#honor among enemies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forlix · 7 months

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𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative

warnings・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack, alcohol is consumed, lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication, complex people feeling complex emotions, smut warnings under the cut

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

smut warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?”

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.”

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there.

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.”

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

“Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?”

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter.

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels.

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

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sinizade · 5 months

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Qih'Za, The Demon Slayer

Class: Paladin fighter (Oath breaker)

Romance: Gale (no god Gale, only normal nerd Gale)

Besties: Lae'Zel / Karlach

Qih'Za was the last egg to hatch in her Creche which made some of the other older Githyanki think that she would be a weak child among the others, but they ended up very mistaken as ever since she was able to hold a sword for the first time, she has always shown a clear mastery of whatever battle or training she was in. The problem that always resulted in severe punishment for Qih' Za was her curiosity... Training outside her Creche, field missions, she always left the training of the youngest to find out what was more beyond what her eyes could see and this always caused irritation in the elders, her lack of obedience and discipline were irritating in their eyes.

During her teenage years, she was the proudest point of her Creche, the first Githyanki to kill a demon with her own hands. One of the Githyanki from their Creche was using his magic to try and summon little imps to use in combat and something went terribly wrong causing a flesh and blood demon to appear right in the middle of them killing and beheading everyone in sight no matter if they were children or teenagers. Qih'Za was quick, brutal, almost animalistic against that demon, cutting off its horns, wings, tail, she was hateful and dangerous, almost no longer controlling her body and it was from that day on that she became known as the Demon Slayer, but what was a source of pride and admiration for her Creche and other Githyanki outside of it, for Qih' Za it was a trigger for some kind of disorder in her mind, seeing all these children, seeing her friends and teachers get killed in such a brutal way caused her to have small tantrums throughout her life whenever she was in combat, useful against enemies, but she lost control and always ended up attacking allies and her superiors ignored this due to her usefulness in battle, which always left her with the blood of her brothers and sisters on her hands and even more trouble on her mind.

Against her will she became a dragon rider, it was a "gift" offered by the best and most honorable warrior in her Creche and she shouldn't dare refuse. Receiving her dragon seemed to bring her more comfort... It was strange at first, but she created a great bond with her dragon, her friend, her glorious Agynih. Her first battle with her dragon was something that would never leave her mind... Seeing her dragon, her friend being killed by an Ilith ship, having her body absorbed into that incubator against her will... She just wanted to get out of there, she needed to get out of there.

Even though she didn't have much attachment to magic and even a certain fear due to her trauma, the way Gale showed it seemed to be less scary and more "simple", even beautiful in her view, he was a good teacher, a very intelligent human, there were few big noses that Qih'Za met who actually managed to have her admiration and Gale aroused both admiration and attraction. Even though he wasn't very strong, he made up for it with his mind and spells, he was fast and lethal, his body was firm and concentrated that seemed to flex with each glow that came from his hands and staff. Qih'Za wanted to try him, not just that, she wanted to devour Gale completely, feel his skin against hers and submit him to her.

She stayed with Gale and traveled with him to Water Deep... Even though her mind told her to go with Lae' Zel to fight for the freedom of her people and fight to spread the words of her prince Orpheus, that was no longer life for Qih' Za and now her heart is with Gale... She had been through so much, felt so much... She knew well that Lae'Zel was more than capable of such a mission, that she would free her people and become a legend among all Githyanki. Her companion, her friand and her sister

Some extra information about Qih' Za

She's love chocolate ever since she stole one from a big nose she found sleeping near her Creche, so now that she's trying to find a way to get this parasite out of her mind, she always tries her best to find a few more chocolates.

She's afraid of Raphael and Mizora... Not just ordinary fear, but something that makes her vision blur to the point where she almost loses control of her body again.

She hasn't had a good night's sleep since she found out about Astarion... He wasn't trustworthy, he didn't seem trustworthy and he didn't even talk like someone trustworthy, if he hadn't been so helpful with locks she would have already ripped his head off.

She wanted to taste Wyll when she first saw him, a strong and brave human, strong body almost as if waiting to be touched, but finding out about Mizora made her hateful about him.

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missglaskin · 5 months

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Yan!HOTD Characters as Greek Gods

I want to thank @aphroditelovesu for giving me the inspiration, also side note do not take the gods canonical relationships literally

Viserys as Hades + God of the Underworld and the Dead

Viserys was a god who stood out from the gloomy darkness of his realm. The seat once shared by his beloved wife is now long dead with all the other souls. No temples were erected in his honor on the earthly soil, for the underworld served as his shrine. Still, Viserys lent many of his powers and crafts to help the other gods defeat their enemies, either it be a monster or a titan. When he needed to see his family, he would emerge to the earth itself. There a moral caught his eye.

Viserys spent a great deal of time observing your everyday life. He enjoyed catching on to all your little habits and tendencies. The god was prepared to wait until your life's string came to an end. In the mean time, all good things came your way. While he wouldn't be able to stop your death from happening, he can certainly make it as peaceful and painless as possible. Viserys will welcome you with the greatest warmth when you arrive in his realm, and you will be surrounded by servants who will carry out your every wish.

Just as he has done all those other times Viserys will give you the time and space you need to adjust to this new, strange world. Desiring your happiness, Viserys might let you visit Earth but only for a short time. The god can't go too long without you by his side. He detests the idea of using coercion to get what he wants, but Viserys must make sure you never leave him. It is a blessing that you are a mortal, completely unaware of the pomegranate seeds that are given to you.

Daemon as Ares + God of War and Courage

It was Daemon, out of all the gods, who was most frowned upon, the one with the endless list of foes. Many came to fear him and they had every reason to. For Daemon was a powerful god-quick to anger and raring for a fight regardless of the consequences. A jest spread among the gods was that Daemon's one and only true love was war itself. But what a shock it was to see the mortal in the god's arms. With his remarks and the severe violence he inflicted upon the mortals, Daemon, again and again demonstrated nothing but contempt and superiority over them.

Why you attracted the god of war's attention will forever remain a mystery. Could it be you had a fire inside of you that never went out or you had such a gentle soul that the god saw it as his duty to ruin you, or perhaps he saw you as a fair trade for one of his victories. Truthfully, Daemon himself is not fully sure what drew him to you. Still, the god comes to you, luring you in with lavish gifts and words sweet as honey. And if you aren’t compliant, the god sees no issue picking you up while you struggle to free yourself-screaming and clawing.

Daemon has no care for what other Olympian deities thought when he kept you near him. They were already not fond of him and he was amused to no end to see their frustration, even having you displayed seated on his lap. Your life with Daemon is strangely not as dull and miserable as one might anticipate. He will always be rough and harsh, but you are shown a rare side of gentleness. You may never know if the god truly loves you, but you can be sure that if someone takes what he views as his, he will go to war a hundred times over it.

Rhaenyra as Athena + Goddess of Wisdom and War

Rhaenyra is a goddess with pride. A great warrior. Rhaenyra does not, however, hold humankind in such low regard as the many gods who came before her. She saw herself as their protector and rewarded those who came to worship in her temple. But it's not as if she isn't dangerous. The goddess is unmerciful in her use of curses. Any offense or insult will result in a terrible fate. And what fate bestows upon you when the goddess herself watches you. Desiring you from the very moment she caught sight of you.

She is a master of disguise. Every word she spoke enticed you further and further into her grasp. There were the fleeting touches the goddess made to your skin to pique your desire. Her lips were painted with a smile that lowered your guard. You find yourself becoming a puppet as Rhaenyra hovers over you, pulling the strings to speak the words she wants you to hear, to touch her how she wants to be touched, and look at her how she wants to be gazed upon.

Rhaenyra never wants you to leave her realm. The goddess is ready to gift you whatever your heart desires, but the earth is no longer a place you can call home. Rhaenyra will never lay a hand on you; gentle and soft with you. The only times you no longer see your lover but the goddess of war is if you are foolish enough to believe you can get away from her. She won’t understand. Has she not dedicated herself to you. Has she not given you every ounce of her heart. Whatever the reason is, your place remains by her side and she will make sure you know of this.

Rhaenys as Hecate + Goddess of Magic and the Moon

Rhaenys, the goddess of sorcery and the moon, who her domain also extends to creatures of the night; particularly hounds and ghosts. She’s often seen accompanied by her black hounds, donning a long robe, holding burning torches. Neither was she evil, nor was she wholly benevolent, but she did reveal her nature through actions, rewarding loyalty among her followers. Captivated by your presence in her temple, the goddess of sorcery was drawn to your compassion and innocence. She found herself spending more time just observing you, enchanted by how your features glowed in the gentle embrace of moonlight.

Rhaenys has always been confident and assertive, when she’s certain that she desires you, she’ll do whatever it takes to have you by her side. However, she’ll stray away from using force. If she’ll seek your companionship, Rhaenys resolutes in waiting it be your choice, to love her the same rather than do it with instilling fear in you. Her introduction was gradual, allowing you to adapt in time to her presence. Much of this is involved in simple conversations, where she enjoys getting to know the little details of your life (even if she already knew most of it).

Instead of overwhelming you with extravagant gifts, she opted for small trinkets. And adding to the ease of your connection, Rhaenys’s mystical hounds display a fondness for you, allowing you to pet them. Even when you remain in her domain, Rhaenys remains steadfast in not forcing you to love her. She has all the patience as the goddess begins to slowly express her affection more openly with gentle caresses to your face as she presents you with more lavish gifts. Her patience was rewarded seeing how eager you are to spend every moment with her.

Corlys as Poseidon + God of the Sea and Waters

Not only was Corlys the god of the seas but also associated with earthquakes and horses. He stood out as a highly ambitious deity and known for his unwavering loyalty to Mount Olympus. Unlike some deities, Corlys is willing to engage with mortals, after all, they have a dependence on the seas for trade and travel. However, it’s also known that when dealing with the god of the sea, do not try to trick or cross him, for he has demonstrated a vengeful nature when felt insulted.

It was during your many ventures near the beach, having a profound love and fascination for the sea that you encountered the god of the sea. In your frequent visits, the shores yielded treasures ranging from the most beautiful seashells to even a literal pearl, a gift from the god. Upon making his presence known, Corlys takes matters into his own hands. Taking you to the temple beneath the sea as he cannot rely on chance encounters by the shore and it’ll save him all the trouble of finding you if you choose to never visit again.

Your place from now on remains with Corly’s temple. He has made promises to make you visit the shore from time to time once he’s confident you won’t attempt an escape. Eager to please, Corlys has an allure of lost treasures within his home, offering you any if you desire. He also takes great care to ensure your comfort, harboring no intention of causing harm or raising his voice. His desire is clear- to have you willingly at his side.

Laena as Aphrodite + Goddess of Love and Beauty

Laena was more than just being thegoddess of beauty and love; she was one of fertility, pleasure, and eternal youth. Occasionally she presided over marriage. Legends went so far as to attribute her beauty to being the cause of the Trojan War. Despite her being desired and adored by everyone, even capturing the affections of the infamous god of war himself, Laena's heart chose you; a mortal who didn’t seem all that extraordinary. But none of that mattered to the goddess of love, who found herself drawn to you, desiring nothing more than for you to share her boundless love and adoration.

When Laena first approached you, she displayed no hesitation in expressing her clear intentions of wanting to court you. Doves and sparrows seemed to fly around you. In the vicinity of your home, myrtles and roses bloomed abundantly and Laena took it upon herself to personally hand you the blossoms, alongside the most marvelous seashells. Whenever you expressed gratitude or attempted to deny her gifts out of politeness, Laena would firmly assure you that you deserved nothing but the best. As she would engage in conversations, Laena would hold your gaze, running her fingers on your cheek or shoulder with such tenderness.

Even after you became hers, Laena never stops showering you with praise and luscious gifts. The dresses she adorned you with were among the most lavish you had ever seen, and men would certainly go to war for the jewelry that adorned your skin. And for her home, which she claims is now your home too, she’s willing more than anything to accommodate any of your demands to make it all the more welcoming. Whether it’s placing all your favorite books or presenting you all your favorite foods. After all, you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with her.

Otto as Zeus + God of the Sky and Thunder

Otto stood as the god among gods, the force behind the establishment of order and justice in Olympus. It was his duty as king, to reign and ensure harmony throughout the divine realm. He had a number of children; it counted those that were outside of his marriage. Mortals and gods alike collectively averted their gaze, as the god of thunder desired to maintain an image of a prudent and a pious. And while like any god, he considered himself above mortal beings, he would observe them with keen interest.

Unfortunate for you, if you happened to catch his eye, resisting him was a futile endeavor. It began with him orchestrating ways to make your life more comfortable — discovering the lushest trees near your home, bearing the most delectable fruits you'd ever savor. An eagle, acting as his messenger, would shower you with all sorts of gifts, from fragrant olive oils to delicate silver coins and ivory trinkets. The weather seemed to dance to his whims, birds serenading under the radiant sun.

It was also his way to signal his presence, a silent acknowledgment a being beyond the mortal realms was watching. And when his presence becomes known, he vows to treasure you for eternity (hinting at what’ll become of your mortal life). It’s difficult to deny him with all the myriad blessings he bestowed upon you. Once you’re brought to his home, he will present you with a luxurious silk robe and servants who dutifully follow your every command. Even if you resist, his determination remains unswayed. As a god, time was his ally and he believed in due course, you would succumb to his temptations.

Alicent as Hera + Goddess of Marriage and Childhood

Alicent stood as the embodiment of matrimony and domestic life, a revered figure to whom women turned in prayer for the blessings of harmonious marriages, the safe return of their husbands, and in hopes of birthing a healthy child. Despite her attempts to project a demure demeanor, the goddess had a silent reputation for her jealousy and occasional vengefulness. Alicent had divine authority, navigating the intricate game of politics and perhaps that was why no one dared to question her decision to bring a mortal being along.

It was all under the reason of needing a servant though you were not yet married, still, no one dared to voice it. As her supposed servant, you were strangely exempt from menial tasks such as washing clothes or scrubbing the floor; such duties were deemed beneath you. Instead, the majority of your days were spent in the company of the goddess. You found yourself dressing and brushing Alicent’s hair as she shared her grievances about the perceived foolishness surrounding her court.

Your time was further consumed by tending to Hera’s children and grandchildren, and her strictures extended to where you were not permitted to eat meals with other servants. In truth, the goddess had little need for another servant. But you a mortal, had sought her prayer, coming to her temple wishing for a happy life for the arrangement your parents orchestrated for you. But Alicent had been watching you long before and you have become the object of her desire. She promised to find you a suitor but the intensity of her gaze and the uncanny resemblance between the necklace of hers and the one she gifted you hints at something beyond that.

Aegon II as Dionysus + God of Wine and Pleasure

Aegon is known for seemingly lazy nature and rarely being seen sober, he’s notorious for the wild parties and dramatic theaters he orchestrates. The many lovers he has are ones that no one bothers to learn their names, as they typically don’t linger beyond a day. The few bastards he fathered are not accounted for. When the god of wines comes upon you, there was an unmistakable eagerness to have you in his bed. While you and others are at no fault to assume that it was driven solely by lust, you soon find it unraveled beyond that.

As a mortal, the prospect of rejecting a god was not a reasonable one. His presence was suffocating with a possessive jealousy over your interactions with others and an incessant need for you to be near him. At times, he would pull you into his lap, craving for your affection and praise. Besides his constant need to have you share his bed at every turn, his lingering hands, and wanting your every attention, it’s not as terrible as one initially assumes.

The god of wine provided you with the sweetest food, accompanied of course by his signature wine. He adorned you in exquisite clothing, though in the privacy of his chambers, they were far more revealing and sheer. While it was somewhat accepted to have fleeting lovers for a day, appearing with you by his side on every occasion garnered disapproval from the other gods. However, Aegon was indifferent; no stranger to being considered a disappointment. You were the one thing he was sure of, even harboring a secret desire to make you immortal, hoping you don’t notice how different your wine tastes.

Helaena as Persephone + Goddess of Seasons and Vegetation

Helaena possessed a kind of gentleness that was unusual among the gods. She carried herself with such grace and consideration. Helaena grew up to be a lovely woman who caught the interest of gods and humans alike. With mortals, the goddess did not look down on them. If anything, Helaena seemed to see the goodness and beauty in them despite all of their flaws. It therefore comes as no great surprise when the goddess seems so enchanted by you-a simple mortal.

Helaena spent many days watching you. She possessed unending patience. What a fascinating sight you are. Deemed by the goddess to be the most beautiful being to ever walk this earth. Helaena cared nothing more than your happiness hence why you come home to a plethora of gifts and trinkets. It could be the most delicious fruit you've ever eaten or a dress the goddess sewed herself. And wherever you are, you found plants growing all around that never seem to wither-fruits and vegetables you never imagined would ever grow there.

Helaena was content as long as she could see you every day. Even if she couldn't speak or stand before you. All that mattered to her was to see your lovely smile as you open her gifts or to hear your joyful laughter. But shall you wish to meet her. Shall you seem unsatisfied with your life. Helaena will make her presence known. The goddess is nothing but a tender lover. Giving you all the time you need to adjust to her realm. Happy to watch from a distance and just speak with you.

Aemond as Apollo - God of Sun and Art

Aemond was also a god of music, truth, and healing, he was considered wise even at such a relatively young age. He enjoyed writing poems and believed in law and order. Unlike his brother, Aemond was recognized for his numerous contributions, particularly in the realms of medicine and prophecy. Aemond shows intense loyalty to his family and a great love for his mother but also is known for his jealousy and a wrathful nature; particularly when he perceives insults directed at his family or either himself.

Many of your actions could’ve caught his eye, your visits to his temple, your singing voice echoing through the fields, how you immersed yourself far away from everyone else with the books you read. He doesn’t wish to frighten you, guided by a gentle approach to engage you in conversations. You can feel his gaze follow you, a silent presence that seems to accompany your every move. In due time, Aemond would express his desire for you to be his lover, to not only give him your body, but your mind and soul. Even if you do not share his feelings, denying him is not advisable, Aemond is not one for rejections.

Even if you were to deny him, Aemond would still bring you to Mount Olympus, introducing you to the other gods, making sure you understood that your place belonged with him. And while he attempts to give you some space, the god of the sun cannot bring himself to stay away. Aemond sought to spend every moment of the day with you, from sharing the same bed, to waking together to sharing meals. He yearns to hear your every thought from the flowers you liked to your opinion on the poetry he’s dedicated to you.

Criston as Heracles + Demi- God of Strength and Heroes

Criston was born a mortal. Yet even as a child, Criston showed such strength and courage unmatched by any other. He has proven to be a fierce warrior over the years. While he was hailed as a hero, many of his rage-fueled actions beg to differ. It took Criston to die to be reborn as the Demi-god. Taken from the flames to Mount Olympus where he was granted eternal youth and the right to live among the gods. He was offered a goddess, but Criston had his eyes set somewhere else.

Criston believes he must protect you. That you need him far more than he needs you. You are just a mere mortal. One fall can be fatal. Doesn't matter that his involvement could be the very reason your life is at forfeit. Makes no difference the many times you struggle and try to escape him. Criston holds you in his arms, repeating the same mantra over and over. That you have a need for him. That he must shield you from all those who will harm you. He rarely leaves your side, and no amount of begging or insults will convince him to do so.

As your lover, you have a man capable of crushing a village to ruins, capable of winning against an army. You bring out the worst in him, the madness. A madness seen in the mere thought of you being in another’s arms. Criston won't accept the possibility of your death. He was blessed with the gift of immortality and will stop at nothing to grant you the same blessing. A wonderful thought to him, but a nightmare to you. Given the chaos that will be left behind, the gods may grant him his wish.

#yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #hotd x reader #House of the Dragon x reader #yandere x reader #yandere greek mythology #viserys targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #alicent hightower x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #laena velaryon x reader #corlys velaryon x reader #rhaenys targaryen x reader #criston cole x reader #yandere scenarios #asoiaf x reader #yandere asoiaf

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hindahoney · 1 year

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If you want to code-switch so often that you are nearly incomprehensible to goyim, here is a list of my favorite and most-used Jewish terms:

Schvitzing - Sweating. (Ex: "I'm schvitzing so much it's showing through my clothes.")

Schlep - A tedious and long journey, depending on usage it can mean that you were carrying something. (Ex: "I had to schlep all the way across campus, my backpack was so heavy." Usually denotes a long walk, but other forms of transportation are acceptable too. "You drove all the way to New York from Florida? That's quite the shlep.")

Shtati - Something really cool. (Ex: "I visited my friend's place and they had a shtati mezuzah!")

Neshama - Soul. (Ex: "Mazel tov on your conversion, you have such a strong Jewish neshama!")

Balagan - A big mess, chaotic, confusing (Ex: "Moshe forgot to bring challah for shabbat dinner, and it turned into this big balagan")

Achi/Achoti - "Achi" literally means "my brother," but can also be used like bro or dude, "achoti" is the feminine equivalent meaning "sister"

Yalla - Come on, let's go (Ex: "Yalla yalla, you're going to make us late again")

Mishpacha - Family. Doesn't have to be literal blood relatives, usually a sign of warmth or friendship. (Ex: "I care about every Jew, they're all my mishpacha.")

Pshhh - Interjection sound, to express respect or agreement with what someone is saying, but can also be playfully poking fun at someone taking themselves too seriously, can be used sarcastically.

Achla - amazing, awesome, great, the best (Ex: "You graduated from university? Achla!")

Sheina Punem (Shayna Punim) - Pretty face (Ex: My bubbe kept pinching my cheeks and calling me a sheina punem) Can be used ironically, in which case it means "a disgrace."

Ahavat Yisrael - to love your fellow Jew (Ex: "I firmly believe in ahavat yisrael, even if it's hard sometimes.")

Schande - Shame, dishonor among the nations, meaning a Jew who represents Jews badly, a serious insult. (Ex: "He's a schande, he feeds into antisemitic stereotypes.")

Schmutz - Dirt, stain. (Ex: "Use your napkin, you've got schmutz on your face.")

Amalek - Any enemy of the Jewish people. ("[Fill in blank] is the modern Amalek, they hate the Jews.")

Lanceman/Landsmen - Two jews from the same place, a point of connection between two Jews who now live far away from their hometown. (Ex: "Your grandma is from Crown Heights? Mine too, our grandparents are landsmen!")

Goyisch - Something not Jewish (Ex: "I don't listen to Taylor Swift, her music is too goyisch for me.")

Goyischekop/Goyische-kop - Goyisch head, a jew who thinks/sounds like a non-jew. (Ex: "How could you say about your fellow Jew? Do you have a goyische-kop or something?")

Kindaleh/Kinderlach - Little children (Ex: "I passed by the school and saw the kindaleh on the playground, they're so cute!")

Chamud/Chamuda/Chamudi - Sweetie, cutie, usually aimed at children, but can be a term of endearment between a couple. Can be condescending when said rudely to another adult, like "Sweetheart" can be in English. (ex: "Goodnight, Chamudi. I can't wait to see you tomorrow.")

Daven - to pray ("Are you going to join us for davening?")

Frum - A religiously observant Jew. ("He's frum, he davens three times a day.")

Treif - Unkosher, generally something not good, doesn't have to literally refer to a food. ("I trained my dog to stop barking when I say 'treif!'.")

Bubkis - Zero, nothing, nada ("Moshe got a gift from bubbe and I got bubkis.")

Kvetch - To complain ("I'm just kvetching, I'm not that upset about it.")

Kvell - Extreme pride. ("I heard your daughter made it into her top school, you must be kvelling!")

Mensch - A good, admirable person. ("He volunteers every week, he's a mensch.")

Chillul HaShem - Disgracing God's name, someone who does something that makes Jews look bad.

Kiddush HaShem - Something that sanctifies God's name, brings honor to God. ("I love seeing you wear a kippah, it's a kiddush HaShem!")

Bubbe meise - Little white lies ("He told his teacher a bubbe meise about his dog eating his homework.")

I should acknowledge that these are mostly Yiddish words, as my experience is primarily with Ashkenazi Jews. If you would like to add common slang from your community (like Ladino phrases, Judeo-Arabic, Italki, etc) I would love to learn about them!

#there are so many other words but i use these all the time #add whatever you want!#jumblr #frumblr #jewblr #yiddish #hebrew #jewish #jewish culture #j tag #jew tag

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thegnomelord · 19 days

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Ohm nom - 🦈 (I have some news, I was doing some research on DnD species and found a humanoid shark species called Sharkin. I though yo! Thats fin-flipin awesome but um there is one paragraph that made me take a backturn. I highlighted the main bits "Sharkin fought with and hunted any sort of creature that looked either powerful or threatening to them, including dinosaurs and dragons, making them top predators inside and outside of water. They are hated by most if not all surface dwelling races, making them enemy number one to almost everyone. They are even hated and despised by dragons, since the first time they killed an adult red dragon. This was not a one time problem, and has caused a bitter rivalry between the Dragons and Sharkins. They favored the taste of dragon flesh, from that day onward it became the largest badge of honor available for a Sharkin to hunt and kill a dragon. This then henceforth became a great and mighty challenge, for a member of the Sharkin royal family to hunt and bag a dragon, the bigger the better. The royal family loved the taste of dragons so much they made it their most favored treat among all other delicacies of their people. They often form hunting parties specifically to hunt and bag a dragon for any special occasion or festival. This made any and all dragon absolutely despise Sharkin, for they looked at them as prey and dragons being the vain creatures they are hate them. A dragon that sees a Sharkin will immediate become enraged and will do whatever it can to kill and devour it." NOW reasonably i was quite frazzled and immedietly though about our lil Shark captain of our lil marine team, thats partnered, HAND in HAND with a Dragon Captain. But then another idea came to me, this Sharkin species, (despite how cool they are and i still love) are built on the sterotype that Shark are horrendous terrifying vicous, agreesive creature. When in reality Sharks are just fish puppies that could murder you if you pissed them off enough. So that got me thinking, what if due to rumours, shark hybrids were thought to be Dangerous and Hazordous species, due to horrendous strerotypes, and a movie, most were meant to be cool, but were misinterpited so badly that people started getting afriad of them and in turn, aggressive towards. This is mainly based on a real thing, Both the author of Jaws, Peter Benchley, and the director, Steven Spielberg, regret the negative impact the film had on shark populations and the perpetuation of shark stereotypes. So people think that the captains would naturally butt heads, due to sterotypes and rumours that nearly brought the two species to war. (Which was luckily debunked way before anything got violent and now both species are currently fighting against anything harmful towards the other. Creating the oddest but oddly wholesome cross-species relationships. ) Only to find out the two are bound by the hip. waz your take? *Administer Foreheads Kisses*)

Oh yeah, I know the jaws effect lol It's fascinating how fiction can influence reality and reality can influence fiction, sorry this took so long and is so rough, but I got hit with the InspirationTM in the middle of the night lol.

CW:SFW, Price x male reader, monster au,

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At first sight, the feelings you and the good captain had for each other could be considered tense professionalism at best and disdain at worst. It isn't a surprise why that is; the hate and suspicion running between your species is old and deep like the trenches. Dragons hardly want to be a shark's dinner, and a shark would rather not become soup.

Still, the peace between your species held, and so did the tense relationship between you two. To the others it looked like you never agreed; they've lost count how many times you and Price had spent hours arguing over battle plans. How you two would release all the anger you had in the ring, so much so you had to spar outside because the military didn't have the funds to fix the ring after every match. How you would bare your teeth and Price would snarl and growl at you at every little argument, thinly veiled insults flying like bullets out of your mouths.

What they didn't know was how softly Price would purr when you two laid in bed, how gently his claws traced your shark hide along your torso. Sprawled out over your chest like you're his mountain of golden coins, more a cat than a dragon really, Price is the picture perfect example of bliss.

"Comfortable huh?" You hum, carding your clawed fingers through his hair, taking the time to scratch around the base of his horns.

"Mhm," He hums, content blue eyes closing as he leans into your touch. "Finally a moment to ourselves." Price chuckles, nuzzling his head into your neck. He breathes in your scent with a happy sigh, sharp fangs nibbling on your throat, the comforting scent calming his mind.

"Uhuh," You chuckle in turn, "The boys sure know how to keep us on our toes." You grin and your hand slides down from his head to his back, even gentler there as you trace the scar where his wing used to be. His remaining wing stretches out, weakly shaking as if trying to stretch, before it falls back down to lay on the bed and hang off it.

Price shivers, a low sound rumbling from his chest. "Can't leave those muppets alone for a moment." He huffs. "Did you see MacTavish? The lad nearly lost his tail because of his toy." A soft growl slips past his lips, neither of you had been pleased when Soap's tail got caught on fire thanks to his explosive he swore was 'safe'. Price's tail curls around yours, and though your tail is too rigid to do the same, he can still feel you reciprocate in the way your tail tip wags like a dog's.

"He's your problem in the morning." Your words earn you a sharp nip at your throat, more of an admonishment than an actual threat. "Ow." You say, in revenge pinching his pudgy side.

"You deserve it." Price laughs, forked tongue licking up the stray drops of blood that leak down from where his teeth had cut your skin. Placing a hand on your chest Price rises just enough to catch your lips in a slow kiss. You can taste your blood on his tongue, along with cigar smoke and something inherently draconic that makes your mouth water for a bite of his flesh.

But his kisses are enough to quench your hunger, gun calloused hands holding your head still so he can pepper kisses along your brows and down your nose, on each cheek and down your jaw. There's no need to rush when the night is dark and the sun isn't ready to rise yet.

It's peaceful.

The door slams open, light and voices flooding in "Captains we need-" Johnny's voice pitters off as he takes in the sight, bright eyes glowing in the darkness "-you..."

Not so peaceful.

#scheduled post #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #captain john price #🦈anon #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #cod modern warfare #cod mw3 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #monster 141 #cod monster au #monster 141 au #trinckets of the hoard

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shannon-foraker · 2 years

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My next trope bingo prompt fill is out (okay, only chapter 1, but I have chapter 2 prewritten, and it's 3x longer than chapter 1).

#honorverse #honor harrington #honor harrington novels #shannon foraker #ao3 #ao3 link #honor among enemies #ashes of victory #warner caslet #lester tourville #thomas theisman #trope bingo #r/FanFiction Trope Bingo Round 3 #so proud of you #title is the prompt #because i couldn't come up with anything better #and i won't have much writing time soon #so i thought i'd get this out there

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redditantisemitism · 2 months

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Love the person who said Henry Ford's The International Jew was "real" antisemitism unlike the talking points coming from Hamasniks, because I've READ excerpts from The International Jew and uh...

Ford: "This propaganda of pogroms... thousands upon thousands of Jews killed... amounts to nothing except as it illustrates the gullibility of the Press... No one believes this propaganda and governments regularly disprove it." Where have I heard this recently??? 🤔 Ford: "The Zionist propaganda has always been accepted on the assumption that Palestine is the Jews’ land and that they only need help to go back. It is an historical and political fact that Palestine has not been the Jews’ land for more than 2,000 years... Yet, as the result of a war bargain, it is handed over to them as regardless of the native inhabitants as if Belgium had been handed over to Mexico. Many of the natives are Semites, like the Jews, but they do not want the Jews among them. That is a strange fact for those who use the term “anti-Semitism”; why do real Semites also dislike the Jews? Surely Semites are not victims of “anti-Semitism.”

Ford: "Take anti-Semitism. That is a label which the Jews have industriously pasted up everywhere. If ever it was an effective label its uses are over now. It doesn’t mean anything. Anti-Semitism does not exist, since the thing so named is found among the Semites, too. Semites cannot be anti-Semitic."

And this??? 🤔🤔

Ford: "It is worth while observing the contrasts and similarities between the Gentile and Jewish reaction to this alleged movement to establish a Jewish imperialism over the world. Jewish publicists first deny it without qualification. It is all false, all a lie, all hatched up by enemies of the Jews in order to stir up hatred and murder." And this??? 🤔🤔🤔

Ford: "Anyone who essays to discuss the Jewish Question in the United States or anywhere else must be fully prepared to be regarded as an Anti-Semite, in high-brow language, or in low-brow language, a Jew-baiter... Anti-Semitism is a term which is bandied about too loosely. It ought to be reserved to denote the real anti-Jewish temper of violent prejudice. If used indiscriminately about all who attempt to discuss Jewish characteristics and Jewish world-power, it may in time arrive at the estate of respectability and honor... "

And this??? 🤔🤔🤔🤔

"Henry Ford's work is REAL antisemitism" - like yeah it is, but then why you sound just like him??????

Gasp. You’re telling me antisemitism didn’t begin and end with the shoah???? Wild

#antisemitism #asks

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siderealdei · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel Characters: Jaster Mereel, Jango Fett, Anakin Skywalker Additional Tags: Whumptober 2022, Alternate Universe, Mandalorian Empire (Star Wars), Mand'alor Jaster Mereel Series: Part 12 of Whumptober 2022, Part 7 of honor among enemies Summary:

Whumptober Day 28: Anger Born of Worry | Punching the Wall | Headache

Jaster attempts to deal with the problem Jango has dropped in his lap.

#whumptober2022 #honor among enemies au #happy hannukka posting spree

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chiqelatasblog · 28 days

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In the Middle Of the Night🌙

-> Ao3 link is here.

-> Part Three is here.

Pairings : Bi-Han/ Sub-Zero x Reader, Kuai Liang/ Scorpion x Reader, Tomas Vrbada/ Smoke x Reader

Author’s Note : Welcome to another long chapter, everyone! 🙌🏻 (It’s about 11k words) Writing from Bi-Han’s perspective was a bit of a challenge, as he wasn’t always cooperative, but I’m proud of how it turned out. As I did with Kuai Liang, I put my own twist on his powers. (He is touch sensitive) Also in this version, I’ve adjusted it so that despite the portrayal in MK1 where Bi-Han doesn’t really see Tomas as part of the Lin Kuei, I’ve changed that here. Sharing the same trauma bonds people more closely, as my therapist once said, so I’m using that here to bond them as brothers!

Hope you enjoy diving into it as much as I did writing it! Happy reading!❤️

In the middle of the night,

Just call my name, I’m yours to tame.

In the middle of the night,

I’m wide awake, I crave your taste.

CHAPTER FOUR : BI-HAN

Bi-Han had never liked to be touched or to touch others.

As a cryomancer, Bi-Han was unaffected by the cold itself. Yet, any touch, no matter how gentle, caused him intense discomfort, akin to frostbite searing through his skin. This peculiar sensitivity, despite his otherwise stoic demeanor, left him feeling isolated and disconnected from those around him. The only exceptions to this rule were Kuai Liang and Tomas, whose persistent presence he gradually grew accustomed to over time.

As the future grandmaster of the clan, Bi-Han knew he had to cope with this discomfort and eliminate any weaknesses that his enemies could exploit, just the thought was enough to make his nerves tense. In order for him to protect and maintain the future of his clan, he had to be perfect; he could not have a weakness. It was impossible for him to make mistakes like others because, at the end of the day, he would be solely responsible for the cost.

The temple of his clan, where he had spent every day since he first opened his eyes, was nestled among the mountains, at the edge of the forest, surrounded by towering rocks and fortified walls. Despite the bitter chill of the morning frost, Bi-Han emerged from his room before the sun had even begun its ascent, his cryomancer abilities shielding him from the biting cold that would incapacitate others. Today, the weather was particularly tumultuous, with fierce winds howling through the mountain passes, a harbinger of the impending snowstorm. Despite the harsh conditions, Bi-Han sought comfort in the discipline of his training, finding strength in the knowledge that one day he would inherit his father’s legacy and rule the clan with honor and power.

His hands sometimes fell apart because he worked long hours, his wounds bled nonstop for several days, his legs sometimes trembled, contracted, and ached from fatigue, but Bi-Han turned a blind eye to all of them. Although it is a fact that he was cruel to everyone, he was even more cruel to himself. The relentless pursuit of flawlessness drove him to push his body beyond its limits, disregarding the signs of strain and injury. It was as if his own well-being mattered little in comparison to the unyielding demands of his ambition.

More machine than man, Bi-Han’s focus was solely on the future of his clan and the welfare of his brothers. As an assassin, emotional bonds were his greatest vulnerability and also a liability; enemies could use them as weapons against him. Despite this, Bi-Han made exceptions for Kuai Liang and Tomas. In the earlier days, he was wary of Tomas, seeing him as an outsider not yet fully integrated into the clan. However, Tomas’s unexpected achievements and unwavering loyalty gradually took him by surprise, earning his trust. However, Bi-Han never openly expressed his true feelings to either of his brothers. Emotions were shackles to him, vulnerabilities to use against him. He became adept at burying his emotions, concealing them beneath a facade of stoicism. Instead, he pushed their limits and often subjected them to his sharp tongue, all in the name of unlocking their full potential. Though he understood the underlying rationale for his strictness, Bi-Han avoided dwelling on it, choosing instead to bury those feelings deep within.

This transformation permeated his entire being over time. People shied away from confronting him, even avoiding making eye contact. Like his powers, his demeanor grew as frigid and merciless as ice itself. He concealed all traces of fear, weakness, and humanity behind the impenetrable walls he erected, never once allowing himself to glance back in their direction. The weight of leadership, burdened with its responsibilities and grim tasks, further solidified his detachment.

The day Bi-Han was appointed as the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei was etched in his memory like a knife drawn on ice. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the courtyard, the wind howling through the mountains, and everything cloaked in an icy chill. With the loss of his father’s life, his heart beat strongly in his chest as he officially took on his responsibility in a simple ceremony before the clan elders. He had worked for this moment for years, and now as he stood amidst the frozen landscape the satisfaction he felt was unlike anything he had ever experienced. As he accepted the leadership mantle, Bi-Han vowed to preserve the clan’s traditions, to lead with wisdom and strength, and to protect its heritage against all odds.

But everything changed during their ill-fated mission to retrieve Quan Chi’s amulet. Bi-Han had always believed the trials he faced were diffucult, the stress thickening the walls he had constructed while honing his coping mechanisms. He often forgot he possessed feelings at all. Yet being ensnared as a love slave within the pages of a book presented a trial unlike any other he had encountered before.

Bi-Han contorted in agony as searing pain enveloped his body, his heart and mind consumed by swirling darkness. Despite his fierce resistance, the curse proved relentless, its cruel grasp tightening with each passing moment. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest as he fought against the overwhelming force, but it was as if he battled against an invisible, unyielding foe. As he writhed in torment, Bi-Han felt the tendrils of his sanity slipping away, replaced by an insatiable hunger beyond his control. In that moment, he knew he was no longer the master of his own fate, but ensnared by the caprices of lust—a fate more tormenting than death for a man who had spent his life mastering the art of control.

Bi-Han initially fought with every fiber of his being, honed as he was in the ways of an assassin since childhood. Taking a life had become as natural as breathing for him; he executed his duties without hesitation, always looking forward without a flicker of remorse. But this situation was unlike any other. Despite his desire to confront and overcome this weakness, physical contact had always unsettled him. The myriad sensations overwhelmed him, hindering his ability to focus and defend himself.

The relentless persistence of the curse, turning this discomfort into a constant torment, pushed Bi-Han to his limits as never before. Like he always did, he also concealed this vulnerability, never allowing it to surface and be used against him. Yet now, this situation had brought about an unforeseen consequence; nearly every master of the book who came and went sought to “tame” him.

