bounced from one 'hero' to the next, you playfully reminded Wonwoo that he still owed you some free drinks. You were eager to take advantage of the fact and he was more than willing to accommodate.

The tavern that originally held a subdued, slightly hostile air to it when you first arrived was now filled with an unfettered joyous harmony. You're so easily swept up in the ambiance of such high spirits and jubilant townsfolk as mug ales filled to the brim get passed around and clinked together, you fail to notice Seokmin's sudden withdrawn nature.

Not until the next morning do you first realize something's off.

"You're sure about this?"

"Oh, no. Not you too, Seok."

You'd already flipped off and shoved away a complaining, terribly hungover Seungcheol and finally got rid of the watchful, fretting gazes of Seungkwan and Mingyu. The duo had been hovering around you with concern ever since you downed a full glass of alcohol last night. While you generally just let them be and were quite thankful not to wake up with a pounding headache, you certainly weren't above crushing all of Mingyu's pudding cups if he meekly asked one more time if you were okay or needed help.

Seokmin leans against the open door frame as you pack. The pulsating glow of lost technology flickers in your peripheral and keeps you aware of his quiet presence. Part of you had always wondered if the ever-running currents of lighting synced with the flow of blood through the rest of his body.

The gunslinger doesn't speak, and you wonder why. And though you'd like to flatter yourself and entertain the notion that he's watching you — while other times that may be true — you don't feel the weight of his eyes trained on your motions. It wasn't like there was much to stuff in your bag, the satchel's leather cracked, faded, and well-worn after all these years of use through the desert and everything you truly value remains strapped some way to your body. So once you're finished, you inquisitively peek over in his direction.

Brown eyes are trained on the clunky gun on the mattress — the same one you'd pressed against his head. It's also the exact same pistol Chan had spent his adolescence restoring and repairing. Left unnamed unlike the honorary grave Seokmin had helped you prep before leaving the ruins of Ivywood behind. Meanwhile, his gaze darts to linger in contemplation on the chain around your neck before his eyebrows furrow, emphasizing the drawn out features and dark circles beneath his eyes.

"You look tired, you doing okay?"

"Yeah, just haven't been… sleeping well."

Frowning, you step toward him. Although he doesn't back away, his entire posture stiffens. "Will you be able to make the journey?"

He snorts, gesturing to your shoulder you're trying not to move too much. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be asking you?"

"I'll feel better at the border."

Seokmin nods understandingly. "The weather will align well."

Within the sandstorms that relentlessly swirl near the Melca Border Sea of Sand, hides the only SEEDS floating ship that survived the Great Fall and you have to get the timing just right to reach it. It's home to a large community of humans, and most importantly, it's what you would consider a true home to you and Seokmin. Already, your energy restores — excited at the prospect of getting to relax in a place you trust and people you truly enjoy being around.

"Jun can take a look at my shoulder."

"That's true, it would be good for him to do."

"And I'm sure Hao's going to want to check your arm, maybe fashion some fabric that's not only bulletproof but also nail-proof."

"He's gonna give us both a scolding."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

You share a look of fond chagrin. Even though Seokmin's well over a century older than Juhui and Minghao, they were direct Earth descendants aboard a ship full of lost technology and geniuses in their own right. Those facts alone gave them all the confidence and utter audacity to more often than not, act like fretting toma mothers over the two of you.

Nonetheless, you appreciated them with all that's remaining of your heart.

The trip to the Melca Border wasn't a straight shot from Tonim but it wasn't as far as you thought. A bittersweet farewell to Wonwoo, Lina, Sherry, and the rest of the townsfolk was to be expected. Though their sorrow weighed you down, the knowledge that you were parting from them with good memories and the expectations to visit again kept your steps light-footed.

Seokmin remains zoned out the entire time. You bulk it up to his normal reaction whenever something emotional was on the horizon. Returning to Melca held a grand spread of wonderful, warm memories with a scattering of dreadfully sad ones too. Though the floating ship's defenses have been bolstered to the max over the years, the terrible events weren't easy to forget.

But they were incidents in the past and it's thanks to the intellect of the two who greet you at the entrance of the ship that their defenses continue to improve. Luida proudly stands behind them, accompanied by Brad and his wife.

"Greetings, weary travelers."

"We're no strangers, Luida," Seokmin protests against her formality.

The elderly leader's playful grin smooths out the wrinkles lining her wise face. "Welcome home, children."

It's a simple phrase but one that fills you with inexplicable warmth. Hansol might be the son born of her own body, but no one is immune from her maternal instinct. She beckons for everyone to come inside where the main quarters lie and the growing crew population will certainly be enthusiastic upon hearing about your return.

Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seungkwan trail after without fuss, also elated to be aboard the familiar floating ship. You smile with genuine delight and step forward to follow while Minghao takes one look over his wire-rimmed glasses to survey Seokmin's dusty figure and elegantly tilts his head knowingly in the hallway leading to the technology laboratory. Glittery, colorful beads woven through the long strands of his two-toned hair clink in time with the movement.

It's hard to hide the snicker that escapes as you watch Seokmin trudge after Minghao like a scolded puppy. Your glee at someone else's suffering doesn't last long when a gentle hand clasps your shoulder. Wincing at the pain, you meet Junhui's puzzled look before his eyes narrow.

"You're hurt," he says, disappointed but not surprised, and leads you away to the med bay. It's exactly what you expected, in fact, the main reason behind why you're here — and yet, you sulk and whine petulantly just because you can.

"Not my fault that the only way to get here is by timing everything right to jump into a sandstorm and then onto a flying platform."

After instructing you to lie down on the medical bed and cutting the fabric of your shirt without fanfare, Junhui clicks his tongue. "You only come to visit when you're hurt."

"Not true!"

He concentrates on disinfecting and resewing the torn stitches in the tender flesh around the parts of your wound that are still healing. His tone borders on slight resentment but the concern weighing in it smoothes it all over.

"And yet most of our time spent together is only when you visit so I can patch you up."

"It's not like that."

"I know… but I would've met you elsewhere."

"Boring."

"Can't you courteously pretend to care about yourself out of consideration for those who worry?"

"You'll go gray at such a very young age if you stress all the time, Jun."

He shakes away silver bangs that threaten to impede his vision, unamused. "And you'll end up buried under the sand next time."

"Sounds cozy."

"I swear —"

You wave his growing ire away. "Seok takes care of me just fine."

"Yes," Junhui's cat-like smile causes your metaphorical hackles to raise. "He does care deeply about you."

"I'll punt you into the fifth moon and give it a second crater with your body."

"Now, now… violence is never the answer."

"Violence is the only reason you have a job!"

If you weren't as close as you were, perhaps he'd be offended by your claim. Instead, he kicks you out (after ensuring you're indeed in relatively good health), leaving you to laugh victoriously. Then, you set off to the technology lab in good spirits, hoping to catch Seokmin and commiserate with him.

Instead, you find a lone Minghao sitting refinedly amongst all the tech with grace and poise. He was in his element. Fiddling with and poking at a well-worn, familiar cybernetic tech with a thin silver instrument, he simply raises an eyebrow to acknowledge your presence.

"Did you fit Seok with a new arm?"

"But of course," the man sighs wearily, "despite my best efforts, my darlings always return home to their father with quite a beating."

"… Then you'll hate what I'm about to tell you."

"No, I cannot fashion you a pierce-proof trench coat. However, I will acquire some stronger material… but there better not be a next time."

You purse your lips and pout. It often seemed like Minghao worried more about his inventions than the people using them, though you knew that to ultimately not be true.

"So, he already told you what happened."

"Oh, yes… he told me everything." Heterochromatic eyes suddenly meet yours, sharp with a spark of amusement. "See, I almost didn't want to give him the latest modification but…"

"But…" You repeat warily.

Junhui was always mischievous, though most of it only ended with harmless pranks. On the other hand, Minghao's sarcasm-filled humor rarely made an appearance, and when it did, it usually delighted in the sickest of satisfactions.

Yet, he simply shrugs, evasive as always. "I think you'll like its improvements."

There's something foreboding about that statement, but he ushers you away under the pretense that he needs to concentrate. And shortly, you find yourself stopped by curious passersby or familiar faces in the hallways to the main quarters. Since your last visit, a multitude of passengers have a lot to share and update you on. By the time you reach your own pod, you're socially exhausted.

Sleep came easy but finding Seokmin did not. The SEEDS ship was already big in the first place and additional construction enlarged it further. An itchy, achy feeling pooled inside your gut on the second evening you'd been unable to catch sight of him. Finally, you acknowledged the bitter truth — he was avoiding you.

You had to come to terms with how delusional it was to think that once everything was out in the open, the scattered puzzle pieces would magically fall together in their rightful places. It should be easy, right? It's what happened in those cheap novels Junhui dug out of an abandoned pod in Melca back in the day. He'd given them to you as a birthday joke — Minghao sighing and handing over your real present (the first bullet-proof trench coat) — but you'd actually read through all the cheesy, steamy piles of romantic drivel.

Seungkwan, ever the cynic, and Seungcheol — who's naturally a heathen — quickly destroyed the slim spark of hope of ever hoping to feel those flutters in your gut. Meanwhile, Mingyu was someone precious and wholesome with a romantic outlook on life underneath the great muscular physique he'd gained from carrying that heavy concussion gun around.

You often wondered why they never tormented him like they did to you. But despite his indomitable stature, the emotionally soft man's tears were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Even if he didn't quite realize it, his comrades certainly were aware.

And Seokmin… well, if you knew how Seokmin felt about romance, you wouldn't be stuck in the position of wondering why the fuck he was avoiding you.

Again.

"Where is he?"

"Good morning," Mingyu greets the following morning, cheerful as ever. "If you're still hunting Seokmin for sport, he said he's feelin' a little sick!"

"Sure."

"No, he really is." Seungkwan refutes your aggressive eye roll with a gentle shake of his head. "Loverboy hasn't come out of his room for days and when I almost knocked the door in earlier, he finally responded only to sound like a dying toma."

Your face contorts into a morbid combination of concern and irritation, shifting between the two expressions. "Probably 'cause he stayed out all last night!"

And with a dramatic huff, you glower at the pastor seated in the cramped corner of the floating ship's kitchen area. Seungcheol deemed it was cooler, darker, and the farthest spot in the enclosed space from any of your misplaced wrath. He smiles, the white stick between whiter teeth jollily flicking up and down at you, taunting.

He reveled in the knowledge of being safe since he'd been the only one able to provide any information on the humanoid typhoon's whereabouts. The pastor — who still enjoyed a late-night smoke to cure some of his insomnia — considered it his saving grace to catch sight of the fellow gunslinger slinking through the shadows in the halls. Apparently, Seokmin had been sneaking outside the past few nights and remained resolutely ever-elusive during the day.

"Should go see 'im. Yer all antsy and 'm bettin' he's missin' his… mayfly."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," you snarl and storm out, missing the man's bark of laughter before he continues contemplating the best way to siphon money during a confessional.

The unfaltering stomp of your combat boots is the background beat on your walk to Seokmin's pod. His halls aren't far from the kitchen area and yet each footfall feels like a step into the unknown, the lights above seeming to grow dimmer the closer you get.

Why was he acting like this?

Did he regret everything that happened between you?

Was something wrong?

Would he shut himself away from you?

Worry and anger swirl together, mirroring the vortex of sand you had to pass through to get here. Seokmin's never shut you completely out before but you're familiar with his reclusive acts when things get too much. Too close. Too emotional. And you're afraid to be the catalyst to another spiral.

So, you knock. Harsh, loud, and ultimately unforgiving if ignored.

"Seokmin, open up! I know you're alive!"

A mutter of "Barely," carries through the door before he clearly answers with a curt, "I'm not feeling well but I'll be fine."

"Open the door."

Silence.

"Please."

The silence continues — and your temper flares. "Don't make me go get my bag and grab my lock-picking set!"

You can hear sounds of cursing and some rustling around before the door slowly and reluctantly opens, Seokmin hiding in the shadow it casts.

"As you can see, I'm quite fi —"

Both a coughing jag and the firm push of your shoe interrupts his confident statement. "Sure hope you weren't about to say you're fine!"

A faint smoky scent permeates the pod. You cough and pause to let your vision adjust to the darkness. The first hint toward Seokmin's unusual behavior because he thrived in the sunlight, no matter how weak the sunrays that reached the floating ship were. Then second, you blink in wonderment at the black heaps littering the bed and floor.

Feathers. Everywhere.

Reminiscent of the time you'd broken Seungcheol's ridiculously expensive pillow against Mingyu's bulky bicep during a good-natured fight with Seungkwan's assistance. But instead of an explosion of brown and aqua toma plumage causing you all to sneeze, these were inky dark like the night sky and resembled piles of soot against the pod's stark white backdrop.

You whirl around to find Seokmin retreating to the corner of the room, hands slamming on top of the dresser for support. His back is to you with two thin wings jutting out from it. Feathers rustle as he pants, shoulders coinciding up and down with the motion of the wings.

"Seok, how did… how did this happen?"

It's not fear that causes your voice to tremble but worry. The appearance of his natural Plant form is no longer shocking. In fact, the more you see it, the more you find it eerily beautiful. Probably similar to those who believe them to be messengers of a higher power. But he's only ever transformed in dire situations — either due to stress or the rare exhaustion of his superhuman abilities against stronger foes.

He doesn't reply so you take a cautious step forward. An animalistic growl erupts from his throat, followed by a pained groan. You gasp as he shakes, protrusions rupturing from the lower parts of his shoulder blades. Two more wings burst out and unfurl below the trembling ones already quivering on his back.

So that's how they hide and reappear.

"Is it 'cause you're sick? Choi said you've been staying out all night. You could've caught a cold or something's in the air. Never know what's floating around here." You babble as you frantically search for signs in the mirror above the dresser for any hints to what's caused this.

Seokmin's bent over and you note what should be brunette roots of hair are now pitch-black too. Closer and closer you creep until you can make out each bead of perspiration trickling down his neck and how they coat every bare part of his body in a sheen of sweat.

Then his head snaps up. An eye — unshielded by the black fringe of his red-brown tipped bangs — narrows to glare into your widened ones. A tempest of electric blue rages within it. Like the hottest type of fire, it burns more than you could ever expect in a vortex of one prominent emotion.

Desire.

An involuntary shudder overtakes your whole body, and you unconsciously bite your lip. Seokmin slumps back down, granting respite from that ardent azure glow.

"Sick," he snarls and laughs, strained. "Sick in the head, that's for sure."

"How… how can I help? What can I do for you?"

"Get out."

"Seok —"

"I'm serious, mayfly. For your own good. Leave."

"My own good?"

"I'll, hah, I'll explain… explain it later."

Your arms cross. "Oh, really? Or will you avoid me again? Like you have been for the past several days?"

"I haven't —"

"Don't you dare feign indifference! I'm not stupid — we talk about our feelings and then you retreat. Just be honest with me… please."

You promised.

He sucks in a very deep inhale through clenched teeth, seeming to regret it instantly because his grip on the edge of the dresser is hard enough to crack the strong material. Glowering at your reflection again — not daring to acknowledge your very real and extremely close presence in the room — Seokmin bares his sharpened and widened incisors in a snarl.

"We will talk, mayfly, please believe me. Now's… hah… just not great timing with… with what's happening."

Irritation easily gives way back to worry. "At least tell me what I can do for you. Should I get Jun?"

"He can't do anything. Gotta just… work it out of my system."

"Work what?" You frown, knowing how rare it is for the medical specialist to be stumped.

"It's not for certain…" Four different wings flutter in agitation at various speeds. "Not a lot's known about Plant physiology," his mouth turns downward, "even I don't have a thorough understanding."

"Is it a disease?"

"Wish it was that simple."

"You're talking in riddles and running verbal circles, Seok."

"… Dokyeom and I are independent Plants. Likely the only ones, well, you know — still functioning. Alive. When Rem found us, research was obviously done."

You know the story very well and nod. "And had been conducted before."

"'Course thanks to Rem, it wasn't as invasive but there were, hah, occasional talks. Theories. And then, of course, before us twins, there was…"

"… Tesla."

A Plant with a lifespan of only two-hundred and thirty days.

Seokmin swallows. "Tesla. Yes. I recall bits and pieces. Hypothesized with Luida and company… Outside of Dokyeom following the unethical methods humans sometimes conduct for experimentation," he snorts at the irony, "it's thought that Plants… can copulate… with a mate… of their, hah, choosing."

"Really?" Your eyebrows raise, intrigued. "That's a brilliant discovery!" Then they furrow. "Wait, are you saying that this," you wave your hand to gesture at his current form, "is because… you're, er, ready to… mate?"

He holds his head. "… Yes."

"Oh, okay. So, you need like… relief? A mate? Should I…?"

Your questions hang uncertainly in the air, unfinished because you're really not sure what you're supposed to even offer. A sarcastic smirk graces Seokmin's lips, condescending in the sort of way that's aimed more at himself.

"What kind of man do you think I am, mayfly?"

"A very, uh, Planty one for sure."

"Better than leafy, I suppose."

"Though you are quite… feathery."

Finally, he turns toward you, a wry and defeated smile on his weary face. His wings stretch outward and curl back in, elegantly waving toward you as if drawn in your direction. You can't help but smile at the object hanging from a cord around his neck.

"You still keep that old thing around?"

He looks at the golden cartridge and chuckles. "It's special."

"Me holding a gun to your head was special?""Meeting you will always remain a treasured memory, no matter the manner of how it happened." Seokmin falls quiet, lost in thought before hesitantly asking, "Did I not mention Plants mate for life? Well, at the very least, I know I do."

"Oh." Your astonishment reveals itself in a breathless gasp. There's no escaping that all-consuming, fiery cerulean gaze. "So is this the first time you've been… ready to, uh, mate?"

"No, I'm used to the way these cycles come and go. But this for sure is the worst bout yet."

"… Why?"

You hold your breath. He takes a step forward. Then another.

He's so close, if you leaned the slightest bit forward you'd press up against each other. Somehow, with an overwhelming sense of shyness guessing the underlying thoughts and what his answer will be, your eyes roam his bare upper chest and torso.

If you could caress him you would. All the shiny black feathers adorning his wings and the occasional ones sprouting along his forearms pointing to his Plant abilities. Each scar along with every bit of metal or his body's naturally grown wood that replaces chunks of lost flesh. He's kept them as reminders of when he's failed humans, though you've seen them only as when they've failed him. He shivers, like he can feel it, as if he knows what you're thinking and you questioningly re-meet his burning stare as he shoots you a wane smile.

Sheepishly, he rubs where the cybernetic arm attaches to his shoulder. Many have turned away in disgust or mock pity at the disfigurements. Yet despite the true abomination he looks like right now, there's only ever been pure empathy and acceptance he doesn't deserve — all from you.

"Conscious consent and reciprocation."

Your lips turn upward, joy causing your soul to unwittingly sing. "Does that mean… I'm your mate?"

"No."

It's like Gunsmoke completely collapses, and you're left twirling without footing in space. Seokmin matches your fallen expression with one of his own.

"What? Wh-why?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's —"

"I swear if you say 'It's me, not you'…"

He rather adorably tilts his head. "How did you know?"

"It's a typical cliche," you roll your eyes, "just give it to me straight, Seokmin. Is it 'cause I'm human?"

"… It's not that simple, and this isn't something trivial. It's — hah — it's a huge commitment." The use of your given name indicates his seriousness. "A lifetime one. For me, it's only ever been you… and it will always be you for as long as I live, which could be your whole lifespan! And I don't, hah, I don't know — hell, it's taking everything I can not to tear a dead man apart, let alone what I'd do if you'd change your mind, want something — someone else."

"You're doing it again, projecting and underestimating my feelings for you."

"It could be the effect of my pheromones, mayfly. We don't know every —"

"That's right! We don't know! So we have to trust each other and see."

"It's —"

"Let's not subject ourselves to the hypothetical. And what do you mean by dead man?"

Seokmin's jaw tenses, fingernails digging into numb skin. His wings waver, like they're considering cocooning around him for protection. But their tips simply flutter as if soothed by an unseen force, preventing them from enclosing completely.

Teasingly, you lean toward him and squint. "What else aren't you telling me, Seok? You pick a side hustle up that involves the deceased like Choi?"

He snorts at the audacity and doesn't take the bait. Instead, unfamiliar but still achingly familiar irises dart to your neck, tracing the silver chain laying against your skin. A dull sort of sadness fizzles out those blue fires and you clasp the shape of the locket beneath your shirt in realization.

"He was a boy, Seok. A boy I grew up with for a short period, one that felt like a brother to me."

"… You said you loved him."

"When?"

"… To Cheol. After you first met him."

"That would've been so long ago? How do you even remember that?"

He sighs, heavily. "It's not easy to forget. Your voice was so warm, so gentle, so in love when you admitted it."

"Love can mean different things! And I assure you, my feelings for you differ greatly from how I felt about him. And… he's… he's long gone, Seok."

Guilt burns in his eyes. "I know. Which makes me all the worse."

"No, it doesn't." You shake your head, a resigned smile resting on your lips, and hold your arms out. "'Cause I understand and forgive you. And most importantly, I love you."

It's uncertain if those words break or restore him, but the hard rigidness in his body melts away, sagging in a semblance of relief. Then he rushes forward into your waiting embrace, wings helping to propel him forward until they wrap around and press you to him tight, tickling areas where his arms aren't squeezing around you.

"And I adore you, my lovely mayfly."

You groan. "When will you stop calling me that?"

"Never," he snickers and you feel the curve of his lips as he comfortably nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "For as long as you're mine."

"Yours?"

"Mine."

"Sucker."

A chaste kiss brushes the lower tip of your ear. So ticklish and unexpected, you pull back with a giggle and playfully swat his shoulder. And just as he's about to dive forward and prove your little comment correct in retaliation, you burst into full-on laughter that leaves Seokmin to settle his hands on your waist with confusion crinkling his brow.

"What?"

"So that's why you were always having a deathly staring match between my childhood memorabilia?"

"… Was not."

"You — the most sentimental loser ever — definitely were!"

He pouts momentarily, the cute jut out of his lower lip quickly transforming to a devious smirk. "You'd bet on it?"

"Totally." You place your arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer again and matching the charge of electricity with a clever tilt of your lips. "I'd win, too."

"And what's on the table?"

"Sixty billion double dollars, of course."

"That so?"

"Mhm, and it seems like someone's bounty matches that worth."

Seokmin quirks a brow. "Seems like you want me on the table."

"Winner takes all?"

"Mayfly, I've always been yours."

"Sap," you laugh again.

A bright grin certainly declares your delight in victory, though your partner in crime uses the distraction as an advantage for his earlier loss and wastes no time. Diving in, a sharpened canine grazes your pulse point, automatically causing your head to tilt to offer easier access. Two left wings sweetly swoop down for support, feathered tips tenderly brushing your forehead.

The heat of his tongue placates the dragging scratch of his fangs. Though it sears you alive, heating your entire body from the tips of your toes, swirling in your core, and concentrating beneath Seokmin's lips on your skin.

When reaching that cold, familiar necklace you treasure so much and he can't help but loathe, it's seized between his teeth before he registers the action. Tugging it away from your neck like a dog, you wonder if he'll even shake it like one. His eyes follow the length of the chain, focusing on where the locket pops out above your chest.

You raise a questioning brow. "You gonna just play with my jewelry or take my clothes off?"

"Oh," Seokmin whispers, jaw dropping, and suddenly stands stiffly at attention.

You watch, entranced by the bob of his Adam's apple as he visibly gulps. Large, calloused hands — so practiced in undressing you for baths and patching up wounds — falter as they skim along your sides in a fleeting touch. Smiling encouragingly, you intertwine your fingers with those of his prosthetic while leading the other one beneath your shirt, the rough flesh of his palm blisteringly hot against your stomach.

"Is this okay? Can it help calm your Plant powers?"

"Yes… but that means… giving yourself to me… forever."

"Can't think of anything I'd enjoy more."

Confident, you trail kisses up his jaw to his cheek, stopping near his ear. Playfully tugging at the earring hoop as you pull away. Then you break away and bend over, shimmying off your shorts in one smooth motion. Stepping out of them, next goes your top. As each fabric hits the floor, Seokmin's eyes become more lidded, heavy with want. Smoldering. Desiring.

Four black wings fan out and stay as rigid as his stance. As if they're waiting with bated breath. And when you finally stand bare before him, he sheepishly drags his gaze to the floor with a flustered smile.

"I'm the one naked and you're embarrassed?" you tease and his posture relaxes.

"Because you're a vision to behold."

"Says the one who looks like an angel."

You back up until your knees hit the side of the bed. Like those morbid tales that depict curious listeners following a luring call to their demise, Seokmin's only a step behind you. He doesn't dare let his eyes stray further from your own, a goofy grin on his face.

"Consider this my fall from grace then, mayfly."

Gingerly, you sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for his next move. He towers over you in this position. Formidable in appearance yet oh-so-gentle when picking up your left hand to kiss your knuckles and rub his thumb across its faded scar. Another smooch gets placed to your inner wrist and you hold your breath at the passion in those blazing cyan depths that refuse to look away. Then, a cautious touch to your shoulder urges you onto your back. Obediently, you lay down and a bunch of stray loose feathers fly up into the air upon impact.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

The clothed knee resting between your legs helps his arm support the weight of his body hovering above you. A tentative hand slides down from your shoulder to your hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Caressing every scar, memorizing each color and swirl of ink decorating your skin, and erasing any insecurities or blemishes you see in yourself. Cold digits draw whimsical shapes and tickle your abdomen, stopping above your pelvic bone.

"May I?"

"Of course."

Seokmin rejoices in your consent by littering your collarbone with love bites. And his touches move lower, tender despite their mechanical nature. Warmth blossoms and flows under every surface of your skin Seokmin's traced, coiling and settling in a pulsating — almost painful — heat rupturing between your legs.

Only he can be the one to relieve this ache which he precisely aims to do. A simple, single brush across sensitive folds instantly has your breath hitching, shaking beneath him.

"Are you alright?"

"Mhm… yes."

He audibly gulps at your unexpected whimper of ecstasy, reluctantly tearing away from watching amorous bliss overtake your facial expression to the wet heat detected by his pointer finger's sensors. A feral growl rumbles in his chest at the debauched sight of desire beginning to dampen your thighs — the trace of what he's been smelling from you now overloading every single one of his senses as he coaxes more to flow from you. Seokmin's more than thankful for his enhanced vision and the glow of cybernetic technology baring your most intimate parts to him.

Guided by an instinctual impulse, he eases a finger inside. Your back automatically arches off the bed, eliciting a sweet gasp of delight. The cool touch of the digit seized tightly by the pulsating walls of your cunt slowly warms as it adjusts to the welcome intrusion. He soothingly brushes the knuckle of his middle finger across the soft outer flesh of your pussy to relax its grip. Eventually it lets up enough to let him explore further and deeper than your own have ever reached.

"I'm… I'm not sure how best to please you," Seokmin admits, drinking in your every reaction to his curious ministrations. "But there's this urge, this need, to make you feel good. Prep you properly for my… my entry."

By pure accident, he strokes a rough patch of nerves that makes your eyes roll back, hips lifting at the sensation of wanting more of whatever that feeling was, and your quiet noises melt into a loud, needy moan.

"More," you plead, "touch me more, Seok."

He eases his other finger inside without question, grunting at the squeeze that almost prevents him from moving to where you want him the most. But unlike the rest of his quivering body, the prosthesis remains steady, still, and patient. Waiting until it can bully itself and a third finger past your entrance's vice-like clench.

You start pulling on your breasts, trying to alleviate the tingling in them. Seokmin observes with a keen eye and a toothy, fanged grin. After a bit, he leans down to let his tongue trace the underside of one mound, leaving behind a saliva trail shining in the unconventional lighting as he tends to the next. Alternating with playful nips and naughty tugs to your nipples whenever your grip on them falters from the overwhelming pleasure.

So attentive and eager, soon you're writhing beneath him as you hit your peak. One hand grips your hip tightly, surely to leave a bruise with the way it cramps. His other doesn't let up, well-oiled mechanisms continuing to pump in and out of your trembling pussy until you whine from the overstimulation.

His wings fold protectively around both of you like a canopy as you share a tender kiss. Dazed and happy, you tenderly brush back black bangs and play with one of the feathers that's sprouted near the hairline above his ear. He shivers.

"Let me take care of you too."

"Are you sure? What about your shoulder?"

"That's the least of my concerns right now."

"I can still…"

"Later. First, I want to help you."

Suddenly, Seokmin's shy again, flushed cheeks darkening. "I… I think I'm a little different… down there so it's okay if you don't want to… or get scared."

"It's not like I've seen enough dicks to compare whether what you're packing is normal."

The both of you share a goofy laugh that eases the presumed awkwardness. He sits back to unbutton his pants but you stop him.

"May I?"

You might as well have knocked the air out of his lungs. He stares at you wide-eyed and then emphatically nods, finally clearing his throat to squeak out, "Sure."

Ignoring the aftershocks of your earlier orgasm, you sit up and kneel in front of him. Intent on a few minor distractions, your mouth and hands start at his shoulders to work their way down. Imagining you have the power to heal the damage dealt to his body and soul through tender touches.

You see a sad sense of beauty and justice in the patchwork of metal bolts and bark. And as you apply marks of love that bruise and blossom between them, he lets out a content warble. You're quick to undo the button of his pants, both of you gasping at the utterly wet mess seeping through the material when you tug the zipper down with your teeth.

He lifts his hips to help and once he's just as naked as you do you take him in. Anatomy was meagerly touched upon during your days at the convent, so truthfully all you're aware of at the sight of his heavy cock is the need to be filled with it.

And the closest thing to take him is your mouth, jaw already aching before you even open it. Almost reverently, your hands wrap around to stabilize it. Seokmin hisses pleasantly at the contact.

"You don't have to —"

He's cut off by a groan as you inquisitively suckle the tip. The copious amounts of slick smearing from it and down the base taste sweeter than Seungcheol's lollipops and you moan heartily, causing his thighs beneath your elbows to tense at the vibrations.

"Oh, mayfly."

A wing caresses your cheek that bulges as you take more and more of him, Seokmin's hands tearing at the sheets. The tip of another wing tantalizingly drags down your bare back. Your hands begin to explore, finding the puffy edges around the slit from which the thick cock emerges from. His hips jolt upwards at the contact to sensitive tissues, causing you to gag.

"Ah, 'm sorry!"

While he whispers repeated apologies, you're only compelled to take him further. Slowly you get used to the stretch, but no matter how much more you're able to squeeze down your throat there's still enough of his length for both of your hands to play with. It gets easier the more aggressive you get, his cock seeming to respond to your vigor in tandem. Soon you're lost to the haze of whether you're bobbing your head up and down or it's swirling languidly in your mouth on its own accord.

Seokmin's hips stutter but you feel the tremor first pulse against the inner walls of your throat. His cock throbs as you pull off of it, hollowing your cheeks and parting with deliberately powerful suction. A loud pop releases its tip and your hand supports its weighty girth falling forward. You dig the nails of your free hand into the muscle of his quaking thigh, ducking down to teethe at the puffy slit from where his cock must emerge.