Bi-Han was well aware of his challenging temperament, he bared his teeth, lashed out with insults, refusing to allow anyone to assert control over him. He was not a possession to be claimed; he was an assassin and the grandmaster of an esteemed clan, determined to safeguard his reputation and honor at all costs. However, the curse spared no effort in testing him, as it did in all things.

Given his heightened sensitivity to touch, fulfilling their desires proved more difficult for Bi-Han compared to his brothers. Coupled with his abrasive personality, he inevitably stood out as the outlier among them. Most of the masters relished the challenge of attempting to tame him. Despite his burning desire to unleash his fury upon them and spill their blood, the protective barrier surrounding them thwarted his efforts each time, leaving him writhing in agony.

He refused to be controlled like a mindless animal, he would sooner take his own life than submit. It was not in his nature to surrender without a fight, to yield until his last breath. This defiance was quickly understood, but when the punishments were directed at his brothers instead of himself, Bi-Han found himself compelled to submit, despite the vehement protests of his soul.

The methods used to tame him differed from those employed with Tomas and Kuai Liang. Bi-Han lacked the knowledge of how to navigate intimate interactions, particularly with the opposite sex. His life had been consumed by rigorous training and duties, leaving no room or desire for physical contact. After all he had always recoiled from touch, never seeking it or showing any curiosity about it. Focusing proved exceedingly difficult for Bi-Han, especially initially, as he struggled to regulate his body temperature. Prolonged contact resulted in searing pain and burns on his skin.

In the room, two women surrounded him, one beneath him as he drove into her with hard, fast thrusts, eager to end the encounter as soon as possible. The other, his current master, positioned herself behind him, her arms coiling around his body like a serpent, her hands grasping his pecs and trailing down to his abdomen and upper legs, where his muscles painfully contracted under her touch. She watched him intently, issuing commands to satisfy their pleasure, her tongue tracing along his jawline with small, biting movements. The air was heavy with their mingled scent, their moans grating on his nerves. Sex and sweat permeated the room, each touch searing pain into his skin, overwhelming him and making it difficult to focus. His muscles tensed, veins bulging visibly beneath his skin, and he felt trapped in this hellish place with no means of escape.

Over time, he had learned to grit his teeth, ignore the pain, and maintain control over his body. The burns on his skin had decreased and eventually vanished altogether, yet Bi-Han derived no pleasure from it. The constant tingling sensation, like millions of tiny needles dancing across his skin, persisted, causing him to clench his jaw in frustration. His demeanor grew even more obstinate, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He harbored a particular resentment towards himself for his inability to put an end to the situation. How much longer could he allow his honor to be trampled underfoot? Time continued to pass, yet he remained entrenched in the same place, consumed by turmoil.

His fists clenched tightly at his sides as he surveyed the vast landscape before him. Departing the cramped apartment before sunrise had become routine; he detested confined spaces, and the apartment felt as suffocating as a doghouse. With a determined effort, he forced his nerves to remain steady, inhaling deeply the crisp, cool morning air.

A month had elapsed since their emergence from the book, yet nothing transpired as he had anticipated. He had expected his brothers to exhibit a sense of sensibility, maintaining their customary distance and aloofness, as they did with all other masters of the book, except Leilani. Tomas, the most naive among them, was quick to extend trust and belief, a habit Bi-Han begrudgingly tolerated, especially after the events with Leilani. Yet, Tomas seemed to revert to his trusting nature in your presence, sporting a foolish grin and soft, welcoming gaze. While Bi-Han could comprehend Tomas’s susceptibility due to his youth, he struggled to fathom why the hell Kuai Liang chose to share the same fate. He was logical, cautious, and maintained a calculated distance from others, knowing the dangers his powers could inflict. Although he had mastered control over his abilities, ingrained habits die hard, and Kuai Liang remained vigilant against causing intentional harm beneath his stern demeanor.

The fact that both of them succumbed to your influence, and so swiftly, perplexed Bi-Han. From his observations, your approach mirrored Leilani’s initial demeanor—calm, gentle, and devoid of authoritative commands. Yet, Bi-Han remained convinced it was all a facade, awaiting the moment when you would reveal your true intentions. Patience was not his forte, but once he set his sights on his prey, he would not relent, biding his time for a misstep to expose your true nature. Despite his brothers’ failures, he remained resolute in his distance from you, determined not to fall to the same mistake. He had sworn an oath to end this and had no intention of breaking it. When two months pass, he’ll remain as the sole fortress in this situation, committed to restoring his brothers to their former selves. Whatever game you were playing, Bi-Han was resolved not to allow you to reduce them to rubble. It had happened once before, and he would not permit history to repeat itself.

A few days prior, he had successfully contacted Sektor via your mobile phone. Sektor, one of the clan’s foremost assassins, possessed unparalleled expertise in electronic devices, often partnering with Cyrax on missions. In the ten years since their entrapment within the book, this was the first time Bi-Han had managed to establish contact with them. Contacting his clan had been a daunting task, as previous masters had imposed stringent bans, subjecting them to severe punishment if disobeyed. Enduring the pain himself was one thing, but risking the safety of Kuai Liang and Tomas was another. They had always supported each other, relying solely on their own trust and dependence.

Sektor mentioned that he would come once the connection was established. He wanted to verify for himself if the person who contacted him was truly the grandmaster of their clan, with his brothers, also second-in-commands, accompanying him. Bi-Han couldn’t blame Sektor for his caution; he would have taken the same approach if he were in Sektor’s position.

As the sun slowly cast its warm glow upon the awakening city, Bi-Han rose to his feet. A few blocks away, he silently descended from the rooftop, using the fire escape to make his descent. Despite the passing years, his body still tensed with apprehension at the thought of returning. He refused to acknowledge the draining effects of the curse upon him, despising every aspect of it—his weakness, his submission to its power, his dependency. These traits clashed with the values he had imposed upon himself, and he loathed them to his core.

Upon returning to the apartment, he sought to enter without a sound, wary of your keen senses that could detect even the slightest noise. Your ears were too sharp for a human; you could easily hear him coming and turn your attention to him. Despite his attempts to push you away with his brusque demeanor, you never wavered in your kindness. A plate of food always awaited him, set aside with care, and despite his biting words, you never cast him out or administered punishment. Bi-Han couldn’t comprehend your motives—why weren’t you angered by his actions?

In the days following their emergence from the book, it became apparent that you harbored fear towards him and his brothers. Your movements and speech were cautious, tinged with timidity. However, as time passed, this fear seemed to dissipate, particularly in your interactions with Tomas and Kuai Liang. Though you maintained a distance from him, your influence over him was profound. A single word from your lips could bring him to his knees. Yet, even though you refrained from wielding that power, Bi-Han saw no reason to hold back from testing your boundaries. He yearned for you to reveal your true self, to discard the mask you wore. With each passing day, his nerves stretched taut like an arrow, poised for release.

A deep conversation flowed between the three of you, so engrossed that neither you nor his brothers heard his silent entrance. Bi-Han observed quietly from his position, unmoving. In the kitchen, Kuai Liang and you were preparing breakfast. It was no surprise to see his brother immersed in the task, given his secret interest in food, but witnessing him so relaxed and at peace beside you was an image Bi-Han hadn’t seen in a long time. Meanwhile, Tomas lounged in one of the chairs at the kitchen island, engaged in animated chatter about movies while absently stroking the kitten perched on his lap. The faint strains of music from your phone wafted through the apartment, adding a tranquil ambiance to the scene.

Struggling to contain his anger, Bi-Han gritted his teeth at the sight of his brothers’ expressions. After all they had endured, how could they choose to trust again? Had none of them learned their damn lesson? When they faced the harsh realities of the real world once more, it would be too late. The book had stripped them of their identities as assassins, reducing them to mere instruments for the satisfaction of its owner. This was the bitter truth even if the owner had no desire for them; such was the insidious nature of the book, compelling its wielder to use them.

Despite the cramped confines of the apartment and the thin walls that allowed certain sounds to permeate, Bi-Han detected no indication of intimacy between you and his brothers. Your interactions typically consisted of innocent touches and kisses; he saw no demand for more. However, he knew it was only a matter of time before this changed, as he had witnessed such scenarios before.

Your body would ignite with primal urges, gradually clouding your mind until all you could think of was desire. As you resisted, the need would intensify, evolving from a flicker into an inferno, causing you agony, prompting you to seek relief using his and his brothers’ bodies. Once this barrier was breached, the rest would follow more easily. A few of the past masters, aware of their capabilities, hesitated to utilize them even under the book’s protection. However, when consumed by desire to the point of losing their sanity, they would resort to using their bodies for release, realizing that they wielded true power in such moments. They were no longer individuals with thoughts, wishes, or desires; they were merely slaves to be used at the whim of another. Bi-Han felt dehumanized, reduced to a mere object, easily discarded once his purpose was served.

The first to sense his presence was the pesky cat, leaping from Tomas’s lap in a frantic dash, its tiny legs propelling it as fast as they could go. Bi-Han restrained himself, resisting the urge to freeze the creature in its tracks. For some inexplicable reason, the cat seemed fixated on him, adding to the already cramped quarters of the apartment as he struggled to fend off its insistent attempts to climb onto his lap.

“Bi-Han, when did you get here? Hey, Ninja, wrong way, girl. Come here.”

As Tomas rose to retrieve the cat, both Kuai Liang and you turned, your gazes meeting his. Bi-Han observed the fleeting spark in your eyes, your lips parting as if to speak, only to halt at the last moment, offering instead a timid smile before refocusing on your task. Neither he nor his brothers missed this subtle exchange. While Kuai Liang observed you silently, brows furrowed in contemplation, Tomas’s initial concern flickered briefly in his gray eyes before morphing into indifference tinged with a hint of resentment upon meeting Bi-Han’s gaze.

Cradling the persistent kitten attempting to climb his legs, Tomas muttered softly under his breath, audible only to him.

“This is your doing. Are you satisfied now?”

Bi-Han’s brow furrowed deeply as he absorbed Tomas’s response, a pointed glance conveying his dissatisfaction as a muscle twitched in his jaw. It seemed absurd to feel unsettled now that you were finally grasping his cues. He had grown weary of your saccharine words, always probing if he was alright or offering assistance that he did not seek. Your sincerity failed to sway him; instead, your persistent interference felt like an unwelcome intrusion. So while he should have been content with your quiet acknowledgment, Bi-Han found himself strangely different. It was as if he hadn’t anticipated you relenting and giving him what he desired; instead, he was met with a hollow emptiness.

Instead of responding to Tomas, Bi-Han shoved him with his shoulder and strode past, trying not to indulge in the tantalizing aroma wafting from the kitchen. Judging by what you and Kuai Liang were preparing, it seemed to be an Asian breakfast, the nostalgic scent evoking memories.

“Are you hungry?” Kuai Liang asked, casting a sidelong glance at him. Bi-Han made a small affirmative sound. Among them, he could endure hunger the longest; his metabolism was slower than his brothers’, allowing him to subsist on just water for weeks without issue. Especially after the curse, he often forfeited his meals to Kuai Liang, who needed sustenance more urgently. The strong survived, after all.

However, Bi-Han noticed that his meals were often laced with aphrodisiac-style drugs, subtly altering his senses and clouding his mind. At those moments, it was as if his body was enveloped in a thick fog; his hands and feet became unnaturally heavy, as if weighed down by lead. His senses dulled, his vision blurring at the edges, and his thoughts slowed to a crawl, as if his brain was wrapped in layers of cotton wool.

He resisted eating to avoid vulnerability, refusing to succumb to such manipulation again. Yet, you always reserved a plate for him, untouched by others, even when he abstained for days. It was as if you understood his reluctance and respected his choice.

Almost as though you had read his thoughts, when you put the plate you had prepared in front of him, Bi-Han lifted his head and looked at you again, meeting your gaze. You weren’t looking at him the way you looked at his brothers; it couldn’t be said that you were afraid, but there was a bit of underlying timidity in your gaze and a sadness that he couldn’t understand. In earlier days, Bi-Han was filled with terrible rage because he thought you were pitying him. However, with time and observation, he realized that he was mistaken in this belief.

“Do you want some green tea?” you asked, and Bi-Han silently confirmed. As you turned to prepare it, he felt a slight weight on his leg. Without needing to glance down, he sighed inwardly, ignoring the cat’s plaintive mewls.

“Ninja! Are you gambling with life? Come here.”

“How difficult can it be to control this pest?” Bi-Han remarked, breaking his silence and turning to Tomas, who had been holding the cat.

“Would you believe it’s harder than some of the missions I’ve been on? It’s so tiny, I feel like I’ll crush it if I hold it too tightly,” Tomas replied, eliciting a chuckle from you. Setting down the cup, you moved to pick up the cat, cradling it gently in your arms as it wriggled in protest.

‘’Come here sweetie, your breakfast is here.’’

Bi-Han kept his gaze fixed on you as he took a sip of his tea. Watching you care for the little cat in your arms, he couldn’t deny the sense of peace that settled over the room, despite his reluctance to admit it. The subtle smile on your face, the tender look in your eyes as you cradled the kitten with such delicacy, as if afraid of causing it harm… These details felt genuine and convincing, casting doubt on his previous perceptions of you. Despite the lingering uncertainties swirling in his mind, for a brief moment, Bi-Han entertained the idea of reconsidering them, but quickly dismissed the thought to a remote corner of his mind. With a hardened gaze, he reminded himself that pondering such matters was futile; their time here was limited, and he had more pressing issues to attend to—such as finding a way to put an end to this curse.

‘’Oh, somebody’s pretty hungry,’’ you said with a chuckle, watching the kitten eat with gusto.

‘’When is she ever full?’’ Kuai Liang hugged you from behind, planting a small kiss on your cheek as he observed the cat over your shoulder. Bi-Han struggled to contain his disdain, unable to stomach his brothers’ easy affection for you. Seeing them so tender was unfamiliar; he hadn’t known they harbored such warmth. Tomas was mild-mannered, Kuai Liang a mediator—they both possessed kindness, but this was different. It felt as if he were witnessing something sacred, untainted, and pure.

He also didn’t want to admit it, but looking at both of you, you looked good. Covered by his brother’s arms, you seemed soft and vulnerable, but also well-protected by the muscular arms, shielding you from any harm. You were almost radiating with a gentle warmth, soaking Kuai Liang with the same energy, making him more relaxed than ever.

‘’You’re right, she has an appetite that defies her small body. I’ve started to worry that I won’t be able to keep up.’’ you said with another chuckle, affectionately nuzzling Kuai Liang and placing a loving kiss on his cheek in return.

‘’Can you blame her after what she’s been through on the street?’’ Tomas interjected, popping a slice of peach into his mouth from where he sat.

‘’True, she’s been through a lot,’’ you acknowledged, turning to Tomas with a look that was a blend of sadness and warmth. ‘’But she’s in good hands now.’’

‘’We won’t let her go hungry again, we’ll make sure of that.’’ Kuai Liang affirmed, a gentle smile lighting up his face. The spark in his eyes, so reminiscent of yours, exuded hope and vitality, as if each glance at you reignited his spirit.

Bi-Han listened in silence, his facial expression betraying his inner turmoil. This situation diverged from anything that had defined their lives for years. He could already see his brothers becoming attached to your presence. Your natural demeanor, particularly your smile, never failed to catch Bi-Han’s attention, offering a glimmer of hope he couldn’t dare to believe. He wished he could feel the same; waking up without the curse looming overhead, knowing he could return to his clan, should have been a comforting notion.

‘’You talk as if you’re going to keep this cat here,’’ Bi-Han remarked after a while. There was a brief silence as you wriggled out of Kuai Liang’s arms and reached for your own cup, giving the kitten a final stroke on the head.

‘’She’ll stay here until I find her a good home, but my priority is to help her regain her strength and socialize,’’ you explained gently. ‘‘My budget is barely enough for myself, and I don’t know what will happen if I can’t find a job soon. Unfortunately, I can’t meet the needs of a cat under these circumstances.” There was a hint of sadness in your voice, as if you had already grown attached to the little creature and were reluctant to let go. Bi-Han’s gaze shifted to the kitten, standing a little apart from you.

The kitten was indeed tiny, easily overlooked if one wasn’t careful where they stepped. Yet, it possessed a courage that belied its size. Despite Bi-Han’s imposing stature and deep voice, the kitten persistently sought his attention, jumping at his ankles, meowing, doing everything to engage him. Its bravery reminded Bi-Han of you, actually— despite the biting words he hurled at you, you still sought help, a notion he struggled to comprehend. After all, they were total strangers to you, and there seemed to be nothing to gain in return. On the contrary, you stood to lose the power and control you had over them, something coveted by many but attainable only by you.

It seemed unbelievable that you would willingly abandon this control.

***

You left the house a short time ago for another job interview that you found couple days ago. They were all aware of your situation before you mentioned that the budget was tight. Even though there was a brave smile on your face, trying not to show your distress, Bi-Han could see all too well the underlying worries, as could his brothers. You weren’t as adept at hiding it as you thought you were.

That’s why Tomas and Kuai Liang decided to take advantage of your absence and left the house right after you did. Since you gave them unlimited space to act as they wished, without giving them orders or prohibitions, his brothers decided to ‘shop’ at the grocery store to support you—though their true intention was to steal. Tomas was extremely skilled at it when it came to stealth, thanks to the smoke magic. They wanted it to be a surprise for you when you came home, regardless of whether you got the job or not, to at least put a smile on your face, and they wanted to support you because they shared the house. Bi-Han didn’t even try to stop them or reason with them; he found it quite pointless now. He had realized weeks ago that his warnings were useless. He could only protect himself in this matter.

Although he hoped to enjoy some quiet time alone at home, the pest wouldn’t leave him alone for a moment. As danger signals emanated from all over his body, either the cat was too half-smart to understand it or it didn’t care about the consequences. He didn’t want to lock himself in the study; he was already locked in there when he wasn’t going out. The moment he stepped out of the room, it grated on his nerves to see you and his brothers hanging out without a care, laughing and having fun.

When the kitten continued to cling to his ankles, squealing for the last five minutes without stopping, with a sound so thin that it almost bled his ears, Bi-Han growled, crouched down quickly, and grabbed the cat by the neck, lifting it to eye level with him. “What?! What do you want?” When the words burst from his lips almost like a roar, the silence he had longed for covered the room.

While the kitten stared at his face speechlessly, Bi-Han also breathed deeply and met the cat’s gaze. But then something unexpected happened, when the cat started purring loudly and rubbed its small head against his chin, this time Bi-Han remained absurdly motionless. He shuddered with a strange feeling when the soft fur touched his chin. It wasn’t hatred, but it was unfamiliar. It was the first time he had come into contact with a pet since childhood.

“So, this is what it takes to keep you quiet, huh?’’

The kitten let out a mew as if she understood his words, rubbed her head against him a little more, and when she started purring louder, Bi-Han felt the edges of his lips curl up to form a smile. Just like Tomas said, the kitten was tiny between his long fingers and his big hand. It was so easy to hurt her; he could have ended her life instantly with a little squeeze of his hand. But instead of doing this, without stopping the kitten’s purring for a moment, he pushed her small, soft, and imperceptibly light body into the area between his neck and shoulder, surprising even himself.

With the comfort of no one seeing him, Bi-Han collapsed on one of the seats and started stroking the little body with his other hand that was not holding the kitten. His actions were probably too careful to be funny to an outsider; he avoided ending the cat’s life for the slightest mistake because the possibility of this was quite high. Bi-Han didn’t know how long he had been sitting on the couch like that. When the kitten’s purring gradually decreased and finally stopped completely, he took her back into his lap to see her sleeping body.