Moving on to licking and dragging the point of your tongue along the sizable vein lining the underside causes Seokmin's low groans to turn into a high-pitched trill. Once you reach the swollen, leaking head and nibble on the hard glans, it spasms wildly and finally erupts. From the top slit seeps sweet syrupy fluid that readily overflows into your awaiting, open mouth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he blabbers.

You'd reply that there's no need for gratitude, perhaps you'd thank him, but the viscous release keeps spilling out. Rivulets trickle well past your lips and coat your chest. Although still in a euphoric daze, his eyes flash with sharp satisfaction. Instantly possessive at the sight of your bare body decorated so erotically.

His wings snap open — filled with purpose — and your face is pressed down into the mattress. Surrounded in a smoky musk as the angelic monstrosity it belongs to and destined to be your mate hovers above.

Your voice comes out hoarse as you raise up onto your elbows and spitefully spit out a black feather. "Do those wings of yours prevent you from being topped or something?"

"I'll let you find out another time, partner," Seokmin huffs, laughter evident despite his apparent breathlessness. He steals a tender kiss, pleased grunting at how your lips — shiny and swollen — taste of him. "But for now…"

Like an anchor, the tech material warmed by your shared body heat and passion winds underneath your hips, keeping them raised. A calloused, ticklish touch roams traces your spine. He draws an occasional spiral here and there as he goes, mindful of your wound, until firmly pinning the nape of your neck to the side, creating the perfect arch of your back.

"I think you'll like this," Seokmin says as if he isn't liking the view below him.

But for you, straight ahead lies the dresser's mirror. It reflects the full manifestation of an independent Plant poised to devour a human in the most intimate sense. The fearsome size of his cock lies heavy on top of your ass, leaking droplets of arousal all over your backside.

"Will it fit?"

"Of course, you are mine to claim and take." His hips just forward and you both moan. "I think we're both wet enough to try."

"I trust you."

"Let me know if it hurts in any way and we'll stop right away, mayfly."

Many troupes of desert-traveling dancers have mesmerized you before. Yet even they can't compare to the graceful and smooth motion of Seokmin releasing your neck to align his tip with the entrance of your cunt and slowly bullying his way in.

Tears of pain mixing to unfathomable pleasure blur the vision of your mouth widening to let out whines and moans. "Seokkie…"

"Mhm, mayfly… my love… my mate."

Finally, the front of his thighs are flush against yours. Hips pressed tight against your ass. Fully sheathed inside your tight hole, neither of you have ever felt such intensity before. He surrenders his body weight on top of yours, hands braced outside of yours clenching loose feathers and silk sheets. The outer heaviness matches the intensity of what your pussy struggles to accommodate.

"Mine."

Seokmin's hips swirl at a slow pace. Rather than thrust, he massages the sensitive glands at the base of his cock with the soft flesh of your ass. His length seems to shrink and grow and writhe with a mind of its own, filling and teasing you nonstop. Leaving no surface of your inner walls untouched or untended to for too long.

"Yours."

You shudder in blissed-out delirium and Seokmin lights up — literally.

Fluorescent lines glow in distinct patterns across skin, brightening the more he starts to pant and build up your shared pleasure. Sharp canines prick into the skin of your unmarked shoulder as he wraps his prosthesis under your stomach to raise your hips, the new position driving you faster to that rapidly approaching edge. You cry out with a lurch, blurrily making out his glowing form that shudders above.

Though the view in the mirror gets hidden by black wings stroking your entire body. Teasing the underside of your tits and tenderly brushing away the stings of his teeth marks.

"I-I love you," Seokmin rasps.

"Love…" You manage to enunciate the words, mind emptying and drool wetting the bed as your second peak approaches. "Love you too."

Pain and pleasure draw forth an onslaught of your apparent arousal that lecherously mixes with the frothy mess dribbling from his cock. Claws appear on Seokmin's right hand, another addition to the bestial Plant features emerging in the throes of passion. He's not completely lost to the primal thrall though, able to resist from breaking skin.

Delicately scratching your waist without drawing blood, then using the finely pointed tips to pluck and tease effortlessly at your clit. You cry out, body shaking as waves of euphoria crash against the shoreline of imminent pleasure.

Seokmin helps ride out your peak with a couple of speedy thrusts. The feeling of his hips slamming into you has you seeing more stars than Gunsmoke's galaxy contains. And just as you're overcome with too much stimulation, he lets go with a particularly strong bite into the top of your shoulder.

His cock softens and its heavy weight like a blanket along with the continual pump of his warm, soothing release. The feeling of it leaving none of your inner walls untouched feels as sweet as it tasted on your tongue and helps ease the ache inside your cunt. Still joined together and slick with stickiness, he collapses onto his side and gently assists you with rolling over so you can face him.

"Hey, you."

"Hello there yourself, lovely mayfly."

Your nose wrinkles but gets smoothed out by feather tips playing with the ends of your hair. Seokmin smiles as you snuggle closer into his chest so two of his wings can cocoon around you as the heated fervor from prior activities cools.

"Did that help?"

"… Yes," he says though his tone wavers with hesitance.

You raise your chin and see the electric blue luster hasn't faded yet from his gaze. Sheepishly, the corner of his mouth raises and you shiver, feeling the swell of his cock stretch out your pussy. The bulge it creates brushes against Seokmin's abdomen and he twitches.

"Sorry, it's… I'm gonna be kinda insatiable now that I've had a taste…" He trails off, wings snapping behind him. Slowly, he pulls his hips away and you both hiss as his cock is dragged out.

"What are you —"

You're cut off by the animalistic glimmer in his gaze, catching the feral smirk that he attempts to hide by licking his palm. Quick as lightning, Seokmin fleetingly swipes the outer lips of your cunt and brings his fingers, tonguing at them. Body set aflame again, neither of your break eye contact as he moans headily.

"But not of this," he rasps.

Before you know it, you're staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling with your mate between your legs. His wings trail along your calves, their flexible ends curling near your inner thighs, encouraging them to spread and stay open, pinning them in place.

"Oh, aren't you a beauty?"

He moans shamelessly at the sight of your messy, glistening pussy. You squirm at the ticklish sensation of his feathers and that smoldering, ravenous look. If only he knew what it was like to see him devour you with his mouth.

Delicious.

Just like the feeling of his tongue working its way inside and licking up the shared essence of your releases.

Your fingers weave between strands of hair as black as night, tugging lightly and accidentally snagging one of his ear feathers. He moans eagerly, and the vibration has you shuddering, already quickly nearing another mind-shattering orgasm. But you don't let him carry you there too fast, smooth brain muscles trying to form a question.

"How… long… how long do these cycles last?"

Seokmin presses a loving kiss to your twitching clit and blows, entranced by how you clench around nothing. Then he smirks, elongated teeth shining in the darkness like a predatory warning though you have nothing to fear.

"As much as you can handle but… we're really only just getting started, mayfly."

The motion light kicks on as Seungcheol shifts his boots in the direction of the unlit kitchen area. Junhui and Minghao's entrance awaken the rest of the lights and they frown at the makeshift bunker set up.

"What are you three doing in here?"

Seungkwan sleepily mumbles a curse word and next to him, Mingyu blearily rubs his eyes. A scattering of empty pudding cups and bottles lie around them as well as a disorganized array of poker cards.

"We're afraid to venture out of here."

Junhui shares a secretive look with his closest friend at Seungkwan's cryptic words. "Ah, so that's happened. Or happening."

"'Bout time y'all came 'round. Time for ya to pay up!"

"Pay up for what?"

"Compensation. 'M the one who got the closest to bein' right knowin' they'd fuck after confessin'."

"If anyone needs compensation, it's me for the mental damage of having to make one of my lovelies into an enhanced sex toy."

Seungcheol guffaws. "Ya didn't! Ya lil cheatin', schemin' scientist!"

Meanwhile, Mingyu looks mighty concerned. "Does that mean Seokmin has a dildo for an arm?!"

Minghao crosses his arms with a steely glare. "No."

"Oh good. I don't think I could look at him the same."

"I don't think any of us will ever look at him the same again."

Junhui eagerly rocks back and forth on his heels, hands stuffed in the deep pockets of his lab coat. "Do you think they discovered all the functions and benefits of it yet?"

"Should be our next bettin' round."

"No more bets. I don't care if it's half a double dollar to go in, I refuse to go through this again."

Mingyu elbows his raven-haired companion. "C'mon, your heart's warmed by this!"

"Warmed and consumed by the rage and fury of hellfire, yes."

Giggling, the tall man smiles widely and holds his hand out. "Alright, I win then!"

"Win what? Thought you didn't remember your bet."

Mingyu purses his lips. "Only because none of you took me seriously and joked with a bunch of gross innuendos when I said they'd find their home in one another!" He then sighs dreamily. "But if I'm right, we'll know by tomorrow morning."

"Who says it'll be tomorrow mornin'. Might take weeks. Months even, I reckon'."

"I'll kick you all out before it comes to that," Minghao threatens and runs a hand through the few strands of hair without a bead. He tosses a wad of money in front of Mingyu. "Never involve me in this again."

Despite all the grumbling, everyone has a sense of lightness in their hearts at the thought of their dear friends finally getting together. And the happiest of them all is Mingyu, who cheerily gathers his prized double dollars, dreaming of all the pudding he can buy.

A lone figure stands on the edge of the valley of the Melca Border. The Sea of Sand, aptly named, can change tide and turn vicious at any second. Their cloak billows in the sandy winds that whip around them, though even the steadfast hood can't hide the satisfied smile on their face.

"You did well," they commend and the name that falls from their lips is one some might consider lost to the sands of time.

"Saintess." Another figure materializes out of the sand gusts in response to the praise. "It is to be done as you said."

"Very well. Shall we go now?"

Whether it's the mysterious sands that swirl around and whisk them away or the lost technology cube that transports them, no one will ever know for no one ever saw them. Like ghosts, they disappear and find themselves outside the real ghost town — where it all began.

A toma croaks in the distance. Brave travelers dare cross the ruined wasteland and the saintess meditating atop one of the largest rocks hidden in the shadows opens her gray eyes tinted by lilac in the glow of the moons to observe. Despite all of her traveling, the white robes wrapped around her body remain in pristine condition.

She turns behind to look at the man standing over a scattering of stones, staring intently at one of them. With poise and purpose, she dusts off her clothes and strides over to him.

"Chan."

Brown eyes tear away from his own name carved into the headstone in front of him to look at the one who's said it aloud.

"Yes, Saintess?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No. Never."

"Good," she states, satisfied with his response. With a grand sweep of her hood to cover short, dark hair, she gestures to the east. "We will set up camp one more night before returning to the Saint in the morning before he speaks with our Master."

Chan mutely nods, following the saintess back into the desert where she confidently leads him to a cave that will shield them from the unpredictable nature of Gunsmoke's wastelands. He thinks of you, the girl he must keep safe and two brothers. One with wings as pure white despite his continual revelry with hate-filled darkness, the other bearing ones the complete opposite color of his twin — a wild card.

He reminisces over the Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood, the convent and all the orphans that lived there. Pondering Sister Meryl's role, who stands before him now as the revered Saintess, leader for the Eye of Joshua and second only to the Bishop of the cult named after himself. She moves curious little statues back and forth across the surface of a large flat rock and the young man can't help but ask her a question in the unnerving silence.

"Do you think this will work?"

Meryl smiles elusively, as always. She picks up the smallest one with a deliberate flourish, placing it on a blackened space close to the last row of alternating squares carved into the stone's surface.

"Have you ever played chess before?"

"No, what is it?"

"An Earthern board game. It is quite complicated." Gesturing to the piece she just moved, she continues. "This is a pawn, the weakest of all chess pieces."

Chan bristles. "But strength comes in numbers, no? There are eight of each color, surely the right side can find a way to win."

Unfazed by his agitation, the saintess nods placatingly. "With the right strategy, even a pawn may become a queen — the most powerful. Unpredictable." She points to a white figurine with a cross on top of it. "Enough to checkmate a king."

Entranced, Chan watches as she rearranges and repositions various pieces across the faux chessboard. Soon, the pawn that took on the mantle of a Black Queen captures the White King. His eyes roam what's left on the battlefield at the end of the match, pointing to one that looks like a tower.

"What's that one?"

"A rook. It best supports an allied pawn towards promotion from behind the scenes." Her eyes sparkle mischievously. "It's most powerful during the end of the game, as you can see."

Chan gulps, holding his breath for a moment, and clears his throat. "Then I'm ready."

"Wonderful," Meryl nods, "we'll depart for Master Dokyeom's stronghold in the morning. I'm sure Joshua, our dear Saint, will be… pleased upon our return."

"To the glory of the Black King's rise."

"And to the glory of our so-called queen."

Keep him safe, Chan thinks to himself as he settles on the ground. And yourself. One day we'll reunite in the most joyous of occasions…

He pulls out a faded wanted poster with the infamous outlaw worth sixty billion double dollars, donning a wishful smile before closing his eyes and murmuring, "I'd even bet this impossible amount on it."

onlyseokmins: April 2024 ©

#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

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starseed-twenty · 2 years

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🪐 Juno in the signs 💍

Juno, in Roman and Greek mythology, was the wife of Jupiter (aka Zeus), and she was hailed for her unbreakable loyalty to her husband. She's responsible for the pairing of soulmates.

In simple terms, Juno in astrology is known as an asteroid that represents marriage, commitment, and a deep bond to another person. Its energy is always exuded in matters of deep commitment, a marriage, or any long-term romantic union.

P.S. I just happened to make the 'What to be aware of' a bit of a drag 😅 #sorrynotsorry [And I made this a thread on Twitter @starseedtwenty. Follow for the earliest updates]

💍 Aries Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: A long-term union that's fun, loving and fiery (and fiery doesn't mean explosive or full of drama, just lit and active). Just those 3 elements can make them feel comfortable, and perhaps committed. They like something where the night is full of passion and fireworks, and the day is full of touchy-touchy (jokingly or sensually). All round though, they want something wholesome and exciting that even in 20 years, they're excited to see you when they/you get back from work.

How they act in a marriage: Their love is pretty basic and standard but far from boring. They don't want anything boring, at all. If it does get boring, they're there to make it fun (but on the low, they want you to make it fun), if it still doesn't get fun, they'll ration it out with you, until you guys are on happy vibes again. If it's constant sad vibes though, it might be the beginning of the end for them.

What to be aware of: They can be pretty demanding. They are the type to test you or challenge you just to see where you stand or whether you'll also meet them at their level and challenge them/be smart. It's like love is sometimes a little chess game to them (in a good way, not in the way of playing games and being wishy washy), so they just wanna see if you can beat them at their own game. So they love a challenge. If you don't, walk away from them. If you like it, or feel like you can handle it, then stay. Oh and they're pretty fast-paced, so they move quick, if you're slow or you're not ready to move with their pace, don't bother.

💍 Taurus Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: Something loving, reliable and full of beauty. Something that feels safe and stable, and romantically traditional. To some, what they envision and yearn for in a long-term union could be boring because it's much like a routine and pretty (repetitive/redundant), but it's what makes them feel secure, and that's all they want - security. Then additionally they want to feel relaxed, comfortable, and loved. That's all.

How they act in a marriage: They are very dependable, supportive and romantic omg. They give love in a headstrong way and commit to marriage like no other sign can, you can never say they betrayed you or you don't trust them, even if (depending on other placements) they're the type to act aloof. They just naturally know what marriage is and have no problem or any hard time being loyal in it.

What to be aware of: They can be pretty mundane and routine-orientated. If you're someone who likes things more crazy, or challenging, or unpredictable, or intense, don't hold your breath with them. They are not any of these things when it comes to marriage. If you are this type, you may consider them boring or underwhelming, but they love it because predictability gives them a sense of stability.

💍 Gemini Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: An intellectual/mentally-stimulating union that mixes childish fun with old-age wisdom/intellect. A marriage that allows them to express all the babbles they want to say, as well as learn a lot from you and other things (they like to learn and know certain information, perhaps for future sake). They want to laugh with you, watch fun things with you, learn more about life with you beside them, and just overall explore things and explore you and your mind.

How they act in a marriage: They like a multifaceted energy in the union, which is then the type of vibe you could expect from them. Occasionally, they also like to babble about stuff that's on their mind, so you just be accepting and aware of that (the babbles). Be able to be their person they can bounce their ideas off of, or even better, communicate your ideas with them. I mean they do like to try things if we're being real. They also have a sense of duality so you can get the best of all worlds with them. Or none if they're not in the mood with you or just simply want to isolate. They choose their side depending on the day.

What to be aware of: Not necessarily that they're two-faced, but they do change their minds a lot, or just think about a lot of stuff, enough to dabble in all of them. So, if you're the type to be one-sided and dead-set on that side or expect them to be like that, don't bother with them. They like exploring (their mind, your mind, their inner self, their outer self) so you'd have to like their changeable nature if you want to last with them and have long-term union. Additionally, they are quite the talker, so the marriage would have to consist of a lot of communicating. Or else, it won't last.

💍 Cancer Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: A long-term union that has proper care, love, emotions, loyalty, and devotion. They want a partner who will be there for them in times of distress, the same way they are to be there for you in bad times. They want a partner who will also treat them like a hidden treasure that needs to be protected at all costs.

How they act in a marriage: They are so gentle, and kind, and loving, and tender. They basically give a 'motherly love' (whatever their gender). One where you feel cared for by them and that you can call them when you're in a hectic situation or you're feeling sad. They're a long-term partner that supports your endeavors and wants to make sure that things are okay inside and out (basically that the household is also cared for).

What to be aware of: They have moments where can be pretty moody and demanding. In a lowkey way sometimes, they expect you to know what they're feeling and care about their feelings [all the time] and not be selfish or nonchalant. Funny thing is that they can be selfish or nonchalant sometimes though, so… just be prepared to deal with their fluctuating emotions (though they're not dramatic about them, at all actually, they're shy), and just handle them with care and respect. Other than that though, they're very caring, perhaps too caring for their own good (that they can even seem depressing from another person's pov) - so also beware of that.

💍 Leo Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: Something passionate, and warm, and pretty sociable. Something where you guys are proud of one another and almost like you can brag about your guys' achievements to your friends. That's not the end-all be-all though, they want a long-term union that's fun, with occasional drama and child-like fun, as well as mature where you guys are emotionally supportive and ambitious towards each other's visions and goals.

How they act in a marriage: So… not necessarily that they act or want to be the star of the show, but they do want to feel like they really matter in your world, as well as be able to show you off to the world as well. So basically, they are very confident, and expressive, and pretty creative. And more than likely, their personality is them showing their best side 98% of the time. [Even in 50 years, you have a husband/wife you can be proud of] Unless you piss them off of course, then it gets really ugly.

What to be aware of: They have a side that doesn't care sometimes, but not in a bad way or as if they'll bluntly act like they don't care. They just know what to care about and what not to care about, and practically have 'out of sight, out of mind' subconsciously engraved in their brain. But it doesn't mean they're disloyal, not in the slightest, just nonchalant. [This is for those who want or expect them to care a lot or deeply all the time. Don't. They're okay with their nonchalant selves.]

💍 Virgo Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: They want a long-term that is reciprocated, where both of you pour something into the marriage. Both of you guys pour out your love, care, trust, loyalty and generosity. And it is at a level that's not too dramatic, but not underwhelming or boring either. Just cool, calm and charismatic in a sweet way.

How they act in a marriage: They are highly dedicated and faithful, and work at pleasing you as their spouse, their eternal love, their life partner for the rest of their life. They can pick at you a lot jokingly, and annoy you in many ways, but this is all out of love to them. They never really want to upset you in deep ways, and if they do, they're quick to apologize, because they care about you. More than anything, they are devoted, attentive, logical and thoughtful in the ways to treat you as your spouse.

What to be aware of: They can be pretty nitpicky, and pretty pay too much attention to insignificant details sometimes. This is not always the case. However, they have a clear picture of what they want, and if they don't get it they can pretty iffy or act up in certain ways. If they are a bit more on the undeveloped side though, they can be selfless and too pleasing to what you want, which is what they think of as being a good spouse, to them.

💍 Libra Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: They want something of a balance. And equality. They can be themselves outside of the marriage and not caged in, but they know they're in a commitment and act like it, and would hope you act like it as well. A long-term union that's a mix of traditional as well as new school. They don't necessarily want a marriage, but they want a union that kinda feels like a marriage (filled with respect, loyalty and generosity) but also modern with a twist of modern romance, sensuality and sweet passion.

How they act in a marriage: They're pretty basic [in a good way] with the way they love: communicating with you, showing you they care, going out if you want to, staying in if you want to, considering you when making decisions, being patient, and being faithful. And they're a ball of fun when they can be. I mean, it should probably be noted that Libra rules the 7th House in astrology, and 7H is about marriage and partnerships and one-on-one connections. So they're pretty good at the whole marriage/long-term union thing when they're serious.

What to be aware of: So uhm… they're indecisive as hell. And quite giving/accepting. A bit too much sometimes. [But that only really shows laater in the marriage. Not immediately]. It's as if they don't know what they're worthy of. So, that's something to be aware of before committing long-term with them. Basically if they love you, they are invested in this, so they end up being diplomatic, meaning they give their opinion/idea half the attention and the other half to yours. In the end, they become a bit indecisive, or giving towards you because they love you. [They can be selfish as well though. Don't think they won't be.]

💍 Scorpio Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: Something desirable, powerful and deep [and occasionally intense]. They want something that speaks to their soul. They want to feel like they're cared for, and catered to, and deeply loved with every fiber of their being. That's what they want to feel within the marriage. What they want the marriage to look like is along the lines of sweet and simple, yet passionate and dirty with those who look closely enough.

How they act in a marriage: They are very private. They love intimacy, and depth, so they guard this beautiful thing they have with you with all they can. They can thus be possessive (or what they call 'protective') and very loyal. If they truly love you, they love you until time stands still. They don't turn back from the decision (or the feeling rather) of being yours forever.

What to be aware of: With their possessiveness, comes a lot of jealousy and some trust issues. They do want to learn how to trust and let you be however, but they also don't want too many people coming too close to you or acting too friendly (or 'flirty'). As private as they are, if there's anything the world should know, it's not to come near their partner. Also, they can be pretty guarded and it can take them a whiiile before they let their guard down layer by layer, because they don't really trust easily. So if you're not willing to be patient and loving and consistent with them, then just walk away.

💍 Sagittarius Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: Something that's larger than life. A long-term union that feels so fun, vibrant, passionate, cool and open-minded. Sag is an optimistic sign, and a sign that likes to explore, so they want something that makes them feel like they can explore on this - whether it's the romantic connection you have, or you, your mind, your body - they want to look in and feel what's going on. Their optimism also makes them prone to looking at the bright side on things, which is what they'd want from you. If you're more on the negative side or like to complain or look back on things in a sad/bad way, that bores them.

How they act in a marriage: A marriage where there is a lot of freedom (not enough to disrespect each other but the kind where you can say, do, feel whatever and express it easily to each other and you guys respect each other's opinions, actions and feelings) is what they want. So they want to be able to easily express themselves and for their partner to also be an expressive and liberated person. The long term union itself also has to be liberating and full of creating memories, that even in 30 years, you guys laugh at the dumbest things, or are willing to try new things.

What to be aware of: They are probably the last on the list of signs that understand or even care about marriage lol, but that does not mean they hate it or don't want it. It just means the traditional idea of marriage must be mixed and shaped and drizzled a bit with a mix of the new age way of a long-term union. Because the old-school of 'you do the chores, I go to work, I come home, we sleep' grates their tits/nuts. Sooo… if that's the case with you, beware of them [gradually] disinvolving themselves from the union.

💍 Capricorn Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: They want a long-term union that's [stable] and organized. Something that makes sense and makes them feel like 'you're here for a long time, not just a good time'; not something complicated, and full of games, and in and out or wishy washy. They want something that has a direction and committed movement. Before even the marriage though, they want to feel like this something worth working towards (which is why they also have high standards). They lay that foundation by being good, respectful partners while you are still in relationship phase with them.

How they act in a marriage: Capricorn, as a sign, has this authoritative approach to things, so having Juno here, they make for a spouse who knows how to take charge or let you take the lead and back you up respectfully. They can also be very intelligent/wise (mentally, financially, emotionally) and fairly mature. They also have a way of thinking very long-term, which is why they're able to stay within the marriage because they want to see the reality of being with you, living with you and being 70+ and still married to you.

What to be aware of: For those who don't get them, they can be a bit boring, but it's in a way that is mature, not in a that they aren't interesting [because for many people, their version of fun is rather youthful and living in a YOLO way - they're not really like that (depending on other placements though)]. Then also, being ruled by Saturn, they can be quite pessimistic or just hard on themselves or other people. This can bore the hell out of someone who likes things lighthearted and fun.

💍 Aquarius Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: A long-term union where there is a sense of individuality, and not something where you are engulfing them and making them your world and they should make you their world (anything that feels like co-dependency). They want partner who is unique and who can be both their best friend as well as their husband/wife. And a marriage where you guys respect each other's place in your lives, as well as respect each other's opinions and ideas and are expressive of them. Also something where you follow through with any visions you guys have.

How they act in a marriage: One thing they know very much how to do and will do is treat you like an equal, but here's the thing - their 'equal' isn't ordinary, it's out of this world, and you guys both share this vision and therefore treat each other equally. They want something extraordinary, beautiful, cool and eye-catching, something along the lines of 'goals'. You guys are just 'thee couple' to your friends. Even in 50 years, people can still say 'wow, they had such a cool marriage'. So they act like 'that person 😎' and want you to act and see yourself like 'that person 😎' as well, and you treat each other that way.

What to be aware of: They can seem pretty detached or aloof. They don't mean to seem that way, cause it could be far from what they're feeling. But they just have this vibe of caring about you through words, but very, very chilled (almost cold even) with their actions. It does not mean that they don't care. I repeat, it does not mean that they don't care. They are simply shy/coy and are willing to let you take the action the most. Or they're just warming up to you, because in due time, they do becoming more attached and loving.

💍 Pisces Juno 💍

What they want in a marriage: A long term union where they feel truly cared for, understood, and purely loved. Something that's spiritual and out of this world, that consists of caring for each other until the moment that last breath is taken. Something gentle and generous, and contains all five love languages. They don't want something too strict on how they should think, or act, or feel, or speak, but something free and feels almost imaginary by how good it is, yet it's real.

How they act in a marriage: The thing about the sign Pisces is that they look at the bigger picture and look at it with rose colored glasses, so having Pisces in Juno of marriage, they tend look at the far, far future and the beauty of it, so they don't mind the bad little things of the small picture (the present) and just overlook them because since they love you, they will focus on the bright side. Which can then make them quite forgiving (a bit too much sometimes).

What to be aware of: They are very sensitive. Sometimes unnecessarily, but only because they care a lot. They are also pretty idealistic and imagine a load of stuff, much to not see things with a realistic eye, so they eventually end up seeming self-centered and delusional. Cause they have their own idea, and end up forgetting about the truth and reality. It's both good and bad though, not entirely bad. They basically have a beautiful, creative mind & heart. But the downside is that they're either naïve, or selfish because they don't want to listen to what you have as an idea, even if it may be the truth.

[Can apply to sidereal Juno as well]

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agentmarvel · 2 months

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nfsw alphabet - könig

afab!reader

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

divider credit: @/cafekitsune

♡ a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

- Kö is v needy after sex. Between his younger years and his military career, he's admittedly incredibly touch-starved. The endorphin rush of intimacy is often followed by an intense crash for him - one he'd only ever experienced prior after a rather high-profile target was stamped out like a cigarette beneath his boot - and he just needs to hold you for a while.

♡ b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- He absolutely adores your lips. They're a perfect compliment to his own. Where his are dry and scarred, thinner and mildly perpetually bruised, yours are soft and pillowy, unblemished by the atrocities of exposure. Your lips fit with his like lock and key. And your smile? Fuck. His day doesn't start until he sees that little quirk at the corner of your mouth. And don't even get him started on the things those lips do in the bedroom...

For himself, he's quite fond of his eyes. He likes the color, thinks it suits him well. Eyes are the window to the soul, so they say, and it's his reminder that he's still human. He's fallible. He will make bad calls sometimes, even when it comes to his relationship with you, but he's not immune to mistakes. When you look him in the eyes, he knows you can see his sincerity, whether he's telling you he loves you or apologizing for being too blunt on accident.

♡ c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

- König has an obsession with fluid strings. Regardless of whether he's pulling out of your mouth or your cunt after cumming, the milky threads of arousal that keep you connected just a few moments longer drive him to the brink of insanity. He's almost cum again immediately after just from the sight.

♡ d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- He loves kissing you after you swallow his load. Something about tasting himself on you makes him violently feral. He's hard again within seconds, not that he ever really flagged to begin with.

♡ e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

- Painfully minimal experience. Frankly, you're the second person he's ever had sex with, and the first was a one-off hook-up when he was much younger. He's learning the things he likes with you, though, and that's better than any number of previous partners could've amounted to. Besides, his ambition and unwillingness to disappoint more than makes up for the occasional awkwardness.

♡ f = favorite position

- König loves any position that puts you on top. He's well aware that he's a lot to take - you're never shy about telling him just how fucking big he is - and he knows you'll take as much as you can handle. Eventually, though, he needs more. When you manage to take him to the hilt, blissed out above him, unable to control the pretty sounds coming from deep in your chest, that's his cue. He'll gather your wrists in one hand, pinning them to your lower back before pulling you down to his chest and using his long legs as leverage to fuck up into you brutally. You always end up practically screaming in his ear, and he's so into it.

♡ g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

- He tends to be more serious, but only because he's usually focused. The playfulness is still present, just not as prevalent as it is in less intimate contexts.

♡ h = hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

- Personally, I think Kö has lighter sandy brown hair, so the carpet is a bit darker. He keeps it neater when he's home, knowing how often that thatch of curls provides you with extra stimulation but not loving how patchy it gets between his pelvis and navel due to the plethora of scars. Less mass makes it clear the gaps are filled angry, raised lines. He's very self-conscious about things like that, despite knowing it doesn't sway your affections for him.

♡ i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

- The intimacy is always at 11. Love and sex are synonymous to him, two sides of the same coin. You can't have one without the other. König LOVES the moment where he can switch to slow, deep strokes, making you look at him while he professes his adoration so wholly that he nearly has you tearing up.

♡ j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

- Surprisingly, he isn't too keen on rubbing one out too often. He might have a mild masochistic streak because he would prefer to bottle it all up to increase the anticipation of coming home, even if his balls are full, heavy, and aching to be drained by the time he returns.

♡ k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

- Your beloved König is shy to admit, but he noticeably loses his mind when you're a little mean to him. He loves the way you edge him for hours, making him count out loud, the condescending fringe of your voice when you tell him to beg for what he wants, the tense grip you keep on a fistful of his hair while you ride his watering mouth. It does something to him that he can't quite describe. Maybe it's the relief of knowing he's safe in giving up control. Maybe it's the implicit trust that you'd never hurt him. Sometimes, that's just what he needs.