The only place that was white on her body, covered with black fur, was her eyes, which was a funny detail, creating the impression that she was wearing a mask. Her ears, which had been huge at first, were now standing more proportionally on the top of her head as she gained weight. With her tiny nose in a triangle shape and pink paws underneath, curled up like a ball on his hand, sleeping deeply, Bi-Han couldn’t help but be surprised that this little animal had trusted him despite everything.

At that moment, when the front door swung open with a deafening crash, Ninja jolted upright, her fur bristling as she leaped from his lap to seek shelter behind the seat. It couldn’t have been you or his brothers who came; none of you had ever opened the door with such force before, as if intent on shattering it.

As an old silhouette, one that Bi-Han hadn’t laid eyes on in a decade, crossed the threshold accompanied by a dozen assassins, Bi-Han’s eyes widened imperceptibly. Yet, amidst the initial shock, a sense of familiarity washed over him, like finding an anchor in the stormy sea of uncertainty. Sektor’s presence, along with the assassins bearing the emblem and colors of their clan, brought a surge of relief, as if Bi-Han had finally returned to the familiar grounds of home, sense of belonging and reassurance, the tension that had gripped his shoulders for so long finally beginning to ebb away.

“Grandmaster,” Sektor greeted with a sharp inhale, leading the group in a respectful bow before Bi-Han. “It’s been too long.”

Sektor’s face bore the familiar features Bi-Han remembered, albeit with a slightly bushier and longer beard peppered with white streaks, his black hair pulled back tightly with strands of gray weaving through the dark locks. The passage of time was evident in the wrinkles near his eyes, a silent testament to the years that had slipped by in his absence. With an incredulous expression on their face, Bi-Han gestured for them to raise their heads as they greeted him. He briefly embraced Sektor, one of his right-hand men and a loyal friend, feeling a sense of familiarity and trust in his presence.

‘’You found the apartment spot on.’’ he said as he stepped back.

‘’I followed the signals from the phone with which you contacted us, and it led us to the woman you mentioned,’’ Sektor explained, gesturing to one of the men behind him with his head. ‘’She put up quite a struggle.’’

As the group of seven split into two, revealing you with an assassin gripping your arm, Bi-Han’s heart clenched at the sight of your distressed form. Your eyes widened with fear, unshed tears glistening, while blood trickled from your lip and purple fingerprints adorned your throat. The desperation in your eyes struck him deeply, igniting a fierce protective instinct within him. He didn’t even grasp how it happened; one minute ago, he felt a deep-rooted sense of belonging after seeing his clan members in front of him. But now, seeing you shaken and hurt because of him, he felt a surge of emotions he didn’t know he had. He couldn’t understand why. Why was he feeling this way? He should feel relieved, since the book only protected you before them, not from the outside world. It was a possibility that you could get hurt. But now, it didn’t sit well with him. You didn’t deserve this treatment from him or his men.

‘’Release her,’’ Bi-Han growled, his voice laced with authority, anger and a little bit of protectiveness. When the assassin hesitated, Bi-Han seized their wrist and forcefully pulled you towards him. You were startled by his grip, his touch either too cold or perhaps the recent events had left you shaken. Whatever the reason, it prompted you to avoid his gaze, focusing instead on the ground beneath you. In that moment, Bi-Han anticipated the familiar pain that usually accompanied touching skin, however, to his surprise, all he encountered was the remarkably soft and sensitive skin beneath his fingers.

“Bi-Han,” your voice, usually moderate and friendly, trembled with fear, resembling a fading whisper. ‘’Let me go, please. I just want to retreat to my room.’’

Even after everything, you were still pleading instead of demanding or seeking vengeance for the harm inflicted upon you. Standing there, head hung low and trembling slightly in his grip, the quiver in your voice as you implored him to let you retreat to your room—all these details spoke volumes. They revealed a vulnerability that struck Bi-Han sharply. In that moment, it dawned on him with startling clarity. Perhaps, from the very beginning, your actions had been genuine, and this moment was the ultimate test to reveal your true nature. It was a realization that left him reeling and cast doubt on his previous assumptions about you.

The timbre in your voice, your posture, or whatever it was, made Bi-Han pull his hand away from you as if it had been burned. Throughout the whole encounter, you hadn’t lifted your head once, and as you quietly passed into your room without a word, Bi-Han was at a loss for what to do with the emotions that were rising up inside him.

“Grandmaster?” Sektor’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and when Bi-Han turned his gaze back to the others, he saw them watching him carefully. “Did we do something wrong?”

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” Bi-Han replied, avoiding a direct answer. “And be careful not to step on the cat.’’

With those words, he followed after you. When he looked through the partially open bedroom door, he saw you sitting on the end of the bed, your back facing him. He knocked once to announce his presence and then entered without waiting for your response. Startled, you glanced over your shoulder, an old T-shirt in one hand as you dabbed at the wound on your bleeding lip. You appeared small, vulnerable, and innocent, tears streaming down your cheeks silently. Your expression bore a sadness that tugged at his heartstrings, catching him off guard.

As Bi-Han closed the door behind him and stepped inside, you tried to wipe away your tears with a sniffle. “I didn’t know you hated me this much,” you said, your voice hoarse with emotion. Another tear crept down your cheek, and Bi-Han felt a pang of guilt wash over him at the sight of your despair.

“My orders were not in that direction. There was a miscommunication. I only asked them to come here, not to hurt you.” Bi-Han explained, though even to his own ears, his words sounded unconvincing amidst the swirling emotions he couldn’t quite grasp.

You must have been thinking the same thing too, so you didn’t answer him. Instead, you lowered your gaze, and a heavy silence settled between you. This situation bothered Bi-Han more than he expected. He had never cared much about what you thought of him until this moment. Now, he didn’t want any misunderstandings to grow, nor did he want you to think that he could give a command to harm someone defenseless. Another detail that bothered him was your demeanor; it was different from what he was accustomed to. You looked defeated, your shoulders slumped, as if trying not to take up too much space on the bed. Despite his words or his actions, there was always a flicker of light in your eyes, a desire to fight, but now it seemed extinguished. You seemed resigned, as if you had emerged from a battle knowing you couldn’t win.

‘’Show me your wound.’’ said Bi-Han, breaking the tense silence. You looked at him with a puzzled expression, clearly not expecting him to speak.

‘’It’s not a big deal. I can handle it. It would be better if you don’t keep them waiting.’’ you said kindly.

‘’Don’t tell me what to do,’’ Bi-Han growled, his voice taking on a contrary tone. Once again, you averted your gaze and shrank back, as if trying to disappear. Bi-Han cursed himself silently; he was too accustomed to speaking aggressively. Instead of further escalating the tension, he sat down beside you and ,as gently as possible, lifted your chin to examine your wound. Bi-Han had been expecting pain, but to his surprise, he felt the same softness and warmth of your skin as before. There was no biting pain or discomfort. It was unexpected and strange. Turning his gaze back to you, he found you watching him.

‘’Give me what you’re holding and stand still,’’ he said, attempting to soften his voice. You complied silently, handing over the T-shirt. As he applied pressure to your wound to stop the bleeding, he noticed you take a sharp breath.

‘’Does it hurt?’’

‘‘A little,’’ you replied softly. Bi-Han clenched his jaw, still feeling your nervous gaze on him as he tended to your wound with a care he didn’t know he possessed.

‘’Why do you hate me?’’

‘‘If I hated you, I wouldn’t be doing this right now, would I?’’ Bi-Han responded, his tone firm yet tinged with something softer. You took a shaky breath, your voice carrying a hint of innocence and hope that tugged at his heart.

‘’So you don’t?’’

Bi-Han didn’t answer, his eyes trailed to the purple fingerprints on your throat. Sektor had applied too much force. Anger surged within him at the sight of your injuries. You didn’t deserve this. Seeing you filled with fear in your own home where you should feel safe the most, blood on your lip, marks on your throat… Bi-Han had been trained to bear the weight of his responsibilities, but looking at you now, his conscience gnawed at him like never before. He should have foreseen Sektor’s aggression and prevented this. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to admit it out loud.

Before he could say anything, the sound of his brothers entering interrupted the moment. You exchanged a glance, then Bi-Han’s gaze lingered on the door.

‘’I think you’d better go,’’ you said again, your voice feather soft and light. Despite the fading fear on your face, you still looked vulnerable, like a fragile trinket that could be easily broken.

‘’I don’t trust you, but I don’t hate you,” Bi-Han said suddenly, the words escaping before he could fully process them. Your eyes widened in surprise at his unexpected admission. Something about your presence in that moment had prompted him to speak. “I hate this situation I’ve fallen into,” he continued, his voice tinged with years of pent-up frustration. “The power you have over us, this dark magic, the book, everything.” Then without waiting for your response, Bi-Han rose from his seat and walked out of the room, refusing to look back. He needed space to process his emotions, to distance himself from the turmoil that surrounded him. As he entered the living room, he found Tomas, Kuai Liang, and Sektor engrossed in conversation. Relief washed over his brothers’ faces at the sight of Sektor, and Bi-Han knew they were glad to see a familiar face after so many years. Noticing his presence, Kuai Liang turned to him.

‘’Why didn’t you tell us you had contacted Sektor before?’’ He asked, his tone more curious than reproachful.

“Your attention wasn’t quite suitable at the moment.”

Both of his brothers frowned, understanding the implication. Tomas’s gray eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on him again.

“Where is she?” He inquired, his brows furrowing further.

‘’In her room.’’ Bi-Han replied.

Tomas’s expression darkened, and he rose from his seat, his eyes narrowing as he headed towards your bedroom. Bi-Han stopped him by grabbing his arm.

‘’You should know there was an incident.’’

Tomas’s head snapped towards him then, anger clearly evident in his expression now.

‘’What are you saying-‘’

‘’Tomas?’’

When you peeked out from your bedroom, Tomas’s words hung in the air, left unfinished as he caught sight of your appearance. Bi-Han silently observed Tomas’s reaction as he swiftly reached your side. Sensing your hesitation to open the door fully, Tomas instantly noticed and, with a suppressed growl, swung the door wide open.

‘‘Who did this to you?’’ he demanded, his voice laced with pure anger.

Upon hearing Tomas’s question, Kuai Liang sprang from his seat and darted past him like a gust of wind. Bi-Han watched as his brother approached you with a kindness he had seldom seen in Tomas before, tenderly cupping your face in his palms and inspecting the wound on your lip with his thumb.

‘“I’m fine, guys. It’s nothing, really. It doesn’t even hurt.” you said, attempting to reassure them.

“Bi-Han mentioned there was an incident,’’ Kuai Liang interjected, shooting Bi-Han a knowing look before turning his gaze back to you. Bi-Han watched as the hard edge in Kuai Liang’s brown eyes softened with concern as his fingers traced the purple marks on your neck. ‘‘Tell us what really happened.’’

Your eyes darted to his, filled with desperation, as if searching for the right words. Given that you seemed to have Kuai Liang and Tomas wrapped around your finger, they were inclined to believe whatever you said, no matter how absurd or hard to believe. A clear example of this was just a few weeks ago when Tomas confronted him on your behalf. Yet, there was a palpable sense of caution in your demeanor, as if you were treading carefully to avoid escalating the situation or triggering them further.

‘’I-I…It’s just-‘’

‘’I contacted Sektor through her phone,’’ Bi-Han interjected, unable to bear the helpless expression on your face any longer.Sektor also joined him halfway through, taking charge and completing the explanation.

‘’I’m sorry for hurting you,’’ Sektor apologized, his gaze fixed on you nestled between the protective arms of his brothers. Stepping forward, he bowed as a form of apology. ‘’I thought you were responsible for their absence.’’

‘’No harm done, really. You don’t need to apologize,’’ you said, panic and embarrassment evident in your voice. ‘’I was just a bit scared. I mistook you for Quan Chi and his men at first, so I was hesitant to answer and didn’t want to cooperate.’’ As you speak, Bi-Han observes your expression closely, noting the shift from fear to relief as Sektor apologizes, his sincerity reassures you.

‘’You thought he was Quan Chi?’’ Kuai Liang asked softly, gently caressing your face. You offered him a small smile and nodded in confirmation. Tomas joined him, planting a loving kiss on your cheek.

‘’You could have been seriously hurt,” Tomas said, his tone now tinged with awe and kindness rather than anger, reflecting the concern he felt towards you. His gaze softened as he looked at you.

‘’I just wanted to protect you,’’ you whispered, your voice laden with emotion. Bi-Han felt something stir within him at your words, a feeling he couldn’t quite name. He had imagined you must have been scared when you encountered Sektor, but mistaking him for Quan Chi and still trying to protect them… it was different. No one had ever shown such bravery to him or his brothers before. They had never needed it, and they were too proud to admit otherwise. Moreover, you didn’t even know how to protect yourself, yet you still resisted until you realized who Sektor was. It was foolish, yet admirable. The courage you displayed, even in fear, was something not everyone possessed.

Bi-Han understood better at that moment why his brothers were so fond of you.

As they returned to the living room, Bi-Han recounted the events, with his brothers occasionally adding their own insights. He wasn’t sure how many hours had passed; after all, they had been absent for ten years, and it must have taken them hours to catch up on the clan’s affairs. Throughout the conversation, Bi-Han remained seated in his usual spot, while you held Ninja on your lap, nestled under the seat after you reached out to her. You were installed next to Kuai Liang, while Tomas and Sektor occupied seats opposite you.

He was relieved to learn that the clan had remained steadfast since the day they were cursed. Sektor and Cyrax had worked diligently to maintain order and uphold traditions. In fact, Sektor mentioned that their numbers had increased slightly, and their training had become more comprehensive.

Once there was nothing left to discuss, Bi-Han spoke up once again. ‘’I want you to contact Lord Liu Kang. If anyone can lift this curse, it’s him,’’ he instructed.

‘‘Won’t you come back with us?’’ Sektor’s surprise was palpable. ‘’Everything’s ready, Grandmaster. Just give us the command.’’

Bi-Han yearned to return to his homeland, to the land where he belonged, where he was born and raised… But he had to consider the bigger picture. It was impossible for them to stay away from you for long due to the curse. If you came with them, you would be vulnerable to their enemies, who might exploit you to harm the clan. Bi-Han wanted to keep this situation as secret as possible, at least until a solution was found.

‘’It’s best if the curse remains discreet between us. The sooner you reach Liu Kang, the better.’’

“But brother—‘’

‘’They can use her as a means to reach us,’’ Bi-Han interjected, cutting off Kuai Liang. When his gaze shifted to you, a guilty expression flashed across your face, as if you felt responsible, and you quickly averted your eyes. Bi-Han cursed himself silently for yet another misunderstanding. ‘’It’s for the best, for all of us. If Liu Kang can’t find a solution, return here in two months and retrieve the book. I want us to remain within the clan thereafter.’’

‘’As you wish, Grandmaster,’’ Sektor replied obediently.

***

A few days had passed since Sektor’s visit. The scar on your lip had almost disappeared, and the fingerprints on your throat had turned into a pale yellow stain. The memory of your expression upon seeing the amount of food that Tomas and Kuai Liang had bought—enough to feed a small African tribe—remained vivid in Bi-Han’s mind.

‘‘What is all this?’’ you asked, your cheeks slightly flushed with excitement. Tomas scratched the back of his head bashfully, while Kuai Liang pulled you close with a gentle arm around your waist, planting a kiss on the bruises on your neck.

‘’We did some grocery shopping.’’ Tomas replied.

‘’But how?’’ You inquired politely, fully aware of they didn’t have an money, yet the bemused expression on your face was endearing, a blend of amusement and sweetness. Your cheeks held a faint flush, while your eyes sparkled with excitement, reminiscent of a delighted child receiving a cherished gift. Witnessing your joy, Bi-Han was taken aback by how effortlessly you found happiness in such simple gestures.

‘’It would be more accurate to say we obtained it without being seen.’’ Kuai Liang chimed in, taking over the explanation from Tomas. Your raised eyebrow and playful glance prompted a chuckle from him.

‘’So you stole it, did you?’’

‘’Is it stealing if no one saw?’’ Tomas quipped, eliciting a laugh from you that echoed through the small kitchen.

‘’Tomas! That’s exactly what stealing means!’’ you exclaimed, still smiling as you surveyed the bounty of food. ‘’You even got food for Ninja, guys, I can’t believe you! I hope I can fit this much food in the fridge.’’ Turning in Kuai Liang’s arms, you planted a happy kiss on his lips, filling his face with pride and joy. “Normally, theft is never something I would approve of, but I really needed it, thank you.’’ you said, moving to hug Tomas tightly and also kiss him like you did with Kuai Liang.

‘‘We can imagine how difficult it is for you to feed us all at once. We wanted to ease your burden.’’ Tomas explained. In response to his words, the innocence in your smile deepened, and Bi-Han watched as the warmth in your eyes softened further. He had never witnessed anyone gaze at his brothers with such sincerity and purity. Your gestures, your smiles—everything you offered them seemed so natural and genuine. It was as though you held deep affection for his brothers. For a brief moment, Bi-Han found himself contemplating how it would feel if those same tender glances were directed at him. It seemed absurd to entertain such thoughts, as he typically dismissed such sentiments. Yet, in that moment, he couldn’t help but wonder. Had he ever missed something he had never experienced? Was it jealousy, or perhaps longing? The unfamiliar emotions stirred within him, leaving him perplexed yet intrigued.

Shaking off his reverie, Bi-Han sat alone, you having gone out for a walk with Kuai Liang and Tomas an hour ago, leaving him alone with the cat. Glancing at the feline curled up in his lap, he found himself stroking her soft belly absentmindedly. As he sat at his seat, his gaze wandered to the window, where colorful city lights illuminated the evening sky. Below, people bustled about, returning home after a day’s work, while the distant sounds of car engines added to the city’s cacophony.

Suddenly, the cat perked up, alerted by a sound outside. Bi-Han’s attention shifted to the door, where he heard the anxious voices of his brothers approaching. As they entered, Tomas was holding you in his arms, with Kuai Liang in tow. Bi-Han’s brow furrowed as he took in the state you were in.

“What’s going on?”

“She’s not well,” Tomas’s voice was tense, dominated by a helpless and worried expression rarely seen on his face when he felt powerless. Kuai Liang remained silent, his eyes stormy with concern, his jaw clenched so tightly that he was sure his teeth were aching. “While walking in the park, she suddenly doubled over and started holding her stomach, whimpering in pain.” he explained.

“Side effects of the book,” Kuai Liang interjected, his tone tinged with anger. “She’s been experiencing symptoms for a while but hasn’t said anything.”

Bi-Han found himself grappling with disbelief as he processed the situation. Despite a part of him anticipating this moment, he couldn’t comprehend how he missed the telltale signs. Since they showed up at your house, he had always kept his eyes on you. He waited for you to drop your mask, quietly following your every step, scrutinizing your expression with sharp eyes. Perhaps, in hindsight, he was so overwhelmed with details that he failed to see the truth before him. Normally, within a week or so, whoever wielded the book would inevitably use them for their own pleasure.

Initially, the feeling would emerge subtly, like a thin fog in the corner of their minds, not applying pressure but making its presence felt. But as the days passed, this feeling would grow hostile and aggressive, leaving no choice but to use them, as relief could only come that way. Bi-Han had heard this definition before from several different masters, none of whom could endure the escalating wave of pain to the end, especially when the solution was within reach and there were no obstacles.

The fact that you had been enduring this pain silently for a while, and moreover, that you hid it from them without flinching, was something Bi-Han couldn’t reconcile with his logic. Why were you trying to endure this pain?