♡ l = location (favorite places to do the do)

- He's partial to the kitchen. The table and countertops are taller than standard to accommodate his height, so when he bends you over one, you're entirely at his mercy with your feet dangling just above the tile. He's not crazy about the bruises he's found on your hips after, but something about having you in that helpless state makes him cum that much faster.

♡ m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

- Cliché, maybe, but he's partial to the way you fuss over him after a mission. Doesn't matter how long or short, you're on him the second he gets through the door, smothering him in kisses and ready to check him for injuries and rub the knots out of his shoulders. You typically encourage him to discuss what he can, let him vent about the things that went wrong and hype of everything that went as planned. Really, his motivation is purely how much you genuinely care for him in all facets.

♡ n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

- He firmly refuses breathplay and bondage. As someone who's been on the giving and receiving ends of literal torture, he's not fond of reliving any part of it with his partner. You're his safe haven. Elements of the darker side of his job stay far away from you.

♡ o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

- He's balanced on giving and receiving in terms of preference. He enjoys both equally. Eating pussy is something he'd never done before you, so there was a learning curve at first, but now, it's something he couldn't live without. He knows exactly how to get you off with his mouth, and he takes pride in that.

♡ p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

- There are perks to different methods, but König has a preference for going slow. Make no mistake, that doesn't mean he's gentle. Calculated, punctuated thrusts meant to reach deeper inside you than your fingers can, meant to mould your cunt around the shape of his cock so nothing ever feels this good without him.

♡ q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

- Kö is pretty ambivalent. He understands the necessity at times and will indulge whenever it feels right. You're in the shower, and he wants you before you leave for work? Perfect. Easy clean-up, and you won't be late. He has to head to the airfield, and you make it back from lunch with your mother with 10 minutes to spare? He's done in half that time, sated and heading out the door in a significantly better mood.

♡ r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

- Experimentation in the privacy of your home is fine with him, encouraged even. But he's really not big on risky business. He'd never chance getting caught; the thought alone curdles in his stomach like bad milk and makes him feel nauseous. It'd be embarrassing enough for him, but he'd be horrified on your behalf. Privacy is so important to him.

♡ s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

- Honestly, his stamina is cruel. He can go for around an hour before he needs a break. Short refractory period, which is fine because even now, he cums fairly quickly. He's stopped apologizing for it by now, knowing you really don't have a problem with it. But he's not a selfish lover by any stretch; he'll keep going until he knows you're satisfied.

♡ t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

- Toys are still something he's working up to. He's a big fan of the little high-frequency vibrator you have that kind of looks like an electric toothbrush. It's small but powerful. You've both used it to edge the other, often enough that you've had to buy two more after the previous couldn't hold a charge.

♡ u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

- Truthfully, he's not a huge tease. He's very up front with you about what he wants and when he wants it. Again, that lack of filter. Loves when you tease him, though.

♡ v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

- Kö definitely isn't quiet. He's constantly muttering praise, flopping between German and English, begging you for more, bitte, baby, bitte. If you move just the right way or deny him, you'll get those involuntary whimpers with his pretty eyes rolling back. His dirty talk is top-notch because he really has no filter when he's inside you.

♡ w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

- Cockwarming. Eating dinner, watching a movie, reading, he wants you planted on him constantly. Sometimes, it leads to sex, but more often than not, it's the added layer of closeness that he's after. Touching you is comforting, and that level of intimacy calms the savage beast in his chest that wails at the thought of losing you.

♡ x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

- König is MASSIVE. He's so tall, broad-shouldered, with a narrow waist, deliciously thick thighs, and an absolute fuckin' wagon. All veins, muscles, and scars. I firmly believe he has a few hidden piercings beneath the hood and dozens of tattoos under his gear. No one will ever convince me that König doesn't look strikingly similar to Peter Steele.

9", uncut, too heavy to stand straight out when hard, slightly above average thickness.

♡ y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

- His drive is pretty moderate. Maybe 2-3 times a week, though that may just be so that you have time to recover.

♡ z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- Kö falls asleep pretty fast after. It's a lot of exertion for him, and having you curled into his chest, tracing little circles on his skin, is so soothing for him. It puts him out like a match into water, eyes not cracking open until the sun rises.

#könig headcanons #könig x reader #könig x you #cod x reader #cod x you #konig x reader #konig x you #konig headcanons #jj writes

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respectthepetty · 6 months

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Because when a color demon is summoned by @negrowhat and @mggsttn's post, I show up!

Top 5 - Color-Coded Storytelling in BLs

Y'all already know what number one is, but let's pretend you don't. Instead follow me on this journey into BLs that gave the best color-coded storytelling. In order to be considered for this list:

The story had to integrate the colors into multiple aspects of the series: wardrobe, lighting, accessories, setting, etc.

The colors had to be meaningful to the plot.

The narrative did not explicitly state what the colors meant.

The color coding had to be consistent and featured in each episode.

The series has to be finished.

So let's begin!

Honorable Mention: Oh No! Here Comes Trouble

This isn't a BL (yet it's queer, so anyone who says it isn't can argue with the ghosts), but that damn red thread of fate had me and Yiyong messed up all season! The appearance of the color red in the series was less of an alarm, and more of a signal that every single moment was connected. All those single red threads that Yiyong and his unlikely crime-solving buddies weaved each episode came together at the last minute not only to solve the crime, but to stitch Yiyong together and bring him back from the edge of death because the true message of the show about fate and dying was how connection is what makes life worth living.

#5 - Moonlight Chicken

Director Aof and Cinematographer Rath never miss, but this particular story being told in this series through the symbolism and lighting depicting moon vs. sun, coldness vs. warmth, dislike vs. love, and so much more was phenomenal. Watch the scene of Li Meng holding a crying Heart in Heart's cold, blue, dark room then witness the two kissing in Li Meng's warm, orange-ish, bright living room or watch the hatred and blue melting off of Alan as he begins to find love again and you'll understand that the color coding in this show wasn't just a simple red versus blue dynamic. This was the work of PROFESSIONALS. This color coding was like tiramisu made by the best Italian chef; it had layers and was effing delicious!

#4 - My Beautiful Man

This show did several visual devices oh-so-well. We got Hira always being lower than Kiyoi. We got the duck. We got Hira capturing Kiyoi with his camera instead of being present with him. We got traditional colors but with that Japanese twist. And all of the elements worked together to give us an elite visual story. Hira was blue. Kiyoi was white. Hira was the loyal and reserved servant. Kiyoi was a god. Yet this was the point of contention between the two. Kiyoi wasn't a heavenly being. He was a human boy devoid of love. He wanted Hira to love him, not worship him. He wanted Hira to stand with him, not lower himself. He wanted Hira to live with him, not through him. So we saw Kiyoi struggle with his color when he didn't feel stable in their relationship, but once Hira made it clear that he loved Kiyoi, Kiyoi never shined brighter.

#3 - My Love Mix-Up

Nobody does colors like Japan. It color codes its ties. It leans into the religious aspect of the light versus dark color scheme. It invents new ways to color-code and is always evolving . . . like Aoki's orange color did in this series. Our disaster bisexual started the series with a muted color and as he discovered he liked a boy and not the girl he originally was crushing on, his color started to emerge. At first it was a soft yellow, but by the end, it was a vibrant orange. Ida was a solid blue, so watching Aoki's feeling deepen for him was electric each time the blue lighting lingered on his face until it overwhelmed him. Oh, and that color exchange is the best that has ever been done!

#2 - Semantic Error

This show tricked us. Jae Young played us the way he played Sang Woo, yet Jae Young's true colors were revealed as the boys spent more time with each other because isn't that the entire point of color coding? Seeing people's true colors without having to be told? Jae Young started off as red solely because quiet and introverted Blue Boy Sang Woo HATED red. That was it! That was the entire reason Jae Young became red. He just wanted to piss off Sang Woo. But as the boys worked together and Jae Young's personality shown through, Sang Woo realized Jae Young wasn't the devil he made him out to be and was actually a pretty chill Green Guy who he wanted to hug longer than two weeks.

#1 - Big Dragon

The only reason 82% of the crowd decided to watch this show was because of the visual above. Let that sink in. This one visual piqued y'alls interest enough to watch a show about a guy drugging someone to have sex with him and blackmail him with the tape of it so he could *looks at notes* get the girl? A girl?! And the guy who was drugged, almost sexually assaulted, and blackmailed was *checks notes again* HE WAS IN TO IT?!

Y'all hated this show. I loved it. Y'all think it was ridiculous. I love it. Y'all are rolling your eyes right now. I will always love it because it understood the assignment! I can't keep repeating the same points over and over, but here I go again:

Everything was color coded!

And it all supported the story. It never distracted from the story. It never became its own story. It was laced into the story. It did exactly what visual rhetoric is supposed to - show don't tell.

And it showed me when Yai opened his heart to Mangkorn.

And how Mangkorn's love transformed Yai.

It showed me that Yai's sister was his only source of light living in that isolated house.

It showed me the warmth Yai felt from Mangkorn's mom.

And it showed me that no matter how much he protested, Yai was deep in love.

And to think it all started here.

And ended up here.

That's the power of color coding and remarkable visuals.

It makes you see the beauty is in the details.

#color coded boys in love #the colors mean things #color coded storytelling #I'll have a different answer when something better comes along #until then big dragon is always the answer #moonlight chicken #my beautiful man #my love mix-up #semantic error #big dragon

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rin-fukuroi · 4 months

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𝐎𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairings: dom!Pantalone x sub!fem!reader

Warnings: no fluff, unhealthy relationships, sexual tension.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. bülow - Own Me

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

What about unconditional submission without sexual overtones? Although it's still present here, because i'm only trying to understand these boundaries, where the simple relationship of the dom and sub ends and something obscene begins. Perhaps i'll return to sketches of this genre more than once, since dom men are the best men in the world (ง ื▿ ื)ว

art: @jianrou

Have you ever heard of a wolf that decided to tame a hare? The poor fluffy little animal shivers day by day, not knowing at what second the thread of life can be irreversibly cut off, but the wolf takes care of tamed food, not allowing the hare to breathe its last breath before the whim of its owner. The little animal sees its defender in the wolf, leaving its own fate in its paws, and the hare's gaze is always permeated with devotion when its owner comes into view.

It's so wrong. Unnatural.

But what if the wolf became infatuated with the one he tamed?

You think about it every time your gaze meets blue eyes hidden under the glass of exquisite and fabulously expensive glasses. Your whole being screams that a wolf cannot love its prey, but your heart continues to beat faster every time you hear your own name spoken by your master.

— Y/N, — Pantalone smiles softly, pointing with his palm to his own knees, and you shyly put your hands behind your back, feeling the weight of the gazes of the other Harbingers sitting at a huge luxurious table.

Pantalone never needed a leash for you to blindly follow him. Your body and soul are drawn to this man by themselves, like a moth lost in the darkness, finally meeting a light. Only your fire exudes a chilling cold.

You awkwardly take a step forward, carefully settling into Pantalone's lap, and burrow into his fur coat. It looks soft, but for some reason it tingles so unpleasantly on the skin of your face.

One of the Regrator's palms rests on your hip, as it should. There's not a single place on your body that he can't touch, and you shouldn't care if outsiders are present.

You just have to stay diligent, pure, innocent, devoted. Obedient. You must behave the way he likes. Be humble, silent, and accommodating. Otherwise, how else will you please your master?

You raise your head uncertainly, casting a brief glance at Pantalone, which he ignores, continuing in his stoically calm manner to discuss something with other Harbingers. How stupid of you to think that he would pay attention to you. He's busy right now, and you have to be nothing more than an ornament sitting silently on his lap, otherwise without your presence he will simply die of boredom. The Regrator likes to sometimes just squeeze your hips or stroke your knee while he is busy with exhausting conversations, which he tries to avoid as much as possible.

You may blush, you may feel aroused by his touch, but you must not make a sound until both of you leave the hall or the other Harbingers vacate the room, leaving you alone. Even if his fingers thoughtlessly fiddle with the fabric of your underwear, even if they stroke the inside of your thighs, casually touching your crotch, even if the heat in the bottom of your stomach is so unbearable that you feel suffocating moans getting stuck in your throat, you must be quiet and obedient.

The owner can have fun with his toy as he wishes, and the toy should only remain sitting on his lap until he allows it to become human again.

You'll die for him if he asks you to. You'll let him kill you if he has to. No questions, no objections. Isn't that true love? Doesn't the fact that he allows someone like you to even be around prove his feelings? No, no, you're not even worthy of his feelings.

The blood is pumping so furiously through your burning veins, and your hips involuntarily clench around Pantalone's wrist as he roughly, possessively squeezes the elastic flesh of your thigh, and you almost crumble into pieces on his lap, desperately clutching the prickly fur of his robe. It's so embarrassing. You have to be stronger, you have to overcome with dignity the irresistible desire to just bury yourself in the curve of his neck, inhaling the tart scent of cologne, whispering his name over and over again, because if you can stand it…

— Good girl, — the Regrator's lips press against the top of your head as he whispers softly into your hair, continuing to maintain a strained smile on his face.

It's so warm.

The poor muscle in your chest is ready to burst apart. Just two words, but they always sound just for you.

You smile, barely restraining the urge to burst into tears, tightening your lips and nodding briefly, hiding your flushed face in the spikes of black fur again.

…if you can stand the bone-piercing cold, stand the way your heart bleeds, one day a wolf will be able to love his little animal, right?

#headcanons #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin drabbles #pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #regrator #regrator x reader #regrator x you #no fluff

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beanghostprincess · 6 months

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Zolu as Taylor Swift lyrics

"All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret." — peace

This is literally Zoro in Thriller Bark willing to die and keeping it a secret from everybody. I want to throw up. They make me mentally ill.

"Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep. Change my priorities. The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury. [...] Is this the end of all the endings? My broken bones are mending with all these nights we're spending. Up on the roof with a schoolgirl crush, drinking beer out of plastic cups. Say you fancy me, not fancy stuff. Baby, all at once, this is enough. And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for. King of my heart, body and soul." — King Of My Heart

King Of My Heart is so Zolu coded, not only because of, y'know, Luffy being literally the King of Zoro's heart, but because of the devotion and the feeling that nobody else compares to Luffy. Also, the feeling of young love and possessiveness between them is so good with this song.

"And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you. I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all." — Lover

Zoro is in love with the future king of the pirates. Everybody wants Luffy. Of course Zoro is going to be jealous.

"Wherever you stray I follow. I'm begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans, that's my man. You know that my train could take you home, anywhere else is hollow. [...] Wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark. Show me the places where the others gave you scars." — willow

The devotion. Zoro willing to follow Luffy to hell. Luffy wanting to know Zoro better, deeper. Knowing every detail about his scars and dreams. I'm going insane.

"And if I'm gonna be drunk, might as well be drunk in love. [...] Everyone wants him, that was my crime." — Slut!

Ah yes, being possessive and an alcoholic. Zoro's best character traits.

"'Cause I don't know how it gets better than this. You take my hand and drag me head first, fearless." — Fearless

This is very early Zolu but honestly could just be them being silly and Zoro following Luffy's silly and impulsive shenanigans.

"My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again. These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon: I was enchanted to meet you... Please don't be in love with someone else... Please don't have somebody waiting on you." — Enchanted

Sabaody angst haunts me at night.

"You made a mess of me. I pictured you with other girls in love, then threw up on the street. [...] Oh my, love is a lie, shit my friends say to get me by. It hits different. It hits different this time." — Hits Different

They're so... The one for each other. Their love hits different. For both of them.

"So you were never a saint, and I've loved in shades of wrong. We learn to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts. But this love is brave and wild. [...] These are the hands of fate, you're my Achilles heel. This is the golden age of something good and right and real." — State of Grace

They're each other's Achilles heel. I'm gonna cry.

"Time, mystical time, cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine. Were there clues I didn't see? And isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me? [...] Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons. One single thread of gold tied me to you." — invisible string

Thinking that they were destined to be together is cheesy af but I don't care <3

"I see how this is gon' go, touch me and you'll never be alone. Island breeze and lights down low. No one has to know. [...] Every lover known in comparison is a failure. I forget their names now, I'm so very tame now. Never be the same now." — ...Ready For It?

Once again saying that they're the one for each other. And also this song is just the vibes. They have these vibes. I don't want to explain it because I got tired of writing this halfway.

"Kiss me once 'cause you know I had a long night. Kiss me twice 'cause it's gonna be alright. Three times 'cause I've waited my whole life. I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings." — Paper Rings

They're so clingy so sappy so cheesy I don't care what dudebros think.

"You were so magnetic, it was almost obnoxious. [...] I didn't come here to make friends, we were born to be suburban legends. When you hold me, it holds me together. And you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever." — Suburban Legends

Luffy has always been, ever since they met, magnetic to Zoro. And it kind of bothered him at first, but now Luffy has changed his life forever and he will never love somebody else the way he loves Luffy.

"And, somehow, I know that you and I would've found each other. In another life, you still would've turned my head even if we'd met... [...] 'Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this. So, even in a different life, you still would've been mine... We would've been timeless." — Timeless

Once again saying that I love thinking they're soulmates. Because they are. Argue with the wall.

"I'm yours to keep, and I'm yours to lose." — So It Goes...

I love codependency.

"But we might just get away with it. Religion's in your lips. Even if it's a false god. We'd still worship. We might just get away with it. The altar is my hips. Even if it's a false god. We'd still worship this love. I know heaven's a thing. I go there when you touch me. Honey hell is when I fight with you." — False God

Zoro worshipping Luffy like a God will never not be extremely romantic and passionate. Luffy also sees their relationship like this, kind of. They're each other's world!!! Going crazy!!!

"Put your lips close to mine as long as they don't touch. Out of focus, eye to eye, 'til the gravity's too much. And I'll do anything you say if you say it with your hands." — Treacherous

This is just them pining over each other and being extremely intimate and willing to do anything the other says. I love exaggerating everything.

"They said the end is coming. Everyone's up to something. I find myself running home to your sweet nothings. [...] And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more". To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it." — Sweet Nothing

I honestly always think about Sanuso with this song because it's way more Sanuso coded- HOWEVER!! I do think Zolu has this domestic and genuine energy whenever they're clingy and don't really ask anything from the other except just being together.

"Big reputation, big reputation. You and me, we got big reputations. And you heard about me. I got some big enemies. [...] I swear I don't love the drama, it loves me. And I can't let you go, your handprint's on my soul. It's like your eyes are liquor, it's like your body is gold." — End Game

Do I really need to explain this one when everybody knows they're literally dramatic pirates wanted by the law? And they're very very in love?

"All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life. Got a feelin' your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life. And I want you now, wanna need you forever. In the heat of your electric touch." — Electric Touch

When OPLA!Zoro said that Luffy had changed his life. That changed me.

"We blocked the noise with the sound of 'I need you', and for the first time I had something to lose." — Holy Ground

Once again this is about OPLA!Zoro but obviously works with our regular Zolu. Zoro was so lost without Luffy I'm gonna cry.

"One night he wakes, strange look on his face. Pauses, then says: You're my best friend. And you knew what it was. He is in love." — You Are In Love

This is the perfect way to describe a relationship between aroaspec people. Also, this is giving Sanuso too but this is not a Sanuso post I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so-

"Don't blame me, love made me crazy. If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right. Lord, save me, my drug is my baby, I'll be usin' for the rest of my life. My name is whatever you decide, and I'm just gonna call you mine." — Don't Blame Me

I don't need to explain this one.

"My hand was the one you reached for all throughout the Great War." — The Great War

I always think about ASL and Marineford with this one but tbh it is very Zolu too.

#i hope y'all like this bc i spent like 2 hours listenting to taylor for this #not that i'm complaininig tho #why are they so dramatic and poetic i am going to die #gay people and their dramatic songs about devotion huh #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #zolu #one piece #zoro x luffy #luffy x zoro #taylor swift

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vounoura · 6 months

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ok as promised. I had one of these years ago but it was unfortunately lost in a blog purge, but it's actually really important information ESO goes out of its way to hide at every turn, so dear new players:

despite what the game tells you, you should NOT start with any DLC zone, or at least not any DLC zone that was released before Murkmire. As far as I'm aware (and feel free to correct me if I'm wrong), every story DLC after that is fairly self-contained to its own series of chapters, but everything before that was part of a linear plot that spanned multiple years.

Furthermore, ESOs design has for some backwards reason made it so that you are not required to play through base game MSQ first and also skips the initial Coldharbour sequence, both of which are literally the entire setup for the game's plot and why your character is the way they are. This makes things incredibly confusing and everyone I know hates it with a passion.

Therefore, to clear things up a bit:

In all circumstances, you need to do the base game intro, which can be started from the Hooded Figure found in your alliance's starting city (Vukhel Guard -> AD, Daggerfall -> DC, Davon's Watch -> EP). This will have you go through the original tutorial meant for the base game, and will set up the main plot and explain why your character is the way that they are.

iirc, this should immediately plant you in your alliance's initial starting zone, which is where you'll find the start of your alliance's MSQ which will take you through 5 zones. You need to do one from start to finish to start the end Coldharbour sequence. In addition, you need to also do the Harborage quests which is also necessary to enter Coldharbour.

Coldharbour is the end zone for MSQ content, and is the base game's conclusion. You also need to do this entire zone from start to finish, trust me it's good.

It's not necessary but recommended that you play through the Ebonheart Pact MSQ, either as your first or through Cadwell's Silver / Gold (which basically allow you to play through the other Alliance's MSQs as if you started them). You do not need to, but there is a character introduced in EP who will become critically important later and she will recognize if you've met before, and knowing her beforehand helps. If you're wondering, that character is Naryu Virian.

iirc Imperial City is canonically right after Coldharbour, but as it's a DLC centred in Cyrodiil (a strict PvP zone) I never actually did it. If you're okay with missing some things you can skip it - I did, and was perfectly fine.

Orsinium needs to be done first after Coldharbour or Imperial City. It's plot directly sets up the Daedric War storyline, which is the main plot that runs for a while after base game MSQ. Do not play anything else until you've finished Orsinium.

Thieves Guild is for the most part inconsequential and can be played any time or skipped if you want. You cannot skip Dark Brotherhood - you need to play through enough of it to see the Sweet Roll Killer series of quests involving Naryu Virian and Razum-Dar, because this will directly foreshadow the plot going forward.

Morrowind comes after DBH. You need to do BOTH the MSQ AND the Balmora sidequests, which involve Naryu Virian and a character named Veya Releth. Balmora is CRITICALLY important for Summerset, you CANNOT skip it.

Clockwork City follows Morrowind, you need to do its MSQ. CwC sets up Summerset's plot, and leads directly into it.

Summerset is the Daedric War plot's conclusion, and you need to do its MSQ. If you have not done everything I have just told you IN THIS ORDER, you will be missing context. You will not know who the main villain is and why them being there is critically tragic. You will not know the threads that lead to this point. You will not know Summerset was the conclusion to literal years worth of storyline.

You need to play through everything in this order. Do not deviate. Every DLC after this (Murkmire to, as of the time of writing, Necrom) is as far as I'm aware it's own self-contained thing, but this isn't.

TOO LONG, DIDN'T READ: base game tutorial -> alliance MSQ/Harborage -> Coldharbour -> Imperial City if you want -> Orsinium -> Dark Brotherhood + The Sweet Roll Killer sidequests -> Morrowind + Balmora sidequests -> Clockwork City -> Summerset

DO NOT DEVIATE FROM THIS ORDER FOR ANY REASON!

#saint.txt #THE RETURN OF THE KING or whatever #anyways I hope this helps people I don't know why the game is designed this way either

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shi-daisy · 13 days

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The Last Evergreen Heir

Hello everyone! We start the week for best book boy today and I am ready to bring feels. Here's a lil fic of Tamlin's eldest brother seeing snipets of his reign. (Follows A Court of Threads & Daisies continuity) Hope you like!

@tamlinweek

Tamlin Week 2024- Day 1- Heir of Spring

The Last Evergreen Heir

"If you end up getting high from eating those tulips I'm blaming Ciaran." Dorevan said as he held baby Tamlin.

The giggly baby had eaten more than half the garden, as his tiny hands were faster than Dorevan's adult ones. Still, as he looked back Tamlin had used his magic to make the flowers bloom again after her ate them.

"That's a lot of a magic for a tiny child like you...Does this mean you shall be heir?!"

Tamlin didn't respond he just tilted his head as the loud question and coed, reaching for Dorevan's face.

His eldest brother rolled his eyes. "Don't even think about it kiddo. It's between me and Cece, and I don't intend to lose the court to the stoner or to you, flower eater. I've been here longest and dealt with father before either of you were born. I'm the heir, do well to remember!"

But Tamlin didn't remember, because he was just a baby who didn't see a man lecturing him, or at least attempting to, he just saw his eldest brother carrying him back to the manor.

***

He'd said it, been cruel about it, drilled into the youth's head that he was not to threatening his claim.

It didn't matter. By process of elimination Tamlin Evergreen was now High Lord of Spring.

He could see his body as a ghost, he died reaching for his father who was but a spalt of gore on the wall. Rosabella was still on the bed with the life choked out of her, while Ciaran was slumped against the bed, trying to comfort Tamlin before he too joined them in death.

He knew the pair reconciled today, mere hours before Night came to them and slaughtered everyone in revenge. Dorevan tried to place his hand on Tamlin's shoulder as he cried for his other brother. Neither deserved the tears, but when had that ever stopped the musician from giving them all undeserved love?

"No more tears, you're the heir. It's time to toughen up! You'll do well...You'll do better than either of us..."

***

He'd been right, for Spring bloomed under the rule of the unexpected High Lord.

Dorevan remained a ghost while his parents and brother reincarnated. He decided to stick around and see what Tamlin would do as a ruler, someone had to tell him he did a good job, even if he couldn't hear it.

The flowers bloomed, the court was paradise, the people loved him and Tamlin remained ever humble and sentimental. He was indeed the best out of them.

'If only I'd seen it sooner, and been a better brother.'

Lamenting would do nothing now, but he did stand beside the throne and smiled, placing his hand upon Tamlin's head. "I'm so proud of you, I know mother would be too."

Tamlin's emerald eyes darted around the room, as if he'd heard him...

***

His baby brother wept again as another sentry was lost. Lucien held him in his arms while the pair kneeled on the floor, the other soldiers present grieved by his side, still none of them refused their duty. They never would, not with this High Lord.

Amarantha had cursed him...Bloody wench always gave the impression she'd be trouble, Dorevan just didn't think she'd be this much!

"Falling for a fae hating human...pity we can't make Jurian turn back from the ring, he's your type...Maybe I shouldn't be joking around."

Dorevan remained with Tamlin until he fell asleep in tears. The man tried to be though, well not tried, he was though.

"If I was in your position right now I would've jumped off the roof...You're a though cookie Tam. Let it out, they'll understand. I know you'll make it. You're a good High Lord.

***

Andras was with him when his brother brought the girl, and throught their cute romance that resulted in the broken curse and the restoration of Spring.

But just as he thought Tamlin got his happy ending and he could leave...the cursebreaker became a cursebringer tearing down the court that had been unwavering for milenia.

Oisin would be furious, Ciaran disapointed...Rosabella might understand but then again their mother was a saint and a sensitive sould.

Dorevan just broke, upon seeing the once proud ruler of Spring become but a beast swallowed by pain as he court emptied and left him tot he decay.

"We can't help him. Dore, we need to trust him. He'll rise again."

Dorevan wasn't so sure, he knew how frail his baby brother's heart was. He just hoped in time Tamlin would heal and recover, making the court bloom again as only he could.

"Don't worry, little one. We will look over you, until you rise again."

***

He wouldn't, not as High Lord of Spring or Evergreen Heir. Tamlin was now a civillian of Spring, after his wrists spilled crimson and he nearly joined him and the other ghosts of the manor.

Dorevan thanked Lucien a thousand times for saving his baby brother, but he hadn't been able to save his power.

"So, Tamarand shall be heir now?" He asked Daphne as they waited in the foyer with the other ghosts.

"I suppose so. Don't worry, he'll have Tamlin to guide him, he shall be good."

"I don't doubt that...I'm just saddened at the end of the Evergreen dynasty. This isn't how Tam would've wanted it to go."

It had been a shock, to meet a half sister in the afterlife and find out he had triplet half siblings. The two living ones were probably heading to the manor now, with the new Heir of Spring.

Still, even if he trusted things would work in the end, Dorevan's eyes couldn't be pried from Tamlin and Lucien. They seemed to think the same as him.

Tamlin is heir no more.

***

Though one could argue it didn't matter. That he was able to shine far brighter and work much better with another man as heir. Tamlin had carried the weight of the crown better than any man in his position could and now he was helping another be better than him, wiser than him, maybe even more beloved than him.

No, no that last one was debatable. Tamarand was an exemplary man, and he'd be a great High Lord. But all of Spring reveared and still adored one Tamlin Evergreen.

He'd been pulled back to life by Rhysand, just an experiment, a way to torment him and his baby brother more, but Rhysand didn't know that his own wife and cousin were on their side, and that between them all they'd put an end to his cursed reign and his circle.

He had the honor of fighting alongside Tamlin, and seeing how the little baby he once held had become a fierce warrior that helped snuff away the Night.

When the battle was over and he went back to Spring his with his family Dorevan had been able to see a court blooming beautifully. It was better than what Oisin could've done, better than what he or Ciaran could've done, it was perfection, achieved by the youngest and kept by their half brother. Truly the ending they deserved.

Dorevan walked the same gardens he did as when they were young. Tamlin was no longer a baby, and thankfully he didn't eat the tulips but rather he helped them bloom.

"You better not eat that or I'll blame Cece."

The youngest Evergreen chuckled. "Can't, he isn't here..."

"Yeah. I miss him, but I am happy to be back, and even happier to see you still standing here. I'll make up for lost time, and I'll be a better brother, I promise."

Tamlin leaned on his shoulders. "Thank you. I'm happy to have you back."

"There's something I don't regret though. Something I stand by even after centuries in the afterlife."

"What's that?"

"You were the best out of us three and I'm so very proud of you Tamlin. You let our dynasty go out on a high note."

Just like he did as a baby, Tamlin smiled with teary emerald eyes and a sense of pride.

"It was an honor to have been heir of Spring."

#tamlinweek2024 #tamlin #dorevan evergreen #implied tamcien #day 1: heir of spring

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strawberryvanillablast · 1 year

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Marionette's Strings (Giorno Giovanna X Reader)

For Giorno Month 2023! @mrsgiovanna.

Prompt: Nightmares.

Fluff Sentence: "Sleep, darling, I'll protect you from the nightmares."

This prompt was made for me. >:D

TW: Nightmares, Blood mention, Puppets

It was quiet, too quiet.

Giorno frowned as he looked around the office. Something was amiss in the air and dread slowly crawled down his spine. He stood up, eyes warily training on every nook and cranny of the office. Giorno decided to get a glass of water, to calm his nerves before he worked again. His Stand, Gold Experience Requiem, hummed under his skin frantically.

'Something's wrong,' Giorno thought. 'I can feel it. Something is really wrong here and I don't know what it is.'