“I’m all right,” you weakly protested, barely audible amidst the turmoil. Bi-Han’s gaze softened as he observed you, held in Tomas’s embrace. Sweat glistened on your forehead, your face contorted in agony. Despite not touching you, he could sense the fever radiating from your body.

“This can’t continue,” Tomas insisted, concern etched on his features. “We can help you.”

“No,” you managed to gasp in pain, struggling to open your eyes. Bi-Han could see clearly the extent of your suffering, tears lined the edges of your eyes. “I don’t want you to do this because of the curse.”

“We are going to do this for you,” Kuai Liang countered, his voice laced with anger directed at the situation rather than you. However, in that moment, it came out as a snarl.

“Doesn’t matter. After all, I’m in this state because of the curse, and I don’t want you to be put under the same obligation again.”

“Do you want us to stand by while you suffer?” Kuai Liang pressed, his concern palpable.

Unable to speak, your eyes squeezed shut as a whimper escaped your lips, writhing painfully in Tomas’s lap as you began to take deep, labored breaths, resting your head on his chest.

“She’s burning,” Tomas remarked, his voice increasingly concerned. Then, as if a realization dawned on both of them simultaneously, Bi-Han crossed his arms over his chest and gave them a piercing, almost deadly glare.

“No.”

***

He couldn’t comprehend how he found himself lying in bed with you. Moments ago, he was at odds with Kuai Liang and Tomas, and now he lay on your double-sized bed, staring at the ceiling. His logical mind urged him to leave, yet his body remained rooted for reasons he couldn’t fathom.

Turning to where you lay, he observed you from his position. There wasn’t much space between you on the bed. Your body curled into a fetal position, drenched in sweat, causing the sheets beneath you to dampen. You looked so pitiful and helpless, as the only thing you could do at the moment was keep breathing.

“Why are you resisting?” Bi-Han’s voice lacked its usual aggression or coldness, replaced instead by confusion. He couldn’t grasp why you still kept enduring this suffering.

“I want to keep all of you safe,” your fragile voice answered. Bi-Han’s brows furrowed deeper at your response.

“Is it worth enduring this pain?”

“Yes.” Your answer was swift and simple, stirring an ache in Bi-Han’s heart. ‘’I told Kuai Liang that I would offer you a safe space, and I will do so as well. You deserve more than that, but this is all I can do. I don’t want you to do anything that the book obliges.’’

What you thought was insignificant was actually a tremendous sacrifice for their comfort. He was speechless for the first time in his life. He didn’t know what to say, what the right and necessary words were. He had never met someone like you who sacrificed themselves in this way before. As he needed a few seconds to digest what he was hearing, he simply looked at you.

At that moment, Bi-Han heard the answer to the ‘Why’ question that had been spinning in his mind for weeks. Because you cared not only about your brothers but also about him with all his thorns, sharp words, and rude manners. Despite everything, you weren’t keeping him apart from Kuai Liang and Tomas, and you were enduring this pain inside for him as much as you were enduring it for them.

As you writhed in pain, still maintaining a careful distance, Bi-Han realized that what he had been waiting for wasn’t you to drop your mask, but for him to acknowledge your genuine care. You didn’t play games; your sole purpose was to only help. While gaining the trust of Kuai Liang and Tomas, you rejected their assistance, a reaction unfamiliar to him and his brothers. Despite the opportunity for relief, you refused their aid.

With another whimper, you completely crumpled down where you were, and when tears started to flow from your eyes once again, Bi-Han pulled you to himself as he grasped you, without thinking about anything else, along with the emotions that sprouted in his heart. Even though he knew that you would be surprised under normal circumstances, your indifference and continuing to cry quietly while being embraced by him by doing the exact opposite, tugged at his heart strings.

“I’m sorry,” your voice muffled against his neck, yet Bi-Han heard every word. “I know you don’t like me… I’m sorry you had to endure this.’’

“Be silent, woman. You talk too much.” His tone was surprisingly gentle as Bi-Han held your sweat-drenched body against him tightly. A small moan escaped your lips, a sign of relief amidst the pain. Since Bi-Han has always kept his distance from you, you’ve had almost zero contact with him, so in addition to his body being cold, his touch was also more effective compared to his brothers. That’s why, actually, part of the pain you suffered was because of him, that you couldn’t touch him the way you could have touched Kuai Liang or Tomas.

Your body slowly relaxed in his arms, Bi-Han’s hand finding its way under your shirt, offering what little coolness he could. It felt natural to hold you this way, as if it was where you belonged all along.

“Bi-Han…” your voice was soft and vulnerable, triggering his protective instincts. As he rested his chin on top of your head, completely caging you with his arms, your breathing steadied a bit, and the tremors subsided. “You don’t have to do this.” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. Your lips brushed against his throat as you spoke, a detail Bi-Han found himself liking.

“I remember telling you to be silent.”

“I don’t want to cause you any more inconvenience. I’m feeling better, please, you can let me go.” you said, the obvious lie and stubbornness in your voice softening Bi-Han’s heart while simultaneously angering him. He grabbed you by the neck so that he could see your face, and when he lifted your chin up with his thumb, he faced your innocent gaze. All the while his touch was gentle and incredibly cautious, much like when he handled Ninja. You resembled her at the moment, fragile and delicate.

“Under normal circumstances, you can’t force me to do something I don’t want to,” he asserted, his hand tracing from your chin to your temples. As his fingers moved over the lines, a moment of relief washed over you, your eyes closing briefly in response. Bi-Han found solace in providing you with comfort, a departure from his typically cold demeanor that often left others chilled rather than soothed. “This is one of those rare instances.” When Bi-Han whispered the last part towards your lips, your eyes opened, and you suddenly looked at him with so much emotion that Bi-Han felt his breath getting smaller and clogged in his throat. He could see his own reflection in your eyes.

‘’I have been cruel to you, even though you did not deserve it.’’ His confession enveloped the room like a heavy blanket, yet Bi-Han didn’t feel suffocated beneath it. On the contrary, he felt a sense of relief, as if he had shed a bit more of the burden he carried. When his gaze shifted from your lips back to your eyes, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at the profound understanding reflected in them.

‘‘You had your reasons, it’s okay.’’ You said it with your usual forgiveness. ‘’I have not given up hope for you.” Despite everything, when you managed to put a small smile on your pain-weary face, Bi-Han felt that his heart was being suppressed inside his rib cage, as if it was being squeezed from both sides. How pure your heart was, so full of kindness that Bi-Han started to feel like absolute shit when he thought about the times he hurt you so many times.

‘’You make me feel things I’ve never felt before.’’ He said after a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he spoke.

‘’Is that… a bad thing?’’ You said in a timid voice.

“No,” Bi-Han said without hesitation. “It’s something I never thought possible until now.” He had buried his feelings so deeply that now, as they began to surface, distinguishing and naming each one became a daunting task. He felt overwhelmed by them, but refusing to ignore them any longer felt like the only honorable choice, especially after witnessing your endurance of pain on their behalf.

While he seethed with frustration towards his brothers, he never anticipated finding himself in the same predicament as them. Typically, he’d be harsh on himself for failing to maintain his vigilance. Even before assuming leadership of the clan, he embodied the role of the older brother, a figure of experience and protection, standing resolute where they faltered.

Yet, as he observed you, he teetered on the edge of conflicting emotions. You touched a part of him that had remained untouched, your essence reaching deep into his soul. Physically fragile you may have been, but your heart—your heart was a beacon of forgiveness and strength. Your presence illuminated every space you entered with a comforting warmth, a stark contrast to his reserved attitude.

Despite this, a part of him resisted. A lifetime of emotional barricades made him wary of letting anyone in, fearful of disrupting the balance he’d maintained. If Liu Kang couldn’t find a solution to the curse, he was doomed to lose you. Did he really want to take this risk despite knowing the inevitable outcome? As he looked at you, the answer became clear in his mind. Though brief, even if it were to end eventually, Bi-Han yearned to taste the light before returning to eternal darkness. You were a rarity, a once-in-a-lifetime encounter he couldn’t bear to reduce to a mere ‘wish’. No, he wished to imprint every moment, every sensation of you, onto his memory. The desire boiled within him, igniting his veins like wildfire, as his gaze once again descended from your eyes to your lips.

‘’Throughout my life, I’ve learned to be self-sufficient, prioritizing my clan above all else and neglecting my own desires. It’s become second nature, so much so that I didn’t realize what I truly needed until this moment.” His thumb grazed your lower lip, a gesture filled with longing. “It’s you,” Bi-Han declared, his voice echoing with a possessive growl that emboldened him. “I want to taste you, to feel you. I need you.”

Your expression softened even further, a tired yet content smile gracing your lips. “I’m here.” Those words were all Bi-Han needed to act. As his lips met yours, he felt the warmth radiating from your body, a heat he was determined to temper. Your kiss was slow and tentative, your movements guided by exhaustion and lingering pain. Bi-Han welcomed your presence, relishing the sensation of your lips against his. He felt every subtle shift and curve; your lips were so much softer than he ever could imagine, delicate like butterfly wings. Your taste was intoxicatingly sweet and warm, tinged with the fever that had consumed you, yet achingly innocent.

It felt like stepping onto solid ground after sailing through a raging storm, finally finding a peace and comfort he had never experienced before. It felt like returning home, to where he truly belonged—welcoming, gentle, and forgiving.

“Bi-Han,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if afraid to disturb the delicate moment. Pulling back slightly, you sought to catch your breath, your lips brushing against the tip of his chin in a tender kiss. Nestling your head against the crook of his neck, your hand resting gently on the side of his neck. “Thank you for trusting me enough to give me a chance.” you murmured, your words laden with sincerity.

Then, as if on cue, your body grew heavy, slipping into the embrace of sleep. Careful not to disturb you, he adjusted your position to ensure your comfort, his hand instinctively finding its way to gently stroke your hair. It felt natural, as if he had been doing it all his life, bringing him a sense of peace he had long yearned for.

“Trust, huh,” Bi-Han whispered to himself, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. It struck him then that this was exactly what he was offering you in this moment. As you lay peacefully, surrendering yourself to him, Bi-Han couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Everything felt so right, so true, in this moment with you. If breaking his oath was the price to taste this peace, he was willing to pay it. His decision was made the instant he lay down beside you, even if he couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

As your skin gradually returned to its normal temperature, Bi-Han found comfort in the gentle contact. Your touch, a testament to your presence, was undeniably soothing. It carried a silent promise of healing, a balm for the wounds inflicted by the curse. Like the calm waves of the morning sea caressing the shore, your essence enveloped his soul, offering comfort and reassurance. The rhythm of your breathing, the soft glow of the lamp, the weight of your body against his—all of it contributed to a sense of serenity that permeated the room. For a moment, Bi-Han allowed himself to relax fully, succumbing to the tranquility that surrounded him. With a sense of surrender, he closed his eyes, trusting that his brothers would keep watch and ensure your safety for the hours ahead.

He had harbored a lifelong aversion to physical contact, but now, as he yearned to etch into his memory the sensations evoked by your touch, along with every intricate detail, he realized that touching could bring comfort and pleasure instead of pain.

And it was all because of you…

***

Author’s Note : As you can see, Bi-Han was a virgin before being sealed inside the book, due to his strong aversion to physical touch… But! He’s in good hands now. Welcome to the party, Bi-Han, albeit a bit late. Better late than never, right? By the way, Bi-Han sees the reader as non-threatening, which is why her touch doesn’t hurt him at all, but he isn’t aware of this. Subconsciously, he’s reacting this way, and it’s only with his brothers where he truly feels safe. Reader is now a part of that inner circle.

See you in the next chapter! 🥰

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onlyseokmins · 1 month

Text

$$60 billion (part 1) • l.s.m.

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

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

Everyone wanted Lee Seokmin.

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

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

You shiver.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But curiosity eventually overturned the initial fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you both dissolve into laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Obviously."

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

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

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

"And that's why you'll be the —"

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

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

"Technically, that's true."

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

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

"Well —"

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

" — Think fast!"

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

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

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

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

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

"It's… it's never been loaded or…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you have the most demerits this week."

"And whose fault is that?!"

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

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

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

"Hey… thanks."

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

"Mm-hm."

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

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

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

Fascinating little things those Earthlings created!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What did you do?"

"What haven't I done?"

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

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

"Goodnight, Chan."

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

But tomorrow never came.

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

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

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

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

You're struck with the damning realization.

The gods — they have completely abandoned humankind.

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

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

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

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

"Nothing guarantees —"

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

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

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

Sister Constance doubts.

And something about that thrills you. Terrifyingly so.

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

A sandstorm brews on the horizon.

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

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

The Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood.

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

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

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

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

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

"Chan?!"

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

"What about you?"

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

"But —"

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

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

"Chan, what's —"

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

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

"You hate those kinds of things."

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

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

The bangs of carnage draw closer. Louder.

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

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

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

What was going on?

Boom!

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

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

It's gone.

"No…"

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

"No… no… no…"

Gone.

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

"No!"

And most importantly, he has to be alright.

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

For now.

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

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

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

"Don't. Move."

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

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

"Go ahead and shoot."

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

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

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

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

"I —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guilt.

"I — I —"

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

"Should've… It should've —"

"Hey, hey…"

"It should've been me!"

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

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

Your body shakes as the tears finally slip free.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?"

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

You don't.

"And what do you call this lovely lady?"

"Nothing."

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

"Just haven't decided."

"I see! Mine's Geranium."

"Oh, like… the flower?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's stale too.

Fucker.

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh-huh."

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

"Hey, now —"

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

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

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

"'Ol Needle Noggin, eh?"

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

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

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

"Wasn't tryna scam —"

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

"Anyone told ya how irritatin' ya are?"

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

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

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

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

You feel a funny sensation.

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

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

"Oh, go to hell, Choi!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that's anything new."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you're on edge.

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

"Now who's staring?"

"'Kay, but's not with unbridled lust and — " He's cut off by a sharp kick to the side of his shin delivered by one of your heavy combat boots. "And feelin's," gets wheezed out before the pastor falls silent at your nasty scowl paired with Wonwoo's timely arrival.

The saloon owner and de facto authority in town approaches the two of you cautiously. It's no secret who you are, who you're with. What you do and the things that follow when you do what you do. And yet what you've done has saved the town and given its people — especially the younger folk — something that some of them have never experienced before.

Hope.

And that seems to be good enough proof for Wonwoo. Rumors may just be rumors, after all. None of you are like the reports relayed in a tinny voice through the virtually enhanced radios that are non-plant-powered — aka illustriously dubbed by their inventor as VERnons.

"… the Bloody Rain… follows… Lee… Humanoid Typhoon… armed… dangerous. Punisher… cross… machine gun… two unknown… likely… agents…. Bernardelli Insurance…"

The VERnon sitting behind the counter splutters out bits and pieces of information. He side-eyes the device awkwardly and starts fumbling with the buttons, trying to mumble over the static and monotonous voice.

"Can I pour you another drink?"

"Sure," you chuckle, pleased.

The bartender's well-intentioned efforts are fruitless which is to be expected. Only the creator, and those he personally taught, could truly modify the invention as pleased. A part of you hoped to find evidence Hansol had traveled this far but alas, he was probably still searching through the seven major cities for his beloved Milly before attempting to wander through the treacherous wastelands.

A brown, short-haired darling sneaks awe-filled glances at the two of you from the corner where a group of women around your age gather to chat. Seungcheol's the first to catch onto the admiring starry-eyed gaze and winks. Chuckling when a pudgy hand clings tighter to one of the lady's long skirt, using the fabric as a demure little shield against his effortless charisma.

You catch the tail-end of the interaction with the ghost of a smile. If there's one thing that can definitely soften Seungcheol's rough edges, it's children. You can't blame him, reminded of cheery voices and energetic footsteps pounding after your own through the convent's hallways.

The attractive woman wonders what's drawing the younger girl's attention and leans down to whisper in her ear. Gesturing in your direction, you watch as she nods encouragingly and offers a gentle smile, pushing the tiny brunette forward who readily toddles over. The gaps still waiting for pearly white teeth to grow in that shy smile on the little girl's face are endearingly winsome.

"'Lo, Wonu."

The bespectacled man starts, eyes wide as he peers over the counter and just manages to glimpse the top of her mousy brown tufts. "Is that you, Lina? You're not supposed to be here."

"Past yer bedtime, lil one?"

She huffs indignantly at the two men, hands on her hips. "I've once stayed up 'til four in the morning, mister!"

"Oh, Lina…"

"Besides, how can anyone of good standing sleep properly when there's heroes in town?"

"Huh, what a darlin' angel!"

You scoff at your comrade's words. "As if you've ever seen one."

"I do beg your pardon," Wonwoo scrambles to excuse the child's enthusiasm. "Looks like another talk is due with, uh, Sheryl."

"You're just jealous, Wonu. Sherry says they're heroes."

A chubby finger points at you and Seungcheol and the bartender clicks his tongue — partially in reproach and the other half out of embarrassment. The two of you hardly pay any attention to his reaction, seeming to not mind her boldness at all.

"That's right, sweet'art. And don'tchu forget now." In fact, a certain cross-wearing man revels in it. He rummages deep in his pocket and pulls out a lollipop with a flourish. "'N here's a lil magic gift for ya, princess."

You're one step faster, snatching it and unwrapping the candy with a quick inspection. At least it looks fresh and clean. Seungcheol snorts. Ignoring him, you crouch down and hand it to Lina with a gentle smile.

"Remember to be careful with what you take from strangers."

"I know! But you're heroes… and heroes are always good people! You would never hurt me!" Those blue-green eyes are certainly dazzling as she stares into yours, reminiscent of the clean water now filling the town's reservoir. "You're very pretty."

"That might be the highest compliment I've ever received."

"Pretty people don't hurt anyone either! Sherry's super pretty and she's the gentlest I know!"

A very pretty pastor himself snickers for multiple reasons. Meanwhile, Wonwoo laments with a tired sigh, "Dunno what that crazy woman's been teaching her, I swear…"

"You're not supposed to talk about people you like like that, Wonu!" Lina gives them both the stink eye but returns her attention to focus solely on you — Tonim's loveliest savior in her teal-eyed view. "Will I grow up to be as pretty as you?"

Ah, how your heart aches.

"Even prettier."

"I…" She gnaws on her lip, as if it does anything to hide how much her pleased grin glows. "I wanna be a hero, too!"

"Don't see why you wouldn't become one." To you, she already is — in all her innocent radiance and glory.

"Gotta grow big 'n strong first, missy."

"I am strong!"

"Don't doubt it. But wait 'til yer at least twice my age 'fore ya go swingin' at thugs."

She wrinkles her nose. "I'll be in the grave like Grammy if I wait that long, old man!"

Seungcheol guffaws at her unexpected remark and you hear the bartender beg, "Lina, please!" But you focus on all the brilliance in front of you — from precious unkempt locks to blue eyes full of fire and finally to the worn out, dust-covered shoes.

"Hopefully you'll never need a reason to be the hero, though. It's our duty to keep that from happening."

There's too much hidden meaning and brutal experience in your words for her to fully understand. The lull gives a certain pastor an opportunity to sidle back into the conversation, ready to get up to no good as always.

"Ya wanna meet the hero of all heroes, darlin'?"

"Choi —"

"Yeah!" Lina claps ecstatically.

"Go 'head 'n give 'er yer second key," he coaxes quietly with a shit-eating smirk.

"I swear!"

"C'mon… never like keepin' such a sweet gal waitin'!"

After a minute's hesitation, you begrudgingly agree and take it out.

"Thank ya. Now, got a lil mission for ya, Miss Hero-in-the-Makin'."

"Really?!"

Barely able to conceal her exuberance, she reverently takes the key like it's actual gold and not simply plated. Seungcheol ruffles her hair affectionately.

"Y'see the man in all purple?"