He slowly descended down the stairs to the living room where he was hit with a strong sense of fear. The living room was cloaked in an inky, thick darkness where he could barely make out the various shapes of the furniture. He frowned as he grabbed the stairs' railing tightly, very careful to tread lightly on the steps. However, he slipped and fell right into some liquid.

"Huh," Giorno blinked, flabbergasted, and looked at his hands. "What, what the hell?"

His eyes widened when he saw what liquid stained his hands. It was a deep dark red with a strong iron scent. His stomach churned with the familiar discomfort of nausea as he tried to get away from this river. It wasn't until he was back in the office somehow. He looked all around.

"Giorno."

That was Bruno's voice. Giorno turned around to see Bruno standing there, looking at him lifelessly. Around his neck, arms, and legs were thin threads. The strings jerked Bruno's body erratically as it tumbled over to Giorno. Giorno bit back a scream, horrified.

"B-Bucciarati," Giorno stuttered. "How did this happen...?"

"What are your orders, Giorno," Bruno's voice mumbled mechanically. "We will follow you to the end, Giorno. We will die for you, Giorno." His voice sounded rough, scratchy, robotic. As if he was another mafioso.

"Bruno," Giorno whispered. "Bruno, what are you talking about?"

"You are the Don of Passione now, Giorno," Bruno continued on. "You control every single one of our movements." His arm waved and soon, all of Giorno's friends appeared in the same state that Bruno was. "It's all up to you, Don Giorno. You command us. You're our puppeteer."

"W-What?"

Giorno looked down at his hands in horror. His lithe fingers had been tightly intertwined with thin cords of string, like that of a puppeteer. He tried to get the strings off his hands but found that he could not move an inch. Giorno found that his own arms and legs were tied up in string.

"Yes," A low voice sneered in the air. "You are the puppeteer, Giorno Giovanna. But you'll always be a puppet in my hands."

Giorno dared to look up and saw a demonic Diavolo grinning down at him with his claws puppeteering Giorno's arms and legs. Giorno tried to struggle against the string, but it was useless, useless, useless...

"GioGio," A soft voice gently whispered. "GioGio, time to wake up. It's time for you to take your medicine."

Giorno's eyes fluttered open to see an angelic face looking at him and a soft hand petting his hair. For a few minutes, he was confused as to what happened while he was moved into a sitting position on the bed by the angel, who was none other than [Y/N]. A faint bell mixed with a light weight jumping on the bed and cuddling next to him revealed to be Midnight, the Passione cat.

"What happened?" Giorno whispered, confused.

"You have a fever," [Y/N] answered gently, gently handing him the cup of medicine. "No doubt from overworking and the weather change."

"Fever, huh," Giorno huffed a mirthless laugh as he drank the cup of medicine. "That explains it."

"You mean the nightmare you had," [Y/N]'s brows furrowed. "Yeah, I can't imagine it was all that pleasant."

"It was," Giorno sighed, gently petting Midnight. "Well, it was horrible. I was like a marionette on strings and everyone else was, too. And, as I was trying to get the strings off, I saw..." A shudder. "I saw... him."

"Oh," [Y/N] whispered in understanding before smiling and holding Giorno's face in their hands. "It'll be okay. It's just a weird dream."

"I know," Giorno nodded gently. "It's just that it was frightening and seemed too real."

"It feels like that, sometimes," [Y/N] nodded in understanding. "Want me to stay here until you fall asleep?"

"...Yes," Giorno answered after a moment's hesitation. "I would really like that."

[Y/N] gently laid Giorno down while Midnight adjusted so that she could cuddle up to Giorno. Giorno smiled and let his eyes slip close while [Y/N] stroked his hair lovingly.

"Sleep, darling," He heard them whisper. "I'll protect you from the nightmares."

#jojo bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo kimyou no bouken #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jjba part 5 #jojo part 5 #jjba pt 5 #jojo pt 5 #vento aureo #golden wind #giorno giovanna #giorno x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x y/n #giorno giovanna x y/n #jjba oc #midnight the cat #bruno bucciarati

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intheorangebedroom · 1 year

Text

Pleased to meet you, chapter 15

Summary: You eventually made up your mind, but acting on it is a whole different story. Time is ticking on you. An afternoon at the museum with Will precipitates everything.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: So yeah, Plainsong became Flaming June... Don't ask! You'll see. If you'd like a song to go with this one, may I suggest Maps, by Yeah Yeah Yeahs? And if ever you're interested, @deadmantis (my favourite enabler) sent me an ask (thank you 🧡) that has allowed me to ramble discuss Reader & Benny's relationship further.

A million thank you Fanna my darling for making this gorgeous gif of those two kings. I am still giggly from it and I promise next time I won't ask on such short notice 🧡

@meandorla I don't know where I'd be without you... Thank you for your time, your help, your enthusiasm, your sharp understanding of them and their story. For bearing with me, and helping me find my way as I'm approaching the end of this story 🧡 Ily 🧡

Word count: 5.7k

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter 15: Flaming June

Time is such an odd thing. A social construct, as they say.

And you have spent so much of it reading on the subject, from nebulous scientific essays in specialised publications that left you questioning your intellectual abilities, to popular articles in mainstream media, trying to understand how two days and three nights in an orange bedroom could have contained all of your past and your entire future.

How the fifteen years that followed could have lasted longer than ten life sentences.

How it violently collapsed in on itself as you walked into a dingy New Jersey bar, only to be propelled into an ascending spiral, gathering speed and momentum, yet still endlessly stretching on.

Monday morning finds you rested. With the heavy curtains blocking the early morning sun, for the first time in months, you’ve slept soundly until your alarm rung.

Benny snoring lightly next to you.

Rested but restless, hating yourself because you couldn’t find it in you to say “no” when he asked if he could stay the night at your place. It took his massive presence in your small apartment for you to realise you own only one pillow.

But he didn’t mind, of course he didn’t. In appearance unfazed, undeterred, cheerful and patient as always, even when you pushed away his hands under the sheets with a bullshit excuse.

How you’d wanted him to call you out on the obvious lies, confront you about your distance, the fact that you hardly ever let him fuck you anymore when you two used to get down to it in his brother’s pick-up parked on the side of the road.

Are your lies so expertly hidden, or is Benny so well-trained to your recurrent distance? The persistence of his affection just another blemish on your conscience, another blame for you to carry on your own. Besides, you have no right to wish for him to make this any easier for you, anyway.

When you set off for work, he left with you, to swing by his house before his morning run and when he pulled you in for one last hug, holding you flush against his firm, wide chest, you let him. You strengthened your hold, threading your fingers through his thick blond hair, incapable of holding back your words, laced with guilt and regret. “You’re so good, Benjamin.”

Time is ticking on you. As loud as the clock back in Rosie’s kitchen when you got up to leave. Relentless, no matter how hard you dig in your heels, how desperately you try to stall for more. One more day. One more night. One last kiss, one last fuck.

And now it’s 10am again. Forty-eight hours since you’d sat in Frankie’s truck with the unreasoned, remorseless desire to let him know that you’ve never stopped waiting, that you have always cared. That to you, he’s still the same. You could swear it’s been forty-eight years.

Twenty-four hours since you opened your door and let him in. Twenty-two since you’ve felt his lips on your neck, his skin etching your skin.

And how long exactly until you can’t pretend any longer that it never happened? That your thoughts are only of him; your sole concern the fate that awaits him when he goes back to work today?

Tomorrow, you reprise like a chorus. Tomorrow, you’ll act. Tomorrow every week.

And in the meantime, you hide in the cracks, seeking physical discomfort to lull your sadness to sleep.

The noise of the bookstore metallic shutters winding up that fills your brain like boulders made of lead tumbling down a cliff.

The sweltering atmosphere in the small, quaint shop when you get inside. The drop of sweat that rolls down your spine with every ample movement, until Suzanne walks in after lunch and turns on the antique AC unit that has only two positions: cold and freezing.

The rasp in your throat from the frigid, artificial air.

The unpleasant customers, the chatty ones and the obnoxious, the ones you hope will never visit again.

The burn in your lungs when you draw another drag, Fayçal’s words adding a guilty flavour to the tar aroma of the nicotine. “Tu fumes trop, cousine.”

The proximity of hot and smelly strangers' bodies on the 7pm bus.

And when you finally make it home, well, another day has passed. Time your unlikely ally. Monday an unexpected truce.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you’ll act.

The plastic handles of your heavy grocery bag is cutting off the blood circulation in your fingers and your key jams in the front door when you try to unlock it, winded from the four floor climb.

The muffled ringtone of your phone has you cursing loudly at first, before your body stiffens at a sudden thought.

Rosie. Could it be Rosie? Tomorrow is Tuesday. Could she be reaching out to you? Hope rattles your heart in your chest, the grocery bag dropping to the floor when you grab your phone from the back pocket of your short denim overalls, your other hand frantically jiggling the key.

The lock gives as you read the caller ID on the screen.

Ironhead

Will doesn’t text. He calls. You hate it, speaking on the phone makes you uncomfortable, you need time to think over your words. But where Benny can be flexible, Will never caves. You text, he calls. And that’s the end of it.

However, you don’t hesitate before picking up, kicking the bag inside your apartment, groceries scattered and rolling on the carpeted floor.

“Allô?” you answer in French, locking the door behind you.

“I thought you were going to send me to voicemail there for a second,” he taunts. “How are you?”

“No, no, I’m only just getting home. What’s up?”

Will marks a pause, and you grimace at your poorly performed deflection.

“Right,” he answers in his measured drawl. “Calling about tomorrow. Shall we meet over there, or should I come to pick you up? Did you finally buy that car?”

Tomorrow.

Fuck.

—

The GPS promises an hour’s drive from your place to 1 East 70th Street, but you’ve lived here long enough to know that the constant traffic will nearly double that, even on an early Tuesday afternoon. Reaching the destination is only the first part of the adventure; finding a parking spot there is always the real challenge.

You’d be fine riding the subway but Will systematically insists that it’s faster this way. Deep down, you don’t really mind the drive. The New York City skyline appearing on the horizon of the New Jersey Turnpike is a spectacle you have yet to tire of. Growing up in Paris meant learning early on to make the best out of the busy, stressful capital, in particular by preserving your ability to marvel at its postcard landmarks.

Despite the increasing tension running through you since early April winding you up like a power line, you welcome this opportunity to spend the afternoon with Will, certain that his self-possessed, even demeanour will soothe and balance your own.

As the car takes the last U-turn before entering the Lincoln Tunnel, where more traffic awaits, you offer to give him cash for the toll, knowing full well he will turn it down.

“I choose the route, I pay the toll,” he tells you with a half smile. “You can pay for the first round.”

The midnight blue, tight polo he’s wearing darkens his eyes. Your gaze lingers affectionately on the large tattoos adorning his brawny forearms, before you become aware that you are trying to memorise them, and you push back the nagging thought that this might be the last time the two of you hang out together.

The tickets have been booked months in advance, Will sharing your excitement, with only slightly less exuberance, at the prospect of seeing Flaming June, on loan from the Museo de Arte de Ponce and presented at the Frick Collection. One of your favourite pieces by Frederic Leighton, whose work you’ve only seen printed in books or badly reproduced on postcards, save for a painting in Orsay and one in the Tate Gallery in London.

Booked before your world was tipped off its axis, and you completely forgot about the exhibition.

Now, there’s a spring in your step when you get out of the car. You got dolled up, and enjoyed doing so, for the first time in what feels like a long while. Red lipstick and loose hair, you even put on a dress, sleeveless with a deep V-cut in the front and in the back, pretty knots tied over your shoulders. If this is a funeral, let it be one worth remembering.

You can barely pace yourself as you make your way through the mixed crowd of tourists and art enthusiasts across the Garden Court of the Frick. Will’s heavy boots resound on the marble flooring as he lengthens his strides to catch up with you. You step into the Oval Room like others walk into churches for mass, with reverent apprehension, devotion, and respect.

And then, it’s there.

Leighton’s masterpiece punches the air out of your lungs. You stare at it in stricken silence, mouth agape, Will standing behind you to your right, arms folded on his chest.

There’s a small, wistful smile on his lips, as he lets the painting bring him back to his college years and resurfacing lessons on academic style, Victorian era, aesthetic considerations and concepts. Seemingly unproductive yet essential hours spent debating perspectives and artists’ intents, the reminiscence an indulgence only you and your friendship can provide. A futile and necessary contentment only you can share with him.

You two have discussed it in the past, early in your relationship, when you had asked him if he had any regrets. He had none, he claimed with dignified resignation, save perhaps for the lack of recognition for what he had sacrificed to accomplish his duty.

After a moment spent in silent contemplation, he takes a step closer to you, and he’s about to share his thoughts when your absent expression stops him in his tracks. You’re standing a few inches from him, yet you are miles, or rather years away from the Oval Room.

Time has recoiled and wound back like a reversed mechanism. The woman at the centre of the painting, sleeping languidly and with a trustful, serene abandon, is draped in a sheer orange gown, her long, luxuriant hair parted on both sides of her body like a cascading, lush blanket. Above her, the sun sets on a placid sea, under a pastel pink summer sky.

The gown leaps out of its frame to grip at your throat, its colour louder than any copy you’ve ever seen in art catalogues, Wikipedia page or websites, and you recognise it instantly. This particular shade has been seared into your flesh and your soul. It’s your past and a lost promise. It is love and safety. It is desire and trust. It’s two worlds colliding on a sunny and warm Sunday morning in July.

There’s a prickling sensation at the corner of your eyes. Will sucks his teeth in and his stare sharpens. Propping his hands on his hips, he takes another step closer to you, and whispers, “You alright, there?”

You run your hands over your arms to hide the shivers that won’t leave your skin. When you speak, it’s in a distant voice, your eyes locked on the rumpled gown hugging the model’s figure.

“You know, my grandparents had curtains just like that in their living-room,” you start. “My grandma was a seamstress. She had made them herself.”

Will nods in silence.

“Why couldn’t you stay with your grandfather, after she died?” he asks bluntly, albeit in a soft tone.

You love his forthrightness and have always appreciated his lack of pretence. It puts you at ease, and grants you the freedom to provide him, or not, with an answer.

“I did, for a couple of months, but he was too overwhelmed with grief. It was as though he couldn’t function anymore, without her. He got very depressed, very quickly, and, well, you know what happened next.”

Will knows, if not in the darkest details, about your difficult relationship with your mother, and your grandfather’s passing within two years of your grandmother’s death.

“What about your father? You never talk about him.”

“Ah yes,” you can’t keep the bitterness out of your scoff, “him. Said he wasn’t ready to be a father. Then went on and married another woman, who got pregnant, like, fifteen minutes later.”

You keep facing the painting, your spine a rigid metal rod, because you don’t think yourself capable of withholding his astonishment and the question you know he’ll ask next.

“You mean you have siblings?”

“No,” you reply a little too fiercely. “As far as I’m concerned I’m an only child. These people are not my family. I found out about my father’s death two weeks after they’d buried him.”

Behind you, Will exhales slowly, deeply, and you realise he’s standing closer to you than you thought.

“My father loved art,” he says, eventually. “His parents wanted him to learn what they called a ‘real trade’, but he never stopped reading and learning about it. Pretty sure I got it from him. And he certainly never objected when I said I wanted to study it.”

In turn, you sigh and let your hands fall to your sides.

You stand in silence side by side for a while longer, before he asks again. “So? Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

“It’s more,” you murmur.

“McSorley’s?”

“McSorley’s,” you reply with a nod, drawing away from Flaming June.

—

Ever since you had landed in Newark, you’d been more than conflicted regarding the transient nature of your stay here. The part of you that hated to be away from Paris for longer than a summer vacation considered the move transitory. An internal countdown was permanently ticking in the back of your head towards the end of your three-year sabbatical, and you had failed - if not refused - to adjust to your new home in more ways than one. Your stubborn use of the metric system being just the comedic tip of the iceberg.