"Mhm, yeah! The one that looks like the night sky?"

"Yeah, give 'im it. Make sure to say it's from this pretty lady."

"Choi!"

"Talk to 'im too 'cause he'll love that. He's a real hero, y'know? Truest of 'em all."

"Yes, sir!"

"Attagirl."

Lina scurries off and you turn back to the counter with a sour glare directed at Seungcheol. "What was that all about?"

"Dunno, cute?"

"I'm really sorry about that all," Wonwoo apologetically interrupts with the offer of another refill which is readily accepted. "She… she's very excitable."

"No need for apologizin', man."

"Yeah, she's adorable. Is she yours?"

The bespectacled bartender stutters, almost dropping the glass he's handing to you. "That's, uh, that's my sister!"

"Ah, makes sense! Didn't mean to assume."

He flushes and turns away. But not without mumbling something about it being okay and your comrade groans.

"Reminder — ya get too drunk, 'm not dealin' with ya ass."

"Great, I don't want you near my ass."

"'S not what I meant!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Seungcheol downs another shot and you're quick to follow his lead once Wonwoo hands over another refill per your shared request. However, this time, the stoic man surprisingly lingers and awkwardly fiddles with his wire-rimmed frames, doing his very best to not let his eyes wander your scantily clad figure as your head tilts back to swallow the burning alcohol.

Meanwhile, the pastor's grin turns wolfish.

"So, uh, who are you, really?"

"Curious, eh?" You lean comfortably onto the counter, braced by your forearms and an alluring smile on your face for the handsome saloon owner. His gaze drifts down to your scar-covered hands which also happen to be placed conveniently underneath your breasts.

You'd once said the best disguise and toughest armor was none at all. And why not flaunt your assets — literally — and put them to good use. The desert is hot anyways!

Seungcheol and Seungkwan both called bullshit. Mingyu applauded you and waved his "I respect women's rights, wrongs, and all the above no matter what!" flag. Seokmin — already used to your behavior and attire — had nothing else to say other than his normal quips of, "As long as you're comfortable".

"Well, a-a beautiful woman like yourself has to have everyone wondering."

And you laughed in the face of your haters every time it worked.

"Just a bounty hunter."

Wonwoo nods at the casual answer, recalling the holster strapped around the plush of your thigh beneath short denim shorts. "Where from?"

"Well… around. My hometown was destroyed so…"

"Oh? Same here."

"Ah, camaraderie." You jab a thumb menacingly in the direction of the purple-cloaked figure and the life of tonight's celebration, currently animatedly chattering to Lina. "That's why I'm turning him in."

"He's…?"

"Yup, Lee Seokmin. Yes," you confirm with a smirk at the way Wonwoo's eyes bug out behind his glasses, "that one — the infamous humanoid typhoon. Don't worry, he won't hurt anything or anyone here."

"He's… uh, he's not quite what I expected."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"You must be pretty badass to reign him in. Heard he's giving what's left of the July regime officers a run for their double dollars."

"For sure. But it's thanks to the other two drunkards, really. Believe it or not, they're Bernardelli insurance agents. Raven-haired one's Seungkwan and the tall one is Mingyu. They're helping to monitor that whopping bounty of mine and prevent any more disasters from happening. Heard I might get a bump in value if I bring him in alive."

"Oh, well, it looks like it's working. And he seems… willing? To come with you?"

"The irony. Always been quite blasé about facing his doom."

"He's really a Plant engineer, too?"

"Of sorts," you huff at his visible confusion but wave your empty glass. "Can I get another?"

He's more than happy to accommodate and returns with two, sliding one over to Seungcheol with a cautious look at the person who seems the closest to you. "And this is…?"

"Pastor. Pleased to meet'cha."

"Oh! Really?"

"A surprising addition to the mix, yeah. But everyone needs to, like, pray sometimes." And under your breath, low enough so only a certain man can hear, "no matter how sketchy they are."

"Do you, hm, officiate weddings?"

The one in question quirks a thick eyebrow. "Ya lookin' to get hitched, boy?"

"M-maybe."

And Seungcheol feels wholly compelled to bless him silently from the bottom of his blackened heart with full sincerity, seeing as how the bespectacled man timidly peeks your way before his gaze darts elsewhere. "Sorry lad, charge 'bout a thousand double dollars minimum."

While the solitary bartender crashes back into the sad reality of capitalism, you jab your elbow into the pastor's ribcage. "Fuckin' scammer."

"Only the best of the best! Ya know, sixty billion's still on the table — 'n it better be callin' my name."

"No one even has sixty billion double dollars!"

"We have 'im." And he points back to where hoots and hollers erupt from the center table of the saloon.

Lina's returned to the woman she was with earlier — presumably her beloved Sherry — but that doesn't mean Seokmin's alone. There's so much disdain in your side-eye, spotting the busty violet-haired sweetheart his arm wraps around. After all, he's the worst kind of ladykiller.

And by that, you mean he absolutely sucks at flirting and can't get or keep a partner to save his life. Yet you're constantly stuck witnessing women, men, and attractive people of all kinds throw themselves at the good-looking man until he opens his mouth and they're put off by his clear lack of suaveness or strange little idiosyncrasies.

"Stop with the stupid bet, it's not happening. Nobody's going to be winning a thing."

"It's called usin' the damn 'magination, darlin'!"

"Which means you need to get better hobbies. You've corrupted my friends!"

"Hah! Them fools were already too invested in this 'fore I ever came along."

"Fill me up again?"

Intent on ignoring Seungcheol, you belatedly realize how aggressive your request comes across. You're also eager for something to help soothe ache in your chest. It comes and goes like a bad toothache — manageable enough to forget about the pain until it returns tenfold.

Thankfully, Wonwoo meekly complies with the back tips of his ears tinged red and Seungcheol barely manages to hide his extreme amount of mirth for the situation behind another glass. In the dim lighting, at certain angles, and with another shot of whiskey settling into your system, you conclude that the handsome saloon owner could certainly pass as Seokmin's brother and vice versa.

But you know the truth.

Familiar with the one who's all too identical to the infamous gunslinger, yet entirely different altogether. Irritation flares in your gut, prickling harsh enough that even the burn of alcohol fails to drown it out.

"I'm turning in for the night."

"Smartin' idea."

"Don't get too smashed."

"You should get smashed."

"Bye, Choi."

Tipsiness is a great excuse to bump purposely into him as you get off the stool. It's only thanks to his genetically enhanced metabolism that the pastor's able to stay upright. He grumbles something that's likely insulting, but standing upright causes you to realize you drank way too much. Everything spins or sways, including your body as you stumble up the stairs.

Somehow, you safely make it to the second level. Above the saloon is a hallway of small bedrooms that Wonwoo generously loans out to routine drunkards or stray travelers. It takes a few minutes of fumbling around but you finally find the lock that matches the first of its paired key and tumble face-first into (thankfully clean) bedsheets.

A hazy mix of drifting in and out of consciousness follows. It's not until the door clicks and there's an ominous creak of floorboards followed by a noticeable presence creeping up at your side that fully rouses you from the feverish dreams of gunfire, explosions, and loss that still plague your mind to this day.

You roll over, intending to assume both an offensive and defensive position against the nighttime visitor, but a hand lands on your shoulder before you can. Still sluggish, there's no way you could ever hope to outmatch the humanoid typhoon, even at your best.

"Hey, you."

It takes a bit for your eyes to adjust to the darkness after hearing his voice — and then there he is. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Seokmin greets you with a fond, megawatt grin. The thumb of his cybernetic prosthesis gently traces little circles over your bare skin. There's a faint hum and glow from its advanced tech mechanics, paired with moonbeams from the window, casting off an ethereal radiance.

"So, you're staying here tonight?"

"But of course, isn't that why you sent such a cute little cherub my way?"

Ah, Lina. You unwittingly smile, remembering how joyful she was to accomplish her mission.

Then your eyes close, nose wrinkling at the copious stench of mixed perfumes and alcohol he brought in and refusing to acknowledge what he says.

"You hella reek."

"Says the one who drank over seven shots."

"… That preacher's a fuckin' tattler. And a liar. And a total scammer. Don't fall for him, Seok."

"Now, what makes you think Seungcheol told me, hm?" He leans down almost nose-to-nose, enough to make yours scrunch even more at the buzzing feeling of how near he is. Your eyes open to squint at him and he winks. "Silly boy tried to mess with god again and max out his intake. Spoiler alert, he failed. Mingyu dragged him back to his room."

"You're the only one I know who can call Choi a 'silly boy'."

"'Cause that's what he is."

"And you need to stop acting like my babysitter!"

You shift away from his gorgeous face and he leans back to give you space, sporting a smug grin. "Then who would take care of you, mayfly?"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"Be nice to me and maybe I won't keep count on how many glasses you down next time," he teases. "But since I'm so kind and forgiving, would you like a nice, warm, relaxing bath?"

Well, it did sound wonderful. TMI, but cleanliness was a luxury when traveling the desert. Even more so when the places you arrived at had Plant issues. Luckily, Seokmin was more than capable of fixing them but even then, circumstances varied. Especially around the one known across Gunsmoke as mankind's first localized human disaster.

"Only if you get one, too."

It slips from your mouth without a thought. But you might as well have told Seokmin you'd gotten him a box full of doughnuts with how delightedly he clasps his hands together.

"As you wish, m'lady!"

And he treats you like one, scooping you up into his arms in a princess-style carry. At least tonight you're more willing to let him do as he wishes, especially when he discards the perfume-infused outerwear. Whiskey, sleepiness, and the smooth material of his undershirt keep you pliant and cuddly well after he'd snatched you off the bed.

Seokmin's already ten times stronger than even a human like Mingyu and his prosthesis only helps take further advantage of that fact. He easily deposits you on the edge of the tub. Normal routine would require untying the tight laces on your combat boots but since you'd kicked them off prior to resting, he skips to the next step.

Deft fingers make quick work unbuttoning your shorts, the prosthetic digits of his left hand then moving to loosen the straps that keep your top on. His other hand holds them together in a pseudo-knot to keep the material in place.

Honoring a sense of modesty, you suppose — even though you've seen each other unclothed before. But you melt into the secure press of his palm paired with the support of his chest against your back as he leans over to turn on the water.

"Let me know if it's a good temperature."

"M'kay."

"You're so agreeable when drunk!"

"And you're still just as annoying."

"Okay, okay," he relents. Amicably even.

Seokmin never enjoys butting heads like Seungcheol constantly does. Although another "mayfly," gets tacked on to the end of his playful yield in a mischievous tone because if there is one thing, it's that he can never tease you enough.

Brown eyes quietly trace the ink and scars that mark your skin, some disappearing or completely hidden beneath the parts that are covered. Finally, they land on the silver chain around your neck, only a breadth away from the tip of his fingers that suddenly twitch at how soft you feel beneath the calloused roughness of his own skin.

You let out a little sigh and it shakes him from his reverie, noticing the tub's filled up past your calves. Guiding one of your hands to where the locket lies beneath your clothes covering your chest, he stands. "Call me if you need anything or just want help getting out, m'lady."

"'Kay."

You're already stripping bare but Seokmin breezes out the door before you can blink. You sigh again and slip into the hot water, enjoying a soak to ease the heaviness you feel.

It's hard to understand this emotional turmoil. Knowing that you don't enjoy feeling this way, you make a false promise to not drink ever again, staying submerged in the water until your fingers wrinkle.

Maybe you fell asleep, maybe you didn't. There's a bathrobe laid on the sink when you're ready to get out that you don't remember from before but who knows. Who cares? It's cozy and you haven't felt this clean in a while.

"All yours," you lazily declare, stepping into the bedroom.

Seokmin perks up from where he casually sits cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with Geranium. A dopey smile lights up his face, gaze moving from the hefty nickel revolver and zoning in on you.

"All mine?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," he repeats quieter, more to himself, "all mine…" But when you unconsciously shiver, his eyes flash and brows furrow. "C'mere, I warmed the bed up for you."

"Aren't you going to bathe?"

"Yep, so don't miss me too much, my dear mayfly!"

He accompanies it with a saucy wink and saunters into the bathroom, humming. You find yourself in a bit of a daze, head and cheeks holding onto the heat of the steam from your bath (and more). You change into a light tank and cotton shorts before sitting back down. As promised, where Seokmin rested was indeed warm and smells of faint gun smoke that always brings back memories.

"Total slaughter…!"

Splash!

"… Total slaughter…"

Splash!

"I won't leave… a single man alive."

Splash! Splash!

"La de da de dai~," echoes from the bathroom. "Genocide…"

Splash.

"La de da de duh," splash, splash, splash, "an ocean… of blood."

"Let's begin… the killing time."

Seokmin possessed a lovely melodic voice no matter how nonsensical or gruesome the words he sang. Your eyes close with relaxation as he continues into a different tune. Though the lyrics are definitely more hopeful this time, there's a heavy sense of underlying desolation despite the rapid, upbeat tone.

"So…" splash, "on the first evening," splash, "a pebble from somewhere out of nowhere drops upon the dreaming world…"

You think back to how he silently cried when he thought no one was looking after a young stowaway on the sandsteamer broke into the same nostalgic song. Your heart aches in empathy for the woman whose heroic sacrifice saved humankind but left behind irreparable damage to twins she adored.

Rem Saverem.

She was to Seokmin as what Saint Meryl was to you. But your fondness for the nun who dared to favor one random orphan above the other equally ordinary ones with an unprecedented amount of kindness paled in comparison to the devotion Seokmin exhibited for Rem. Her kindness, hope, and love for and of life didn't simply become Seokmin's philosophies — they were a true part of every fiber, woven into his very being.

He was peculiar. Hardheaded — or in Seungkwan's affectionate term: a hardass — when it came to nonviolence. A true pacifist. Even when enemies held him at gunpoint, allies turned their backs on him, and his choice to always save was at the very cost of his well being… Seokmin would choose to tear himself apart limb by limb before ever causing damage or letting harm come to another.

And even if he always chose the world and those living in it first before anything else, that's what you loved the most about him.

"What's got you making that face?"

You're quick to school whatever expression it might be. Your tongue feels fuzzy. You purse your lips as he lumbers closer, freshly dressed in a comfy white long-sleeved shirt and black sweats.

"What face?"

"You know, the one where something's weighing on your mind."

The bed frame dips and squeaks when he flops down to snuggle against you. Still-damp, reddish-brown bangs lay across your shoulder and dampen your skin. The chilled press of the gold hoop in his left earlobe raises bumps wherever it touches as he endearingly nuzzles you.

"There is."

"Tell me."

"You need to dry your hair properly."

"Do it for me."

"… This is on purpose, isn't it?"

Nevertheless, you take the unused towel around his neck and vigorously rub at his head. No complaints or protests defending his honor come from Seokmin. Just the usual little trills of contentment escape as he leans into your touch. Once you're satisfied the job's done well, he plucks the towel from your hands and you fix him with a stern look.

"Well, Seok? You gonna answer me?"

He curls in on his lanky frame, enough so to find room to plop his head pitifully onto your thighs and nuzzle the bare skin with his nose. "Not if you won't answer me first."

"You."

"Hm?"

"Was… thinking about you."

"Oh, really? Dreaming about how cool, dashing, handsome, and awesome I am?"

"… Yeah. I like you."

He chuckles, closing his eyes. More so at the feeling of your fingers idly playing with his strands of hair than seriously taking what you say. "I like you, too!"

"No, I mean," you jostle him harshly as you shift anxiously, tugging a little too hard at his roots. "Something's wrong with me."

"… Mhm yeah, you've been drinking."

"Goddamnit, Seok… that was like hours ago! But… what if… what if I'm in love with you?"

Your fingers retract like you've been caught red-handed stealing Mingyu's pudding and a millisecond later, Seokmin's head flies off your lap as he sits up to stare incredulously at you and can only gasp out one word, "What?"

It comes out more like a statement than a question. You've seen all kinds of emotions appear in those clear brown eyes of his. Emptiness. Excitement. Happiness. Fear. Loneliness. Mysteriousness. Pain. But now, you can hardly make sense of what turmoil is swimming in those murky depths.

"There's no way," he shakes his head — laughter high and brittle. "Fake", is what Seungcheol occasionally points out whenever he spies the gunslinger's smile. You've never believed him until now. "You're drunk."

Seokmin's been hurt before and you know that. It's why you wish for him to be nothing but happy, that there's some truth to the joy he constantly tries to radiate. Hoping some parts are really healing, that he's giving time to let the bloody wounds coagulate — if even just a little.

"It's me. I mean, I'm the one that's drunk," he reiterates, shaking his head.

"Why are you acting like that?"

"… Like what?"

Perhaps you were too hopeful.

"Like I'm making some sort of mistake. Like I'm wrong about this. About us."

And still under the influence of the too-damn-strong alcohol.

"It's… none of that, it's just…"

"You think I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Well, do you?" he fires back rather harshly, "'cause you're still wearing that thing and —"

You wince as his voice breaks off, palm instinctively flying to where the locket rests. "What the hell does that have to do with anything right now? I thought we were over this! Years ago!"

"Maybe you were since you continue to stubbornly follow me everywhere!"

"I'm not the only one!"

"Yeah, 'cause no one ever listens to me!"

"I always listen to you, Seok. Even if the words that come out of your mouth don't match how you actually feel —"

"You don't know how I feel!"

Silence.

Seokmin's chest heaves, wide eyes taking in how you immediately freeze. That look, oh, that look on your face could kill him and his body moves on auto-pilot to stand, directing his gaze to stare daggers into the floorboards. Begging them to rip off like a bandaid and shield him from your wrath.

The wood beneath his feet groans, shaking ever the slightest.

"You're right. How dare I?"

"Wait, mayfly… I —" he switches gears with a plea of your given name.

"And obviously, you have no fuckin' idea how I feel." Now it's your turn to let out a disingenuous chuckle, fake humor cracking under the pressure of sadness it's struggling to mask. "You think all I'm after is revenge more than the actual thought even crosses my mind. You put on this show that nothing bothers you, make assumptions that no one can keep up with you, that you can do it all on your own."

"No, that's not… that's not what I meant! You know how dangerous —"

You stumble ungracefully off the bed, flinching away when Seokmin's words break off as he automatically reaches out. For you. To support and for support.

Yet, it hurts all the more.

"But what do I even know? How can I, when you keep everyone at arm's length? It's like… it's like I don't even know who you are! Like you're someone else, someone I'll never get to understand…"

To others, it might not make sense, possibly the dumbest thing you could say — especially with the state you're in. But you know Seokmin, a fact he's subconsciously taken comfort in.

But you also know Seokmin. Which means you know the exact place to hit him where it hurts the most.

And suddenly, those words you say propel him back into a moment from the past, body free-falling in the sky.

Yelling. Crying. Screaming. Pleading.

Begging that exact phrase and being demanded of the same accusation. All from the one who's falling with him. Whose face mirrors his own, but couldn't be more different in that crucial and devastating moment.

His brother. His twin. His other half who was once his everything — now a total stranger from the person he thought he knew.

A fifty-year-old reunion that should've been a reconciliation, turned into a doomsday.

And for you, the once simple toothache pain is now overwhelming your full body and you refuse to let him see how it's dampened your cheeks. Especially when you hear the pained whisper of the name that escapes his mouth when you're the one that triggered those awful memories. Staggering to the door, you yank it open and he instinctually takes a step forward.

Don't leave me.

You hear the unspoken plea as clearly as if spoken aloud.

"Don't follow me," is what you hiss out instead, and just like when you first met, Seokmin obeys.

When Seungkwan makes room arrangements — if there is enough money to spare when needed and the options are available — he books everyone their own private space. More often than not though, he and Mingyu share a room and so do you and Seokmin.

Out of everyone in the group, you're the only one who is used to putting up with Seokmin's idiosyncrasies and the constant white noise of the cybernetic prosthetics's technology. You've rarely paid mind to having your own space unless Seokmin gets in one of those rare 150-year-old moods and wants some time by himself. Rare in nature, because he doesn't enjoy being left alone with his thoughts that threaten to consume him.

But he'll have to make due tonight. For the first time, you're extremely grateful for Seungkwan's pro-activeness.

You lock the door, crawl into a fresh cold bed, and wet a new pillow — one that lacks the comforting scent of gun smoke — with unshed tears.

For all his short-tempered and sassy mannerisms, Seungkwan is quite the worrywart. When the suns have peeked past the horizon and you're not already downstairs bullying Seungcheol, he's immediately knocking at your door and inquiring about your well-being. You assure him you're just hungover and he reluctantly leaves you be, likely picking up on how terrible you really do sound.

By high noon, Mingyu raps on the door next. He even sweetly offers to share his prized pudding in the hopes that you'll peek your head out. Though you appreciate it, you send him away, too — after reassuring the sensitive man you'll feel better after some rest.

Seungcheol doesn't miss the chance to be annoying times ten. He doesn't indulge in the effort of knocking, opting to make the floorboards squeal by pacing back and forth in front of the door. All the while, muttering this and that about "yer boy's like a pathetic dog and blah, blah, blah" until getting very kindly told to "fuck off!" and dragged back downstairs by a certain raven-haired insurance agent.

Even Seokmin checks in. Four times.

Once and then twice after you'd left and he'd figured out which room was yours. Then two more visits throughout the following day. He doesn't exactly make his presence known — but you know he knows you know he's out there.

If not by the distinct gait you've picked up on listening for after all this time, then by the hesitant thuds of combat boots lingering outside your door. Lost technology whirring with the action it takes to make a fist with his left hand, raising it up to the door and then back down again in self-inflicted defeat.

You refuse to see anyone, choosing to pity yourself first. Wallowing in your feelings and then sleeping as much of the heartache — and more so the hangover — away.

When the moons are visible in accordance to their nightly orbit, you get up to fuss with the mini VERnon in the room's corner. Nothing but static greets you. At the very least, the white noise is better than complete silence. By the time it's morning, you slowly awaken to the virtually enhanced radio trying to catch onto a faint signal. Enough to report the latest news in snippets with its mechanical voice.

"Beast… reported… Tonim town… !"

Your eyes fly open. Now is not the time to be wasting away. Donning a clean set of attire similar to what you wore into town — and with Sirocco strapped comfortingly to your thigh — you descend downstairs.

"Good morning!" Mingyu cheerfully greets with a delighted shout of your name and eagerly waves you over to sit next to him, waving around a promised cup of pudding. "Are you feeling better?"

"Mhm, thanks. Sorry about that, whiskey here sure is strong."

"'S one helluva killer," Seungcheol sulks across from you, still sporting a massive headache and looking worse than that one time Seungkwan hit him with the car.

"You're just weak."

"Wha'zat say 'bout you?"

"Since I can equally acknowledge both my strengths and weaknesses, that makes me infinitely stronger than you'll ever be."

Seungkwan wordlessly hands you a bowl and you graciously accept it. Next to the pastor sits Seokmin, unnaturally quiet. You don't even spare him a glance even though brown eyes burn into the side of your face until you glare his way.

The stack of doughnuts on the plate in front of him remain untouched — minus the smudged icing on one that was likely from Seungcheol trying to swipe it. Evidently, Seokmin was in low spirits if he didn't want to consume his favorite desserts. But, he is still prideful enough to prevent anyone else from snatching the prized delicacy.

How typical.

An awkwardness ensues, charged with an underlying current of tension. A vein forms in Seungkwan's forehead from his blood pressure rising.

Its pulse matches the twitch in the corner of his fake smile as he attempts to make conversation, to which Mingyu — oblivious and happy-go-lucky as ever, bless his heart — replies enthusiastically. Seungcheol stares listlessly into space, twirling a lollipop around and around with his tongue. Next to him is a soul acting like a thunderstorm's personally pouring over him. Seokmin starts pitifully poking at his grand doughnut pile while you ferociously tear into a piece of bread like it's the last supper before swallowing.

"Soonyoung's coming."

Your unexpected, but welcomed, interruption ironically pauses Seungkwan's second diatribe about Hansol's calamitous ingenuity. If possible, the apprehension in the room intensifies tenfold.

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. "How'd you hear?"

"Tuned the VERnon last night."

"'Course you did."

"Something about the Beast and Tonim came through. Not for sure but…"

"It never hurts to be too prepared!"

"True, 'Gyu. 'N if Soonyoungie's gonna be there, ya know what that likely means…"

You nod in understanding at Seungcheol's implication. "The Crimsonnail."

Seokmin's jaw clenches at the name but it's the disgruntled pastor who continues speaking after a hearty and loud gulp of water. "'Course the Eye of Joshua's gonna send their best two. Soonyoungie's Hoon's eyes 'n ears for these kinda things."

"Or… it could be Jeonghan."

Your noncommittal remark receives Seungcheol's scathing glower. "Bet."

"It wouldn't be the first time," you shrug.

"There haven't been any notable disturbances and the ground's been stable. So hopefully their only goal is to simply antagonize us further."

Antagonize.

A funny word for such a twisted coin game between a hunter and the hunted. You can't and don't blame the younger Bernardelli agent — only you were privy to most of the true horrors Seokmin dealt with behind the scenes, Seungcheol a close second. And because of that, you were usually the one at his side before an encounter with Jihoon and the ever lingering threat and terror of said man's monstrous power.

But today, you get up from the table without so much as a glance in his direction. Only a parting command of "Let's regroup near the entrance at high noon," while Seungkwan and Mingyu exchange looks of minor distress.

The black-haired man in his hangover blues obnoxiously blows a raspberry as you leave.

Later, there are two solid knocks on the door as you get ready. You know who it is before the door swings open after your agreeable hum to enter. Many may be intimidated at the sight of the silver weapon in your gloved hands. Seungkwan and Mingyu make up half of the quartet who aren't.

They take a seat on the bed as you purse your lips at the reflection in the dusty mirror. Then you fuss with the strap for your gun. Satisfyingly re-securing it around your thigh before throwing a carmine trench coat over tight kevlar that covers almost every inch of skin possible.

"Surprised you didn't dye everything else black during a fit of rage."

Your lips curl upwards. "How on Gunsmoke would I manage that?"

"With the way you're acting, 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…' or so the saying goes."

"Really, 'Kwan?"

"I'm an avid supporter of women's rights and especially their wrongs."

"Sure you are."

"You would absolutely look dashing!"

"Thanks, Mingyu. Should've given my color scheme a little more consideration."

"But then you wouldn't have achieved such an infamous moniker. I mean, okay. Maybe the black plague killed tons of Earthlings eons ago but it doesn't have the same ring as 'Sirocco, the bloody rain that follows after the humanoid typhoon'…"

Seungkwan allegedly graduated at the top of his class, leave it to him to spew out all kinds of random facts that you know nothing about. You huff and adjust the brim of the large hat atop your head.

"All that does is make me cringe."

"Uh-huh, so what's making him act like that?"

"Who's acting like what?"

"Fine, keep playing dumb. Did you reject Seokmin or something?"

Mingyu gasps. Dramatically. Hands on cheeks and mouth open in a wide 'o' shape, puppy-dog eyes glistening with despair.

"There's no way!"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Uh-huh."

"Besides, nothing happened so don't think you're gonna wheedle out of me whether you're going to win that stupid bet you two have going with Choi."

"Eh, don't worry. I've been out of the running for a while now, unfortunately."

"The hell did you even throw for?"

He shoots you a deadpan look. "Guess who's aged eighty years watching the two of you dance around each other like dumbasses? Could've sworn you'd be married with a toma farm or a dozen little children by now."

"It's your own damn fault for falling victim to that pastor's salacious schemes. And it's not even remotely like that, so…"

"Someone just doesn't wanna give in."

You stomp your foot, frustration boiling over. "Ugh, I'm never drinking again!"

"Wait… No fucking way…!"

"Literally shut up, Boo."

"I mean Choi did bet you'd confess and you know… get intimate afterwards… if you were drunk so…"

"Oh, so that's why he was so damn pushy last night."

"Dirty cheater."

"You expect anything less from someone like him?"

A sigh. "No."

It's a well-known fact that Seungcheol would rather stoke the flames of hell than ever needlessly dabble with holy water as one might be expected to with his chosen career.

"But judging by both of your moods, evidently nothing happened." The raven-haired man really has the gall to look disappointed that no one won yet pleased Seungcheol didn't, and the gall to point out the obvious. "Anyways, what did you bet on, Mingyu?"

"Don't recall!"

"Figures." Seungkwan's face falls flat against his palm with a groan before dragging it wearily down his face. "Whatever, it's not like it's that serious. Seriously," he adds on, feeling the burn of your perpetual glower. "Don't let it weigh on your mind. We need you fully focused."

"And when have I ever been less than what's expected of me?" You hold up a hand. "Wait! Don't answer. But really, worry more about that idiot."

"Aw, see? You still care!"

"… About that sixty billion bounty, Mingyu? Yeah."

"Sure you do."

"And truthfully, I was talking about Choi, 'Kwan."

"Well, both of them always get into those zany headspaces!"

You shrug at the tall man's truthfulness. "They're both holding a lot of trauma and baggage."

"And you aren't?" Seungkwan snorts with sarcasm dripping from the dig.

"At least mine's manageable. And… hasn't threatened your lives yet."

"As far as we know."

"In fact, I think I've saved your 'so-very-untraumatized' lives more often than not. Stay with me and you'll both be okay."

They good-naturedly give you individual looks of disdain. Perfectly in sync when you accompany that last statement with a devilish smirk and a twirl that flares out your tail coat with a flourish. By no means are they incapable. Clumsy Mingyu can adeptly wield his massive concussion gun when it counts, of course, and Seungkwan stealthily hides several derringer 'throwaway' pistols under his white cloak that he can fire with deadly precision.

Nonetheless, they loyally flank to your side when Tonim's bell tower signifies the hour of high noon has struck. Seungcheol meets the three of you outside the door of the saloon, smoking a cigarette and one arm lazily draped over the Punisher — a terrifying machine gun mockingly designed in the burdening shape of a merciful cross.

You spot Seokmin up ahead. He's standing on the low border wall near the town's entrance, perched next to a pillar for back support with the heel of his boot propped up behind him. Decked out in the usual galaxy ensemble, purple fabric cut off at shoulder-length of the top left sleeve to allow free range of movement for his prosthesis. His hair's slightly gelled up for a more intimidating and dramatic flair and it almost makes you giggle.

But there's that stern gaze focused on the horizon, likely able to see far out into the distance through those amber lenses the human eye can't quite decipher. Despite such a hardened resolve, his head tilts slightly up toward the blue sky with a faint smile on his lips — an honoring appreciation for the beauty and wonder of life despite its inevitable horrors.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue to get your attention while Seungkwan and Mingyu keep walking ahead. "Spiky Hair thinks he's really gonna do it?"

"Won't stop until he's tried every last resort."

"Even if it kills 'im?"

"Even if it kills him."

"This damned situation 'cause of ya know who."

"Dokyeom. DK."

"Nah, nah. There's the asinine version, eh?"

"Absolute pain in my ass?"

He slaps his knee. "Ah, aye… good one! But nah, 's really stupid one, Deathly, uh, er…?"

"… Deadly Knives?"

"Pfft, yeah, 's that one. So, we gotta try 'n stop one genocidal brother from sweepin' out the whole human race 'n tryna convince greedy humans not to keep exploitin' 'em with the other. Back 'n forth again 'n again. I swear…'s only ever gonna be impossible."

"What makes you think it can't happen?"

He looks at you like you're stupid. Maybe you are. But what does that make him? "Both sides — humans versus DK — think they're right 'n too proud to think otherwise."

"So you don't think they'll settle for a compromise. Or at least try to see the other's viewpoint?"

"Hell naw. Ain't no compromisin' when both think they're justified in what they're doin'."

"Well, regardless — you joined a good cause, Choi. World could use a little more peace and love, don't you think?"

He grunts. "Lookit who's corrupted yer ideologies. Don'tcha know what destroyed Earth?"

"And do you know what saved humans? Kindness. Hope. Empathy. Compassion. Change. Making and being the difference. The good kind."

A long time ago, maybe in a different twist of fate, you might've staunchly agreed with Seungcheol. But despite it all, you've been somewhat changed — or like the pastor said, call it a corruption of sorts — by Seokmin's unwavering sense of positivity and kindness no matter how bleak the future.

You admired him. Truly.

"Un-fuckin'-'lievable."

Seungcheol shakes his head as if he's not gearing up, ready and raring to go as he stomps forward to join a fellow 'brother-in-arms'. The thought inwardly makes you smile with affection until you remember you're actually, in fact, mad at Seokmin.

A dust cloud stirs up on the horizon, steadily growing closer to where you stand.

"You're so full of goddamn self-flagellation."

The individual where all your ire is centered on jolts, doing a double-take at your sudden but familiar presence by his side approaching. Or maybe it was the mere fact you were talking to him again. A warm expression overtakes his facial features at the sense of calm that automatically relaxes the tension in his muscles as he looks down at you.

"Well then, hello to you too. Feeling better, mayfly?"

"… Remind me to never drink again."

"I told you —"

"Yeah, yeah." You wave away his nagging and step up on the wall to stand next to him. "Don't worry, I won't be making a mistake like that again."

"… Mistake?"

There's an edge to his tone. Searching. Sometimes you hate how perceptive Seokmin can be. Though he actively acts oblivious and carefree, it's usually a ploy to lower other's guard.

You wonder how long he's known.

So, you sigh. "I'm talking about drinking, of course. And… I wish I could say I forgot even if… I haven't. But it's fine, I know where I stand."

The latter part of your sentence trails off. It's true though. You do know — thankful you can even be next to Seokmin. You might not be with him but at the very least, your place will always be somewhere by his side. Affectionate flings may be sought elsewhere. But they're always temporary. In your heart of hearts, you know you're irreplaceable to him.

And that's going to have to be good enough for you.

The man in question scratches the back of his head. "It's not… it's not like that. I know I fucked up."

"Stop." You grip at his prosthetic, knowing despite how sensitive the sensors are, they won't be able to pick up how you slightly tremble. "It's okay. Really."

Who is it you're trying to reassure?

"Mayfly," Seokmin murmurs. "Look at me."

With the slightest hesitation, your gaze finally rises from its focal point centered on his boots and the stones beneath to meet dark brown eyes. The ache in the gunslinger's chest eases just a little. It's been far too long — a day, in actuality — since he's got to lose himself among the vibrant hues of your irises and he squeezes your free hand in gratitude.

"It's not okay, I want to talk to you. Sober. But…"

"I get it. Now's not the time for a heart-to-heart, especially not in front of your brother's henchmen."

You laugh, for real this time. The sight is breathtaking; it makes Seokmin's eyes crinkle, a fond smile to accompany his affection as he leans in closer to you to whisper a sweet, "Thank you."

Three sets of eyes try to make it very not obvious that they're very obviously totally not watching the overdue interaction with bated breath.

"Oh golly good, they've made up!"

"'Course they would."

"It's about time, I couldn't take the tension anymore."

"Don'tcha think it'll get worse once they start canoodlin'?"

"Good lord," Seungkwan groans, "perish the thought."

"What's wrong with a little love? Yay for love!"

"Well, I don't think they've made it that far yet. But we're getting there. Baby steps."

It would be a good cause for celebration, a resumption of last night's festivities. Unfortunately, the merry moment is cut short with a screech of brakes, signaling the arrival of Jihoon, DK's most elite performer in his unmerry band of henchmen.

Next to the feared Crimsonnail's suitcase sits Soonyoung the Beast. Silver strands peek out behind the unsettling, bug-like circular mask hiding his face. He casually waves, acting like the unnerving discovery behind the innocent, abandoned child — who went by Hoshi — was simply a facade initially put on around your group and not such a grand revelation.

Having sorted that out in the stomach of a giant flying worm serving as a hive mind for Gunsmoke's legion of its original inhabitants and swearing not to let your guard down again, all five of you remain on high alert.

Jihoon's steel-colored eyes flicker to Seungcheol. "Hello there, Undertaker. Or… should I say Judas?"

"Howdy dandy to ya too, ya son of a bitch," the pastor snarls, spitting his cigarette in their direction. Cursing under his breath when the distance and uselessness of the fizzling stub doesn't blow up the engine like he wishes it would.

"Now, now. You don't want to make me mad, do you?"

"Kinda wanna piss ya off as much as ya piss me off, yeah."

"Surely you know what —"

"He means nothing by it." You'd quickly abandoned your post next to Seokmin to place a hand on Seungcheol's taut shoulder. Boldly facing the blonde man's haughty expression with one that's hopefully placating enough on behalf of your comrade. "He's just grumpy because he's still hungover."

"Well, well… if it isn't the humanoid typhoon's little blood shower."

Ugh, you inwardly grimace, why the fuck does everyone have such unflattering nicknames for me?

"Still following him around, I see."

"'S a lot comin' from —"

" — Hasn't gotten rid of me yet!"

"… Seems it," Jihoon sniffs and cocks his head. "Similar to the dilemma I have with this persistent bug."

Soonyoung chortles, neck contorting at an unnatural angle to peer at the driver. "You love me."

"You're delusional."

"Why are you here?"

Seokmin's question comes sharp and pointed like a dagger, a far cry from his usual demeanor. His tone remains detached. Aloof. Vaguely accusatory. Unlike your harried action to cover for Seungcheol, you don't dare divert attention away from the gunslinger who stalks forward after elegantly hopping down from his perch. Despite an outwardly calm demeanor, there's an underlying urgency in his gait that's threatening to snap.

"For amusement. A show, if you will."

"One that's not even orchestrated by Joshua's freakish cult powers!"

Out of all the males surrounding you, you're not sure exactly who growls at the Beast's mere mention of the devil-like figurehead — in fact, it could've been all of them — but there's one noise that rings out above the din of it all.

Click!

You don't need super-hearing to pick up that telltale sound. Not when every person over the age of eighteen in Tonim has a cocked gun trained on each member of your ragtag gang.

"Uh, so… how many times is this?"

"One too fuckin' many," you answer Seungkwan with a petulant hiss and reluctantly mimic him by putting your hands up in the air.

Jihoon cackles. "And when will you fools ever learn?"

"'S my question, actually," the pastor nonchalantly calls over his shoulder, directed at the town's ringleader. "Didn't know ya had it in ya, boy."

You didn't think Wonwoo had it in him either, to be honest. But that's not something you were going to mention aloud with the shaky hold the bespectacled man has on the firearm waveringly aimed at his target — the one whose head is worth a 60 billion double dollars bounty, dead or alive.

"Felnarl. Jeneora Rock. Descartes. Dankin."

There's a faint twitch in one of Seokmin's eyebrows. Seungcheol rolls his eyes, sarcastically muttering under his breath an addition of location names, "Voldoor, Inepril, December, Lewiston…" and Mingyu joins in on the fun with a cheerful, "New Miami!"

Seungkwan watches warily and your jaw clenches. You can feel your teeth grind together in annoyance as Wonwoo's smarmy sneer grows smugger.

"And now, Tonim Town. What?" he jeers, seizing the chance to use the man's silence as a way to ridicule him. "Don't recognize what you've laid waste to? Must I bring up the big ones to jog your memory a little, like the city of July and Augusta or the hole in the fifth moon?"