Yet you had had all your books and belongings shipped to your new address the very day you got the keys to your apartment. You had never even raised the subject with Rosie, let alone with Will or Benny, instead slipping deliberately into a comfortable routine to neutralise your homesickness.

Will had first taken you to the historical ale house, an East Village institution, after you had confided in him that you missed Europe as a whole. “It’s not that I feel French when I’m here,” you’d said, “I feel European. I can’t explain.” The Irish pub had been his answer, his own vision of good ol’ Europe, and the bar had quickly become a mandatory stop whenever you visited the city together.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside the pub when you follow him in, but the wood chips on the floor, catching on the leather sole of your huaraches sandals, feel comfortingly familiar.

Will places the order at the bar while you take a sit at one of the round tables, glancing at the hanging wishbones covered in a hundred years worth of greasy dust, wondering, as always, if any of them belonged to a pilot, only this time you know yours has returned from his wars, if not entirely sound and safe.

Once the waiter has brought in four half pints of McSorley’s ale, you start sharing your impressions on the exhibition, digressing to the importance of the pre-Raphaelites avant-garde in the Victorian Era before the conversation naturally dies.

The strong ale has given you a pleasant buzz, you’re light-headed, but nicely so, and you prop your elbow on the thick wooden table to rest your face in your hand. Staring emptily at the floor, you’re unaware of Will’s gaze fixed on you. The man is twice your mass and it takes more than a pint of beer to get him remotely tipsy. His next question falls on your neck like a guillotine.

“So, where do you know Frankie from?”

Your cheek glued to your palm, you pivot your head on your arm to face him, eyes as wide as saucers giving away your alarm.

He leans back against the back of his chair, his forearms on his thighs, impassive, his steely blue eyes plunged into yours, and you feel like a field mouse that fell prey to a hawk.

You want to answer, you really do, but your teeth are stuck together and all you can do is frown, conceal the panic beneath pretend outrage, knowing all too well he will not let go. Sure enough, he seems to rethink and tilts his head to the side, sits up and leans forward over the table.

“Wait… maybe the better question is, when do you know Frankie from?”

Would it be so bad if it ended here? With Will? The man already knows more about you than his brother does, would the damage be greater if he knew it all? Panic turns to capitulation, and capitulation reshapes into relief.

The dead weight of weeks of dissimulation slowly slides off your shoulders. You straighten up, eventually, and look your friend in the eyes when you answer, in a flat tone, “1999.”

Whether he didn’t expect such an easy win or didn’t suspect such a long time, Will is visibly taken aback, and you ponder if you should speak first or wait for him to question you further. The man has been trained in interrogation techniques, you might want to take the lead in that conversation. Is he still your friend?

Your voice is hoarse, and the prickling sensation is swelling again under your eyelids, but your mind is clear. Deep inside your chest, a foreign feeling flares up, one that you fail to identity at first.

“We met at a party I went to with Rosie. It was in July. Just before he joined the Army. We-” your words get stuck in your dry throat, your eyes flicking down to your empty glasses, fuck this is harder than anything, “we spent the weekend together.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek, that you only register when it reaches your jaw and hangs there before it falls on your forearm. Anger. What you feel is anger.

“So it was just a one-off thing?” he prods.

More tears threaten to spill and you look upward to try to hold them back, breathing in through your nose and exhaling shakily through parted lips. When you look at him again, your face conveys so much pain and disillusion, he falls back against his chair, as if to avoid the ripples of your sadness.

“What do you think, William? Would you be here, asking me those questions, if it was just a one-off thing?”

You take in the embarrassment on his face when he hangs his head, running his tongue other his teeth.

“Yes,” he concedes. “So what happened?”

“We got separated by dumb fucking bad luck, is what happened. I lost his number, that’s the short version.” You let the implications sink in. “Does Benny… suspect anything?” you add in a small voice, hoping you don’t sound as despicable as you feel.

“No. No, he doesn’t,” Will answers slowly. “But he’s worried. Said you were growing distant.”

Tears are freely rolling down your cheeks, now, but your brow remains knitted in anger. You can’t shake that off, nor do you want to, because it might be the last thing keeping you upright.

Will’s voice is considerably softer when he asks, “What are you going to do, then?”

“I don’t want to hurt him, you know,” you reply aggressively, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Oh you’re gonna hurt him,” he shoots back matter-of-factly, “I know you don’t want to, I believe you. But you will. I don’t know what you…” he trails off and reaches across the table to cover your hand with his, encircling your wrist with his strong fingers, giving it a hard squeeze as he continues in a tone of confidence.

“Look. I’ve known Frankie for a little over 10 years. To me, he’s always been like- like a puzzle with a missing piece. And then- then I see you together, in the same room… you’re not even talking… and I see the missing piece.”

A repressed sob shakes your chest and you pull your arm back to free your hand from his grip, so you can blow your nose, dry your cheeks, anything to give the illusion of composure, but he doesn’t let you.

“I don’t know what you’re gonna do, but I can’t imagine you staying with my brother, now. So whether you leave him for his best friend, or you just leave him, he’s gonna hurt.”

Letting go of your hand, he leans back again, shrugging his bulky shoulders, “It’s gonna be rough, probably on all of us but, I mean, that’s life. It’s not on you. This clown is lucky he didn’t get his heart broken earlier.”

It’s not on you.

A couple of days ago, his words would have triggered the imperious need to go home and give up, once more take it out on yourself, smoke a pack of lung cancer sticks, get shitfaced and blackout.

So that you can keep soldiering on and show the world that you haven’t let your traumas and your losses define you.

Will moves to stop you from digging your nails in your forearm, but you recoil from his touch, angry tears spilling out.

“Hey,” he calls, his palm extended toward you, his brow knitted in concern, “hey, I mean it. It’s not your fault. It’s a shitty situation. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

The image of Frankie’s cap on your countertop flashes through your mind, the ghost sensation of his hand spanning your body raising a new trail of goosebumps on your skin.

“I’m gonna need you to tell me that you’re hearing this,” he tries again. “It is not your fault.”

Slowly, his right hand reaches your forearm, grabbing it and pulling it gently away from your other arm. His grip on you is almost tender, and after a few seconds, you register the little circles his thumb is tracing on your skin.

“I hear you,” you articulate, eyes closed, before swallowing thickly, “I hear you,” you repeat, giving him the reassurance of eye contact.

“Do you have any idea of what you’re gonna do?”

The depth of his insightfulness causes your head to spin a little. Around you, the bar has filled up, people stepping in for drinks after a day of work, tourists with thick annotated guides on their tables, happy chatter and laughter bouncing off the walls covered with framed pictures of patrons from yesteryears, their solemn faces looking down on you.

“Yes,” you start, aware that speaking your plan out loud will give it substance and compel you to put it into motion, “I’m going to leave Benny.”

He gives you an encouraging nod, but his expression remains neutral, enabling you to continue, “I’ll speak to him tomorrow. I have to see Frankie, first, make sure he doesn’t tell him anything. I’ll tell Benny I met someone else, or that I’m not in love and things are getting too serious, I don’t know, he can hate me, it’s probably better, as long as he doesn’t lose his best friend.”

Will folds his arms on his chest and remains silent for an excruciatingly long moment, visibly weighing his next words. You know him well enough to understand that your willingness to shoulder the blame on your own forces his admiration. You’re not being entirely honest, however. Benny’s not really the one you want to protect. So when he speaks next, his words shoot through your body like a stray bullet.

“And where does that leave us?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper inaudibly under the cacophony of the pub, your throat closing up, and you clench your eyes shut to hold back a new wave of tears, hiding your face in your hand.

His heavy sigh sounds like defeat. He leans forward, hesitant, reaching for your hand once more, before changing his mind and sliding his napkin towards you across the table.

“Ok, let’s go, I’ll drive you home,” he offers, standing up and placing his hand on your shoulder.

“I need you to give me Frankie’s address, Will,” you say, dabbing the corner of your eyes with the tissue, removing small flakes of black mascara from your eyelids.

His grasp on your shoulder tightens.

“He’s up north. Come on, it’s late, I’ll drive you.”

—

Six months of probation, with weekly drug tests. Any refusal to comply and he’s welcome to seek employment elsewhere.

Frankie slams the front door of his house behind him and throws the keys onto the console table next to it. It’ll be six months until he can fly again, working as a mechanic under tech support supervision, with this asshole Giovanni who ratted him out bossing him around. Back to square one, and for what. A stupid, minor coke bust.

Storming into the open kitchen, he gets a bottle of beer out of the fridge, uncaps it and tosses the cap on the table, where it ricochets and falls on the tiled floor. The cold glass pressed against his right cheek does little to temper his mood, but he leaves it there for a minute, until the condensation runs down his hand and into his beard.

They had him drive over first thing Monday morning only to keep him waiting around all day, and have him come back again today to inform him of the conditions of his reinstatement, adding humiliation to injury. Well played.

He falls heavily on a kitchen chair, his blood boiling over the fast downward spin his life has recently taken, and the six months freshly added to his sixteen years of penance.

“You gotta get back on your game, pendejo. It stops now,” he mutters to the bottle in his hand.

Just because you’re not his doesn’t alter the fact that he doesn’t want you to bear witness to his fuck-ups. You’re here. You’re real.

Two days later, he has barely come down from the intoxicating sensation that came with the smoothness of your skin under his fingers, the weight of your breast in his hand, your scent between his lips, he could almost taste you as he ran his tongue over them, rushing back down the stairs.

And the elation, the vengeful rightfulness he felt, taking the passenger seat of the Mustang next to Benny. The thought ugly and rampant, stifling his lungs, envy, near hostility, as he glanced in his direction from under the brim of his hat with ill-concealed fury. Resentment over his happiness, simmering and threatening to choke him until he had to remind himself that he would never have found you again if it wasn’t for him. Wouldn’t even be alive, for that matter.

But fuck. You are his.

You chased his mouth with yours. He didn’t imagine that. Reached out for his skin, moved by the same frantic need that made him seek yours. Dug your nails in his arms and your scent on that pillow…

“FUCK!”

The chair crashes with a clatter onto the floor when he stands up.

The last time he experienced this level of irritation was on the field, calling out Pope for challenging Redfly’s orders while they were under enemy fire, and his fingers flex around nothing, around the ghost presence of a gun.

His doorbell jolts him out of the traumatic memory, his dark eyes flicking up to the front door. He’s in no mood to entertain visitors. He’ll sit this one out, he decides, falling still and silent, until your muffled voice comes in from outside, hesitant and apologetic.

“Frankie?”

He’s at the door in two steps and swings it open so forcefully your hair flies with the pull of air.

The first thing he sees is your dress, long, black and with a deep cleavage plunging down to your midriff, dragging his thoughts along the way, but when his eyes flicker back up to your face, dread flares up in his gut.

Small red spots linger tellingly around your swollen eyes, and there’s a shadow of wiped lipstick on your lips.

“What happened? Are you ok?” he rasps before noticing Will’s pickup doubled parked in the street behind you.

His frown deepens when his friend nods in his direction, starting the engine, and his puzzled gaze follows the vehicle until it turns right and disappears around the block.

You’re left standing here, on his doorstep, silently looking up at him, and he doesn’t know what to do with you.

“Come in,” he mumbles, stepping to the side to let you pass, but not enough that you won’t brush his arm with yours.

Seeing you in his home is disorienting, and guilt makes him wince, thinking about what he put you through two days ago.

You seem lost in the large open space, trying to decide between the living-room and the kitchen, so you turn around and face him, a few feet away from his standing, rigid figure. For a brief moment, he thinks you’ll ask him for help, but instead you take your purse and position it in front of you, so he takes a step back away from you.

“I have to talk to you,” you start in a breathy voice.

“What happened?” he asks again.

“Nothing happened, not like that,” you add. “Last Saturday I told Rosie I saw you again. And she won’t talk to me anymore,” you explain shakily. “And Will knows. We went to the city together today, and he asked… Well, anyway. He knows.“

“Surprised he didn’t find out before,” he grumbles.

“I think he’s suspected for a while.”

“Yea, sounds like him,” he agrees.

His understanding stands between you, an overwhelming reminder of their enduring friendship, of their history and their bond. You deflate, suddenly, fiddling nervously with the strap of your bag, averting your eyes when Frankie lifts off his cap and combs his fingers through his dark curls.

“Do you have any alcohol?” you ask.

He sighs heavily before asking, “What do you want?”

“Something strong. Whiskey. Do you have whiskey?”

“I’m not giving you alcohol. What do you want?”

His voice is loud and clear. It travels around every surface of the room until it comes crashing into your ears. It’s not a question, not really, it’s an injunction to decide, a desperate demand to set him on his next course, whatever it may be, and as your silence stretches between you, time slowly swirls into a million eternities.

“I want you,” you answer soberly, your shoulders sagging with the confession, and the sadness he had vowed to chase away forever ago in the orange bedroom dims your wide eyes. “I never taught myself to want anything else but you, Frankie. But that’s not possible. You will lose too much. I’ve seen you together. He trusts you. And you love him. I can’t destroy that.”

His frustration is palpable, it makes the air thrum around him. Everything in his body, in his posture, betrays his state of mind, from the nervous grind of his teeth to the hard grip of his fingers on his hip, from his corded neck to his glaring eyes.

He wants to tell you that it’s too late. That his fondness for Benny was irredeemably tarnished the minute you stepped into that bar with your hand wrapped in his, probably longer before that, at the very second Benny deluded himself into thinking he could ever give you what you needed.

That you are not to blame for his resentment. That your self-hatred and your culpability make him want to scream until his vocal cords snap. That he can shield you from it, if you only let him, please, let him protect you from it, and from the rest, from anything and everything.

“I wish you would let me decide,” he says as gently as he possibly can, but the restraint in his voice remains audible, and threatening.

And through it, you hear everything he cannot tell you. And you believe him, believe he would keep you safe, from the world and from yourself, that he holds that much power. But how can you possibly choose your own happiness over his?

Defeated, you let go of your bag, let it sway over your hip before it stills and hangs by your side.

“I am going to leave him. Tomorrow. I mean tonight,” you state. “And then I’ll go home.”

Frankie straightens up, raising to his full height, lips parted, hardly breathing, for the word has hit him in the chest.

“Home,” he repeats huskily.

“Home. Paris.” The familiar name catches in your throat like a large bone, and you clench your teeth with all of your strength, giving yourself the illusion of a will power you fear you don’t possess.

“No.”

You’ve never heard him speak this loud, and the determination in his voice makes you flinch, your bag falling on the tiles. What happens next unfolds so fast you don’t even think to recoil, your feet are riveted to the floor and all you do is watch, watch Frankie grab his cap and throw it in the room at random, watch him march towards you with heavy footsteps and stop abruptly, an inch short from your trembling body.

His right hand curls at his side, once, twice, before he reaches up and places it at the base of your neck, large and firm and burning. His thumb is on your pulse point, where your heart is leaping in a frantic, erratic thrum, the exposed expanse of your skin a siren song to his lips.

He stands so tall and solid, you have to tilt your head up to look at him, and times stills, at last, your whole world contained in the dark pools of his eyes. You feel so tiny under his palm, once again the urge to fit you inside him overthrows everything he has ever stood for.

“I’m so tired, Frankie,” you implore.

He lowers his face over yours, his lips brushing against your lips.

“Stay,” he says, and his entire life vacillates on the tip of his plea.

****

Bonus: Flaming June, Frederic, Lord Leighton (British, Scarborough 1830–1896 London), 1895. Oil on canvas, 119.1 × 119.1 cm. Museo de Arte de Ponce.

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