"Why you —"

Enragement propels you a step forward, but the barrel swinging your way halts your next move mid-step. The sullen look on Wonwoo's face surprisingly holds no malice. He looks saddened, if anything, but you can't bring yourself to feel too much sympathy with the rifle he's now pointed toward you.

"You forgot one."

"Pardon?"

Seokmin's voice is hardly more than a whisper yet it rings out loud and clear amid the tense silence and stillness. "I said, you forgot one. There's not a name of any place or person I'd ever forget. I'm well aware of the ones you're talking about… and more. However, there's somewhere I won't ever forget that no one will ever know existed."

"… Huh?"

"Little Ivywood."

Wonwoo seems so taken aback and the pause unwittingly allows your eyes to drift over to meet Seokmin's brown ones. There are so many emotions conveyed in the sidelong glance — a mixture of regret-filled feelings yet ever so soft — and it lasts a second too long to snap the befuddled aggressor out of his reverie.

"Oh… I see." He pushes up his glasses, the lenses glinting in the pale sunlight like a typical anime villain. The long gun lowers to the ground the same time as he throws back his head to let out a bitter laugh. "So that's how it is! All you do is take and take and take, Lee. Destroy, destroy, destroy; again and again and again!"

"Aye, ole chap's gone off his rocker."

"You've made an ally out of a would-be, should-be enemy and think other victims with their pain and grief don't exist?!"

"Wow," Seungkwan wrinkles his nose in disgust, "yeah… he's gone completely insane."

Mingyu hums in agreement. "A little unhinged! Off the rocks! Unstable even! When can I knock him out?"

You'd love to give the gentle giant the go-ahead. Really. But even so…

"Damn you —"

"Stop it."

The townspeople's uncertainty and hesitance tells you all you need to know, especially when Wonwoo's hysteria leaves them even more perplexed. After years of handling a gun like a second arm, you can spot inexperience and fear of handling a dangerous weapon the second someone is near one. You lower your arms and step forward once more, confidence growing when he makes no move to threaten you further.

"You don't want this."

The corner of his mouth quirks upward, a rueful smile. "You know, I thought we really did share some camaraderie."

"We do."

"Yet you gallivant around with a monster like that?"

"He's not a monster."

"I should've known better, really, when the VERnons said you're the sirocco that follows after the humanoid typhoon. Heroes, my ass! I don't get it, how could you do that to others after what happened to you?"

To us?

It remains unspoken yet you can hear the intent of the accusingly barbed question. Two survivors of a wrecked hometown. Shared camaraderie hadn't been a lie. Even now as you meet the flickering fire in Wonwoo's eyes with a blazing flame in your own, all you can see is a reflection of your past and what you could've turned into in a possible future.

A cold gleam returns to his gaze as he takes your silence as defiance. Or maybe even shamelessness. "How could you turn a blind eye to such a bloody warpath of destruction when you know too well of the tragedy that's left behind?!"

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"… Excuse me?"

"That's what all of you are doing right now," you declare loudly and some of Tonim's residents whose conscience stings have the decency to avert their eyes. Awareness of their actions seem to weigh down on them, guns lowering ever the slightest and the awkwardness encourages Seungkwan to speak up.

"We would've left peacefully tomorrow."

"But yer actions're gonna be the very cause of the destruction yer tryin' so damn hard to prevent."

"Because you took a bribe!"

There's a stilted, horrified, and collective gasp, so you try to remedy Mingyu's exclamation.

"It's because you let your malice sway you. Tell me, Jeon. What all did you lose?"

"My whole town. Then my parents. Almost my life and nearly Lina's too. My lover…"

"And your sense of self. Plus, the new life you've created here — and those things? Almost lost because of your own accord. Why would you destroy the few good things you're granted?"

Wonwoo's eyebrows scrunch as his face tenses. Your heart goes out to him despite everything, hoping to get your point across as you continue speaking.

"That doesn't negate the losses. The grief. The pain. It never goes away but… you can choose to clean out the wound, put some salve on it, and bandage it or let it fester and infect your body 'til it rots even your soul."

You can hear the shift in the sand as Seokmin approaches to stand next to you. He regards Wonwoo with a kind smile and the understanding, crescent-shaped squint of his eyes is like a punch to the other man's gut.

"…. I —"

" — It's your choice, Jeon. What did they offer you? Money? There are so many bets on July's militia lying about the payout. I mean, c'mon, there's no way a ruined city would have the funds."

"Yer Plant's no longer in red status, so ya won't need to barter no more."

"I'll throw in a better deal — let us go and I'll have Choi marry you and Sherry, free of charge."

His cheeks flush and you inwardly gloat, instincts right on the money. Seungcheol's jaw drops, absolutely flabbergasted, and the townsfolk exchange a few knowing snickers.

"If it's protection you need, we can figure that out too," Seokmin recovers and offers in a low voice. "And if Do — er, Knives — or his gang approached you with a deal, just know that they never hold up their end of the bargain."

"You're lucky you threatened us first. DK's side is a little too slash-happy and trigger-loving to resort to verbal methods. They're the ones you'd want to go after anyways, you see, this man and Knives are twins if you don't look close enough, they're eerily similar at the strangest moments. So the real story is that it's all just spiraled out of control."

"You mean…"

"I won't deny responsibility." Seokmin admits sternly. "It's true that I've wreaked devastation to many towns. Failed to save the people I swore to protect."

"But DK keeps forcing his hand to get Seok to join his genocidal cause. And every time he refuses to do so, his brother throws a tantrum and well, knives go flying everywhere. Literally."

"He's a little…" The gunslinger searches for the right word — and finding that there is none — cringes. "Dramatic."

You stare at him, aghast. "He cut your arm off!"

Wonwoo pales, swallows, and then grimaces, daring to ask, "So… I've had it wrong the whole time?"

"I guess not entirely." You shrug, also guilty as charged years ago. "And obviously not the first."

"And certainly not the last," Seungkwan pipes up.

The bespectacled man looks down at the ground. "I don't… I don't know… Do I even deserve this kind of treatment? This… mercy?"

"No."

With such a blunt answer, Seokmin's quick to protest with an admonishment of your name while Seungkwan and Mingyu suppress smiles at your straightforwardness. Seungcheol freely chuckles, lighting a cigarette.

And Wonwoo's face falls as remorse hits all over again.

"But," you smirk, "what have I told you?"

"Oh, ah… why destroy the few good things life grants me?"

"Good. You were listening. We might get along just fine, after all." You send him a teasing wink. "Camaraderie and all that be damned."

A sheepish look overtakes the man's previously hardened features. And suddenly he's laughing with his head thrown back like earlier, but this time it's with an unrestrained amount of joy. Relief. Hope.

"The ticket to the future is always blank, Wonwoo." Seokmin extends a hand and the other man takes it, the small grin on his face turning into a full-blown smile.

"Guns down, Tonim town. The rest of you, come on out! Let's celebrate!" He calls out to everyone, gesturing for your group to follow. "Drinks are on me to make up for this whole mess. I'm sorry for getting you all involved."

You turn around toward Seokmin, elation written all over your face that he readily mirrors. Just as you're about to grab his hand as he reaches out at the same time, there's a slow, loud handclap that sets off mental warning sirens blaring all over again.

"Conflict resolution. How very touching."

The velvety voice is deceivingly sweet. But beneath the dulcet tones lies a raw and wicked strength. It rings out clearly, even more so when the jubilant mood abruptly dies down as a new figure approaches.

"Aw, c'mon Joshie! Just when it was gettin' good!" Soonyoung whines and you belatedly realize you forgot all about the real enemies at the entrance gate, thinking they had grown bored and left.

"What about that was 'getting good'?"

The Beast huffs at Jihoon's surly attitude, more than likely pouting beneath his mask. "Was really lookin' forward to those free drinks…"

"We don't need drinks and we don't need you, Josh."

If there's one commonality between the adversary and your group, it's the shared disdain for the elegant-looking man dressed in all black fabrics with shiny leather buckles, and slicked-back locks to match.

"Hm. But I think you do."

Chilling ochre-colored eyes couldn't be bothered to look at you, drifting past you and Seokmin like you were nothing more than the grains of sand littering every surface on Gunsmoke. And like a marionette, your head automatically swivels to follow his line of sight, blood draining from your face when you realize what he's looking at.

Lina.

She breaks away from holding onto Sheryl's hand after they emerge from the saloon, bounding toward her brother with excitement all over her face. The arm that isn't supporting his firearm extends gallantly outward, ready to welcome her with a hug as he strolls to meet her halfway.

They're smiling at one another with so much adoration after the intensity from earlier. If you weren't fucking terrified, you'd wish Dokyeom was also there to see how pure a sibling relationship and affection should be.

Instead, your stomach lurches, and Seokmin hisses beside you. With your back turned, you can't see Joshua but you're sure he's smirking when Wonwoo's frame stiffens, body jerking as it moves beyond his control.

Hastily, he's cocking the rifle with expert ease and assuming the perfect position to fire it, something he previously displayed no knowledge on before. Wide eyes have no choice but to peer down the scope and he chokes at how it's unforgivingly aimed directly at his little sister.

She skids to a halt, ten paces away. Hesitant. Wary. Puzzled.

"… Wonu?"

It all plays out in slow motion as you reach for Sirocco, simultaneously screaming out to your friends to alert them and provide cover. Frantic panic swirls in the air like a sandstorm at the turn of events, but even more fear generates when the townspeople can do nothing but helplessly succumb to their limbs moving on their own too.

Despite every single effort and all of his muscles straining not to do it, Wonwoo's pointer finger on the trigger pulls back. It doesn't matter how much he struggles to fight for control, his body refuses to listen. Tears flow from his eyes even though he can't speak, can't yell, can't beg for forgiveness — the vehement sense of horror is the only thing able to overpower Joshua's terrifying control, leaking out a salty excess.

Bang!

Three gunshots ring out at the same time. You fire right before Wonwoo does and Seokmin follows two seconds later. Not because his reaction time is slower. But because he could see and calculate where the bullet's headed after you changed its trajectory by shooting at Wonwoo's barrel.

It doesn't end there.

Seokmin is a half-step closer to Lina and can move at an inhumane speed, diving into a tuck-and-roll to reach her moments before the residents have no choice but to open fire too.

You know he's fast enough to dodge bullets at close range, but the staggered distance spread out among all of those present in the town's square works little for that insane advantage. Instead, the skilled combatant focuses all his attention on shielding Lina beneath the loose flaps of his impenetrable trench coat. She clings tightly to his leg, whimpering.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you."

Continuing to mutter reassurances, he pats her fluffy brown hair with an unshaking cybernetic palm while the other rapidly points his revolver upwards to deflect a bullet that might've been lucky enough to shatter the bridge of his glasses. Then doing the same to one at five o'clock on his right. He angles his body this way and that as if a puppeteer is yanking the strings connected to his limbs to the perverse beat of an unheard tune. The few he misses land harmlessly against the thick kevlar material you're all wearing.

Meanwhile, your steady hand supports the familiar weight of Sirocco. Muscle memory aids you with cocking the gun as you run. Aiming at the closest group of people near them and then — bang!, bang!, bang! — snipe off the barrels on their guns in rapid succession, rendering them useless.

From behind, something flies past your face and nicks the top of your ear — one of the few places unprotected by bulletproof material — causing you to hiss. Scowling over your shoulder, you squint in the direction it came from.

While a complete bastard, Seungcheol is also the most resourceful ray of hope in a shootout like this. The Punisher's automatic artillery relentlessly fires shot after shot, destroying old and weather-beaten guns like they're empty, crushable soda cans. It's faster too. The trigger-happy pastor twirls it around maniacally, taking only the slightest care to not actually kill anyone.

You're a hundred percent sure it's because of Joshua's disturbing power that allows him to reanimate corpses rather than Seokmin's "Thou shalt not kill" lecture and pacifist philosophies that keeps the supposed 'god-fearing' man from snuffing out anyone's life this time around. Despite the bullets whizzing around, you know he'll fare alright with that healing serum of his — just as long as he doesn't overdose on it.

Mingyu rushes over to stand back-to-back with the pastor, x-shaped claws firing out of his 'stun-gun' and immobilizing many of his targets with ease. You can't help but grimace though, wondering if they'll sustain more brain damage from Joshua's nefarious telepathy or a well-meaning concussion that leaves them unconscious and no longer posing a threat. A solid steel object flies past the brown-haired man's head, knocking down the mind-controlled person who was trying to sneak up on him using a blind spot.

"Ooh, thanks, Seungkwan!"

"Pay attention, you blockhead!"

An empty derringer lays at said blockhead's feet and Mingyu kicks it away with a childlike glee. A brand-new loaded pistol is already in Seungkwan's right hand even as he throws away the one in his left toward someone approaching Seungcheol. The young man's never empty-handed for long because with another flashy twirl from out of his cloak and a new handgun is cocked, aimed, and fired.

Despite the distance and conditions, all three work together like clockwork. Different shaped and sized cogs all interconnected to succeed without causing too much harm. And you know you must play your part as well, turning your attention back to the few townsfolk that remain.

"Seokmin, switch!"

It's not like he needs the heads-up. The way you'd both been inching closer to each other every time your gun's fired already issued the forewarning. It's like a subtle tango performed by two fierce allies surrounded by deadly enemies. If you didn't know better, it's similar to an intricate sword dance.

But you knew how dangerous it was to play with knives.

The swift transfer of Lina's warm little body into your arms is a welcome comfort. Seokmin sends you a dazzling smile, one full of confidence at a successful swap.

"Hey there, pretty girl," you coo and your gloved thumb wipes away one of the tear trails cutting through the dirt smudges on her face. "You are so, so, so brave and I'm so, so, so proud of you."

"He," she sniffles, "my… my… br-brother. W-Wonu!"

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, you turn her to face the other way. "Everything's going to fine. I promise. Now, run to Seungcheol. He'll keep you safe while the rest of us finish this."

Seungkwan and Mingyu had effectively disarmed everyone on their end and now worked on dragging the town's unconscious residents inside the saloon and attending to any wounds. The pastor stood guard near the entrance with his Punisher staked firmly into the sandy ground. Although empty of ammunition, the machine gun still served a purpose as a great defender with its imposing cross shape.

With the target assuredly safe — out of sight, out of mind — the control Joshua has over those remaining falters and starts to lose its effect. In the brief lull, Seokmin dashes ahead to deliver a flying kick that helpfully unsheathes the dagger hidden in the sole of his boots, demolishing one more firearm in someone's grip before it can be used again.

Bang!

And with Sirocco's precision, the last two are destroyed as well. You match your comrade's grin and turn triumphantly to where the instigators still stand at the entrance.

There would be no casualties today. You and your comrades would make sure of that.

Joshua, stoic as ever, surveys the aftermath with an air of unbothered gracefulness. Jihoon fumes next to him. Panic spikes when Soonyoung can't be spotted at first until you spy him curled up in the car's front seat — asleep.

You fist bump Seokmin in high spirits. Then fearlessly meet a pair of deep orange eyes devoid of any emotion or warmth, a shift occurs in your smile. Confidence and satisfaction hone the corners of your mouth into a daring smirk and something about the bold taunt causes a rare flicker of humor to cross Joshua's lips. Whether it's scornful pity or simple mockery, you don't have time to figure it out because Jihoon snaps.

Nails.

Several of them fly through the air and their wielder's formidable namesake comes from the daunting color that makes the multitude of piercers look like thin streaks of blood against the pale blue sky. The spikes as long as spears are all fired from Jihoon's large suitcase-turned-crossbow that aims just shy of your left side.

Those steel eyes of his are as sharp as their color. The malice within them feels suffocating, so strong and heavy that it sucks all the breath straight out of your lungs. Only the pain from a nail grazing your cheek is enough to pull your attention away from drowning in the unnerving emotion and you put a hand up to the laceration to soothe the sting.

Wetness oozes from your skin, an unsettling feeling of sliminess accompanying the touch. Puzzled, your fingers retract and you ponder the sheer amount of red viscoelastic fluid coating them. There's so much of it pooling that droplets fall to the sand below while others dribble down past your wrist and under your sleeve, the stain blending right in with the fabric of your coat.

Drip.

"It's all your fault!"

Drip.

"Their blood is on your hands…"

Drip.

"Don't you feel guilty?"

Drip.

"Don't you feel responsible?"

Drip.

"Do you regret being the only one left to live?"

Drip.

Faces you know and voices you cannot recall overlap and echo. Unfamiliar frowning expressions and intonations you remember as once gentle now ridicule, belittle, and find every crack in your well-made armor. Insidious whispers weave inside, entangling themselves within the fragile support structures of your mind and very soul. They point and cackle to one another at such a sorry sight, only for you to realize you're angrily jabbing a pointer finger at your worthless reflection with those cursory words coming straight out of your own mouth.

Drip.

Your head turns robotically, like an early prototype of the lost technology Earthlings created. This time it's Sheryl who's the victim, helplessly well within the trajectory line of Jihoon's rage. Every muscle aches, weighed down by exhaustion. Your shoulder burns. Yet you still somehow find the strength within you to rush toward her, especially hearing Lina's desperate wail as she's held back by a grimacing Seungcheol.

Drip.

Like a comet, Seokmin blazes past. He skids to a stop, effectively shielding the woman right before impact. You're too slow to move. In fact, it feels like an out-of-body experience. As if you're nothing but a hologram inside the floating ship — an artificial intelligence projection with no other choice but to witness the horrors and observe tangible objects scuttle towards their inevitable doom without interference. You're left with no choice but to simply watch as the nails are propelled through the air with the intent to strike.

Drip.

Someone's screaming. Maybe it's you.

Drip.

The nails impale Seokmin without mercy. Strike after strike, they pierce straight through the material of his coat designed to repel only bullets and plunge deep within the muscles beneath his skin. One after the other. So many of them stick out of the man's backside like the skeletal bone formation for wings. He slumps to his knees, falling on top of a bewildered but unharmed Sheryl. When he only lays still with no further action, you're struck with the dreadful knowledge that he may never move again and it fills you with an unfathomable maelstrom of raw grief and anger.

Drip.

Suddenly, you're no longer drowning in invisible quicksand and can move freely again. There's zero hesitation in your now fluid movements — not even when the blond-haired man poises his crossbow directly at you this time. Pulling out the spare gun hidden near your hip, you blast the airborne spikes flying towards you without hesitation.

Bang!

More fall than you shoot. The anger, pain, and grief you wield is enough to tear them apart like they're nothing but worm larvae helplessly caught in a sandstorm. You stalk forward through the crimson ire that relentlessly strikes down, clearing a path that's littered with broken, twisted, and dented nails before resolutely aiming point-blank at Jihoon's forehead.

Click.

More people are screaming and the spiteful cacophony in your mind resumes. But your ears feel like they're filled with cotton and this time you're stuck underwater. Your chest rises and falls, trying and failing to collect yourself.

"… out of it!"

"Hyperventialing -"

"Goddamn it! Get ahold o'yerself, woman!"

The Crimsonnail sneers.

Your cheek stings.

The dissonance reminds you of the wound from before. But this time it feels like a sting, as if someone slapped you — albeit rather gently. Numb, you halt in place and cautiously raise your hand back to your surprisingly unmarred face. But rather than skin, you grasp onto something solid. Something familiar. Something kind. Something loving. Something safe. Something warm. Something that's yours — always has been and always will be.

Someone.

And then… you open your eyes — and find yourself staring directly into Seokmin's sparkling brown ones.

"Y-you're dead," you manage to choke out in disbelief and his eyes incredulously crinkle into half-moons at the statement to hide the tears brimming in them.

The soothing hand caressing your cheek moves to wrap around the barrel of the gun you're pressing to his forehead and he smiles disarmingly. As if what you just said was the funniest thing ever.

"I know, mayfly."

Part 2 | Read the whole thing on AO3

#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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